“Drowning” by Hannah Himes

8 minutes. The water closes over your head. You can feel yourself slipping lower, even though your legs are still moving. Waves are crashing above you, but there’s too much water in your ears to hear them. You think maybe you read something somewhere about the average person being able to hold their breath for 3-4 minutes. You wonder if that’s how long it’s going to take. Drowning, that is.

7 minutes. Your brain is telling you to inhale but your lungs are resisting. Your ribs are starting to be consumed by an almighty burning and the water is getting darker. The level of oxygen in your blood is going down, while the level of carbon dioxide is going up. You think how strange it is that oxygen is what makes cells age, that what we need most kills us in the end.

6 minutes. Your limbs aren’t moving anymore. Your body is more concerned with trying to make your lungs fill. You think the breath-hold break point is coming soon. It must be. Your body is screaming. Every vein, every artery, every fiber, every nerve ending screaming for oxygen. Your brain keeps telling you not to breathe. You know that breathing in water is bad. That’s what your dad said when you were learning to swim, wasn’t it?

5 minutes. Your body forces you to inhale, immediately causing you to cough, which only increases the amount of water in your throat. Your larynx and vocal cords constrict to keep water out of your lungs, so it goes to your stomach. This will last about a minute, you think. Water in the stomach. Then your larynx will relax and water will flood your chest. You saw this on the news once; they call it wet drowning.

4 minutes. Things are black. You’ve passed out. Like the news said it would, your larynx relaxes in your unconscious state. Your heart is slowing down, as it tries to pump your blood. The blood is getting thicker, something with the amount of salt in the water. You read that in your 7th grade science textbook.

3 minutes. You go into cardiac arrest. Your blood stops flowing. Oxygen stops going to your brain. Your body gives up in the amount of time it takes a spaceship to lift off. 3

 

2

 

1

“Black Grass” by Rachel Babylon

Before the fall, in mid-September

I passed by the fire house and remembered the black ring of grass.

It was that patch of dead grass

Where the too hot kettle had sat

And had burned its mark into the ground beneath it.

 

We’d stood by the fire house,

Watching the kettle heat up,

Smelt the sweet fragrance of corn;

And felt the crisp autumn air around us

Which swirled the smells I can no longer stand.

 

The next few months I avoided that road.

I’d take alternative routes;

Longer trips down other streets

Just to avoid seeing the burnt circle

Amidst the healthy lawn.

 

The sight of that black grass

Brought back painful memories.

Those thoughts scorched my heart

Just as the kettle charred the grass beneath it;

Withering the innocent strands into nothing.

 

Although years have gone by,

I still hate the scent of cooking corn.

But I cannot loathe the road where singed grass once was.

The patch has healed;

It blends within the Just as the kettle charred the grass beneath it;

Withering the innocent strands into nothing.

 

Although years have gone by,

I still hate the scent of cooking corn.

But I cannot loathe the road where singed grass once was.

The patch has healed;

It blends within the other blades, other blades.

“walking toward yes” by Mike Tucker

(The author would like to acknowledge Ram Dass from whom the idea for the poem came.)

a walk in the woods

tangle of branches

surrounded by trees

each one is different

the tall straight oak

the crooked maple

the wise and prickly pine

the one with few leaves remaining

the sickly one

the robust one

the evergreen

I love each tree

I accept each one without judgement

 

a walk in the city

crowded sidewalk

cement and neon

synthetic forest

surrounded by people

each one is different

the tall one the short one

the dark one the light one

the healthy one the sick one

the rich one the poor one

the one who has not had time to find out who she is

the one who speaks a language that I can’t understand

the one who worships a different goddess

the well- dressed one with the broken heart

the one who sleeps on the park bench at night

can I love each one?

can I accept each person without judgement?

yes

yes

a resounding yes

I can love them just like I love the trees…

 

but the best part of being human is that

when the music plays

we can all dance together

and not only accept

but celebrate our differences

 

listen

listen

my whole human family

 

they’re playing our song

it sounds like love and inclusion

and the singer tells a beautiful truth

so gather here

and tell your own truth

each of us is on a journey

won’t you come and dance with us…

 

 

 

 

 

The Fabric of Our Lives by Amanda McPherson

1863 The Emancipation Proclamation

1955 I will not change my seat

1963 Thousands marching for what they believe

1920 Harlem screams “We have a new beat”

2008 Welcome President Obama

1954 Separate is not equal

1963 I have a dream

 

History is not linear.

And without diversity, there is no true history

Because history is a tangle of events

That go in and out of existence

Becoming current when in the consciousness of someone’s mind

And going extinct when the world stops thinking about them.

This begs the questions,

Is history part of yesterday, or today?

 

Diversity is key to unraveling history.

Because like Philomela,

Those who’ve lost their tongue to speak

Are left with the duty of weaving the past

The world tries to hide.

And if we hide our past,

Our victories lose significance.

 

This victory is that it is 2016

The world is not colorblind!

We see the shades and flaws and beauty of humans,

As diverse and interconnected as the shades of a sunset.

No, we are not colorblind,

But we are learning to embrace the palette of humanity with open arms.

Like Martin Luther King Jr said,

“We must live together as brothers or perish together as fools.”

And we are learning.

 

(Amanda McPherson performed this piece for HCC’s Martin Luther King Jr. Diversity Celebration on January 18, 2016.)

 

 

Faustus by Kaitlyn Teach

One time, so many years ago,

I bartered my immortal soul

To gain that which I didn’t know

And what left me only human

 

I called on Mephistopheles

To wait on me, as I should please

Until he should my soul to seize

And carry me off to Hell

 

With a pact of my own blood

I gave him what I thought I should

But never fully understood

The cost ‘til it was too late

 

For books and knowledge, childish pranks,

For wealth of knowledge, I gave no thanks

I only have a youngling’s angst

For that which I bartered away

 

Learn from me this, if nothing else

Never to shortchange yourself

For an immortal soul to sell

Is a hefty price to bargain

Cut Like Me by Amanda Hart Miller

Baby feet kick her ribs but she still has all of them not like Adam. Her organs busy knitting baby limbs, rows of stitches can’t drop a stitch they must be perfect. Back when she was a little girl her mother folded her wings bought her hoodies sewed into them extraordinary inner wing-shaped pockets tucked them neatly. As a woman-girl in a dirty bathroom she begged him to make her like everyone else, cut off my wings cut them off cut them off. She took a picture to jail them in a frame: bloody wings on grimy tile. Babygirl’s wings flutter-swim inside and grow lacy.

(Originally published in PANK)

The Town of Terror (Chapter 1) by Mickayla Taulton

She was seventeen when she moved to the new town. She wasn’t like other girls, she didn’t wear jewelry, or had her face plastered with makeup. The only makeup she wore was eyeliner, and the clothes she wore were dark-blue skinny jeans with ripped holes in them, black combat boots, a white tank top, and a red and black plaid belly shirt. She had beautiful green eyes, and thick, brunette, wavy hair which fell mid-way down her back. The cab left her out on the side of the highway.

“Why are we stopping?” she asked.

“This is as far as we go ma’am. Go down that road there, and you’ll reach the town” the cab driver said.

She thought it was very strange for the cab to just stop at the end of the road, but she got out, grabbed her luggage, and headed down the deserted road. As she walked down the lonely, dirt road for a mile, she finally reached the town. Two, huge, black, steel gates blocked her way. She stood outside of the gates looking in at what she could see of the town.

“Hello? Is anyone here?” she called.

She saw a huge lock on the gate too, which she couldn’t get open. The wind began to blow, and she caught a chill.

“Hello?” she called again, and jerked on the gates to hopefully get them open. But they wouldn’t budge.

“Oh forget it,” she said and began to walk away, when the gates slowly creaked open. She turned around to see them open.

“Well, that’s better.” She said, and walked in.

“Let’s see now, the address is 22917” she said looking at the paper.

She finally reached a house with the number 22917 on it, the house was huge and looked very old. The stairs had cracks in the boards, and the paint was peeling off. She walked up the stairs, and onto the porch of the old house. She rang the doorbell, and waited. As she waited for someone to answer, she looked around the porch and saw that everything was dead. The whole atmosphere was very cold, and unnerving. Suddenly, the door opened, and an old woman peeked around the door.

“Hello, are you my grandmother? My name’s Amber” she said to the woman.

“Amber?” the woman said.

“Yes, you see my parents died in a car accident a month ago, and the child protective services told me that you were the only family I had left. And that I was to come and stay with you.” Amber explained.

“Amber McMillen?” the woman asked.

“Yes!” Amber said.

“Oh sweetheart, yes come on inside” her grandmother said, welcoming Amber inside.

Amber walked inside the house, and couldn’t believe the size of it.

“Your house is beautiful,” she told her grandmother.

“Thank you sweetheart, so come tell me all about yourself. I’m sorry to hear about your mother and father, what a tragedy.” The grandmother said.

“Thank you, well I just turned seventeen on September 30. I love to listen to music, especially Rock n’ Roll, and I love to draw.” Amber said.

“Drawing, so you want to be an artist?” the grandmother asked.

“Well, I don’t know about that. I like to draw and paint the most.” Amber said.

“What do you like to paint and draw about?” the grandmother asked.

“Oh, you know fairytale things. Like dragons, fairies, mermaids, things like that.” She said.

“Interesting, so you like things that aren’t real huh?” the grandmother asked.

“Yeah, pretty much.” Amber said.

“Tell me, do you believe in werewolves’, zombies, vampires, all of those things?” the grandmother asked.

“Um…well I’ve never really given them a thought. Probably not, I mean c’mon there not real either, there just fairytales as well.” Amber said.

“Interesting” the grandmother said, looking at her.

After they talked about each other, the grandmother showed Amber to her room, and helped her unpack.

“Dinner is at seven.” The grandmother said, and left Amber alone in her room.

Amber decorated her room, and decided to look around the house. Seeing as how old it was, it probably had lots of history.

“Brr,” Amber said, as she shivered.

“Why is it so cold in here?” she asked herself, as she continued walking through the house. She opened doors, and then walked inside to have a look around at the rooms. When she approached the last door, which she assumed led to the attic it was locked.

“Hmm, that’s odd.” She said to herself, as she turned the doorknob.

“What are you doing?” a voice said.

Amber jumped at the sound of the voice.

“Oh, grandma it’s only you. You scared me.” Amber said.

“Did I now? Oh, well I’m sorry. But why are you searching my house?” the grandmother asked.

“I’m not, I just wanted to have a look around. Why’s the attic locked?” Amber asked.

“That’s none of your concern. Stop nosing around, and just tend to your own self.” Her grandmother said, then left.

Amber was surprised at the sudden outburst her grandmother had, so she did as she was told, and stopped searching the house. She went outside, and decided to meet the other townspeople. As she walked through the quiet town, she saw no one. No one was outside, and it looked like everything was dead. Amber continued to walk and look around the town, until she came upon a church. It was also locked, she looked at the lock and it had some kind of symbol, or engraving on it.

“Wow,” she said looking at it.

Suddenly, she felt as though someone was standing behind her, watching her, and she quickly turned around to see a guy standing behind her. He was probably 6’2, slim, pale white, and had brunette hair.

“Um…Hello” Amber said.

“What are you doing here? You shouldn’t be here” he told her.

“Why not?” she asked.

“Look, you just moved here right?” he asked.

“Uh, yeah. How did you know?” she asked.

“Word gets around in a small town,” he said.

“How? There’s no one here.” She said.

“Oh, there here. They just don’t come out in the daytime.” He said.

“Huh?” she said confused.

“Never mind, I’m Zayne” he said.

“Amber”

“So, you want me to show you around?” he asked.

“Um, yeah sure. That would be great!” she said, as she followed him.

“Um, Zayne. If you don’t mind me asking, why is every building and gate in this town locked?” she asked.

“Don’t know,” he lied.

“Hmm” Amber said, looking at him curiously.

As the days passed, Amber and Zayne got to know each other. The two discovered that they had a lot in common. They hated the town, and wanted to leave, but couldn’t because of financial issues. They loved to draw, paint, sculpt, and listen to Rock n’ Roll music. They soon began to fall for each other too, but as Amber fell for the mysterious Zayne, and he fell for her, she had no idea that he had a deep, dark, secret hidden inside of him.

One day, while they were walking together, Zayne asked Amber a very mysterious and shocking question.

“Hey, you live with your grandmother in house 22917 right?” he asked.

“Yeah, why?” Amber asked.

“Well, rumor has it, that your grandmother is actually a deranged, mental, witch doctor,” he told her.

“Ha-ha, yeah right.” Amber laughed.

Zayne gave her a serious look.

“Well, if you don’t believe that. What would you say if I told you that I was a vampire?” he asked.

“I’d still laugh, and say that you’re insane. C’mon Zayne, things like that just don’t exist. It’s all make believe, it’s all fairytales.” She told him.

“You really believe that?” he asked.

“Of course, I do. I won’t believe it until I see it, or actually experience it. Crap, it’s almost seven. I gotta go.” She said as she looked at her watch, and began to leave.

“Amber!” he called.

She stopped, and turned around to look at him.

“Meet me tonight at the church,” he told her.

“Why?” she asked.

“Trust me, just meet me tonight at nine.” He said, and left.

That night Amber snuck out of the house, and went to the church. She saw that it was still locked, then turned around to see Zayne standing behind her.

“Ready to believe?” he asked.

“Huh?” she said.

The clouds moved across the moon, and Zayne covered his face up with his hood.

“Don’t be afraid,” he told her, and then looked up at her.

Amber was in a state of shock, and could not believe what she was seeing.

Zayne was still pale white, but now had blood red glowing eyes, and fangs. He was an actual vampire.

“Oh, my, god” she said, backing away from him.

“Amber, it’s me” he said, moving toward her.

“No! No, get away from me!” she said, and began to run, but he grabbed her arm, and pulled her close to him.

“No!” she screamed.

“Quiet” he told her, as he covered her mouth with his hand.

“You said you didn’t believe in fairytales, well do you believe in them now?” he asked.

Amber was shaking like a leaf in his arms, and just kept quiet, even when he released his hand from her mouth.

“Amber talk to me, you can’t stay mad at me forever,” he said.

“Fine Zayne, yes I believe you okay! You’re a vampire, and vampires exist okay?” Amber said, aggravated and scared.

“Look, I’m sorry I had to show you what I really am, but I had too” he told her.

“Why?” she asked.

“Because, on October 31, you’re going to become one of us as well.” He told her.

“One of us? Us who? There’s no one else in this stupid town!” Amber said.

“Oh yeah, look!” Zayne said, as he turned Amber around and showed her what happened at night.

What Amber saw she couldn’t believe as well, people everywhere in the town were coming out of their houses, and they were all some kind of mythical creature. Vampires, werewolves, witches, mummies, etc. She couldn’t believe that this was all real.

“Is this real?” she asked.

“Yes, now you know why no one is outside in the daytime. We all come out at night.” Zayne said.

“But, you were out in the daylight, and you’re a vampire?” Amber said.

“Yeah, but I’m not like the other vampires. I can come out in the daylight, and at night. See my mother’s a witch, so she gave me the power to walk outside.”

“And your father’s a vampire, right?” Amber asked.

“Yeah,” Zayne agreed.

“I still don’t understand how all of this is real. And what do you mean by I’m going to turn into something?” she asked.

“Because, your grandmother is the cause for all of us being these creatures. We’ve tried to destroy her, but we have all failed. And every human being that arrives here, soon becomes some kind of creature. And I know that you will turn into something as well, seeing as how you’re her granddaughter. And it may be sooner than you think.” He said, as his fangs got closer to her neck.

“No! You’re wrong,” she said as she shrugged him off of her.

“I will never become one of you. Ever!” she told him.

“Oh yeah?” Zayne said, and sank his fangs into her neck.

“Ah!” Amber screamed, as she woke up. She looked around to see that she was back in her grandmother’s house, and safely in her bed. She was covered in sweat from the nightmare she thought she had, and was shivering from it being so cold in the house. She touched her neck, and felt nothing. No bite marks, or pain. Was it all a dream? Was it all in her head? Or did it all really happen?

 

The Creeper by Mickayla Taulton

Where, where does it come from?

Where does it stay?

Where does it hide?

When it goes away.

Every twenty-three years,

On the twenty third day,

It gets to come out, it gets to eat,

It gets to hunt, it gets to feast.

It walks, it runs, it hops,

It even eats tongues from the mouths of cops.

It sniffs out the people,

That it wants something from.

It is very particular leaving not a crumb.

It fly’s, it drives, it lives in the skies.

It wears a wide brimmed hat,

Clothes and cape all in black.

It is all a perfect disguise,

For such a creature so wise.

No matter how many times,

People have tried,

It will lay on the road, and it will never die

Is it from some other world?

With two faces that fold in on each other,

Each just as terrifying,

With teeth to make one shudder.

It’s a cross between an upright walking reptile,

Absolutely hideous when it tries to smile.

With a hulk like size,

And fur with a tail.

With feet and hands sharp as nails,

So powerful they are able,

To dismember and disable.

Everything on this creature,

So terrifying, it’s surely from Hell.

How could this thing be anything?

But from where demons dwell.

From Birth by Amanda McPherson

We are the sinners who are born with sin
And our very first sin is the act of being born itself.
We come from the womb
Already cloaked in the smell of dingy bars,
Our flesh already bearing a sinners mark.
Psalms 58:3 says
“The wicked are estranged from the womb;
These who speak lies go astray from birth.”
We never had a path to stray from.
We are born knowing that no one has paved the way for us,
And we must tear through this world making our own sidewalks.
Sidewalks that lead us cloudy rooms,
A haze covering forgetful touches
Because the people touching forget we’re people too.
And we forget we’re people.
We’d rather be that lamp,
A couch,
Anything is easier than being human.
But out sinning tongues are never quite silent,
We never quite accept our defeat.
We gather as a family
So we can read bad poetry,
And listen to sad stories,
And drink way too much coffee
Because out circadian cycles have never been quite right.
Together we share the same bruises that the earth has given us,
It has always been our birthright to bear them.
We are an honorable group of misfits,
Toasting our victories with coffee cups full of liquor
And mourning our losses in exactly the same way.
We take society’s silver spoons
And heat them for an escape,
Then morph them into swords to use
When fighting the war against war
Because we have tasted the bitterness of injustice,
Taken a bite of the forbidden fruit.
And we see that there’s more to living than a heartbeat,
And so we spend the rest of our lives chasing life.
Chasing a life that a sinner was never supposed to have
But what these sinners are choosing to want.
And we as a group with nothing to lose,
Can take the world in our shaking hands.