More Excerpts

The road was endless, lined with trees and flowers with bright petals. I remember the days I walked with my mother down that road. Hand in hand we would walk, laughing and reminiscing. We were happy. She was happy. Those were the happy days. There was love. She was able to forget the bad times. Many weeks have passed since we last walked. I try to remember, but all I think about now is that awful sight of her. She was naked, submerged in water. Blood was streaming through the water. It was pink and scary. There was dark red blood all over the tiles and the bathtub. It was an awful sight. And I saw the blade that caused this damage; the blade that sliced through her veins on her wrist, the blade that ended her life of apparently false happiness. So, I guess she was just pretending. I guess there really was no love. I guess her heart just couldn't pretend anymore, and she ended it. I decided to take a walk today, alone. The trees were bare and there were no flowers. The brown leaves and wilted petals were swirling in circles on the street. This was truly the end.

-Kady Zone


My mother had snail shells for eyes; wet, brown, always spiraling inward and away, out and above me, never quite at me. Safely enclosed in the warm water, every night she would slay the dragon that haunted us both. Strawberry winespilled from his mouth would stream down her arms and legs. In the morning, I would lovingly rub salt into her wounds, replacing an unseen pain with a more tractable one. A lie, of course; it was all always a lie. Just the stone in her gut that she couldn't cut out. I hid beneath the fumes of the flowery-scented bath salts while she went off and slew dragons in the company of saints and emperors.

-April French


Photograph

A young girl,
On a pink chair,
With an awkward thought,
Holding a glass lantern,
Smoking an old cigarette.

-Julia Walker


Her bones burned underneath her skin. She wanted nothing more than to open herself up and let the cool water and the soft caress of the night breeze ease the searing heat. Her mind was the furnace fueling the fusion.
      Behind closed eyes, champagne glasses clinked, the liquid inside was no longer pink but blood red. The exquisitely dressed yet, faceless mass of people were laughing. And as they laughed their voices grew higher and higher. They climbed to a frenzied pitch. No longer laughter but wild dogs baying at the moon. Barking and baying, they were animals in a cage. Teeth bared, they tore expensive garments to worthless shreds and naked, they postured and bristled. Pure id.
      Her eyes popped open and her hand shot toward the faucet. She would freeze this image out of her mind. Icy water ran down her bare shoulders. Once and for all she would put out this fire. But someone had already added coal to the furnace. As the fire burned hotter, she saw his lips, the sneer of a man in control. Muscles bulged out of his once baby smooth chipmink cheeks. "C'mon...I dare you!!" Not a dare really...a command. Already her throat was thickening. Her lips tightened as she felt her mouth opening. His laugh was both disgusting and digusted. And that night, as she lifted her head from the toilet she was vomiting in, she found her parents standing in the doorway, bits of dog fur and saliva hanging from their shredded clothing. They were wondering what was wrong with her.

Courtney Brooks


On a warm spring night when white blossoms crowded the trees my Mother and Father left the party to walk home. A stranger emerged from the darkness and with his shining blade stole my Father's life. Later, looking back, my Mother reaches for me in her anguish trying to make me understand and seeking comfort in all she has left of him. His hair, his eyes... his memory in me. I'm caged, trapped and confused. All that I have is sweetness in the memory of my Father; images like fresh fruit, peaches and strawberries. My warm spring-like memories contrast my Mother's sharp and shining anger.

-Stephanie Virtue