Monday, March 30, 2020

Nude

Fiction by Ashley Nicole Doerges


Honorable Mention for College Fiction - 2019 Met Awards

She picked the rosy red lipstick and then decided on the peachy nude instead. She grabbed the expensive lingerie from the pink striped bag and squeezed it on. She knew to wear this was truly only for the eyes before hitting the floor. It had only been a few hours since she had left his house covered in love when she had the idea. She spent the time she had to get ready perfecting her beauty for him. She wanted her hair to be nice even though she planned to be mostly in bed. She found a long thin cardigan that would wrap her surprise and completed her look with painful heels. She smiled at herself in the oval mirror before closing the door behind her as she went on her way.

Pulling into the driveway, the lights were all out and the grass was wet. Remembering she had perfume in her purse she searched for the purple bottle and then spritzed Love Spell on her neck and wrists before getting out of the car. She thought about how wild she was considering she never dared to do something like this before. Heading quietly into the house she left the jacket on the counter with her heels having decided the heels were too painful. She was already starting to turn slightly red in the face but excitedly walked through the dark of the home once hers. Suddenly, a woman’s bitter voice fired from the end of the dark hallway. Confusion rapidly pulsed through her mind and realization squeezed violently in her chest. She stood dripping in betrayal and then choked on her breath turning to leave. The sour woman was wearing closely as much as her in comparison to the sheer lingerie. The woman blared for an explanation as she darted through the darkness of the hallway. Without much thought, she decided it didn’t matter to expose the truth. Then he came down the hallway; she tried again to escape moving to leave. “Honey, she does stupid things like this trying to lure me; don’t be mad I would never do anything to hurt you,” he said to his sweet tarte.  She could feel her heartbreaking into jagged shaped middle fingers. Her body wanted to vomit profanities and lash out what he deserved. With a soft voice, “You don’t understand. You can’t come here dressed like that and throw yourself at me. Why do you have to be crazy!?” he said. With apology flickering in his eyes he looked to his sugary candy standing with triumph by the door and for a moment it was quiet.

Her mind circled with anger like sharks in this bloody situation, wanting to attack by telling him how stupid she felt for forgetting the past. She wanted to predict that he would always regret this moment. Her mind incinerated painfully through the things she wanted to say and do in that moment of silence. She decided it didn’t matter to anyone in that room. She smiled, shook her head and said, “Goodbye, you Fuckwit.”

About the Author

I am Ashley Douglas; I’ve trekked a long road at Cerro Coso taking only a few classes at a time being a full-time mom. I'm nearing my graduation and look forward to the next steppingstone. My piece is about a woman realizing she is betrayed by her significant other and coping with how to handle the situation.

Monday, March 23, 2020

To Sweetly Drown

Fiction by Crystal Schneider


Honorable Mention for College Fiction - 2019 Met Awards

Deeper and deeper he fell, yet it did not feel as though he was falling but instead drifting, drifting the way a golden leaf would glide on the fall winds. There is no control, no resistance he could muster. Like a leaf he was carried with no will of his own to stop this decent. Bubbles travel past him, up and up to the surface tickling and caressing his skin as they go, gathering like little moths to the light above that grew smaller and duller the longer he fell.

Was he dying?

Was this death?

He knows he should have been afraid; he knew as those precious bubbles escape between his lips that his time is dwindling. He had been a fighter at one point in his life, or so he would like to believe. He had been a man who survived twenty years in rat infested streets where a clever tongue and fast reflexes where more useful tools then pen and paper. He was a man who had survived seven years more on ships that rocked on tempest waves, with sails that bore black flags decorated with skulls and bones. He jumped onto decks burning with fire and fought men in red coats. He plundered riches meant for other men, men not capable or willing to fight to protect what was theirs.

He fought.

He survived.

Yet now when he should have fought his hardest, kicked and stretched out his arms to the surface that moved further and further way-- he could not. Not when, even in the distorted world that weakened his senses, he could hear the sweet humming melody that sunk its tune deep into his mind. He felt his body relax and betray him in its stupor.

The melody echoed in its distortion within the water and yet lost none of its honeysuckle like sound. With the wordless song came with movement in the darkened water, colors of hair he had only seen from the fairest of ladies drew his eyes away from the fading surface. From chestnut browns to marrown reds hair floated alop the heads of the creatures that bore human faces, each convaid lovely and fresh youthful smiles.

They circled around him, two then three, then four. Like dancers their fish like tails moved their bodies through the water in graceful motions alluring and deceptively sweet. Had they been sharks perhaps the fear of being eaten would have shaken him from his state yet, despite the predator eyes that watched him, inching closer and closer every time they made a circle around the descending man he did not feel his heart race nor his mind stirr from its clouded state.

It was not until he felt the pain burn in his chest and the bubbles that slipped from his lips stop did the graceful round movements of the creatures change. Jagged and fast in their motion they launched themselves towards him, teeth sharp and bard with claw like fingers steached. The closest with her onyx hair and stretched out her arm tearing through the water with no resistance slowing down her attack.

Yet the attack never met its attended target, instead the song’s melody fell away and so with it some of the fog that had covered his mind. Bursts of bubbles exploded around the area, blocking his view, yet he knew enough, even without his eyes, a fight was happening. From the scratches and hisses that echoed in their unhuman distorment the color of red burst and mixed with the curtain of bubbles. None of this mattered. Awakened from the spell, the man was no longer paid mind to the memory of the  melody and the lovely faces of women and their underworldly tails. None of that mattered to him. His own hands as if on instinct alone reached too his throat gripping at the burning crushing feeling that pulsed through his body.

He kicked at the waters, pushed at the invisible force that pulled him down. He was not going to die, he would fight. Posiden could have his graveyard of ships and other sailors but the ill tempered god of waves would not have him.

Yet the underwater world was deep and he had sunk so far into its embrace the will to fight dwindled.

A tug came to his leg and downward, this time with measured force, he was pulled away from the surface. Golden curls drifted before his face while his eyes fell on the face of the blue eyed woman, with her shimmering scales of blue and green that lined her jaw and cheeks, deep cuts of fresh wounds still bright red and bleeding. For a moment, in the hypnotic sight of the creature, the pain in his chest seemed to dull yet with it his vision began to tunnel blocking out the world around the femanin creature in a dark haze. It was only when the softness of lips touched his own did he feel his lungs expand and fill with the precious air that he had thought only the surface above the water could offer.

Latching onto the creature, to the woman, he took in all the air she offered him. When their lips finally broke so too did the water from around his head. Fresh air and heat from the sun's light fell on his drenched head while he took in as much air as his burning lungs would allow.

“Man overboard!” the call of a stranger fell through his ears ringing out over the sound of the turning waves. In a dull haze the man thought not about those on the ship that pulled him from the ocean's embrace nor gave any care to the blanket that was set on his shoulder nor did he pay any attention to the questions that were hurled at him from the various old sea men. His attention and his mind was lost, however, lost in the dark ways of the ocean and its melody.

About the Author


I am a single mother going to school at Cerro Coso Community college in Lake Isabella. I thoroughly enjoy writing and the creative process that goes into it. Fantasy is one of my favorite genres.  






Monday, March 16, 2020

When I Tell You

Poetry by Abigail Voigt


Honorable Mention for College Poetry - 2019 Met Awards

When I tell you “I love you,” it won’t sound like “I love you.”

When I tell you “I love you,” it will be in a glance I give you to make sure you are okay, only to find that you’ve fallen asleep next to me and “I love you” will be the gentle smile on my face because honestly I’m just thankful you can sleep.

When I tell you “I love you,” it will sound very similar to “did you eat?” and it will annoy you continuously for the next hour until you have succeeded to eat something, anything.

When I tell you “I love you,” it will be in the footsteps that follow you out of the slammed door and in the hands that I place on your back as I make sure you know you are wanted.

When I tell you “I love you,” it will look like fidgety hands and shifty eyes as I tell you the honest, uncomfortable truth that you have tried to ignore for so long.

“I love you” will sound like jokes on a bad day and stupid laughter at 5am after a long night of keeping you away from your thoughts.

It will look like a messed-up schedule. “I love you” will make me an hour late just so that you can tell me your fears and I can tell them to go away.

“I love you” will mess me up. It will leave me with tired eyes, annoyed friends, hurt feelings, and a bad reputation with time.

But, friend, you are worth that. You are worth everything.

Please though,

I beg that you tell me “I love you” too.


Monday, March 09, 2020

Blue Nail Polish

Fiction by Amy Cosner

Honorable Mention for College Fiction - 2019 Met Awards

The sky is gray above me. The lake is a mirror, reflecting the trees and mountains all around. There is a chill in the air, so I pull the wool blanket more tightly around myself. The woods are silent, as if all it’s inhabitants are waiting for the day to begin. It amazes me. That the sun still rises in the east. That the earth still turns on its axis. That life goes on for everyone else. My chest burns. My head aches. My heart throbs. I stare down at my bare feet, at the chipping blue nail polish. The knot in my throat won’t let up; I want to cry, yell, sob, but I'm too tired. Too drained to even stand. I need to sleep, but I won't. I wouldn't last night and I won't now. My sleep is tormented with nightmares and her face. Dreams of her voice and when I reach out for her, she vanishes and I wake more worn out than ever. Everyone is so worried. Avery begs me to sleep, pleads for me to eat. She doesn't understand that I can't. But how could she?
 

She means well. This trip was her suggestion. The woods have always cheered me before. I would eagerly anticipate our camping trips. Long for the smell of the trees and the soft dirt beneath my feet. We spent hours on the lake just the two of us. Gossiping about boys and giggling over the stupidest little things. This was my happy place, where I felt safe and free. I wish I could feel that way again. But I won’t. There are too many memories here. Too many campfires and too many hikes. Too many deer sightings and far too many nights spent stargazing.

The funeral was a week ago. I sat in a pew, wearing a black dress and a pearl necklace that she left behind. My father sat beside me. Tall and ridged. His knuckles white from clutching the bible in his hands. The service ended and everyone offered their condolences. I didn't hear a word. We went to the cemetery and I watched as the woman who sang me lullabies and taught me to bake cookies was lowered six feet underground. I dropped dirt into her grave. I broke.


She was in a car accident. The other driver was on his cell phone. There was a collision. She was alive and then she just, wasn't.


Everything happens for a reason. That's what everyone keeps saying, but I don't I buy it. What reason could there be that my mom isn't here with me anymore? That she's going to miss my graduation? That she won't be at my wedding? That she'll never meet her grandchildren? The world is sick, and cruel. That's the only explanation that makes sense. It still doesn’t.


We sat on my floor that last night, on the green shag carpet that I was always begging to get rid of. She sat cross-legged, with her hair up in a bun on top of her head and a bottle of blue nail polish in her hands because “Everyone wears red nail polish” and I wasn’t everyone. She gushed about how grown up I looked in my dress and reminisced about changing my diapers. I rolled my eyes.


Avery’s mom picked me up in her SUV and I waved, calling a quick half-hearted, ‘I love you’ over my shoulder. If only I could go back. I would hug her so tight, the way I used to as a kid and never let go. She would have never gotten into the car.


If I had agreed to spend the night with Avery, she would have never had to pick me up. I wouldn’t have stood outside the school for an hour, furious that she wasn’t there yet. I would have never gotten the phone call that brought me to my knees, vomiting onto the asphalt. 
I never got to say goodbye.


Now I breathe in the scent of pine needles and the coming rain. I hear his footsteps behind me and his arm brushes mine as he settles onto the dirt next to me.


“It’s beautiful.” He states simply, and it is. The sun has begun to peak over the crest of the mountains. The clouds begin to part, reveling the pink and orange flames illuminating the sky.


My father isn’t the sentimental type, but he isn’t the stony, distant type either. He’s gentle and kind, and while his I-love-you’s are few and far between, they are warm and meaningful, like the hot chocolate my mother made every Christmas Eve. I don’t expect an elaborate speech or words of comfort. That’s not Dad’s way and he knows that it wouldn’t help me. Instead, he wraps an arm around me and I curl into him, resting my head on his shoulder. Here we sit, silently, tears dripping down my cheek, until the light streams through the branches above us. I’m struck again by the stillness of it all. The quiet serenity of the morning.


“You know.” my father says, finally breaking the silence, “She wouldn’t want this.”


I stare straight ahead at the ripples in the river.


“Your mom.” he explained, his voice thick and eyes rimmed with red. “She would want us to keep living.”


I gulp back a sob.


The image won’t leave my mind. Her still white hands folded carefully on her stomach. Blue nail polish on her cold fingers.


My dad’s right. It would break her heart to see me this way, this broken. But I can’t let go. I never will. I don’t want to. Maybe it won’t hurt so badly someday, but do I even want relief? Do I want this excruciating pain to end? It wouldn’t be fair to her. So here I'll stay, tear streaked and shattered, craving the sound of her laughter.


About the Author

I'm currently in the process of getting my English degree. I've always loved to read and always wanted to write, but I haven't had the courage to share my personal thoughts and fears in my work until now. 

Monday, March 02, 2020

Stone Setter

Poem by Jessa Roberts

Honorable Mention for College Poetry - 2019 Met Awards

They glitter,
Like crushed up bits of diamonds,
Scattered across the black linen bedsheets of the sky,
You are the setter who placed each one,
Every glittering stone,
Is Yours

Gently fluttering leaves,
Mountainsides, valleys, lakeshores,
You are the painter who colors them with the seasons,
At Your touch the aspens blush,
Their snow twisted limbs they bow,

White topped waves,
Prostrate themselves upon the shore,
At Your feet,
Regal sea foamed crests,
They offer,
As a path for Your feet,

We see evidence of You everywhere,
You,
The stone setter who trimmed the night skies,
Above my head,
You,
Who spared some of Your stardust,
To leave in his eyes,
As they twinkle at me in the dark,
Enjoying Your work together