By Emma Jameson
He was innocent.
Before anything can be said about this man, you must know this fact. Before I tell you about the garbage he slept on for the past few months, before I describe his cuts and bruises from unwarranted abuse, before I explain to you how it all came to this, you must know the truth.
Truth is a rare thing nowadays. It’s easily replaced by popular opinions or ideas which bully facts into quick submission.
It was an idea which put him in that cell. It was a concept which kept the lock on his cage. It was a sentence which condemned him to death.
It would take pages and pages of books and hours of debate to save him.
How frustrating honesty can be.
It wasn’t painful, it didn’t hurt, and it passed the time. Here was a convict, kissing his head to the hot metal bars of his prison. Saliva and excess fungus clung to the skin of his forehead. Everyday he was almost certain he had lost his sense of smell, but new pungent odors were constantly bickering for attention and clamoring up his nostrils, until it reached his eyes and pushed out trickles of tears.
Crying hurt his eyes. He had given up believing in emotion.
Days would pass and he would watch, lifelessly, as both men and boys were dragged past his cell, screaming and kicking, sobbing, clinging, dying. He used to weep with them. Then he laughed at them. Now he barely noticed them.
Daylight broke his heart. He stayed in the shadows, ignoring his situation and slipping silently into places that nobody else could visit.
- - -
This was never my story to tell. I’ve wandered through so many stories, telling each one as honestly and as truly as was possible. That has been my task. But to one end? To reveal the unseen aspects of the human condition? To provide a source of conversation for the readers? To document history as colorfully as I knew how?
Regardless, the evening the raven smacked against my glass windowpane was the evening I laughed for the first time in years. I had never considered myself an expert on our language or communication, but I prided myself on being an excellent storyteller. I had trained for many years and had earned the honor of performing at weekly social events in the town.
I had reached my goal. I had made something of myself.
I was supposed to be happy.
Why did I want to kill myself?
The storyteller daydreaming of a savior gone bad
A prisoner rejected by the wife he had
A wife tortured daily by a choice that wasn’t hers
A noose around her neck. A thief takes her purse.
The starving robber in the day becomes a carcass by the night.
A black raven picks at the purse; cold hands put up no fight.
The bird belongs to a man, and the man drinks another
Forgotten by his father and hated by his mother
The drunkard daydreaming of the savior gone bad.
All began their stories while quietly going mad.
There was nothing evil in their lives but that drip of foolish hope
All of it replaced by a think brown rope.
by Nathan Frost
My name is Ferdinand. I am a bull, or that’s what the farmer. In my opinion, I’m the famous explorer that found the great land of Moo. No one believes me, but there is nothing I can do to change that. The best thing I can do is keep telling my tale until I get famous. Do you think that you can make me rich and famous? Oh…you’re not rich or famous either? Bummer, how about this, I’ll tell you my story and you can tell me what you think of it? Here we go It started off as a normal day, walking through the pasture, flirting with the ladies, gorgeous cows of almost every breed—especially Lilac. She must be the Avatar of Beauty herself. Wait! Where am I? Ok I remember now, I was trotting to a nice spot to graze, and then I saw something in the distance. At first I thought it was one of those mir-a-jee things, you know the trick of the eye stuff. So I decided to wander over and investigate what it was. When I got there, I looked around and saw that there was this little path, it looked just like a road, but somehow I knew that this was different. I decided to go ahead and walk right down this road and see where it would take me. After what felt like days of walking, I found this giant city, and all the inhabitants were cows! Cows shopping, cows eating at restaurants, cows driving in cars! Cows! And by the looks of it, they had never seen an outsider before in their life. I decided that I would name the place Moo (after the sound we make, clever isn’t it?) and that they could continue living there without being disturbed. I ran home as fast as I could so I could show the other bulls and cows—especially Lilac, the city I found. When I reached home, I spouted out everything I found out and wanted to show them the path I took. They all followed me; it felt amazing to have people follow me. We got to the spot where to road was, and there was only dirt, grass, and the sky above. No road to Moo, or anywhere for that matter. They all told me I was insane and that I needed help. And the worst part was that Lilac looked very disappointed in me. Since then, I’ve been known as Fried-Brain Ferdinand for some odd reason… and Lilac won’t talk to me. But I’ve learned to get past that…One of my friends told me there are more fish in the ocean. Did you know I have never been to the ocean? Oh…what am I talking about? That’s right, I finished my story so what do you think of my exploration? Wait! Don’t leave! Hey…I’M NOT INSANE! IT REALLY HAPPENED! I SWEAR! Hmm…I guess I should stop telling people that…
by Gaston Cavanaugh
Once there was a stupid kid named Lock. He planned to go out trick or treating with his friends: Billy (the hillbilly), Lennard (the fat boy), Jill (the possible dauhter of Amy Winehouse), and Mindy (the rich brat). Lock dressed up as a undead pirate, Billy dressed up as Lady Gaga, Lennard dressed up as Eric Cartman, Jill dressed up as Hannah Montanna when she thinks shes dressed as Brittney Spears, and Mindy dressed as Neytiri from Avatar. They all met up in front the haunted house on Elm st. The first house they came up to was an underworld themed house. The owners walked up to them to give them candy. Lock, Mindy, Jill, and Lennard got candy, but Billy didn’t because he is horrified of the hidious masks. But the owners weren’t wearing costumes….the masks are actually their faces. The owners got angry that they set his Lady Gaga wig on fire. Billy ran around in circles as his friends told him to stop, drop, and roll. Taking his friends advice, Billy stop, dropped, and rolled. The sad part was that he rolled into dog poo. Humiliated, Billy ran home to his momma crying like Paris Hilton when she got arrested. Lock, Jill, Lennard, and Mindy went to a house that had a haunted house maze. They all went through the maze and Lock, Mindy, and Jill made it through. Linnard didn’t make it through because his Rosie O’ Donnel like body got stuck between one of the doors. So Lock, Mindy, and and Jill moved on to a house that seemed to be egged by some jerks. The owner blammed them for the incident and released his pipul (OJ) to kill them. Lock, Mindy managed to escape. As for Jill, she ran into a pole and OJ caught up to her. Lock and Mindy are the only ones left so they carefully walk to the next house, but they were stopped by a homeless guy. He begged for money, but Mindy said, ” Yo Momma is so ugly that shes single.” Due to her bad choice of words, the homeless guy signalled his buddies to shoot her with paint ball guns. It turned out that the homeless guy was actually her ex-boyfriend who dressed as a homeless guy to get revenge for breaking up with him. Mindy ran home screamming while stranding Lock in the middle of the street. Lock, now alone, desides to continue. As he was walking down street, Lock noticed a that theres a girl that he likes and decides to flirt with her. When Lock began to cross the street to catch up with her, he gets hit by a car. He wakes up in a hospital the next day all beat up. The docter did some tests to see if he had some braindamage. But it turns out that hes always braindead. He went home that day and said, “Theres always next year”. THE END
by Ress the Gnome-aholic
Today I rang a cow bell
Then the cows came trotting home
To the meadow where they dwell
Where you can find garden gnomes
Side note: Please do not disturb the gnomes of their peace. Don’t look for them either, they don’t appreciate stupid little humans invading their privacy.
by Gaston Cavanaugh (unedited)
Once upon a time, there was a evil, jealous queen who desired to be the most beautiful woman out of all women. She aproach her magic mirror and asks, “Mirror, mirror on the the wall, whos the fairest of them all?”
The magic mirror responds, “Snow White!” Appalled by the truth, the queen wanted to kill Snow White. Instead of taking chances of sending a sentimental assassin to kill Snow White, the Queen pushed Snow White into the well in which killing Snow White. Then the queen returns to her magic mirror and asks, “Mirror, mirror on the wall, whos the farest of them all?” The magic mirror responds, “Pamela Anderson!”
The queen was shocked that Pamela Anderson was the fairest that she travelled to Los Angeles and killed Pamela when Pamela Anderson was by drowning her at the beach. The queen returned to the magic mirror and repeats the question. The magic mirror responds, “Jessica Biel!”
Shocked again, the queen travelled to Hollywood and caused a look-a-like accident on set in which killing Jessica Biel. The queen returned to the magic mirror and repeats the question. The magic mirror responds, “Myley Cyrus!”
Even more shocked, the queen travelled to Disney Studios and sabatoge the set in which killing Myley Cyrus. The queen returns to the mirror and repeats the question. The magic mirror responds’ “Rosie O’Donnel!” “What!”, screamed the queen. “Just kidding,” the magic mirror said, “Its Angelina Jolie!”
The queen, shocked and confused, travels to Los Angeles and kills Angelina Jolie. On her way back, the queen kills Rosie O’Donnell just to be sure. When she returns, thrusterated and tired, the queen says to the magic mirror, “All right, whos the fairest?! I’m tired of finding out whos the fairest! It better be ME!” The mirror responds, “J. K. Rolling!” At that very moment, the queen hurled herself out of the window in which killing herself. After that, the magic mirror says, “If she just kill J. K. Rolling, she would be the fairest of them all!
by Alex Hale
Like his contemporary, Robert Frost, Brenton Hoovebet is known in literary circles as a ‘farmer poet’. Having grown up on a dairy farm in Chestershire, Massachusetts, he believed that cattle had no voice with which to relate their trials. Hoovebet undertook “speaking” for them as his primary objective in life. His “Lament” series is written completely in the voicing of cattle.
Lament No. 37
With an echoing thud, freedom is rescinded;
the slam of gates usher in Dark’s entrance.
Foreboding snakes through pockets in the walls
whose wood rots and splinters
like the courage of the young.
Who will spark the flare
to set wooden beams a’smolder?
Who will wield the iron that brands traitors?
The taunts of wolves are pitch black;
paired with my fear like a glove and a hand.
No longer do I know which Night is which.
Dawn, malicious dawn,
will you not hasten?
What pleasure do you take
Your light I crave,
with lusting breath I pray your entrance.
Debutante upon Night’s stage,
come forth, O Sun!
Pierce worldly care with you two-edged warmth.
Then I will be free
from my dank and desperate cell;
Released as a dove
to the pleasure of the day.
Fire flickers in front of me
The flames are coming closer
A pyre burning bright
A cadenza of sparks making their way to the sky
I reach out and try to grab one
It dances away before I can touch it
The embers are glowing with intense heat
I can feel the warmth radiating from the tongues of fire
The pillar of flames is rising and sinking
Almost like its being charmed like a snake
Soon the coals have lost their joy
The liveliness that was in them is now gone
Ash settles over the remains of the once awesome display of incandescence
The fire-pit is cold and lifeless
Waiting for fire to fill it again
And bring it back to life
I wake up
So many things to do
Which to do first
The options are too many
I’ve found the perfect idea
Sit and do nothing
Save the other stuff another day
One where I’m not busy
Or maybe the day after that
What would it mean if you had to restart the life you are living?
Everything you worked so hard to build up was torn down without a second thought?
Would it actually be terrible?
It could be a chance to change everything you once that was real;
All the mistakes of yesterday erased from time forever more.
However it could be disastrous, all the things that you worked tirelessly for would come to an end?
All the time and effort that was expanded…for nothing
However the choice is yours to make, no one can force it on you; you are the only one who can complete the transaction
So, what’s your choice?
Are you going to keep the life you are living, or start brand new?