PoetryHopscotch ...............................................1

by Ha Nguyen, Biloxi, MSThe Wooded Walk Before the Storm ......2

by Chris Parker, Lawrence, KSThe Snake ..............................................2

by Ben Lane, Jackson, MSThe Biggest Nothing ...............................3

by Amanda Blakely, Greenwood, MSSummer..................................................5

by Max Xanders, Springfield, ILThe Feeling.............................................6

by Kitty Holland, Diamondhead, MSLove Lost ................................................6

by Jeromy Ervin, Columbus, MSExistence Matters, Too............................7

by Keri Maher, Stuttgart, GermanyMove Over, Death ..................................8

by Stewart Fakess, Winter Park, FLYoung Man with Dreams .......................9

by Emmett Manning, Jackson, MSCoffee Break.........................................10

by Cindy Tran, Biloxi, MSThe River .............................................11

by Matthew Nicholas, Jackson, MSGrow Up Peter Pan ..............................12

by Mary Ivon Montgomery, Shreveport, LAThe Four ..............................................13

by Evan Fowler, Alpharetta, GAThe Captain of Death ..........................14

by Mandy McCalla, Fayetteville, GAHolding Hands.....................................15

by Louisa Mashburn, Atlanta, GAGod’s Eye Piece.....................................15

by Hayden Lewis, St. Louis, MOHaiku Poems ........................................16

by Chris Green, Virginia Beach, VA

A Perfect Love ......................................17by Taylor Carnes, Memphis, TN

Will You be My Muse?..........................19by Darrell Maurice Hubbard, Grenada, MS

Untitled Haikus ...................................20by Cecil Ward, Virginia Beach, VA

The Price of Freedom ...........................39by Amanda Blakely, Greenwood, MS

Prayer...................................................39by Ann-Layton Chandler, Jackson, MS

A River As It Flows...............................40by Trent Nichols, Batesville, MS

ProseSoftball Banquet, 2011 ..........................4

by Londen Ladner, Pearl, MSGrandma’s Story Accompanying...........18Me to Grow Up

by Zhengxuan Du, Shanghi, ChinaLife In The Land.............................21-22

by Kay Kay DeRossette, Vicksburg, MSThe Worst Memory .........................23-25

by Glenna Lusk, Memphis, TNThe Things I Carry ..............................26

by Chelsea Johnson, Biloxi, MSSlushies on a Hot Night and ...........27-28Comin’ to Jesus

by Hunter Spragins, Oxford, MSThe Toad and the Squirrel ..............29-30

by Mady-Kate Cunningham, Franklin, TN“Women…” .........................................33

by Bianca Smith, Tylertown, MSTarget ...................................................34

by Caitlin Miclot, Austin, TXHelp Wanted ...................................35-36

by Callie Daniels, Jackson, MSA Child’s Paradise...........................37-38

by Kelsey Faulkner, Caruthersville, MO

Play“Lipton” One act play.....................31-32

by Patrick Haadsma, Tupelo, MS

ArtKaitlin Ba c h m e ye r, Huntsville, AL.....Cover,

ii, 3, 4, 6, 8, 9, 13, 17, 40Chelsea Dunnam, Falkner, MS .................1Glenna Lusk, Memphis, TN........2, 12, 16,

18, 33, 37Steven Anderson, Gallatin, TN ..........5, 19,

24, 26, 28, 32, 34, 36, 38William Strouth, St. Louis, MO .........7, 39Kimberly Russell, Brandon, MS........10, 22Hunter Spragins, Oxford, MS.................11Jessica Foshee, Byhalia, MS...............15, 20Evan Fowler, Alpharetta, GA...................30

Volunteer ReadersLinda Alexander, Griff Brownlee, Betty Crane,Chip Dunkin, Shanna Flaschka, Anya Groner,Ashley Gu t i e r rez Si l e r, George Kehoe, Amy Ma rk ,Josh Mayo, Heather Miles, Alice Myatt, ChrisO’Brien, Kelli O’Brien, Hope Owens-Wilson,Chad Russell, Laura Schrock

Editor/Art Director, Milly WestStudent Editor, Heather Miles, Irvine, CAGraphic Designer, Larry AgostinelliWeb Designer, Deborah Freeland

Venture Online Table of Contents Volume 4 - Spring 2011

i

We would like to thank the Center forWriting and Rhetoric for their help in

funding this project.

ii

From the Editor

Dear Readers, He re we are with Volume 4 of Ve n t u re On l i n e. From re f l e c t i vepoetry to touching memories told in short stories, we have agreat selection of work. I feel sure you will be impressed andentertained by what lies before you. Highlighted with somew o n d e rful art, there are some ve ry personal and va l u a b l elessons in these pages. College students don’t have muchtime for extra writing, but these young students have gonebeyond what is required in the classroom to bring us intotheir worlds.

I want to thank our partners at The Division of Outreach atOle Miss and in particular our designer Larry Agostinelli.Larry’s vision and dedication to the project continue toimpress me and everyone who sees his brilliant work.

I also thank my friend DeborahFreeland, the chief designer atOutreach who continues toencourage and inspire me eachsemester as I work on gettingVenture ready for publication.When the students cometogether to read at our “LaunchParty,” Deborah films themand later puts that video onYouTube. Through her extraeffort, students are able to sendthe links to the magazine andthe video of the readings toanyone anywhere!

T h e re are some more people to thank–especially my colleaguesat The Center for Writing and Rhetoric who agreed to bereaders or judges in the selection process. They too take timefrom their busy lives to read selections and “vote” on eachsubmission for inclusion in the magazine; and I thank myboss at CWR, Dr. Bob Cummings who has supported thisproject from the first issue forward and Glenn Schove, ouradministrative coordinator, who helps make sure everythingfalls into place.

This year I have been blessed with a re m a rkable student editor,Heather Miles. Heather is a former student of mine, andhaving been published with her own work last year, she hasreturned as a reader and my “go-to” person for final edits.

Two awards are given each semester by The Mystic Krewe ofMykarma, a cultural organization dedicated to the support ofgender freedom and cre a t i ve endeavors in the UM community.I want to acknowledge Amy Mark and other members ofMKM for their generous support of Venture writers.

Many thanks to the students who submitted work; acceptedor not, we appreciate your gifts and are lucky to have you asa part of the creative Ole Miss community.

Sincerely,Milly West, editor

Venture Online can be found on the English, CWR, andOutreach sites at Ole Miss.http://issuu.com/literary_visual_art/docs/venture_vol1http://issuu.com/literary_visual_art/docs/venture_vol2http://issuu.com/literary_visual_art/docs/venture_vol3http://issuu.com/literary_visual_art/docs/venture_vol4Kaitlin Bachmeyer, Strings

Chelsea Dunnam, Mask1

Hopscotch byHa Nguyen ~ Biloxi, MS

Chalks and pebbles all along the drivewayIs what I remember of my childhood hobby.

Trying to draw equal squares to my dismayWas the hardest job of the dayThen calling my siblings to come playto which they came with no delay

Hearing the pebble as it lands on the groundMy face contorted with a frownYearning and waiting with concernSeems forever that it is going to be my turn

Holding the pebble in my handThrowing and wondering where it will landBouncing and stopping on the number nineFinally this will be all mine

Hopping all the way to tenSoon my turn will come to an endI will have to stand at the back of the lineand wait again for a very long time

Glenna Lusk, Jump 2

The Wooded Walk Before the Storm byChris Parker ~ Lawrence, Kansas

As I walk the path through the wood,I come across a canvassing hood,Draping over so tall and thick,I need to be quickOr sight will come from a wick.

Falling from the sky,With thunder in the distance,The lightning crackles.

The Snake byBen Lane ~ Jackson, MS

The slippery snake slides across the asphalt streetOnly to find it a hot seat of heatThe snake slithers to the other sideWhat he finds there is no surpriseThe grass is crisp and tallDisguise is no problem at allThe bugs and the birds are racked with fearAs they know the snake is the king hereThe snake makes no enemiesExcept for the mice and the occasional cheese

Kaitlin Bachmeyer, Everything and Nothing3

The Biggest Nothing byAmanda Blakely ~ Greenwood, MS

Once there was something hereSomething I held close and dearNot mind, not heart, but soul had foundThat to which it wished be boundMind says “Gone! Forevermore”Heart says “Nothing’s behind that door”Soul screams “No! I felt it with me”But with heart and mind the eyes agree

Where there is a holeThere was a thing

Heart, mind and eyes all turn away“It was nothing” is what they sayBut deep within, soul still can feelAnd firmly insists that it was real

Mind tries hardest to forgetEyes say that they haven’t seen it yetHeart scoffs “There is no such thing”Soul replies “It is the biggest nothingThe biggest nothing I’ve ever felt”And soul cries Over the loss it’s been dealt

4

Softball Banquet, 2011 byLonden Ladner ~ Pearl, MS

We all know this girl. She tells me was not necessarilyplanned. Her parents met at the University of SouthernMississippi. Her mom, unfortunately, was forced to drop outof college in order to raise her baby girl. The journey aheadwould not be easy.

This girl was born in Hattiesburg, but she was raisedtwo hours north in Pearl. She played in her first game at thesmall age of five. Soccer, basketball, and tee-ball became apart of her daily life. She proved to be different from mostsouthern girls, though. Instead of playing softball, she decid-ed to join the guys on the baseball field up until the age ofthirteen.

Baseball made her tough and increased her skills sogreatly that she was able to make the varsity softball team asa seventh grader. This proved too good to be true. Two we e k sinto practice, she broke her shoulder throwing and wasforced to sit out the entire season. She thought she wouldnever see the field again. Through the broken shoulder, shelearned that softball had always been a safe haven for her.Now she worried that she would not be able to play thegame she loved.

Through her hard work and long hours of practice andconditioning, she was able to bounce back from the injuryand was named All-State First Team for four years, MissSoftball, and Gatorade Player of the Year. She was even ableto receive a softball scholarship to the University ofMississippi. Softball meant everything to her, but this was allabout to be tested.

Tow a rds the end of her senior year in high school, her dad’salcoholism started to rapidly worsen causing her parents’

marriage to fall apart. She shut herself off from the world,and she too started to develop a problem with alcohol. Sheblamed herself for the failed marriage and continued todrink her sorrows away throughout the fall of her freshmanyear at Ole Miss. Little did she know that one mistakewould almost ruin her life.

It was a typical Friday night involving alcohol, stupidity,and carelessness. Everything finally caught up with her. Shewas found with alcohol in her dorm and was “documented”by the housing department. The incident resulted in suspen-sion from the softball team, and mandatory communityservice, counseling, and the completion of the J.A.D.E.-Judicial Alcohol and Drug Education program. She hadofficially crossed the line.

She is the type of person that hates disappointing people.From this incident, she managed to disappoint her family,coaches, teammates, friends, and her school. This was unac-ceptable for her, so she decided to make a change for herself.She made a ve ry tough decision—softball over alcohol.

Through counseling and constant support from hercommunity, she was able to get sober and reclaim her soul.Though the journey is not always easy, taking her sobrietyone day at a time has allowed this young lady to stay strongand reconnect with the one love of her life. Now that shehas her act together, we expect nothing but good things thissoftball season and in life for this talented freshman and therecipient of the 2011 Spirit Award, Londen Ladner.

This work was edited by student editor, Heather Miles, whose idea itwas to turn Londen’s memoir into a softball banquet speech. –mw, editor

Steven Anderson, Myself5

Summer byMax Xanders ~ Springfield, Illinois

Green grass, the trees are in bloom, the wind pushes my hair back

As I sail across the lake, racing my friends.

The next day at the pool, I am checking out all the pretty girls

As they strut across the deck, all the boys look.

They pretend not to notice, but they always do.

I put on my sunglasses hoping they won’t see me,

But they look at me and smile, and continue on their way

As the wind blows their hair back

Kaitlin Bachmeyer, Untitled 6

The Feeling byKitty Holland ~ Diamondhead, MS

Twirling, spinning, shifting side to sideIt’s almost like dancingColors and sparks take over the worldConfusion, happiness, doubt, and fear are all in my mindFingers and toes are constantly numbIndescribable, overwhelming, and complete happinessCould there be a better feeling?I begin to think I am completely crazyBut then I ask,Is this the feeling?Or is this just lust?

Love Lost byJeromy Ervin ~ Columbus, MS

After I saw you, I wanted to get to know youAfter I got to know you, I wanted to love youAfter I loved you, I wanted it to last forever

LOVE LOST

William Strouth, Cascades7

Existence Matters, Too byKeri Maher ~ Stuttgart, Germany

I am not too small, nor too thin- insignificantI do not hide behind obstacles-transparentI am not blind, nor deaf-deformedCan’t you see me?I feel the same sun as you do; The warmth is carried by the fondling breeze.I hear the same songs as you do;The saxophone swinging and the piano moaning.I see the same pictures as you do;Memories now filed in the back of the mind.I smell the same flowers as you do;Daffodils, sweet peas, asters, roses, violets.I taste the same pleasures as you do;Sweet fruits, exciting spices, brittle breads.Can’t you see me?I am not too small, nor too thin-important!I do not hide behind obstacles-visible!I am not blind, nor deaf-familiar!Can’t you see me?I am like you, like her, like them;I have a mind, a heart, and a voice.I am different, yes, but I am human;I breathe, sleep, eat, move about like you do.I am not petty!I give life its most undivided attention.

I am not empty!I am the dove that ever cared.I am not bent!I am the storm that keeps growing stronger.Can’t you see me?Open your eyes that were once blind;those frosted windows.Look at this face and study every detail;the color of the eyes, the curve of the nose, the paleness ofthe lips.Remember this face, my Dear;let it torment your every thought till you can recognize thosewho matter most.Can’t you see me?

Kaitlin Bachmeyer, Lost Coastlines 8

Move Over, Death byStewart Fakess ~ Winter Park, FL

I’m not scared of you. Others may be and try to hide, Not me.

I live my life the way I should, Even though my path ends Eventually, in your hands.

I don’t wonder How and when you will appear.I show no fear.

Every choice leads to you, My mind is free of worry,I show no fear.

9 Kaitlin Bachmeyer, Streets of Vancouver

Young Man with Dreams byEmmett Manning ~ Jackson, MS

He goes to each classJust trying to pass He has big dreamsLike living by a stream

His dad is a work-a-holicAnd his mom is an alcoholicHe takes pride in his schoolworkThough his parents treat him like dirt

He leaves for collegeIn order to gain knowledgeJust trying to fulfill his dreamOf living life by a stream

Kimberly Russell, Take a Seat 10

Coffee Break byCindy Tran ~ Biloxi, MS

Through your stories and silly tales,You have taught me well.You’ve worked hard so now relax,Drink some coffee and get some laughs.

Just let me show you how far I can go.I am still young, but I am grown.Through your life lessons I kept my ground,Never once were problems found.

So now it’s my turn to carry your trouble,Don’t you worry; I won’t stumble.You’ve paved the way for me see,All the possibilities I could be.

Hunter Spragins, Sunset11

The River byMatthew Nicholas ~ Jackson, MS

5 a.m. up and readyThough my eyes are feeling heavyMust press on, into the darknessBitter cold, as the sun crests

The river flows, never stoppingA beautiful sight, jaw droppingThe morning brings the world to lifeRemoving any thoughts of strife

Into the sky, in search of preyWatching closely, sometimes all dayWaiting for that one split secondIt feels as though I’ve just touched heaven

Back to the lodge, to eat some foodTelling stories, sometimes crudeThis place is home to many thingsIncluding my heart and the joy the river brings

Glenna Lusk, Diver 12

Grow Up Peter Pan byMary Ivon Montgomery ~ Shreveport, LA

Be strong, cheer up, it’s not so bad.Always remember the childhood you had.The old and familiar is gone,It’s time that you move on.No more to dwell on the past,Life’s seasons change so very fast.Peter Pan’s Never Never Land–a silly dream,Time goes like a moving stream.Relish the days you have at hand,For soon they will be a distant land.Dreamer, open your eyes,Ah, how time truly flies.Dear heart, wake up,It’s time. It’s time to grow up.

Kaitlin Bachmeyer, I was a Landscape in Your Dreams13

The Four byEvan Fowler ~ Alpharetta, GA

Released from their seals in the Lamb’s right hand The four will ride throughout the landFrom the hills of old to the lands of sandHarbingers of judgment, judgment on man

The first to enter brave John’s sightThe conqueror in all his mightBent on rule to rule our frightRiding a horse clad in white

Then upon a steed of fireEnter did the second rider His correction profusely direFor War he is, and is destined to sire

The third’s mount was clad in darkFor this John heard no voice to harkOn its scales food shall be markedAs Famine rides, and starved dogs bark

“Come see” the horse of paleDeath appears with a yellHe takes his fourth for all men fell,And close behind him follows Hell

14

The Captain of Death byMandy McCalla ~ Fayetteville, GA

He left shore, with his crew at his commandShe stood watching on the beach’s sandWaving goodbye, a tear in her eyeWatching the sea carry him from landThe wind was viciously blowing strongThen, the men knew that something was wrongLosing hope, pulling every ropeThey had planned this trip for so longThe storm came upon them; they had no clueThat the storm’s fury was just beginning to brewLightning cracked, course thrown off trackTrying to escape the sight of Big BlueThey searched for land or the shining of lightFrom some far off coast, but nothing was in sightWaves crashing, the boat smashingInto a reef that was undetected that nightAll remained frozen, horrified as they sawThe sea engulfing their captain, all stood in aweHis hands flailed, No one prevailedTo save him that night from cruel death’s clawThe sea had claimed the one life it soughtThe rest were spared, or so they thoughtFrom death’s news, to church pewsNo flowers presented, goodbyes can’t be boughtHer theory–the waves had stolen him awayAnd so, she wrote to him that very dayOne small note, is all she wrote“For you, no price is too much to pay”

With the note in the bottle, she corked the topThen from the cliff, she watched it dropFrom his watery grave came a sweeping waveThat carried the message to him without a stopShe lay down beside him in the still of the nightHis grave, newly dug, made her shudder with frightOne quick shot, her only thoughtShe wanted to be with him, she was emptied of fightNot a moment too soon, the harsh wind blewShe lost her focus; she froze like the crewFeeling loss, seeing a crossHe didn’t want her there with him, tooAgain down her face, flowed a stinging tearNothing could take away her pain and her fearDrawing in breath, thinking deathIs something he’d never wish of his DearStanding up tall and grasping the gunWaiting for a sign from her love, her oneSpeaking to her, no more allureShe hurled it off the cliff; Life had wonHe whispered how special her life was to himAnd to cherish it, even when circumstances are grimNo perfection, no exceptionEver existed in life known to themShe mourned by his grave overlooking the seaHearing he loved her one more time made her seeLove existed when death persistedShe chose life and at last, she was free.

Jessica Foshee, Highway15

Holding Hands byLouisa Mashburn ~ Atlanta, GA

I want you to hold meor if that is too much, just to hold my handjust to let your fingers graze upon my fingertipswith yours so big and mine so petiteSuch a happy feeling of two hands becoming one.

The firm yet gentle grip, the touchThe intertwining of our hands

God’s Eye Piece byHayden Lewis ~ St. Louis, MO

Same appearance, different looksEach part working together in one masterpieceProviding all colors that fill strange spaceNo hue, no shape, no size, no feeling can be the sameA circle cannot fit into lineA bird cannot be a treeGod’s eyes see all the partsHis hands give us different gifts

Glenna Lusk, Before the Storm 16

Haiku Poems byChris Green ~ Virginia Beach, VA

Ceaselessly slippingCannot wait to stop the slideSPLASH NICE WARM DRY AIR

Gripping me harderAbsolutely rocks my worldHazy wooden house

The cold wind blows, The heat is starting to riseAnd I am content.

The water is light blue,The snow is all white powder.This is relaxing.

Kaitlin Bachmeyer, Lights & Shadows17

A Perfect Love byTaylor Carnes ~ Memphis, TN

This is so perfect,Such a perfect emotion,Made for our imperfect lives, our imperfect circumstances, Our sagging bags of imperfection.I pull and drag myself into believing In an emotion so real it purifies me, make me clean.It has become my god, the redeemer of my humanity,The purifier of my unclear motives and sordid ways, The sieve through which I will beg to be shaken.All to be seen by one who is as imperfect as me. Is this why the human race longs to love?

Glenna Lusk, Finding Balance 18

Grandma’s Story Accompanying Me to Grow Up byZhengxuan Du ~ Shanghi, China

In the evenings of midsummer days, gold cicada chirped and green frog cried to high heaven. The moon wasshining brightly. Grandma loved to sit in an old rocking chair and wave a fan before her face. I sat by her andcupped my chin. Grandma said: “The story I am going to tell is …”

My brain accumulated various stories as Grandma told them one by one, day by day, again and again. Amongthem were: Adventures of SanMao, Small Tadpoles Looking for Mom, The Magic Brush, and so on. These storieswere sprinkled with miraculous adventures, wisdom, and childish naïveté. I never got tired of hearing such stories.

Sometimes I tried to replace me with the protagonist of one particular story: as a coolie, I was Zhou Papi turningaround as busy as a bee; wearing a red hat, I was watching in horror as the wolf turned into a grandmother; andfacing death under the butcher’s knife of the enemy, I behaved like a hero.

Happy fairy tale was no longer the truth in reality.It seemed that every girl should have a sentimental time.In life, who is not a passerby in the world!

The road ahead of me is still long, and my story still continues.

Steven Anderson, Enthused19

Will You be My Muse? byDarrell Maurice Hubbard ~ Grenada, MS

Thoughts now alive,Her words take root,Growing in her mind,Writer’s block on mute.

Brain caught on fire,In a gasoline rain,Bleeding from her pen,Is heartache and pain.

Murder’s all she writes,Paper burdened with truth,Of lonely cold dark nights,How we seldom win but lose.

Trail of tears she leaves,As a part of her dies,Deceit tortures her memories,Because the past never lies.

Then her body hurts,Her mind falls apart,Love is like a dagger,Being pierced through the heart.

The soul bleeds out,All emotions scatter,And she can’t figure out,What the fuck’s the matter.

Then her pen falls to paper,An explosion barely defused,Just wish I could be there,To hug you, my muse.

Jessica Foshee, Floating By 20

Untitled Haikus byCecil Ward ~ Virginia Beach, VA

Sand between my toes,Water splashing in my face,I know I am home.

It’s all he ever sees–Fame, cars, houses; he knows nothingbut the best. Not good!

Protect the Ocean.Save the Trees—that’s all I hear…Can we start to listen?

21

Life In The Land byKay Kay DeRossette ~ Vicksburg, MS

“Climb the mountains and get their good tidings. Nature’s peace will flow intoyou as sunshine flows into trees. The winds will blow their own freshness intoyou, and the storms their energy, while cares will drop off like autumn leaves.”– John Muir

The most beautiful outdoor scenery in my hometown ormaybe in the world is in the National Military Park. Parts ofThe Civil War were fought all throughout my hometown,Vicksburg, Mississippi.

In 1899 two Vicksburg veterans from opposing sidescollaborated to lead the establishment of the VicksburgNational Military Park. Throughout my lifetime I have spentmany days at this park created one hundred years ago andhave grown to love it. All of my experiences at the park havegiven me a greater appreciation for nature. It makes up partof who I am.

I practiced for cross county in the park and learned tok n ow the land ve ry well. It holds much more than the historyof my running, even more than the history of my town–itcontains the history of vital battles fought for the country Ilive in today. The land tells a story. The hills have seen thebattles and the beauties over the years and will outlive me tosee what the park will become. The events will change butnature will remain ever present in these lovely hills.

This park is not only an important part of my country’sf reedom it is a big part of my childhood. My mom pulled upto the park, flashed her twenty dollar, all-year access pass, andpulled right up to my waiting track team. I hopped out andstood a few short conversations and hardly any steps awayfrom being at peace. We walked to the stop sign, stretched,and chatted.

Cross country season started with some heat, if one isnot familiar with running, it might feel like being in hell. I

enjoyed this type of hell. I had been eating healthy and stay-ing hydrated. I ran because I could escape into nature. Pastthe cars speeding down one of Vicksburg’s main roads, ClayStreet, which runs parallel to the National Military Park, Ifound a sense of freedom. I would just run and take in all ofnature’s history and beauty.

One particular Wednesday we once again ran theinescapable hills of the park. The weather outside was what Ilike to call perfect running weather in contrast to the we a t h e rwe usually ran in this time of year. It was not too hot, nottoo cold, and a slight breeze filled the air. We were runningabout six miles this day. We would run from the stop signpast the big automatic security gate. We passed the cemeteryand then the picnic area. Our first and only stop, we wouldstretch for about five minutes at the quarter mile mark.Then we continued running past many monuments andeven a few cannons. The landscapers had just gotten donemowing. The smell of freshly cut grass filled the air. A deerrandomly crossed the road, but I had learned not to find thisodd. The first mile always seemed the hardest. The boys ranprobably a half mile ahead of the girls while the girls werestarting to spread out and run by themselves.

The biggest challenge was Illinois Hill. This hill shouldbe called the Illinois Mountain, but that is another story. Ifinally reached the top of the mountain; my best friend Annran by my side. We went down a huge hill, and this gave usa chance to relax. We let loose and let the hill take our bod-ies down it. We ran over a frightening bridge that cars werespeeding under. The bridge was about fifty feet from theground, making it extremely scary to run across. We had theurge to walk, however we continued to run. We then ran upa slight incline for another half of a mile. Finally we reachedthe angel, a stone statue which indicated we were approach-ing our turn around point. We saw a few boys pass us afterthey turned around. I thought to myself that if I could justmake it half way I could make it the whole way.

Kimberly Russell, Trapped in Ruins 22

Suddenly the sky broke loose. I finally knew why it feltso cool and perfect outside. There were no indications of thebig storm we were about to sprint through. It just startedpouring. Ann, Coach Blake, and I could only laugh. I turnedto Coach and said, “What now?” He replied, “Run!” We rant h ree whole miles all the way back to our little stop sign whileit rained the entire time. We thought it funny at the time howthe thunder storm just popped up in the park. We ran out-doors and experienced Nature’s many beauties and humorsthat day.

The park was always just down the street from my house;even when I moved we still lived close to the park. I remem-ber cutting through my backyard to get to the park at anearly age. My mom, sister, and I would all go on long walkst h e re. Then when I got old enough, I would go on bike rides.In junior high I started to run at the park during softballsummer conditioning. In high school I practiced for crosscountry in the park. My old boyfriend and I actually used togo on dates to the park.

T h e re was an old hidden waterfall that only a few peoplek n ew about way back in the park. This waterfall was beautifuland entertained us teenagers on long summer days. My mem-orable days at the park laughing, smiling, learning, loving,and running will never be forgotten. I gained an understand-ing of my place in nature and an appreciation for the historypresent by my surroundings.

The battle of Vicksburg was a crucial battle in the CivilWar, just as the park remains crucial to my city. This belovedp a rk is one of my small tow n’s main attractions. Tourists fro mall over America come to see, relive, and enjoy the historypresent here only through nature. The land ties us humansback to the events in the past that occurred at the park. Thehistory of The Civil War present through nature makes myt own an even cooler place to say, “Hey that is where I grew up. ”

This spring the thirty-second annual Run-Thru Historywill be run at the park. The park not only represents the past

but holds special significance for many people from Vi c k s b u r gbecause through it we continue the history of the land.

One of the most beautiful places in the park is the oldgravel road. Some may say it is in between the Illinois mon-ument and the Shirley House. Others may say it is the mileand a half mark. One might see it as an overgrown old road.It is where our country fought for its freedom in the CivilWar. To me, though, I see it as all of these things; this roadis beautiful. It represents freedom, giving me an escape inton a t u re. One day I hope to take my wedding pictures here. T h egravel road is narrow with hills on each side; for a short timeone can only see the gravel and the hills while running it. Inthe summer the landscapers get behind on all the mowingand it becomes overgrown. I think it is most beautiful whenit appears in this chaotic overgrown state.

As I was home during my almost two month Christmasb reak, after work I would make time to go to this old familiarplace. I do not know if it is the comfort of it or the historythat lies deep within the beautiful green hills, but somew h e rein the beauty of it all, something brings me a sense of sere n i t yand continues to draw me back for once again another run.

(Beckwith Studio)

23

The Worst Memory byGlenna Lusk ~ Memphis, TN

I watched as the light white string glided smoothly throughthe breeze and landed with a quiet plop, only inches from themoldy log standing erect in the lake. A thrill went through mybody when I saw the tugging on the end of the fishing pole’sstring. As Cameron reeled in the fish I studied his tan body, exam-ining his muscles flexing back and forth from years of baseballpractices and man labor, working at his father’s trucking business.

The sun was beginning to set and it cast a glow around hisface, making him shine like an angel on earth. When he got thefish in the boat, his smile was so bright I was taken aback by hispure happiness.

“I can’t believe you caught one,” I whined. “I’ve been waitingfor hours.”

“You know, Glenna, it’s pure talent, and you girls just don’tpossess it like we men do,” Cameron joked as he prodded me play-fully in my side. He was silent as he released the fish from thehook and put it in the cooler of water. When he released a huffingsound I knew something was wrong.

Even though Cameron was my best friend, I was hesitant toask him, but the words just blurted out. “Cameron, are you okaywith the whole Megan breakup?”

He looked at me precariously and the words that he had beenholding in started to flow like warm syru p. “I love her, Glenna. AndI can’t explain it, but she’s the one. Ya’ know, it’s like when I’m withher I can’t even look away. And the whole “separate colleges” exc u s eshe’s using is just bullshit. I know we could make it work.”

I felt like I was walking on egg shells trying to pick out theperfect words to console him. When I reached for his hand Isqueezed it and said, “I don’t think you want to hear this, butmaybe the time apart will be good for you guys. And maybe she’llrealize that breaking up is not what she wants either.”

Cameron let go of my hand and turned his body towardsmine. “I haven’t told anyone this, so you have to swear not to tell,Glenna!” He looked into my eyes and I felt as if he could see rightthrough me. “I’m not going to Ole Miss next year.”

“What? Why?” I exclaimed.He rolled his eyes and looked at me saying, “Just let me finish.

I’m not going to Ole Miss because I’m going to State with Megan.And you can’t tell anyone. I’m serious Glenna. She doesn’t evenknow yet and I want to surprise her.”

“Well, I think that’s going to be an interesting change,” I saidquietly to myself. We sat in silence for a couple of minutes and theonly noise as we paddled back to shore was the repeating sounds ofthe oars hitting the smooth lake water. Cameron had found thegirl of his dreams and he was taking it upon himself not to loseher. Though in the back of my mind, I felt as if the relationship hewas trying to mend was not going to work out just as he hadplanned, and it made me uneasy inside.

When we packed up the car, I shut the door behind me andCameron smiled and said, “Cheer up Glenny! We’re going to aparty tonight!” He let out a howling laugh and turned up themusic as we drove back to my house in the twilight.

***I have always been confident with my ability to feel comfort-

able in any surroundings, but there is one kind of solemn eventthat can break down any stronghold I have built up aroundmyself–a funeral. Funerals put me in a place of self-pity. At thisparticular funeral though, staring at old pictures of the person Iused to share my secrets and laugh with, I could not help but feellike I was digging myself deeper into an emotional hole of thatexact intolerable self-pity.

The sounds of crying, sniffling, and sad voices discussing aperson’s name in the past tense over and over tend to rub me thewrong way, like an orchestra warming up–out of sync, painful tohear before a play begins. As I stood in front of the wooden coffin,closed to the public to hide the ugliness of death, I reached out totouch the smooth case. Colder than expected, it sent a shiver thro u g hme which brought me back to the night that changed everything.

***Just like any other summer night, laughter filled the car as

Cameron swerved and jerked it to the next party. Reckless andcarefree, we played the music so loud that I could not even hearmy ears ringing. When we finally got to our destination, the fourof us staggered out of the car spilling drinks and slurring words of

24

excitement for getting there in one piece. I felt that we had usedour quota of luck earlier in the night when we avoided the hunger-driven armadillo scurrying across the street.

After hours of sloppy socializing and intense drinking games,the four of us started to say our goodbyes to the people who filledthe house to its brim. I looked around the room for Cameron, oursemi-designated driver, and saw that he was taking last minuteshots in the kitchen. He then jumped in the air and tried to aimthe empty vodka bottle into the trash can and in doing so, lost hisfooting and slipped, landing with a resonating thud on the beercovered linoleum floor. His Red Socks baseball cap popped off ofhis crooked head and landed a few feet away. I ran over to see if hewas okay, watching as he struggled to reach for the hat, nowsoaked and covered in beer and grime from the floor. I grabbed thehat for him trying to set it back on his head and in his drunkenstupor he yelled at me to leave him alone.

A crowd of people had already started to gather in the kitchena round us to see what was going on. Megan, a tan and lanky, naturalbeauty stepped out from the crowd to help Cameron up. She triedto get the keys from him, working to pry them out of his clenchedfists whose knuckles had turned white from the pressure.

As his former girlfriend, still in a sticky relationship withCameron, they had a flame which had not yet been extinguished.It was obvious he was a boy blinded by teenage love when he finallyg a ve into her soft voice and the trust in her words about driving hiscar back home. It only took a couple of minutes for her to succeedin coaxing over the keys, but it felt like hours to those of us waitingimpatiently in order to be back by curfew, which now seemed animpossible task.

The five of us shuffled out of the house one by one, throughthe damp grass, leaving disturbed foot prints in the moonlit dew.Some of us we re murmuring under our breath about the embarrass-ing scene Cameron had just caused and grouchily stomped past hisswaying body to the car. We all squeezed into the car, now crampedwith Megan as our new driver and an extra person in the backseat.

The car cranked up with a quiet and constant hum like thatof a sleeping beast. We rolled cautiously down the gravel drivewayand onto the desolate street. The only noises in the car were thesoft whispers of Megan and Cameron in the front seat and the

light snoring coming from my left side in the back. I sat by thew i n d ow and watched the trees blur as we sped past them, hundre d sat a time. The old country road curved and snaked through thetrees like a twisting rope with sharp turns and telephone polesaround each bend that mocked us as we drove by.

In an instant I felt myself jerk as the car swerved severely andmy head slammed against the window. The screaming I heard fro mthe front of the car was brief and I couldn’t function well enoughto even register what was happening. All I could feel was the sensa-tion that one gets on a roller coaster when it is going upside downand you feel as if you’re falling out of your seat. It was an unimag-inable scene and I fought to keep my eyes open. When I heard theglass shatter, I shut them and braced myself for the pain.

The rolling sensation would not stop and I felt my movingspace get smaller and smaller. A crushed feeling came over myright ankle and it immediately shot through my whole leg. Whenthe airbags finally triggered, a strange dusty and electrical smokefilled my nostrils. It is a smell I will never forget.

You always hear that in the scariest moments, your life willflash before your eyes, but there was not enough time for that, eve nthough I felt as if we were moving in slow motion.

When the car finally stopped, crushed against a telephone pole,we were upside down and barely suspended in the air because theroof of the car had been bent in so much. I became incredibly self-ish in that moment of chaos because all I could think about waswhether I was okay. I felt unbearably hot and the taste of iron wasprominent in my mouth as the blood from my nose and my bitteninner cheek ran together over my tongue. At first instinct I touchedmy head where it hit against the window only to find my handcovered in blood. Then I looked around at the people with me andsaw that the two people previously sleeping beside me we re shakingtheir heads trying to grasp their bearings. I then worked to take offthe puzzle of the safety belt that clung so tightly to me. Clumsily, Imaneuvered my body through the cramped area and tried to pullmyself out of the window.

Slivers of glass and metal sank into my hands and arms as Idragged my body onto the hot pavement. The eerie silence unnerve dme and the smoke rising from the car began to fill my eyes. As Icrawled away from the car, Megan broke the silence, and panicked

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voices immediately followed. The one sentence that stuck with mewas, “W h e re’s Cameron?” Over and over I heard Me g a n’s quive r i n gvoice say it.

I finally stood up and looked frantically for Cameron in thepitch black. The searing pain in my leg was relentless as I hobbledaround the remains of the car, which now looked like a tin canbeaten in and stomped on. When my eyes finally adjusted to thedark, they scanned across the street and landed on a dark mass, alimp body in the middle of the road. This couldn’t be real life, Ithought. This is a nightmare.

My slow walk to Cameron was the hardest I have ever takenin my life. Internally I was fighting myself about going to himbecause I knew what I was about to see. When I got to him, I fellto the ground and rolled his slack body over to see his face. Thepain in his eyes was too much to look at and when he blinked itshot a relief through me that I never knew was possible. This reliefwas short lived as I saw him cringe in agony, and his torturedexpression was embedded in my mind. I put my ragged hands oneither side of his cut up face and started screaming at him.“WHAT ABOUT STATE, CAMERON?! DON’T YOU HAVETO GO TO STATE?!” My body tensed up and I started whisper-ing fervently to him about not leaving me. He was my best friendand I wasn’t going to lose him. I put my face as close to his as Icould get and I feared he couldn’t hear me, but I needed him torecognize my encouraging words, at least for my sake. Within sec-onds Megan staggered over to the two of us and pulled Cameron’shead into her lap. I sat there in shock unable to move now.

Kaitlin, who was next to me in the car, was holding her phonetrying to call 911. She was doubled over and crying unable to gether words out. The gut wrenching sobs that were coming from hertore me up inside. It was blood-curdling and her uneasy breathingand uncaught breath made me cry. The hot tears that began to fallstung all of the cuts I had on my face.

Looking back over at Megan, I saw her shaking and cryingwith blood on her lap where she was holding Cameron. His lifelesseyes stared into the night sky and I had to look away. We all sathuddled around Cameron when we heard a spark, and the carcaught fire. In the unwanted light we could all see the injuries thateach of us had suffered, along with the stricken looks etched intoour faces.

Moments later, my eyes landed back on Cameron. Caught inan unwanted trance, my eyes traced his body, looking at his stillchest. He was wearing the polo his dad had bought him on one oftheir golfing trips. The pink shirt turned a deep shade of red as theblood spread uncontrollably. I wanted to stop the red spread, but Iknew my attempts would have no effect now.

Sirens soon filled my ears with their high pitched resonanceand in the emptiness of the night they echoed louder and louderenveloping us in their dreadful noise as they got closer. The blueand red lights were blinding and the yells of the paramedics shookme back to my nightmarish life. Everything started to become ablur.

I answered all of the paramedics’, cops’, and firefighters’ ques-tions and I tried my hardest to keep Cameron in sight. Like thegrim reapers, dressed in all black the paramedics took Cameronaway and I searched for Megan among the crowd of professionals.She was fighting to go in the same ambulance as Cameron and acop was holding her back in a bear hug trying to calm her down.Her muffled yells and sobs were distorted and I could see the painshe was going through reaching her arms out for the ambulancetaking him away from us, away from us forever.

At the hospital that night I found out that a deer was standingin the road right around a bend that we were speeding through.Megan swerved to avoid it and the severe movement caused the carto flip.

Days later, I sat in First Baptist Church and watched Camero n’smother weep over the casket that separated them both. There werepictures of Cameron and all of his friends on a screen at the frontof the church. The slide show depicted many memories, which willnever be made again. I looked at my lap, spotted with tear stains,and started to reevaluate my life. Having my mind plagued withmemories from that night, in an incident so close to death that Icould taste it, I knew I needed a change. I’m thankful for my dayout on the lake with Cameron, and determined in my new liferesolutions. We need to live life to the fullest, and in genuine andhonorable ways. Sometimes it takes unbearable sadness to makeyou rethink what you are doing with yourself, and to remind youthat the time you have on earth can be too short.

Steven Anderson, Reckless Abandon 26

The Things I Carry byChelsea Johnson ~ Biloxi, MS

After reading Tim O’Brien’s short story “The Things They Carried,” I realized I have not only physical possessions, butalso emotional ones I carry around. I decided to record a week of my life and analyze the things I carry.

Wednesday morning I wake up, hung-over. I go to my ten o’clock class, only because my teacher takes roll. Ilisten to the girl behind me talk about how the guy I’ve been seeing for three months is begging her to go to hisfraternity formal. I carry shock and sadness.

Thursday, I drop my friend off at Stewart at two o’clock in the morning, and outside the dorm I watch thesame guy making out with a girl. I carry anger.

Friday I drive with my girlfriends to the Square, I recognize his car pulled over by the cops. I roll down thewindow and yell “Hey asshole!” I carry satisfaction and laughter.

Saturday morning I wake up and rememberhow much more fun it is to be single in college.I carry optimism.

27

Slushies on a Hot Night and Comin’ to Jesusby Hunter Spragins ~ Oxford, MS

Looking back on his childhood, the one thingCharlie remembers most clearly was the smell of freshlybaked fish sticks coming out of the oven. He alsoremembers countless trips to the soccer field and baseballcomplex, and of course, those slushies he got after thegames. Aside from food memories, he remembers sportswhich consumed much of his youth, as they will therest of his life.

Growing up in a small private school, he knew allof the kids in his class, and the same kids would be inhis class the next year. Being in a small school gave himan opportunity to develop very close friendships, andany story he recalls during his youth will surely involveat least one of four close friends.

Charlie’s social life took a drastic turn one day outon the baseball field when he was 10 years old. He wasat one of the many baseball practices he had attendedin his life, but this day was different. He was informedthat his team had a new player and a new coach. Afterhe took a hard foul ball to the face and his nose beganbleeding profusely, he did what any normal 10-year-oldboy would do; he cried his lungs out. Within secondsthe new kid’s dad, his new coach, rushed over to him,grabbed him, and said, “Stop crying, this is baseball,not softball.”

After serving 20 years in the Army, Mr. Ruscoe

would serve as an influence of male authority in his life.C h a r l i e’s dad spent most of his time working hard hours.His parents took on a passive roll in his childhood deve l-opment. They wanted to let him develop into the kind ofperson he wished, and then support him after. Mr. Ru s c o ewas a hardnosed, strict dad who became like a fatherfigure to Charlie growing up. Before Charlie becamebest friends with his son Ben, he enjoyed playingNintendo as much as being outside. He was on theroad to a childhood of countless nights staying up play-ing video games.

From then on, his weekends were spent at theRuscoe’s house, having adventures on his mule that willnever be forgotten. Mr. Ruscoe introduced Charlie tolots of new physical activities. Running, lifting weights,and wrestling were all instilled in him at an early age,activities he still enjoys.

At the end of a baseball camp in 5th grade there wasa skills competition held to showcase the best players.The competition came down to Charlie and one of hisgood friends. After they fielded countless groundballsand fly balls easily, the coaches had to make it harder.The balls started flying awkwardly off the bat and even-tually Charlie received a bad bounce and lost. Thoughthe coaches said there was no winner and they bothreceived the coveted T-shirt, Charlie started cryinguncontrollably. This is when he realized that he had astrong desire to compete. Though his competitor thatday was one of those close friends, Charlie wanted himto lose; he would have done anything to beat him.

28Steven Anderson, He Just Wants to Run

Charlie’s first day of public school will be a day heremembers for the rest of his life. His mom had wantedhim to start hanging out with a black kid about hisown age to get accustomed with African American life.On that first day hanging out with each other, someonesuggested fighting as an activity they could partake inbecause that is what Charlie and his best friend Ben didall the time. Not real fighting with swings to the facebut more like wrestling-playful, but serious enough tomake it a competition. The fight did not last long.Charlie lost, and on that day realized that he could notrely on his athleticism alone if he wanted to dominatein football, basketball, baseball, and soccer, as he did inhis childhood.

Charlie’s parent’s separation came to no surprise tohim. As long as he remembers, growing up, they weren e ver particularly close as the other kids’ parents we re. Atthe age of 14, Charlie was old enough to see it coming.This was the first time he realized his parents wereactually normal people, just like him, with plenty offlaws. Be f o re that moment he thought his parents alwaysknew what was best for him.

High School was primarily about football and girlsfor Charlie. Though he was involved with plenty ofclubs, sports, and organizations, none of them seemedas important to him or had the amount of impact onhim as those two.

Right before Charlie’s high school graduation, afterhe found out that he was not going to graduate withany sort of academic honors, he attended his brother’s

graduation from Ole Miss. While watching his bigbrother graduate as Marshall of the Business School,having received almost every academic award given byOle Miss, Charlie had a revelation or what he calls a“comin’ to Jesus moment.” He did not understand howhis brother could be so much smarter than he was.

He suddenly remembered that they had the samegenes; there was no way his brother could be smarter.Charlie had put all his work ethic to football and asocial life in high school and never really studied at all.Now at Ole Miss, and with new resolution, he is usinghis old work ethic and his natural competitiveness thatdrove him as a kid, both in his schoolwork and in chal-lenges he faces every day.

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The Toad and the Squirrel byMady-Kate Cunningham ~ Franklin, TN

Near the end of the woods where a small valley met the floorof a mountainside, lay a small pond. T h e re lived two cre a t u res fro mmuch different backgrounds. Now, by the looks of this beautifullandscape, one would assume these two animals lived in harmonywith one another, but to everyone’s surprise, this Toad and Squirrellived in constant turmoil. Bickering back and forth constantly,these two had it out for each other, that is until The Incident.

One hot summer day most of the animals within the commu-nity enjoyed gallivanting about the pond in various ways: the smallbirds would sing amongst themselves, the fish would prance in andout of the water, gliding about joyfully, the deer cautiously lappedup small amounts to drink while glancing around quickly forhunters. The Toad had other priorities, however. While everyoneelse seemed to be enjoying themselves, Toad stood watch for thatrotten Squirrel. You see, Squirrel was cunning and sneaky. He wasalways finding ways to ruin Toad’s day and the hilarity of it madeall the trouble worthwhile. Not a day passed without “ole Toad”being annoyed in some way by Squirrel.

The sun was hot. Toad was anxious to dip into the pond andsoak in the rays on the lily pad he had already picked out. “That’sit,” he thought, tired of the silly game. Toad took one leap and felta cool rush from the water shock his bumpy skin. He rose to thetop to find his lily pad. “Ahhh, this is more like it,” Toad thoughtto himself. He looked around once more looking for that peskySquirrel, and convinced he had taken the day off from pesteringhim, Toad went into full relaxation mode.

The afternoon grew long and Toad began to wonder whatSquirrel may be doing. It was unlike Squirrel to not at least showhis face on a sunny day such as this. Toad leapt from his lily padinto the water once more, this time headed to the other side of the

pond where Squirrel lived. “I can’t believe I’m checking on such apest,” Toad said. “He’s nothing more than a rat with a fluffy tail.”Toad chuckled at his own joke, but as soon as Toad was at the baseof the tree which Squirrel resided, a walnut came crashing downon his head. The impact knocked him silly. Once his composurewas renewed, he looked to see multiple walnuts falling from thesky. So many fell that when it was all said and done, Toad was nolonger visible. Toad popped his head out from the pile of walnutswith fury. He could hear the laughter near the top of the tree.Squirrel had done it again.

“You pesky rodent!” Toad yelled to the Squirrel. Suddenly,Squirrel scampered down to the bottom of the tree, still laughingat his doing.

“ If yo u’re so mad about it, Toad,” Sq u i r rel laughed, scamperingback to the top of the tree, “come on up here and get me.” Sq u i r re llaughed hysterically knowing full well that Toad was incapable.

“Why I ought to…” Toad stopped mid sentence at the sight ofSq u i r re l’s face. His nose was keen with smell and his sight was on thepond. Toad looked over to see that all the animals had vanished.The pond was placid as if life had never existed within it. Toadturned to look to Squirrel, but he had vanished. Toad knew whatwas happening. A large shadow flew over him rapidly like a ghost.“ Oh no!” Toad yelled. He couldn’t move due to the walnutssurrounding him. A large eagle was swooping down towards thepond, hoping for an easy snack. He landed firmly on a branchnear Toad. Toad tried being as camouflaged as possible, but hisgreen head had no chance to blend with the brown of the walnuts.

What seemed to Toad like an eternity was in reality more likethirty seconds. The eagle noticed the feeble Toad lying among thewalnuts. Toad screamed realizing the inevitable. The eagle quicklyleaped from his perch. His wings shook the Earth like thunder. Hi seyes gazed into Toads fiercely as Toad prayed for his life. All hopeseemed lost in that moment.

Su d d e n l y, a walnut flew from the tree behind Toad and smacked

Evan Fowler, Forrest Life 30

the eagle in the beak. T h rowing off his flight path, the walnut landedright in front of Toad. The eagle swooped passed him, blind fromthe impact of the walnut. Toad frantically looked to the trees.Squirrel and his whole extended family had gathered their walnutsand were proceeding to throw them at the eagle, laughing all thewhile. To Squirrel, everything was a game.

Toad began quickly trying to free himself from the walnutsone by one. The eagle was infuriated, but the walnuts kept rainingdown on him. After a few minutes, Toad was finally able to freehimself from the barrage of walnuts. He fled for the pond, but notbefore the eagle caught sight of him. Like a rocket, the eagle beganto dive towards Toad. As Squirrel’s family rapidly threw walnuts ina panic to save Toad, Squirrel picked up the best walnut he couldfind and took specific aim to where he wanted to throw.Happening all in slow motion, Toad looked up at the quicklyapproaching eagle with terror, knowing surely he wouldn’t make itto the pond in time. As soon as poor Toad leapt for his sanctuaryand the eagle’s beak was opened to devour him, one last walnutnailed the eagle in the eye, knocking him off course and allowingToad to plummet into the still water.

An eruption of cheer and applause came from the bushes andtrees surrounding the pond as the eagle flew away in frustration.All the animals reappeared and came to Toad’s side. Toad pulledhimself out of the water, still breathless from the exhilarating expe-rience. Sq u i r rel and his family had reached the ground at this pointand sat patiently waiting. Toad humbly made his way towards thetree; his head staring at the ground. “Thank you,” Toad murmuredpurposefully low enough for no one to hear.

“What was that, Toad?” Squirrel sarcastically remarked, “Icouldn’t hear you.”

“I said thank you, Sq u i r rel,” Toad replied loudly. All the animalsgasped. “You and your family are welcome on my side of the pondanytime for fried crickets and lily pad stew.” Sq u i r re l’s family giggledat the idea of fried crickets. With a slight grimace and a proud chest,

Squirrel extended his hand to Toad and said, “We’d love to, olebuddy.” The animals cheered and sang to peace between swornenemies. All was well at the pond. The last remaining conflict hadfinally been resolved.

After Toad and Squirrel shook hands, Squirrel made his wayback up the tree quickly. Toad turned to greet the others with asmile and began hopping back to his lily pad which he so covetedat this point. Toad nestled into his lily and looked back to the treewhere Squirrel sat quietly; Squirrel grinned and waved to Toad.With a small grimace of contentment, Toad slowly closed his eyesto rest once more, while a walnut came crashing onto his head,sinking him back into the water.

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“Lipton”One act play by Patrick Haadsma ~Tupelo, MS

ACT IScene 1

Plain office with a man sitting behind a deskand an empty chair in front of it, interviewstyle. The man behind the desk is casuallychewing on his pencil and swiveling back andforth at his computer chair. After a few sec-onds Lipton Brown, a frantic looking young manwearing odd clothes barges in the room. Man atthe desk stands to greet him.L I P T O NWell hey there, that tie looks sharp.MR. ABRAHAM(Shocked to see Lipton, stands up looking confused)Um… Well thanks… and you are?L I P T O NOh I’m Lipton Brown, but you can call me Lipton,did your secretary not tell you I was coming in?MR. ABRAHAMNo.. She didn’t actually… (Picks up phone and calls in to secretary)Sue? Did you send in a Lipton…?(Strains to think of last name)L I P T O N(Loudly)It’s Brown!MR. ABRAHAM(Gives Lipton the “one second” gesture with hisfinger, then turns around and whispers)Whatever his name is did you send him in?L I P T O N(Awkwardly yells louder)Sue, it’s Brown!

MR. ABRAHAM(Whips around and gives him an angry looks andrepeats the “one second” gesture. He whispers inaudible words to Sue, frustrated)L I P T O N(Gives a frightened, comical look at the audiencein response to the angry Mr. Abraham)MR. ABRAHAM(Continues to angrily whisper, but loud enoughfor audience to comprehend. Walks into the nextroom. Both rooms are visible.)This is a Hollywood talent agency for God’s sake,what on Earth is this clown doing here? You owehim a favor? What possibly could he have donefor you?L I P T O N(During the preceding phone conversation Liptonis rocking back and forth in his chair, noticesthe Starbucks coffee cup on Mr. Abraham’s desk,confirms that Mr. Abraham isn’t returning andgrabs the coffee and takes a swig.)MR. ABRAHAM(Same circumstances as before)If you ever pull this crap again you’re fired,Sue! Just because the man bred some hamstersfor you doesn’t mean you get him a meeting withyour boss! What? I do not care how rare theyare, I want him out!L I P T O N(Looks back at Mr. Abraham to make sure he’s notcoming back in while he slowly reaches the coffeecup towards the desk. Lipton is so consumed inwatching Mr. Abraham he accidentally lowers thecup onto a fountain pen pointed straight up in itsholder. It punctures the cup and coffee startspouring out of the bottom onto Mr. Abraham’s desk.Lipton looks back and frantically tries to sealthe bottom shut with tape from Mr. Abraham’stape dispenser. He looks around even more franti-cally, and then (with an idea in his head) beginsto unplug his computer. He is successful, and

Steven Anderson, Anesthesia 32

lowers it out of the open window by the cord.Then, quickly and silently, Lipton makes a messof the desk, flips his chair over, and hurriedlylies down on the floor)MR. ABRAHAM(While all of the previous action is going on,Mr. Abraham continues to whisper on the phone)Just this once Sue! You owe me. What am I talk-ing about?! I’m your boss; of course you owe me.You have put your Christmas bonus in jeopardywith this stunt, ma’am! Goodbye! (Mr. Abraham walks in just as Lipton gets tothe floor)What happened here?!?L I P T O N(Pretends like he’s waking up)Oh, Mr. Abraham I’m so sorry, I couldn’t stop him.MR. ABRAHAMWhat? What are you talking about?L I P T O NThe burglar, he came right through the window.I attacked him, but just as I was about to taphim out,(Demonstrates karate-like moves)He hit me with his gun.MR. ABRAHAMHe had a gun?L I P T O NOh yeah, a big one too!MR. ABRAHAMWhat did he say? Did he say anything?L I P T O NHe said “Tell your boss, he hasn’t heard the lastof me!” He looked like he was in the mafia.MR. ABRAHAMWell, where did my computer go? L I P T O NLike I said, he came in, crashed into your desk,started to unplug your computer, and knocked meout. Oh… and he must have spilled your coffee too.MR. ABRAHAMFikes probably sent him. He’s been trying to

knock me out of the business for years.L I P T O NOh yeah I’m sure that was him.MR. ABRAHAMWell, gosh, thanks for trying to help Mr. Brown.L I P T O NPlease, call me Lipton.MR. ABRAHAMWell Lipton, is there anything I can do for you?I’ll get you any part you want.L I P T O NI obviously want the talons.MR. ABRAHAMTalons? What?L I P T O N(Looks confused)Yes, talons… MR. ABRAHAM(Pauses)Like… Bird claws?L I P T O NYes… well this is a talon agency isn’t it?MR. ABRAHAM…No… a talent agency.L I P T O NBamboozled by father fortune once again. Wellhave a nice day.(Casuallystrolls out andwaves, smiling)MR. ABRAHAM(Dumbfounded,waves back,Stutters)Bye Mr. Brown!L I P T O N(Out of sight,yells back)It’s Lipton!

Glenna Lusk, In a Different Light33

“Women…” byBianca Smith ~ Tylertown, MS

The girl that smiles, holds her head up high whenshe walks by, can also be the girl who always sits in herdorm and cries, tears of pain, sniffs of “Why me?” withwet eyelids of “Make my pain go away.” To hide thissadness, she usually applies her make-up layer by layer,coat by coat, to cover the stress of horrible past thoughtsthat she wants to erase.

Sometimes she becomes tainted, caught up in thismaterialistic world, and often covers her bare and brokenheart in name-brand fashion in order to not seem weak,and easy, yet she knows she is.

The girl who hops around from arm to arm, mattre s sto mattress easily fits into the stereotype of a “ho”, slut,trick, or b**ch.

But oh no, my people. I am here to show you moreof this girl. Here to tell you more. She is not any of thesenames; she is indeed an important and close comparisonto the beautiful girl that walks by, the always confident,fashionable female. How are they the same? Well, I cantell you, they are both seeking love and affection.

To other women I say, let’s not be so quick to judgethese girls. And to the guys I say let’s not be so quick towant to screw these girls because one day a similar girlcould be the one you call daughter. . .

34Steven Anderson, Lemmings

Target byCaitlin Miclot ~ Austin, Texas

I see the solid red circle surrounded by two larger circlesforming an overwhelmingly large bulls-eye. My heart starts torace as the short white bus gets closer and closer. It is as if thebulls-eye is calling my name sucking me in, as my blood pressurerises, and a pang of excitement runs through my head. Oh thepossibilities; I think what lies ahead of me is the most exc i t e m e n tI have had in a while.

My alarm clock goes off as I roll my eyes and crawl outof bed thinking this is just another Sunday here at my smallIndiana boarding school. First it’s church, then inspection,and eventually lunch. Every Sunday is pretty much the same,nothing really changes. Then, I hear the loud “PING” of mycomputer, notifying me I have received an email. I nodthinking it is just more college information, as I continuecleaning my room. By the time I read the email I notice it ismarked as important and wonder why an email from thecommunications department is so important, as I open it upand read the following message:

Caitlin,This is just a reminder that you have signed up for thisweekend’s shopping trip to South Bend. Please meetoutside your dorms at 2:15 p.m. Then we shall be on ourway to the South Bend Plaza. Thanks and see you there!

What?! I think to myself. I totally forgot I signed up togo shopping; I get really excited thinking there’s so much Ineed, like a dress, and a new pair of sandals. I look up theSouth Bend Shopping Plaza online, and realize there isn’tmuch “clothes shopping” other than Kohl’s or Old Navy.But then I go on and read the entire list of stores–Kohl’s,Justice, Old Navy, Rue 21. As I continue reading the alpha-

betic list I get to the “T” section, there’s T.J.Maxx, andthen… my heart starts pounding and my back starts swe a t i n g ,as I see the name of the store I was praying for, it’s the “storeof all store s” where “Big Deals, are better.” I see the symbol ofhope that I have been waiting for, the solid red dot surro u n d e dby two larger circles, and then my day/week/month is made.I yell for joy and jump around squeaking, scaring my room-mate as I read aloud “TARGET Super Center, TARGET,TA RGET!!” This immediately changes my Sunday afternoon;if not my life. I get to “attend” a shopping trip to Target,what more could a Culver Academies Student as for?

To many, a simple trip to Target may be an every weekoccurrence, but to a student in a small boarding school stuckbetween two large cornfields, going to Target is like walkingon water or better yet, bouncing on the clouds. Target notonly has more than the local CVS, but it has that welcomingstore feeling that makes or breaks a shopping experience. Itis amazing what a 48 minute bus ride can lead you too, it isalmost like the gates to Heaven were just opened, and Ifound the meaning of life in a simple Super Center with thebig red bull’s eye.

35

Help Wanted byCallie Daniels ~ Jackson, MS

Rose Waverly Daniels, a tall beanpole of an eleven-year-old, was very much in love with a daft Siberian Husky in theneighbors’ yard. On late afternoons, Rose would walk overto the hole under the fence in the backyard. The dog wouldpop his head out every time. How he doesn’t get stuck thereis beyond explanation. Rose would stay there for a while,petting the dog and wishing that he could be hers instead ofthe cranky old Puerto Rican’s.

She swore that she spied the old Puerto Rican whackingthe dog with his cane while muttering intelligible words.That poor dog was going to be dinner one day! One day, asshe was doing her algebra homework, she was struck byinspiration. She ran down the hall to her older sister’s room–took special care to holler at the cats that were bathing inthe sunlight–and got on the computer. Recalling what shelearned in computer class, she pulled up Mi c rosoft Wo rd andlaboriously typed away. After an hour, she created a posterentitled, “HELP WANTED! ABUSED DOG!” In the centerthere was a picture of a Siberian Husky that she found offsome dog-loving website.

“Rose Waverly,” fussed Mom, “you’d better be done withyour homework!”

One Sunday afternoon, Rose wriggled effortlessly out ofher dress, much to the dismay of her older sister who loved tosee her in dresses so. She put on an old t-shirt with ill-fittingcapris that she claimed were cool. Rose bolted when a knocksounded on the door, and grinned as Mom welcomed John-Michael inside. Before the bespectacled boy could tell Rosethat he had obtained the rarest Pokemon card, Rose pulledhim outside and towards the hole in the fence. She wanted

her best friend to meet her best friend. The Siberian Husky popped his head out. “Awe! He is cute!” smiled John-Michael. Rose grinned in

reply and leaned down to pet his head. Before she couldreach him, the dog’s head disappeared. Rose’s heart dropped.Was the old Pu e rto Rican back? They heard a loud scratchingnoise and saw dirt flying out from the hole.

“Rooooose!! What is that?” Mom stuck her head outsidethe door. Rose and John-Michael scattered. Mom shook herhead and walked back inside, “W h a t’s the score for the Sa i n t sgame?”

Rose tentatively walked back to the hole which was biggerand getting bigger. She stood there motionless, simply staringat the hole. The Siberian Husky wriggled out and was high-tailing it down the backyard before Rose or John-Michaelcould figure it out. John-Michael pushed up his glasses andlooked over at Rose. Rose stared somberly at the prancingdog that was now squatting in the front yard. The SiberianHusky is at last free! It pounced to the middle of the street.It was nearly run over.

Rose and John-Michael ran after the dog, up the hillwhere it stopped to sniff at the road sign. It saw them run-ning full speed at it, yelped, and darted in between them tothe backyard. After a good thirty minutes of chasing, Rose andJohn-Michael were seething and the dog was lolly-gagging inthe cul-de-sac. After running inside to gulp down Capri Su n ,they ran outside and lunged at the husky. The dog darted toa nearby fence and disappeared underneath it.

Rose and Jo h n - Michael stopped. Her older sister and Mo mwarned her about this particular fence and what lay behind it.It was a long, concrete rain gutter ruined by graffiti, emptybeer bottles, and drooping chain fences. And dirty pot-headswere known to roam about in there. She looked at John-Michael and without a word they were over the fence and

Steven Anderson, Huck, Door Back 36

racing through the dirty puddles. They looked straight aheadtoo afraid to look left and right.

After what seemed to be a long while of running sidew a y son steep concrete walls, the two kids stopped to pant andrehash their plan of rescuing the husky from its fate of beingrun over by cars. T h u n d e rous barking boomed down on them.Guttural noises echoed down the concrete ditch, coming infrom all sides, terrifying Rose and John-Michael. They hon-estly thought they were going to meet God when a noisepierced the air:

“Roooooose!!” “Rose, what were you doing?” Mom asked as red-faced

Rose and John-Michael stood in front of her. There hadbeen several large dogs in the yards adjoining the concreteditch that saw the two gangly kids as intruders.Whether there were leashes or fences wasunknown, for the two had fled for home at thefirst bark. They animatedly tried to explain whatthey had been up to, but Mom had walkedinside, already satisfied that Rose’s body wasintact and functional.

Rose and John-Michael walked around theblock in the neighborhood, still hopeful that theywould find the Siberian Husky before sundown.They noticed a thin figure with a dog walkingtowards them. After ten awkward minutes ofwalking towards each other, Rose noticed thatthe dog’s leash was a belt and the person washolding up his sagging pants. After a few moreminutes, they stopped in their tracks.

It was the Siberian Husky!“Oh,” said her older sister later, “so Ruth’s

brother got him?” She raised her eyebrows as shewent back to her book, “I didn’t know he cared

about the dog.” Rose would have thanked him, but she didnot know what his name was and didn’t think he’d appre c i a t ebeing called, “Ruth’s brother.” Anyway, the dog was backwhere he started.

Rose went back to her computer and looked at the“HELP WANTED! ABUSED DOG!” poster. She thought itwas a fine masterpiece and tried to print it. The printer wasout of ink. She went outside to the hole in the backyard.The Siberian Husky whined behind the fence; the hole wasfilled in, and there was a concrete block on top of it on thedog’s side. Rose dragged a tall porch chair over to the fenceand looked into the neighbor’s yard. She saw the huskyrolling around blissfully on his back.

She smiled at him. She loved the moronic dog so.

37

A Child’s Paradise byKelsey Faulkner ~ Caruthersville, Missouri

On a gravel road in rural Caruthersville, Missourisits a little yellow house with dark green shutters. A bigyard with patches of dirt and grass surrounds the house,with tall oak trees sprouting up all over. To get to thehouse, there is a long gravel driveway that has a patchof concrete with an old rusty basketball goal. The back-yard is home to stray animals, a swimming pool, and amassive jungle gym. At the very end of the long backyard stands a huge barn. Splinters stick out from itsside, and the chipped red paint makes it look spotted.As a child, my mother always told me not to enter thebarn because my dad kept his farm chemicals there. Sothere stood this huge mysterious space, just waiting forme to discover it. However, the most magical place onEarth lay in a big empty field behind the barn.

As I pulled back the tall grass and stepped onto thedry dirt I knew something wondrous waited for me.Rocks and clumps of dirt covered the bumpy floor ofthe field. I walked through the tall weeds, and grasssurrounded me on every side. My eyes could only seegreen grass, making me feel adventurous but frightenedat the same time. I could only imagine my mother’sw o r ry if she knew my whereabouts. Ne ve rtheless Icontinued forw a rd, like a piece of metal moving tow a rd amagnet. As a curious child I took in all of my surro u n d-ings. Arrowheads pro t ruded from the dirt, tiny bugs clungto the weeds, and the clouds moved quickly above me. Mye yes opened wide as I reached the clearing, and I knew thatI had found my secret hideout that would be mine fore ve r.

The big bright clearing let the sunlight shine brightagainst the darkness of the field. The green from the grassput a green shade on eve rything in the open area. Althoughit seemed to be a mile wide through my childish eyes, itwas actually only about ten feet in diameter. An oldrusty fish tank sat to the right, with dried mold all overits glass. The tank held tons of sea shells, and one bigpink conch shell. I tried multiple times to blow theconch shell, but I failed every time. A few dead cornstalks lined the clearing, with brown and black ears ofcorn holding on to the stalk by a thread. A small treestump protruded from the ground, with a few smallbranches sticking out from its sides. I sat Indian-styleon the stump and looked up at the sky for what seemedlike hours. I played by myself until I heard my mothercall for me, and as I looked back into the clearing, Iknew I would make more than a few memories there.

One day my cousin Hayden and I spent all day dig-ging for treasure in the clearing, and instead we cameacross several old arrow heads. We just knew they camef rom the Indians that built the Indian mound that stoodabout 270 feet high, down the road from my house. T h eOsage tribes had roamed the area long before, and hadleft behind several artifacts. We gathered all of the arrowheads and tied them to sticks so we could pretend to beIndians. We danced around, making Indian noises byshouting and patting our mouths with our hands.Hayden hit my shoulder and told me to stop dancingbecause he had heard footsteps. We listened into thefield, and we both heard the grass rustling. I quicklyjumped on the stump and held out my arrow, ready toattack our intruder. Hayden scurried up next to me. Itried to act brave, but I thought the Indians had come

Steven Anderson, Apple Shampoo 38

to get us for chanting. The wind stood still, and the clouds stopped mov i n g .

The smell of burning firewood filled the air. A piece ofdead corn fell off the stalk. That is when we heard a twigs n a p, and sprinted out of the field like ro a d runners. T h etall grass stung my arms as we whipped past it. Whenwe made it safely behind the barn, we looked back tosee my black Labrador, Grady, slowly walk out of theclearing. We fell to the ground with relief, and decidedto leave the clearing alone for the day.

My mother used to always tell me stories of a ghost,M r. Alton, who haunted our house in search of his wife.

Mr. Alton had built our house with his own twohands, and died on the pro p e rt y. Most people say ghostswill not be at peace until they find what they are look-ing for, and Mr. Alton was looking for his wife. I sawMr. Alton several times by the rose bushes in the backy a rd. I’m pretty sure his wife planted them, but after hiswife died, I never saw him again.

One day we took a day trip to go shopping. Beingthe tomboy I was, I did not enjoy it one bit, so I mademy mom promise me that I could play outside when wegot home. Dusk approached quickly, but I wanted toplay in the clearing before the day ended. Once I got tothe clearing I grabbed a few sea shells from the fish tankand started playing with them on the stump. The timeflew by, and suddenly bright stars hung above my headin the dark sky. I took in the picture perfect sky. I hearda dog barking in the distance, and an owl hoot far offin a tree. A cold wind whipped through the weeds andI got scared so I headed toward the yard. I saw a whiteblur by the barn and fro ze. Ho r ror took over my actions,and I could not move a single part of my body. I stared

at the back porch light, which seemed like miles away. Ik n ew I had to get there as quickly as possible so I begansprinting. The entire time I was running I felt like some-one was watching me. I slammed the door once I gotinside, and stared out the window trying to find theghost. I still believe it was Mr. Alton trying to watch mebecause I was all by myself.

In the clearing I could do anything and be whoeverI wanted. I always felt powerful there from the day Idiscovered it. The clearing always helped me relax andmeditate, even though small children do not have muchto worry about. That clearing holds many of the child-hood stories and memories that can never be taken awayfrom me. When Iwas sixteen yearsold, I went backout to the clearingto regain that peaceI had as a child.The bittersweetmoment put tearsto my eyes as Ireached down intothe even more rust-ed fish tank andpulled out thefamiliar pink conchshell. I sat on thestump and took inall the familiarscents and smellsof my childhood.

William Strouth, Oregon Pine39

The Price of Freedom byAmanda Blakely ~ Greenwood, MS

Fighting for freedomIn no man’s land“Rock that SAW”Is my commandFear in the eyesOf each woman and man

Living each daySurrounded by sandMud on my bootsAnd blood on my hands The price of freedomAnd taking a stand

Prayer byAnn-Layton Chandler ~ Jackson, MS

Kneeling by the bedI slowly bow my headI close my eyesBottled up with criesI release my pain What can I gain?A peace in my heartHe heals each partTime for bedI remember what He saidThe darkness is now deadA new day lies ahead

40Kaitlin Bachmeyer, Our Spring is Sweet Not Fleeting

A River As It Flows byTrent Nichols ~ Batesville, MS

How like a river does the day flow?

Quickly, it goes by without your knowing

Some are content to sit idly by, to marvel at its passing.

Others jump in, and revel in the waves and rushing waters.

I would take a middle ground.

Give me a Raft and a Paddle

So that I might use the day,

But let it take me where it goes.