A dream? (DeAndrea Farries)

It’s raining, and I am in the middle of it. My clothes are soaked, and my hair is sticking uncomfortably to my forehead. I stare down at my reflection in the pools of water, and the image makes me frown. I look like some sort of bum. My clothes are heavy with water, and they hang awkwardly off my frame. My baggy pants would fall down to my ankles, if I wasn’t holding them up. I should have put a belt on this morning. “Hey, hey! Boss!” I had dazed off and didn’t notice that someone was calling me until I bumped into a body. They hit the ground and I glanced down. “Oh, hey there Brice.” Brice is a scrawny little kid, who looks a lot younger than he already is. And as clumsy as he is naïve. I didn’t bump into him that hard, but he’s a featherweight. I’m surprised that a gust of wind didn’t blow him away. The boy is just as soaked as I am, though his smile counters my frown. “B-Boss-“ “Stop calling me that, kid. I have a name.” “Sorry…um, Elliot. I’ve been looking for you all day! The crew’s been wondering where you went off to last night.” He gets to his feet and tries to dust off his pants. I guess he forgot the fact that mud was wet. Instead he smears the mud making a much larger mess. He eventually gives up and I shake my head. “Go tell ‘em that I just wanted some alone time. I needed to breathe. I can’t be around you guys every fucking second of the day, kid.” Brice nodded, his hair getting in his face as he does so. “Yes ma’am... er, Elliot.” I sigh and begin to walk again, passing him. I wave back to him lazily. “Tell ‘em to stop sending you around like an errand boy. Communicators exists, they should use one.” … The rain finally calms down, and so does the hustle and bustle of the people. I make it to the other side of town, just as things began to clear up. As I walk I spot a small café and, deciding that it was best to find some shelter, headed inside. The place is small, and cramped. And it’s obvious that I wasn’t the only person who had this idea. I push past people, and awkwardly bump into furniture, until I find an empty table. Once seated my shoulders slump, I exhale audibly, and I relax. “This is better than nothing.” I close my eyes, for what seems like a second before I hear voices. They are close, and I realize that they are directed at me. “Is she asleep,” this person’s voice is soft and low. They’re probably whispering. “Looks like it,” this voice is different. Their tone has a husky edge to it, yet it sounds even. I open my eyes and sit up quickly. My vision is blurry at first, but it clears as I look up from the table. How long was I asleep? “Oh, we were too loud.” Two women stand before me. Though they aren’t much taller, It feels like they are looming over me. They are both peculiar looking people who seem out of place, while at the same time belonging. They are dressed in the same dull colors that populate the city, but the color looks as if it is more of an obligation. The tallest is thin and her limbs are a bit long and lanky, yet still athletic. I can only tell that she’s female from the soft features of her face. Her hair is styled short, and the color of sand. And her eyes are the gray of the clouds outside. Her clothing compliments her figure while at the same time disguises it. The other woman is small, yet is shapelier. She has more weight on her than her companion, but not much. Her hair is also short, and styled in a pixie cut. It is white, and I assume that it’s been dyed. She is dressed more feminine with a shirt that exposes her shoulders and has loose sleeves. The shirt is tucked into a skirt that hugs the curves of her thighs and stops above her knees- “Can we sit here?” How long had I’d been staring at them. How long have I been staring at them?

Fluorescent Adolescent

Fluorescent Adolescent

 Krysta Walker 

Down at the playground, there was this awful seven year old named Mavis. Mavis had this hobby, a dear past time of hers that entailed kicking me around the jungle gym. I remember this one time, Mavis kicked me so hard, it sent me right up the big kids slide and I couldn’t come down until Ms. Turner wobbled into the yard and got me down herself. Through all the tears and snot that seemed to be oozing from my face, I caught a glimpse of old Mavis slumped in a corner laughing till water squeezed from her squinty little eyes.

Anyway, it was around Christmas time and Mavis was in fine form. I had bruises all over my shins and things and my head was sore from where she had tried to yank one of my long red braids right off my scalp.

I was busy in my playroom at home, the snow was falling outside my window like dollops of sour cream. I was reenacting Mavis’ most recent act of terrorism with my Barbie dolls.

 Barbie marched right up to itty bitty Kelly and smacked Kelly’s lunch right out of her little doll hands. Kelly smiled blankly down at the spilled goods while Barbie scooted off to a corner to laugh and snort and live happily ever after. I opened the window and stuck Barbie in the snow, forcing her to deal with her issues.

My brother, Scott, was standing out in the blizzard, stupidly trying to light a cigarette, and the noise from the window nearly made him drop the match.

“Christ, Brenda don’t go sticking your dolls in the snow when I’m out here! Cheese and crackers I thought you was momma.” He was shaking so bad that this time he actually did drop the match along with the cigarette in the snow.

“She needs to learn a lesson! Barbie needs to learn it’s not okay to drop Kelly’s lunch, or kick her shins, or poke her with pencils, or yank her pigtails.” I rubbed my head.

He looked up at me sympathetically. “Mavis giving you trouble at school again?” I nodded.

“Well listen, Bren. Mavis is a bad kid. And you know how Santa feels about bad kids, right? So just you wait ‘til Christmas day. You’ll be wakin’ up with all kinds of goodies and all ol’ Mavis’ll find in her lumpy stocking is a big brick of coal!” I smiled. Then I sneezed, and Scott bustled me back into my room since I was letting all the heat out.

The next few weeks, when I went to school and took my beatings from Mavis, I did it with a Kelly smile on my face, picturing Mavis’ piggy face all screwed up with tears when she finds out that all her gift is good for is smoking on the fire.

Mavis took no mind, and even came up with some of her greatest tricks that winter. I was smiling when I found my books frozen under the ice in the little pond behind the school. I chuckled a little when I saw a frog hopping and twitching in my sack lunch. I even managed a feeble “Oh, Mavis,” when her oversized feet landing on my little fingers had caused me to double over in pain.

I had that smile super glued to my face all the way until when they let us out for a week before Christmas. I had the time of my life that break, playing with Scott in the snow. Getting money in the mail from my grandparents. And on Christmas day, when I saw that shiny red Radio Flyer tricycle, all I could think of was the fact that, at that exact moment, Mavis was unwrapping her coal.

Imagine how heartbroken I was when, upon my return to class, I found Mavis sporting a brand new bright pink fleece coat and shiny red boots.

“Look what Santa brought me, everyone! Look what Santa brought me!”

I was betrayed. I had trusted Santa. This man whose mantra was “be good for goodness sake”!

For goodness sake.

With a peculiar animal cry that was quite muted on account of my scarf being wrapped tightly around my mouth, I launched myself onto Mavis and began raining on her head with punches and slaps. I freed my mouth and fastened it on her cheek.

It was quite a spectacle.

When the principle asked me why I punched and bit Mavis and what did she do to me, I growled through clenched teeth; Ask Santa.

And that was my first school suspension.