Spring 2018 ~ Vol. 2 Issue 1

1st Place: “Looking Back” by Jennifer Nieves

Literary Journal

Second AnnualArt CompetitionEnjoy all the wonderfulcreative works of thisyear’s art competition!

Short Stories,Poems and moreSelections of creativewriting by students andfaculty of Jackson State

3rd Place “Ship on the Sea”

by William Lescheck

2nd Place “Chief Sosa”

by Chris Luciano

1st Place “Looking Back”

by Jennifer Nieves

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Spilled Ink2017-2018 JSCC Literary Journal

Volume 2, Issue 1

“Spilled Ink” is proudly Sponsored by the JSCC Creative Writing Club.

About the Creative Writing Club: The Creative Writing Club of Jackson State Community College is a support group for students interested in learning more about the art of writing creatively. Ha-Ha. Ok, bad joke, I know. But in all seriousness, the Creative writing Club is a place where any one who enjoys a good story or poem can gather to learn more about this art form. Whether you’re new to writing or have been doing it for several years, this club welcomes everyone with open arms. Every author has a unique way of writing and their own way of seeing the world around them. The club’s primary goal is to help each member to develop their skills as a writer and their voice as an artist. The club also functions as an information network for members who are perusing a carrier as an author or in a related field. The club keeps an ear out for the latest writing competitions and is always on the look out for new publishing techniques and opportunities. Weather you are heading toward a career in creative writing or simply have an interest in it, than we at the Creative Writing Club would be happy to have you join us.

Acknowledgements

The JSCC Creative Writing Club and its faculty sponsors would like to acknowledge the generous financial support of Dr. Larry Bailey, Vice President of Academic Affairs, and Dr. Mechel Camp, Dean of Communication & Humanities. We would like to thank Dr. Lisa Smith and Mr. William Lescheck, who helped us coordinate our cover art contest, and Prof. Candyce Sweet who kindly donated her time to assist us with reproductions of all art work appearing in the present volume; Mr. George Gregory, who designed our beautiful Spilled Ink title and cover; Ms. Veronica Goff and Ms. Kathy Doll, who did the design, layout, and printing for this year’s issue; and Mr. Steve Cornelison, for his advice and counsel on club activities. Thanks are also due, of course, to all of our contributors: without you, we wouldn’t have a journal to publish!

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Cover Art Competition

Our second annual cover art competition was no less difficult to judge than last year’s, but after much discussion (and argument…), we decided on our first,

second, and third place winners, along with four outstanding honorable mentions:

1st place (our front cover illustration)“Looking Back,” by Jennifer Nieves

2nd Place (inside front cover, top)“Chief Sosa,” by Chris Luciano

3rd Place (inside front cover, bottom)“Ship on the Sea,” by William Lescheck

Honorable Mentions (inside back cover)

“ADD/ADHD,” by Amanda Jones“Personalities,” by Casey Keymon

“Ship, Wolves, Skull,” by William Lescheck“Ghost Runner,” by Drew Crisp

Honorable Mentions and all other art submissions are featured in the center color section. We thoroughly enjoyed every piece, and are delighted to present them here so that you can enjoy them too!

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Table of ContentsOpinions Must Die by Jasmine Williams 4Between Two by Kaylyn Alyra Weddle 5The Demon is Here Again by Amanda Pugh 6The Mind is its Own Place by Mark Walls 7Tell it to My Heart by Diana Birdwell 8Pretty Little Words by KM Smith 9My Angel by Jasmine Williams 10To My First Love by KM Smith 11Clothes in a Tree by Jasmine Williams 12Meth Took my Daddy Away by KM Smith 13Time Bomb by morrabbitx 14His Mistress by Jessica Mays 15Ink by Lidian Lindsey 16When I First Saw You by Powell Franklin 17Drained by Kaylyn Alyra Weddle 18My Heart is Broken by Jessica Mays 19Until She Was Gone by Amanda Pugh 20Dream a Little Dream by Diana Birdwell 21Thoughts After by Jasmine Williams 22Barefoot Together by Margie Rafalowski 23It’s For the Best by Diana Birdwell 24Saponified by Margie Rafalowski 25Antidote by Mikia Poindexter 26No Longer Alone by Kaylyn Alyra Weddle 27It’s a Southern Thing by Amanda Pugh 28-29Five Spots on a Window by Mark Walls 30Excerpts from John by Samuel Clayton 31-36Pandora’s Box by Alexis Kerney 37Tombigbee State Park, October 8, 2017 by Tony Rafalowski 38When Nightfall Comes by Alexis Kerney 39Today by Brianna Mason 40Squirrels by Tony Rafalowski 41The Gifted Nurse by Andrea McKinnie 42-46Hope by Mark Walls 47Sweet Romance by Andrea McKinnie 48

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OPINIONS MUST DIEby Jasmine Williams

Opinions matter but just not mine

Opinions matter but not at this time.

Opinions matter but just not yours

Opinions matter but only if they’re mine.

Opinions matter but only if they’re yours.

Opinions. Opinions. Opinions.

But when opinions turn to facts

Then they are the least needed.

Because no one should be offended by being proven wrong.

Ignorance on a topic should be celebrated

A blank slate.

But pride should be feared. For it is a slate

full of things that are to prove wrong.

No matter how many agree. No matter the numbers. The facts.

Opinions are good. But not to be mistaken.

Opinions should never be shared for change might happen.

For silence is envy. Silence is key.

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BETWEEN TWO by Kaylyn Alyra Weddle

So, I have a situation

that requires deep meditation,

on my mental station

that’s just now tuning in to my hearts hesitation

to choose between two fixations.

I’m in one predicament,

keeping me from time spent

with another embodiment

where I’m filled with content.

But I must choose between two events.

But I can’t decide between the lesser of two greats,

or both will then retaliate,

until one can dictate

my actions to delegate

the favorable outcome between two fates.

My heart wants one thing, and my mind another.

But finding common ground is hard to uncover,

under all of this contradicting smother.

So, between the two, one must suffer.

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THE DEMON IS HERE AGAINby Amanda Pugh

It’s here againTaunting meMocking me

Shows up whenever it likesCauses my mood to spike

In a downward turnMakes my heart burn

I scream and tell it to go awayBut it hangs around anywayTelling me what it has to sayThat I’m not good enough

Not pretty enoughNot smart enough

Reminds me of every bad timeLike a malignant chime

Draining my energy and hopeAnd all I can do to cope

Is crawl away from the blight

To save my strength to fightBut in my heart I always know

Even though it will goThe demon will come again.

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THE MIND IN ITS OWN PLACEby Mark Walls

So,Milton said

the mindis its own

place.

But its cornersaren’t true. Joists swoop and sway.

Linesdon’talign;

gaps greetconverging angles,

dark spaces for spidersto hide.

In building theirown places

in heaven or hell,minds

swing off markslike plumb-bobs catching wayward edges,

winds,or careless helpers’ shoulders or cap brims,

or,lacking another excuse,

the maddeningspins

of nylonstrands

that twistalways

just an eighth of an inchoff plumb

dead-center.

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TELL IT TO MY HEARTby Diana Birdwell

Tell it to my heart

We weren’t meant to be

Tell it to my heart

What might have been

Tell it to my aching heart

I’m better off free

In time, my heart will heal

Tell it to my heart

That I’ll be ok

In time, I’ll be over you

What might have been, it’s hard to say

Tell it to my heart

It’s ok to start a new day.

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PRETTY LITTLE WORDSby KM Smith

Pretty little words

aren’t always pretty

sometimes they’re lies

to keep everything

looking

fine

and

pristine

Pretty little words

keep my head in a whirl,

keep my stomach in knots,

and keep me on the tops of my toes.

Pretty little words

remind me that words

like “I love you”

are too pretty for

a mess like

me.

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MY ANGELby morrabbitx

My sweet little angel baby,

my pink

or

my blue,

there is never a moment

in the day where your

mama isn’t thinking

about you.

My sweet little angel baby –

mama loves you more than

the stars in the great wide

sky.

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TO MY FIRST LOVEby KM Smith

To my first love –

thank you

for everything.

The four years

we spent

together

and the pain

you gave me.

I’m exactly where

I always needed

to be.

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CLOTHES IN A TREEby Jasmine Williams

I see little clothes on a tree branch near a river

They look new barely worn but the sun had bleached them.

For they have been there since long before

I wonder sometimes how they got there

Swimming or did someone have something darker in mind

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METH TOOK MY DADDY AWAYby KM Smith

Meth took my daddy away,she recounted softly,

Almost took my mama away too,she added, avoiding eye contact.

Meth takes away almost everything you love.She was now bouncing on the balls of her feet,

looking anywhere and everywhere, but not at me.

It doesn’t care if you’re rich or you’re poor;it’ll make you steal from your parents or your

uncles or your aunts or,she looks up at me then,

your kids too.

My daddy stole my change out of my piggybank one time,

she tells me somberly.He said it was to buy mommy a present,

something to make her happy, but I think hedid it wrong.

The little girl with the tawny hairpulled back with a ribbon to match her dress –

when she looked down at her scuffed whitedress shoes, she reminded me a lot of me.

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TIME BOMBby morrabbitx

i feel likei’m a tickingtime bomb,

which is dumbi know becausei’m only twenty

and i have afull life to liveuntil i reallysit and think:

“a cigarette takesan average ofseven minutesoff your life”and i’ve lost

count of how manythat i’ve kissedi feel like i’mracing againstthe inevitable,

that i’m missingout on everything

by just taking thingsslow;

i want to be marriedand have a baby

and have a familyand do thisand do that

andi

feellikei’m

runningoutof

time.

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HIS MISTRESSby Jessica Mays

As she drove that dark, lonely road,Her heart was already broken, her story untold.

The lifetime of dreams she shared with this man,Had been destroyed at his very own hand.

For this new love had taken from her, you see:From their children, their home, their whole family

How could this new love have a hold so strong?How could it have all gone so very wrong?

His new love, you see, was neither woman nor man,But a cold glass pipe he held in his hand.

He would stay with his love all day and all night,She made sure he was never too far from his sight.

The moral of this story both sad and true,That the mistress named Meth will not let go of you.

If you happen to meet her, turn and walk away,For she is greedy and selfish and on the weak she does prey.

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INKby Lidian Lindsey

Pit pat, pit pat,That’s the sound of my tears,

Pit pat, pit pat,That’s all I can hear,

Pit pat, pit pat,I look down and see,

Pit pat, pit pat,the blue ink of paper running free,

pit pat, pit pat,I watch it runPit pat, pit pat

The ink merges as onePit pat pit patIt reminds mePit pat pit pat

Of the time I was freePit pat pit pat

I guess this is all I’ll ever bePit pat pit pat

The tears of merging ink

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WHEN I FIRST SAW YOUby Powell Franklin

When I first saw you, you were no larger than a loaf of breadFresh-baked, red, and a bit crinkled. I held you in one arm,

Your head nestled into the crook of my elbow,Your bottom, diapered for the very first time, in the palm of my left hand,

And your crying stopped as you gazed into my face, with a look of wonderment.

This morning, I rushed you off to school, freshman year. You wereA bit impertinent in your hurry, a bit aloof with your newfound independence.Your hair swishing side-to-side as you strode out the door, into the building.

You did not look back,

And my silent tears slid down my cheek as I watched you go, with a look of wonderment.

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DRAINEDby Kaylyn Alyra Weddle

I am drained

in every possible way

A mere shell of my former self

Pushed to the back of the highest of the shelf

There’s a lack of vigor and life about me,

frowning inside, but a smile is what you see

Emptiness in my heart, I need a filler

Loneliness is death, a silent killer

I run to the tunnel, but the light bulb is blown

Frenemies closing in, casting their stones

I’m beaten & bruised a puddle of tears remain

Clothes tattered and soiled by my own blood stains.

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MY HEART IS BROKENby Jessica Mays

My heart is broken, my soul is weak.I cannot stand on my own two feet.

My world is crashing all around.It is all gone now, my hopes and dreams –

I cannot find the strength to scream.

Where do I go? What do I do?

I don’t want to go on without you.

I must go on, I cannot stopThe world has not ended

My heart has not stopped.

The pain will fade, the memories will tooI must go on

With or without you.

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UNTIL SHE WAS GONEby Amanda Pugh

He never realized

How much she meant

To him, his heart, his soul

Until she was gone.

Out of his reach

But still on his mind

He could still see

Her smiles, her tears

Share her happiness

Share her pain

On the social media page

But he never realized

How much that woman

Meant to the man

He wanted so much to be

Until she was gone.

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DREAM A LITTLE DREAMby Diana Birdwell

Dream upon a dream

Wish upon a star, find who you are

Make each day count as if it were your last

Dream a little dream

Take the chance to dance

To live your life full of opportunities

Dream a little dream

Reach for the stars, for being your best is who you are

Dare to dream a little dream.

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THOUGHTS AFTERby Jasmine Williams

I have a state of mindNo not right a fragile state of mind

Tries to rhyme but has no timeMy time runs low my body feels so cold

My thoughts eat me alive until I’m out of timeNever seeming to slow

Racing racing slowing in my mindWon’t get out in time

They won’t come in timeOut of time

Slowly slowing racing to the finish lineAm I out of time

I can’t rhymeBut I hope one day this is seen

Cover all the things that could ever be seenSo one day I can say that I was seen

I was heard slowly slowly I was heardOpen mouth closed eyes

These thoughts won’t escape me I give them outs but they are hereWondering wondering when they will get out of here

I have a fragile state of mindMy thoughts eat me alive

They beat on my state of mind

A fragile state of mindCracking cracking

I will breakThey won’t be on time

I have a fragile state of mind.

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BAREFOOT TOGETHERby Margie Rafalowski

Introducedwarm wool-covered

leather loafer-edquick paced

ten toesto white(ish) cotton hidden

‘neath canvas and lacesmeandering

ten toesOccupying

asphalt pavements,dusty wooded paths,

autumn’s flitting leaves,icy perilous surfaces.

Faltering and unsteadyalongside solid sturdy

ten toesten toes

Balancedsyncopated striding

climbing or stumblingAlways ten toes

ten toesSifting sand

moving watersResting between sheets

Stark, plain, barein concert

Twenty toes.

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IT’S FOR THE BESTby Diana Birdwell

It’s for the Best

It’s a new day, a new plan

It’s a new start

To forget what might have been

Moving on without you

It’s for the best

It’s a new day, a new plan

It’s a new start

To forget what once was

And to move on to something new

It’s for the best

It’s a new day, a new plan

It’s a new start

To dream of something big

To face what tomorrow may bring

It’s for the best.

“Untouchable” byArielle Lakey

“Tennis Shoes” by Kristin Beard

Art Contest Entries

“Tree of Wisdom” by Dena Blake

“Love is Love” by Brad Shear

“Ghost Runner” by Drew Crisp

Art Contest Entries

“Anxiety in My Mind” by Jasmine Williams

“Shoe” by Jasmine Williams

“Dinner”by Derek Espinoza“Yellow Tang”

by Anna Sison

Art Contest Entries

“MPD” by Arielle Lakey

“Thinking” by Trisha Leadbetter

“The Crushed Hat” by Ramirez-Gonzalez

Art Contest Entries

“Peace on Earth (I Am American)” by Hailey Jones

“L.O.V.E.”by Angel Reeves

“Ship on the Sea” by William Lescheck

“Grape Noms” by Lauren Trapp

Art Contest Entries

“ADHD/ADD” by Amanda Jones

“Stay Woke” by Tiana Mikeska

“Blue Mood” by Angel Reeves

“Chief Sosa” by Chris Luciano

Art Contest Entries

“Rodeo Boot” by Dylan Kenton

Art Contest Entries

“Personalities” by Casey Keymon

“Past Meets Present” by Suede Middleton

“The Snitch (shells)” by Hailey Jones

Art Contest Entries

“Ship, Wolves, Skull” by William Lescheck

“It’s a Grape Life” by Hailey Jones

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SAPONIFIEDby Margie Rafalowski

Asteroids’ unavoidable impactAssortment of chocolates

picked over and devoid of the favoriteDisheveled, messy feelings

Conflict, confusion takes the leadholding hostage the sunshineSmashing atoms into bombs

within the heartAllowing entry of pain

No protection

Wretchedness prevailseven though uninvited

Laughter is lost,despite attempts to call upon

its comfort

Relationship’srelevant rapport

Struggling togetherTogether

Two-gether

Weform alliance

create the chemical reactionacid and oilcommingleSaponify

a new compoundCleansing

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ANTIDOTEby Mikia Poindexter

Your eyes,

they look right through me

as your words stab so deeply.

Your tongue is toxins

but I’m the antidote.

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NO LONGER ALONEby Kaylyn Alyra Weddle

Countless times I've found myself

Drowning in my own sea of thoughts,

Somehow feeling like a fish out of water,

trying to survive on every last drop...of your love.

Suffocating from the lack of your attention,

silently hating this feeling of omission,

unable to make this separation a peaceful coalition.

Impatiently anticipating when you will give me the time of day,

to prove we're compatible in every way.

Many times, our paths have crossed

but yet seem to diverge and we go astray.

Detours, shortcuts, U-turns, and dead ends

we have both experienced in our lives,

But all roads lead to home

and I am no longer alone when you finally arrive.

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IT’S A SOUTHERN THING…by Amanda Pugh

Small towns form the backbone of the South. They’re where we get our character, and our spirit, and most definitely where we get our color. You can find some of the best food, people, and stories in our small Southern towns. And you know something else you can find? Festivals. We can take any place or thing (bonus points if it is particular to the neighborhood) and by gum, we can make it a reason to party. Of course, growing up in West Tennessee as I was most fortunate to do, I can tell you about some of the most fun (and unusual) festivals you have ever had the pleasure to encounter. One of the best known in this area is the Humboldt Strawberry Festival in Humboldt TN. Strawberries. Yep. Told ya. It is a weeklong event with pageants and parades (I marched in the Grand Floats parade all four years I was in high school with my marching band, even with strep throat my senior year) celebrating all things strawberry. The citizens of Humboldt and Gibson County take great pride in this annual event, and it shows in the care they take with the details and the pride that shines from their eyes during the first or second week in May, depending. Depending on what, you might ask? Well, that brings me to the next well known event in West Tennessee, the World’s Largest Fish Fry in Paris. The Strawberry folks usually try not to have these two events overlap because of the crowds (and the revenue) they bring their respective towns. There is not a catfish in the state that is safe the week of this party – we’re talking vats of fish fillets, hush puppies, and all the trimmings. And yep, there’s a parade at the end of this festival (and yep I marched in this one) too. It’s a week of good fun and good food.

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Next up, I have to tell you about the Teapot Festival in Trenton. Some-how, Trenton wound up with a beautiful teapot museum and so in grand Southern tradition, they decided to celebrate it with an annual festival. It IS a beautiful collection, so I can’t say as I blame them one bit for wanting to celebrate them – I would too.

They also have the Iris Festival in Dresden, which started out as the town’s Easter parade and evolved into a huge event that draws big crowds every year, honoring Tennessee’s state flower. But one of the most “huh?”-inducing events each year would be the Doodle Soup Days in Bradford, TN. Yeah. Doodle soup. Say what? Bradford is famous for its doodle soup recipe, which (without giving up too much of the secret) involves chicken broth and seasonings and is eaten with bread or crackers. They say that its main characteristic is a strong taste of vinegar (at least it does on the festival’s website). Bradford is quite proud of this decades-old recipe – and as their website says, “Why not?” That is one thing I love about the South – we can and will have a party at the slightest provocation. And give us a little bit of time and we will make the world party with us. Y’all come join in!

(Originally appeared in The Dead Mule School of Southern Literature, September 2017)

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FIVE SPOTS ON A WINDOWby Mark Walls

Close an eye,They appear imposed

on the worldor on the black oak by the fence

at least.

Five spots on a window:specks of pollen

or a bit of some insect,a dried-up raindrop or two,

fossil records from a liquid erabefore this August’s desiccation.

Focus. They rise and movelike stars

portending something.

A religious mystery?Waymarks for journey?

Cosmic rotation?

Connect them.They become a truth,

a constellation,some incarnation.

A lucky seven, a boot, a peasant’s scythe,an inverted question mark, a man with a ponytail

jumping on a pogo stick–auguries on glass

meaning too muchand too little, both.

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JOHN(excerpts from a longer work by Samuel Clayton)

Chapter 1: The Lamb With Horns

John was a tall fit young man who had black hair and piercing hazel eyes. In the right light however, you might say that they were a menacing blood red. His countenance had always seemed a tad bit creepy. He was very good at eavesdropping on every conversation within thirty yards and had the memory of an elephant. He also had a habit of staring at people around the room as if he were looking into one’s soul. All this may have helped him make friends in the short term, but he was both shy and a little bit of a loner. Most people who were friends with him quickly dropped him because he seemed emotionless and without any empathy. But why was he supposed to care? He wasn’t affected. This caused him to lose many friends after mere days. During his junior year of high-school, his parents moved to a new location. They had started to worry about their son. He could never hold any real friends and those he did have, he hadn’t opened up in the slightest to. He, however, didn’t care about the move given that he thought everyone in the older school he was at were blubbering idiots. Even if he was desperate for human interaction, he could never drive himself to be social. An invisible force would always keep him away. For this reason and others he took the move with ambivalence. He didn’t care one way or the other. On the first day of his senior year of high-school, John was on his way to class when he came across a girl who had tripped and needed some help picking up her things. He didn’t know what possessed him. This school had been just as much of a disappointment as the other three; however, he decided to say hello and help her. He would have normally passed her over, but something about her was different. The conversation was short. He never even got to hear her name, nor she his. The bell for the next class had rung

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and he was almost late! John rushed off to his first class, but from that point onwards his thoughts and actions were consumed with the girl. He couldn’t get her out of his head. This chance encounter was, to John, love at first sight. For the next couple of months he followed her at a good distance, taking a slower route to school. He got to know her, her friends, and their habits in the process. She lived down the street from him and walked to school with her group of three friends. Their names were Jessica, Erica, and Samuel. Hers, as he found out, was the beautiful name of Rose. He would often write poems in his room about his “rose,” which only intensified his desire. Jessica was a sporty young woman who looked older then she appeared. She was a member of the cheer team. She had green eyes and brown hair and was taller than average for the school. Erica was an attractive and fit girl who was short for her age. She had brown eyes and dirty blond hair. Among some other details, John found that she liked to write short stories. Samuel was a taller- than-average young man. He usually didn’t shave more than once every three days. He had brown hair and was fit, but not the strongest guy in the school. John could see, as soon as he started his spying on her friends, that Sam had eyes for Jessica. Rose, however, was the most important of all of them. She was endowed with long curly brown hair. She had beautiful blue eyes that seemed endlessly deep when John looked into them, and tanned skin. She wore modest clothing, consisting of either a blue, purple, or pink blouse and a long skirt on most days. Her teeth were always shiny white and her face was perfectly smooth, only drawing more attention to her endless sky blue eyes. Even her hobbies were perfect in John’s eyes. She loved to talk about and read books – books that John loved already! He found out that her favorite books at the time were dystopian fiction written by people like Huxley and Orwell. She also liked the Greek epics, western movies, and so far as he had learned, wanted no car but a 1966 Mustang. From her choice of class, John had figured that she had a minor interest in philosophy and literature. On looking her up on the internet, he found several works she had written. He loved all of the writings that she did, no matter how sappy and generic it was, because his

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Rose had written them. This couldn’t be any more perfect for him. She was the one person he could think about aside from his studies. If not for his shyness, he would have asked her out the second time he saw her. Eventually, John decided to stop dwelling in the shadows, just out of view, and become friends. It took some effort on his part, but he finally went up and formally introduced himself to her and her friends. However, her friends found him suspicious because he knew just a bit too much about all of them and their habits. One of the many things John knew, even though nobody else but the parties involved did, was that Jessica was currently in a relation-ship. He also knew that Erica had some… well… interesting internet habits. It took some effort on John’s part, but he was able to worm his way into her circle of friends despite their reservations. He eventually convinced her friends to accept him, except for Sam who remained suspicious.

Chapter 2: David and Goliath

Over the next couple of weeks, John formed a routine. In the morning he would follow Rose to school. He would then go to his classes, five of which he shared with her. He always brought more lunch than he could eat on his own; thus he would willingly share his food with Rose, and grudgingly with her friends. Sam was still suspicious at this point, but had been quickly silenced by Jessica. After lunch, John would hit his remaining classes, then follow Rose on her way home in order to protect his love. After heading home himself and finishing his homework, John would stalk her and her friends over social media until he fell asleep. Waking up every schoolday morning, he would repeat this so long as he could. Everything was going perfectly, until a legend from the sophomore year came back. Jimmy Dawson, otherwise known as The Titan, had returned from his year-long expulsion under the terms that, for the next six months, he would do nothing wrong. For the most part, that is what he did. Jimmy was very much a changed man, although he still had his reputation as the terror of the sophomore year. John had no problems with Jimmy except for the fact that

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Jimmy, the 6’ 4”, muscle bound young man, was making moves on Rose and getting a little bit too close to her. Things got worse when John found out one day that Rose had been tutoring Jimmy at her house. This would not do, not one bit. John watched the two for the next few nights and found out that they were doing a little bit more than just studying. Jimmy was far too close and far too intimate. Seeing this rankled John to no end. Every kiss made him want to use a knife to carve off Jimmy’s face, every hug made him want to cut off his rival’s arms, every touch made him want to burn off his hands. He wouldn’t stand for it! John decided that Jimmy had to go: he wouldn’t be allowed near Rose ever again. John knew he couldn’t just say that Jimmy had to go because then, Samuel’s suspicions towards John would be proven correct. John decided to make a plan. John, having studied Jimmy for a little while, put together a personality chart for the guy, and knew exactly what to do. Because of the fact that Jimmy was on his probationary period, all John had to do was him in trouble. John’s plan would come in three parts. In the first he would become his friend and gain his trust; in the second he would get Jimmy expelled, then John would use his trust to intoxicate the guy and cause him to make a serious mistake. When he was inevitably brought in to answer for his crimes, John would testify against him and try to make sure he got as long a sentence as possible. In the end, he thought he would have convinced every-one that Jimmy was a terrible person. Jimmy would never see Rose again. It took about a week, but John eventually gained the interloper’s trust. Jimmy was even under the impression that John was his friend. This didn’t stop John from his routine, though. In fact, he stepped it up. John had start-ed that week throwing late night parties where he would invite much of the school. It kept Jimmy away from rose at night and started to make Jimmy legitimately like John as a friend. The only disappointment to John was that his beloved Rose never came, no matter how many times he invited her. This wasn’t the biggest deal, as these parties allowed him to spy on the entire senior class all at once, which was highly useful. Not only that, it gave him a degree of control over the people as well. John could, for example, spike the punch and cause everyone but himself to get drunk. He could do any manner

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of manipulation through drugging the food or drinks. One day John decided to put his plan into action, slipping a pack of cigarettes into Jimmy’s pack at the party. Just as planned, on inspection, the cigarettes were found in Jimmy’s bag and he was yelled at by the principal. At the next party John hosted, Jimmy went to John for help. John gave him some emotional support, telling him it would all work out. Although this gave Jimmy some hope, rules were rules, and Jimmy was expelled from school anyway. With John as almost the only friend that Jimmy had, and the closest one too, Jimmy was in the palm of John’s hand. The following weekend, the next part of John’s plan took place as he invited all the class but rats and teachers to a huge party with dancing, a disk jockey, and all sorts of expensive foods and drinks. John had spent quite a bit of his savings on this event. Near the end of the party, he spiked the punch with the vodka his parents kept in the alcohol cabinet. Jimmy, who was already stressed from arguments with his parents, had gone to John’s party to relax. He drank and drank and soon enough he was more drunk than anyone else in the room. At that point, John suggested that he make advances on Jessica. Jimmy, like John’s puppet, did as he was told. In his attempt, though, Jimmy irritated Samuel and made Jessica uncomfortable. Already being irritable, an argument started between the two and Jimmy was the first to escalate the conflict – hitting Samuel in the jaw and flooring him before going back to inappropriately making advances on Jessica again. Jimmy only got as far as pinning Jessica to the wall and putting his hand on her side before the party was called off, but it was too late. Jimmy’s fate was sealed. Only a week later, Jessica’s parents leveled a serious lawsuit against Jimmy. They sued him for sexual assault, emotional distress, and aggravated assault and battery. This mistake had also gotten Jimmy kicked out by his parents. The actions at John’s party had been the last straw. John, during the trial, still pretended to be Jimmy’s friend. He pushed him to not accept the plea bargain, and gave him hope that he could get off scot free. He knew that Jimmy’s fate was sealed, though. John would make sure of it. Due to Jimmy’s not accepting the plea bargain, the trial was long and

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hard. It went on for two days. The public defender tried his best to reduce the sentence, once it became obvious to him that he couldn’t get his client off from what he had done. It was a terrible scene. Jessica was crying in the witness stand, supported emotionally by her parents. Jimmy was going to lose the case, but John didn’t merely want Jimmy to lose, he however also wanted crush his hopes. The final part of John’s plans came to fruition when he was brought up to provide testimony for his friend. John started at first to support Jimmy. But when questioned by the prosecutors, he used this moment to throw Jimmy under the bus and guarantee a long sentence. John claimed that the catering company that had provided the drinks had given them spiked punch instead of what John ordered. Jimmy, who had relied on John for emotional support and was counting on John to help his friend out, was broken by this. His only remaining friend had betrayed him. Jimmy, at the end of the trial, was merely silent, hopeless, and looking down, a blank expression in his eyes. Jimmy was given twenty years in prison and told he could never get within 100 feet of anyone he had known before. Jimmy was taken way, a broken and miserable young man. His last and only friend had thrown him under the bus, his parents had disowned him, even when he got out of prison, he couldn’t get any good jobs. There was no more hope left in him. John found out years later that Jimmy had hung himself on his belt, after only a couple weeks of entering the penitentiary. John hoped no other challengers would rise.

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PANDORA’S BOXby Alexis Kerney

As night swears us to secrecy, and we are who we dread the most;

Who shall see our identities? Will you be the one to boast?

When Mother Earth is angry, and her wrath is uncontrollable…..

What shall we do, as beasts, monsters, and ghosts of what we wish to be?

So she wove her anger into a box,

Closed her crying eyelid locks,

And bade the past goodbye.

To hope the box was never to be opened

By curiosity and its dreadful lie.

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TOMBIGBEE STATE PARK, OCTOBER 8, 2017

by Tony Rafalowski

In a state park on Sunday afternoon,the hill country of east Mississippi,

my dog and I stop to watch a young coupleflying kites in a vacant baseball field.

They’re not having much luck, the wind isswirling, black clouds melting the sunshine,

raising a storm to usher in the fall;their own dog dances on a leash at their feet.

Rabbie stops to watch the dog and the kiteswhile I naturally follow the girl with my eyes.

They’re married, I think, and too young altogether,something out of a Hollywood montage.

She’s fighting to get her plastic kite alofton the trickster breeze that tosses her hair,dodging the dog in cut-offs, midriff bare,

eyes glowing brighter than four o’clock gold.

I look at him, wishing I could tell himyou will remember this day thirty or forty yearsfrom now, amidst the slow beeping of machines

and the whispering hush of a ventilator.

Rabbie looks up at me with head cocked aside:he’s done watching, and so am I. We turn away,walk on down the lane where the storm waits.

I wonder if she ever got that kite to fly.

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WHEN NIGHTFALL COMESby Alexis Kerney

When Nightfall comes spare me the relentless taste of agony.When Nightfall comes spare me this constant pain.

When Nightfall comes shield my ears from Her creature’s cries.When Nightfall comes save me from Satan’s desirous lies.

As Nightfall approaches please let light shine upon this cold and broken heart.As Nightfall approaches please bless this soul so her demons shall not tear me apart.

As Nightfall approaches protect me. Make me fearless. Make it fair.As Nightfall approaches save me from my demon’s piercing glare.

O Windless Night! Spare me thy woe!Splinters of ice carve out what is left of this stained soul.

Goddess of Destruction take what is left of me.Shape, as Nightfall comes, the beast I have been cursed to be.

Howl beneath the bright glow of the Moon.Fall captive to my golden stare.

Give me back my sanity.Give me back those things you took, if you dare.

Take this as no challenge, this is war!A war of courage and might.

Give me my battle cloths and we’ll fight until morning light.Spare me thy mercy! Spare me thy pity!

This battle is not for peace!Hark unto my words, I will not rest until this pain will cease!

This war is my choice,A victory unannounced.

When Nightfall comes, your control ebbs awayOunce by broken ounce.

Listen to my voice!As you speak that curse, it is me you renounce!

Tell me the truth.As Nightfall comes, gain my trust

Ounce by golden ounce.

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TODAY

by Brianna Mason

Somewhere someone’s uncle is telling another terrible jokeAnd everyone is pretending it’s the first time they’ve heard it.

Grandma’s in the kitchen turning potatoes into everything,making sure everyone stays away from the kitchen.

All the adults are arguing over a game of monopoly.The kids are running around in bathing suits without shoes.

There are at least eight dogs playing in the house,and someone forgot to bring the sunblock.

There’s Disney theme music playing in the background,and everyone’s smile is so big it could fit yesterday inside

and still have enough room for today and tomorrow.There’s laughter so loud that the neighbors are angry

and wonder why they weren’t invited to the party.Today there is no crying. No bloodshed in the streets.

No news headlines, bills, or road rage in traffic.Today there are no broken doors or counter pieces

chipped off from one too many arguments over nothing.Today cancer doesn’t exist and there are no late fees.

Speeding tickets are just reminders of how fast life flies.There is enough food for everyone and then some.

The lights stay on all day because the bills are paid.You can feel the last eighty years of struggle in the room.The last eighty years of yelling and crying and swearing.

But you can also hear the last eighty years of laughter,The last eighty years of Christmas lights and cookouts.Today there is potato salad, grilled corn, and fried okra.The only tear shed today is when everyone goes home.

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SQUIRRELSby Tony Rafalowski

The remnants of a hurricane blew through my yardLate one September afternoon. You would think

West Tennessee and its cotton fields were far enough awayFrom the tropical storm warnings of the gulf coast.

Not so much, as evidenced by the two juvenile squirrelsTossed from the security of the large old sugar gum treeBeside the driveway, abandoned by their parents, I guess,

Who heeded the forecast and found other shelter.

One died on the concrete and had to be carried awayBy my son in law, laid to rest at the bottom of the creek

That runs behind our property, swollen in the morning lightWith the run-off from rains that flooded south Texas.

One survived, the stronger sibling, Cain or Romulus,Crawling down the driveway and into the garage

Under the Toyota where we found him the next day,Crying for justice in the dark light of the dawn.

Using garden gloves we laid him in a boxPillowed on an old towel ragged but soft,Stroked his gray fur with our fingertips,

Sought to pray away the hurts, his and our own.

We gave him to a friend who had done thisBefore, nursed an injured squirrel back to life.He died in the late afternoon, but not without

Love, the soft comfort of having mattered.

The rest of us could be so lucky.

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THE GIFTED NURSEby Andrea McKinnie

Claudia Monroe was walking down the corridor of one of the finest hospitals in the country. Healing Hands Medical Center accepted only the best of the best to be a part of their team. Claudia recalled the day that she received her letter in the mail. She had just come in from clinicals. The wind was howling and the rain was coming down like arrows. The thunder had been so loud that at times she caught herself ducking. As she thought about this now she chuckled, but that day it hadn’t been so funny. Outside of the monstrous thunderstorm, there had not been anything else unusual about that day. Actually, it was kind of ironic when she considered the twist of events. Her entire nursing class had been in an ill mood all day long due to the weather. Then, when she arrived home and retrieved the mail, she had literally leaped for joy. She stood outside for at least ten minutes, reading her acceptance letter over and over. In fact she still had it memorized:

Dear Miss Monroe:

We are pleased to inform you that your application for hire has been approved. However, we do require that you come in and meet with our board. You will beinterviewed and based on your answers, you will be placed in the department of our choosing. Looking forward to working with you,

The Board of Healing Hands President, Gloria Freeman, MD

She spent half the night trying to dry the letter out from the soaking it took during her disengagement from reality. When she finally realized that she had been standing in the rain reading the letter, she ran inside like a cat

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being chased by a dog. Yes, that day still brought excitement to her. It was a beautiful ending to a stormy day. Now she was walking down the corridor, taking in every tiny detail. She saw a plump, middle-aged nurse holding the hand of a little boy. The boy could not have been more than five years old. The nurse had pepper -colored hair and ringlet curls with silver streaks. She was dressed in the most crisp red pair of scrubs. Claudia was sure that that lady got them professionally cleaned. The nurse was telling the little boy that his father would be out to take him back to see his mother in about five minutes. The nurse was so tender with the little boy. She had sat down on the floor with him, and they were coloring some lonely looking flower on a piece of white paper. That's why Claudia loved this place. Healing Hands Medical Center had a reputation for being loving and caring. There, genuine love could be felt and seen by anyone who walked through the doors. It was like no other hospital she'd ever known. It was not very big, and it did not pay a lot of money, but the atmosphere was peaceful, soothing, and filled with love. Here at this hospital, the staff met before each shift and took a small moment to pray before beginning their day. They spent time with their patients. They didn't push their duties off onto other people. They each took responsibility for their share of the work. They worked together as a team. They showed love and compassion. That was the type of place Claudia wanted to be a part of. Claudia gave herself one more look over. She had chosen to wear a navy blue suit with a turquoise brooch. She thought the hint of color would show that she could be adventurous. She had decided to wear her hair down that day, but now she was reconsidering the idea. Her long, black, wavy tresses flowed beautifully, but she didn’t want them to be distracting. Maybe I should put them up, she thought to herself. How-ever, when she had reached into her purse for a couple of bobby pins she suddenly felt an intense popping sound in the left side of her head. She couldn’t really describe it, but it was enough to disturb her. She looked at her watch: 12:17 p.m. I don’t have much time. I guess my hair will have to stay down. She gathered her things together and continued to walk down the corridor. Then the popping happened again. The popping was loud, but not painful. Actually she couldn’t feel it at all. It was enough to make her feel like something was wrong, though, and she immediately whispered a prayer.

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Dear Lord: Whatever is wrong, please help the situation. If someone is considering suicide then stop them. If someone is threatening a stroke, then heal them. Please Lord, send help. In Jesus name, Amen.

Claudia didn’t know what was wrong and she didn’t even really know why she felt like she needed to pray, but it was better than doing nothing at all. When she finally found the receptionist’s desk, she heard a loud wailing sound. She saw nurses and doctors running toward the end of the hall that she had just come from. One nurse had grabbed the crash cart. Doctors and nurses both were barking orders. Claudia heard someone yell, “Clear, all Clear!”, and just like that it was over. Heads were bowed and a few people knelt with their heads bowed. Claudia had gotten close enough to realize what had happened. Right there, in the same place that she had seen him earlier, lay the little boy. His little body was limp and now turning colors. He looked peaceful, but he was so young. She asked the nurse who’d been sitting with him earlier what had happened. The nurse, whose name tag read Elnor Shaw, RN, told her that the little boy had started complaining about his head. The nurse told her that it was about 12:17 p.m. She said that she remembered the time because she had looked down at her watch in order to keep up with his complaints. The nurse told her that it all happened so suddenly. She said she remembered him saying, “Nurse Shaw, my head’s still hurting, but it’s okay, this nice man said that he would take care of me. He said that he was sent to take me home.” Then Joshua closed his eyes. The nurse was now crying in full, uncontrollable sobs. Claudia herself had noted that her own face was now wet. She didn’t even know when the tears began to flow. Then Claudia stopped breathing for about 5 seconds. Claudia exclaimed, “Oh no! Did you say 12:17 p.m.” The nurse looked puzzled and replied, “Yes dear. It was that time exactly when his complaint began. Now...if you will excuse me, I must go find his father. He will be heartbroken. His wife is here on hospice care, but he had to leave unexpectedly to pick up their little girl. Normally, Joshua would have gone with him, but today he wanted to stay here with me.” The nurse let out another sob and walked away. Claudia’s stomach had now began to hurt. Surely, the times were a coincidence. She did not even know the little boy. She had heard about other people having these types of encounters, but she had never experienced anything like this for herself.

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Claudia was staggering back towards the receptionist desk when she realized that she had lost track of time. She looked at her watch and noticed that it was now 1:07 p.m. “Oh no!” Claudia exclaimed. She was now thirty-seven minutes late for her interview. Surely, the board would understand. She immediately made herself speed up. She didn’t have time to check her make-up. She realized that she probably looked horrible. A tear-stained face and the queasiness of her stomach didn’t allow her to use her best smile, but she was trying. She reached the receptionist’s desk and gave her name. She apologized for her tardiness and made sure that the receptionist knew that she wasn’t in habit of being tardy. The receptionist gave her a bright smile and explained that her tardiness was not a problem today. She informed Claudia that she had seen her when she arrived earlier and also when she went down to see what had happened. She also told her that Dr. Gloria had been one of the people in the midst of the commotion. Claudia gasped in surprise. She hadn’t even considered that to be a possibility. The receptionist gave Claudia the option to reschedule or wait for Dr. Gloria to return. “She should be back in about an hour if you would like to wait. Howev-er, if you leave, it won’t be counted against you. We understand the effect this could have on you on the day of your interview.” Claudia agreed to wait. She didn’t want to put this off, and besides the hour would give her a chance to fix her make-up. She left the receptionist and went into the bathroom across the hall. The bathroom smelled of euca-lyptus and peppermint. An odd smell for a bathroom, but it seemed to make her senses more alert. She grabbed some paper towels, wet them, and began to wipe her face. She took off as much of the make-up as she could. Then she reapplied it. I definitely need to invest in waterproof make-up, she thought. She had never purchased any before, because it was so expensive, and she only wore make-up when the occasion called for it. Today was a day that she thought called for it, but she really didn’t feel like putting it on. She couldn’t get the little boy out of her head. Seeing him holding the nurse’s hand. Seeing them both color that lonely flower. Then hearing about the story that the little boy had told the nurse right before he passed away. It was all too much to think about. Claudia now found herself crying uncontrol-lably, and tried to regain control over her emotions. How can you be a nurse, she thought, if you can’t accept the inevitable. But this situation had been so different….

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She looked at her make-up and decided to just go without it. She cleaned her face and applied some lotion. Her eyes were now puffy and red. Her nose was red and she felt horrible. She immediately thought of the little boy's father. How will he feel when he finds out that his little boy is gone. She fell to her knees and began to cry out to God for the man to be comforted. She even prayed for the little's boy sister and mother. The nurse had said that she was on hospice care, but she hadn’t said what was wrong, or if she was conscious.

Dear Lord, I know that you are working out something on the behalf of this family. They have lost a young one today. They have lost a sweet innocent little boy. Help them to receive your comfort. Help them to receive your peace. I know they will cry, mourn, and ask why, but lead them into your peace that passes all understanding. In Jesus Name, Amen. Claudia got up off the floor and once again gathered her wits. She looked at her watch and realized that she had thirty minutes to spare. She found the cafeteria and got a cup of coffee. The cafeteria smelled like mountain-fresh coffee mixed with cinnamon. There were long green plants, mixed with deep red flowers of some sort, hanging over each table. It was absolutely wonderful. The walls of the cafeteria were pure glass and the brightness of the sun hitting her face gave her a quick boost of energy. She looked around and noticed that there weren’t a lot of people in the cafete-ria. However, sitting at a small round table was Nurse Shaw. She was holding a brown mug with both hands. The steam was rising from the cup and going directly into the nurse’s face. Claudia wondered if she should go and check on the lady, or just leave her alone. Nurse Shaw turned around at that moment, as if she could hear Claudia’s thoughts. She gave Claudia a weak smile, and nodded her head in a way to let Claudia know that she could come over.

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HOPEby Mark Walls

Hopefloats

inorout

of reachlike milkweed tufts.

It has nomind

no planfor time.

Following,our eyes

seethe invisible

breezethat promises

alland

nothingat all.

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SWEET ROMANCEby Andrea McKinnie

Every time I step out onto my front porch, the universe makes love to my soul.

The romantic wind brushes up against my skin with subtle, soft kisses.

The strong, masculine sun taunts me daily with his loving heat that washes over my body.

Some days he even allows his arms to wrap around me so tightly that I burn from his touches; then on other days, I look for him, wondering if he will visit me today and

deliver that heat, that same intensifying heat that he showered me with the day before.

The rain that falls from the heavens seduces me with its power.

Some days I can barely feel its touch, but then some days a deluge overpowers me with its strength and I have to submit to its demand.

The ground that lies before me invites me to lie down on its sweet, tender, green grass.

Its bedspread of buttercups invites me to cuddle with its fragrance that hypnotizes me, causing me to forget the reason that I opened up my front door.

The clouds flirt with me. They flirt with me in a way that makes the sun envious.

I laugh as they gallantly march in the bright blue sky.

They run to cover up the sun, so that all I can see are the white shields that they carry to magnify their importance in my life.

They provide pleasant breaks from the sun’s tormenting, yet pleasing heat, but they give me only enough pleasure to notice how much I desire them.

They leave before I can become attached to them the way I have become romantically involved with the sun.

There's more that I could say about this love, but there are some things that should remain a secret between lovers.

The universe and I share a sweet romance.

The universe makes love to my soul.

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Art Contest Honorable Mentions

“Personalities” by Casey Keymon

“Ghost Runner” by Drew Crisp

“ADHD/ADD” by Amanda Jones “Ship, Wolves, Skull”

by William Lescheck