POETRY
Aciculate
Alana Kugelman
Alana Kugelman
Excalibur, from Lady Lake
or taken from the Gordian Knot
severs vines surrounding castles
slumber-bound and danger-fraught
A finger prick on subtle knives
or vorpal blades that snicker-snack
A sword of Damocles above
oozing blue, diffusing black
Cut yourself on Occam’s Razor
bleed emotion good and dry
Drain it all, leave but one thing:
a stagnant summer’s sky
or taken from the Gordian Knot
severs vines surrounding castles
slumber-bound and danger-fraught
A finger prick on subtle knives
or vorpal blades that snicker-snack
A sword of Damocles above
oozing blue, diffusing black
Cut yourself on Occam’s Razor
bleed emotion good and dry
Drain it all, leave but one thing:
a stagnant summer’s sky
PROSE
Eight Minutes
Isabelle Seeto
Isabelle Seeto
Ten years. Ten years ago my life was ripped out from under me like a tablecloth in a magician's trick. However, unlike in those tricks where the contents of the table remain standing and the spectators cheer and clap, the contents of my life came crashing down and I found myself too dejected to pick up the shattered remains. Leaving me not only alone in the world, but broken beyond repair with a painfully present ache of nostalgia nestled deep within my chest. Even now, as I lay bleeding on the side of the tree lined coastal highway, in the pouring rain with the smoldering wreckage of my motorcycle as few meters away, the ache of despair still drowns out the protests of my body.
Summoning all my strength, I flicker my eyes down towards my wristwatch. March 12, 11:46 pm. A sense of despair washes through my veins, bursting across the carefully placed dam and floods my mind with memories from a day best forgotten. Releasing an agonized sob, I give into the onslaught of images running on a movie reel upon the backs of my eyelids.
"Wait! Colbie, wait for me," yells the six-year-old version of myself. "You'll have to run faster than that if you want to catch me little Mae," teases the seventeen year old as he pounds down the dock to our family's boat, the Daisy. I slow as I reach the boat and lvingly trail my small hand over the cluster of daisies Colbie helped me paint on the side of the boat. Suddenly, I'm swung up onto the deck giggling, and the next thing I know our family has set off on our usual weekend sail.
A roar of thunder and flash of lightning has this personalized movie twisting into a darker, much more sinister scene from that haunting day.
"Colbie! Where are you," I scream over the driving rain and whipping winds that snatch the cry from my throat. I begin to cry harder, harsh ripping noises escaping my raw throat, certain he is trapped with our parents under the capsized haul of the slowly sinking Daisy. Out of nowhere, he pops up in the front of me and grabs hold of my life vest while soothing that everything will be all right. He struggles against the snatching currents and turbulent waters, managing to swim us both right. He struggles against the snatching currents and turbulent waters, managing to swim us both to a marker buoy about seventy meters way. Exhausted, he drags me on top of its floating base and secures my life vest to one of its rusty barnacle covered posts. The following moment, a wall of water is engulfing us and I feel Colbie's drained grip slipping from my wrist. Frantically, I reach out and snatch at anything, anything at all, but it's too late. The next eight minutes that I sit bobbing in the relentless waves, screaming and crying for him to come back feel like an eternity. Even as the rescue team pulls my limp, soaking body from the sea, I can still feel the ghost of his grasp being cruelly snatched from my wrist. Eight minutes, if he could have endured eight more minutes I think as darkness overcomes my tortured mind.
Slowly, I fade out of the blackness, and with effort surpassing my current power, I pry my eyes open one last time. The blurred numbers on my watch slip into focus, 11:52 pm. A sob escapes my numbed lips as my blurred eyesight focuses on a smudge of white just past my wrist, a daisy. I zero in on the sad pitiful flower, drooping under the weight of the rain, the petals torn and mangled. Eight more minutes, eight more minutes I shudder and gasp, ifhgting not to loss sight of the flower as mty eyelids flutter uncontrollably.
At length, they slide shut on their own accord and I mumble with a stuttered shaking breath, "Wait... Colbie ... wait for... me."
Summoning all my strength, I flicker my eyes down towards my wristwatch. March 12, 11:46 pm. A sense of despair washes through my veins, bursting across the carefully placed dam and floods my mind with memories from a day best forgotten. Releasing an agonized sob, I give into the onslaught of images running on a movie reel upon the backs of my eyelids.
"Wait! Colbie, wait for me," yells the six-year-old version of myself. "You'll have to run faster than that if you want to catch me little Mae," teases the seventeen year old as he pounds down the dock to our family's boat, the Daisy. I slow as I reach the boat and lvingly trail my small hand over the cluster of daisies Colbie helped me paint on the side of the boat. Suddenly, I'm swung up onto the deck giggling, and the next thing I know our family has set off on our usual weekend sail.
A roar of thunder and flash of lightning has this personalized movie twisting into a darker, much more sinister scene from that haunting day.
"Colbie! Where are you," I scream over the driving rain and whipping winds that snatch the cry from my throat. I begin to cry harder, harsh ripping noises escaping my raw throat, certain he is trapped with our parents under the capsized haul of the slowly sinking Daisy. Out of nowhere, he pops up in the front of me and grabs hold of my life vest while soothing that everything will be all right. He struggles against the snatching currents and turbulent waters, managing to swim us both right. He struggles against the snatching currents and turbulent waters, managing to swim us both to a marker buoy about seventy meters way. Exhausted, he drags me on top of its floating base and secures my life vest to one of its rusty barnacle covered posts. The following moment, a wall of water is engulfing us and I feel Colbie's drained grip slipping from my wrist. Frantically, I reach out and snatch at anything, anything at all, but it's too late. The next eight minutes that I sit bobbing in the relentless waves, screaming and crying for him to come back feel like an eternity. Even as the rescue team pulls my limp, soaking body from the sea, I can still feel the ghost of his grasp being cruelly snatched from my wrist. Eight minutes, if he could have endured eight more minutes I think as darkness overcomes my tortured mind.
Slowly, I fade out of the blackness, and with effort surpassing my current power, I pry my eyes open one last time. The blurred numbers on my watch slip into focus, 11:52 pm. A sob escapes my numbed lips as my blurred eyesight focuses on a smudge of white just past my wrist, a daisy. I zero in on the sad pitiful flower, drooping under the weight of the rain, the petals torn and mangled. Eight more minutes, eight more minutes I shudder and gasp, ifhgting not to loss sight of the flower as mty eyelids flutter uncontrollably.
At length, they slide shut on their own accord and I mumble with a stuttered shaking breath, "Wait... Colbie ... wait for... me."
ART- COVER PHOTO
Sharon Lee
Untitled
Austin White
Austin White