Author Archives: reilly

Prosetry, Short Story

The Time You Set Your House on Fire – Samantha Forsyth 

Put off by the smell of gasoline. It was hard to ask yourself to abhor your senses. To walk out of the front door without saying goodbye and disregard the dizziness when you smelt the petrol. It’s the feeling of breaking your own nose with movements quick and uncontrolled when you were running through the hallways, and now you’re pouring a trail that starts and ends out the front door. You’re unsatisfied just being happy. 

It’s not enough until it’s burnt. Until you can see a fire consume itself in real time. Your mother makes you breakfast everyday in that house and your father shares the paper with you. You won’t ever have to worry about losing them again because you know you’ll be able to keep the ashes if you decide you want to. Now you can run your fingers through every memory of early childhood and bathe in the question of permanence. Stand before the destruction you’ve created. 

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Poetry

A Child Again – Harika Kottakota 

A ruby-tinted shadow clamps my hand
And I’m wading in shards of glass and china
A child again, sanity tethered on Pinocchio strings

I can’t understand 

The curtain fraying into cobweb ribbon
The buttercups bowing to earth  
The russet swing mourning at dusk 

I can’t see color  

My silk finger scrawls on steam  
My failure-of-a-mother’s maiden name   
My stolen words dance along the casket’s borders  

I can fly far, far away 
To forgive, then grow   
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Prose

Don’t Look at That Boy From Across The Room – Alex Esterline

Don’t look at that boy from across the room. I don’t care how many times you tell yourself that you’re just curious, or that you just want to take a glance, because a glance will always ruin you.

Don’t stare at that boy from across the room. Because that boy’s eyes might be a little too different from anything you’ve seen before, and you might look for too long. You’ll start to notice the color of his eyes, and the shape of his lips. And if you look for too long, you might see more than his eyes.

Don’t smile back at that boy from across the room. He’s going to flash you that smile. The one you don’t quite know yet, but still the one that will cause you to throw your head back and laugh alongside him. It’ll be the one that makes everything around him seem dull. Because that smile is when you ride the biggest roller coaster first, and then everything else becomes tame.

Don’t talk to that boy from across the room. Because that boy is going to talk to you. And his voice is going to be that feeling you get when you hear a great song on the radio, but you never can quite figure out what it is. His voice is going to be a constant chorus stuck in your head in the middle of class. And you’ll be begging for more.

Don’t let that boy from across the room get close to you. He’s going to sit next to you one day, and move his leg so it just barely touches yours. He’s going to ask you for high fives after he makes his stupid jokes that are going to make you smile. You’ll high five him and feel the warmth of his hand for just a little longer than what would seem normal. You’ll then both pull away slowly out of fear. This time, you won’t be able to forget about the way his hand felt and the feelings that lead up to it. And you’re going to start noticing his smile, and when he’s laughing at something that’s so stupid and doesn’t make any sense, you’ll notice his smile. And when you notice his smile, you’re just going to give in and start cracking up alongside him. You’ll both look like complete idiots but you will not care. 

Don’t go to the movies with that boy from across the room. Soon, you’ll both sit down, almost late to the movie, because he was so confident he could win that stuffed animal- if he could “just have one more shot at it”. You’re going to sit down with him and laugh and make jokes at the previews for movies to come. You’re going to realize that this movie is a little scarier than he led you to believe. Soon, you’ll find out that this was his plan all along. You’ll probably find out when he takes your hand, or when he gently places his hand on your leg, rubbing his thumb back and forth. When you realize that he didn’t put anything on the cup holder in between you two, he’ll pull you close to him. 

Don’t go to that boy’s house after the movie. He’ll take your hand and lead you through the house. You’ll pass his mom, who’s going to love you like your own mother. But he’ll leave no time for introductions, he tells her that you two are tired. You’ll walk into his room, looking around. You’ll have no time to sightsee, however, because he’ll turn off the lights quickly, and the room will be just slightly brighter than the movie theater. He’ll tell you to sit on your bed and he’ll get you some clothes to sleep in, he says. He gets you the clothes which you put on. You’ll notice they’re baggy, but they feel comfortable. He’s going to sit you down on the bed and hold your hands. You’ll look at each other and see the pattern of the moonlight from the blinds dividing his pale skin into glowing lines.

Don’t let that boy kiss you. Because he will kiss you. You’re going to notice his face coming closer. He’s going to use his hand to push back your hair. And he’s going to lean in fast, and kiss you softly. And then you’ll both get that feeling in your back, sending alarms throughout your entire body. He’s going to keep kissing you, his lips growing stronger and more secure as every second passes. Eventually, he’ll lay you down without taking his lips off of you. The kissing will die down as you both try and suppress your laughter. He’s going to lust after you and keep leaning in, but you’ll be smiling so widely he’s going to have no option but to laugh at you. And you’ll think to yourself “thank god I looked at this boy from across the room.”

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Poetry, Prosetry

Vagabond – Alexandra Mayer

His voice reminds me of Botticelli. 

You know… pastel angels, naked and soft.

The sun:

 A bleeding grapefruit–  

Its scarlet juices seeping into wisps of yellow, violet and blue.

I love him. I love her too. 

Home–there are just so many of you. 

The road rushes back. 

My memories are watercolors. 

These years drip into each other. 

Nothing but hazy hues. 

Stretches of Sand. 

My lips in the rearview mirror. 

Unphased, shedding layers like a python.  

Sometimes they strike without warning even me. 

 

Jeep paters to a stop.

Barefeet burning.

Black pavement. 

The stench of bonfires and summer.

He calls me over, 

with eyes like wildflowers,

and points to the flickering embers that litter the shore.

They’re pulled away by white knuckles

 dragging light back to sea. 

And Time slips out the back 

because we won’t pay enough attention to her. 

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Short Story

You’re Looking Younger Each Day – Brooke Safferman

“If there’s anything I hate, it’s the sound of children laughing. Especially in the summertime,” he said. The couple rocked back and forth, slowly, on their front porch. She was 26, he was 32.

“My! However could you say such a thing, Denton!?” she exclaimed. Her steady rocking never ceased.

​“I mean it, Maggie. I shiver at the thought of us growing. Growing and growing and growing.” Each morning, they would go outside to their porch. The chairs never changed, but their owners grew every day.

​“Well, Denny, I’m rather excited about growing! Just think – we will have the Law to take care of us, then! No responsibilities whatsoever. When we lose our teeth and the sharpness of our thoughts and the ability to walk without assistance, it won’t ever be our fault, Denny! No, I’m excited for life to take its natural course with us.”

​“Youth… who needs it…” he grumbled.

​“Now, Denny, I’m serious! Stop that talk!” She swiftly rose from her chair. It continued to rock, even without her presence.

​“Oh, Maggie… you’re looking younger each day. Younger and freer, without a care in the world. With your long, long legs pale and delicate. Your eyelashes have so much fringe! My word, what fringe you have! And those lips…” With a smirk, she took his hand and led him into the house. His heart sunk in his chest at the sight of how beautiful her body was, each curve highlighted by the sun trickling in through the windowpane. Gossamer curtains tickled the screens pushed open. She was so young. Almost a child, even. One day, he’d be without her.

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Poetry

Search for Equilibrium – Haley Ingram

Keep calm.

Remain vigilant.
The throbbing in your lungs means nothing
To the gasping breath
Of your heart.
Each cracked burn on your
undead fingertips
Kiss the surface of heated glass
Inflaming your throat
Neck bent at exactly 45 degrees
You cringe and smile.
Your teeth eroded from the love I thought you carried in every undefined
Empty space in your body.
The acid creeping up the outside of your veins.
Vexation and tribulation scratching, crying, screaming, kicking.
Providing you with enough fluidity to drown,
But they are just holding hands.
Just as we used to when we were content with confinement.
When we were young. Foolish. We grew like the grass we whispered our dreams into and the dandelions I caressed against my cheeks to show you how gentle life can be.
And the kisses we’d exchanged like a currency of requited endearment meant nothing by the time I was meant to be maintained while you,
You just never grew.
You haven’t grown anything since the day I gave you the seed
I planted it in your heart,
See, its just for you please let my
Blooms nip at the disease you clog
Their stems with.
You hopeless tyrant.
You water them with the distaste of alcohol.
Keep calm.
Remain vigilant.
Our hands may have branched off
But my lungs never stopped beating for you
And every exhale my heart takes
Prepares me for an inhale of you captivation.
Petals may shatter like the shards of glass
You insist on gardening with
But you’ve never had the greenest thumbs
In fact you’re irately purple
Go outside
Take a moment
Breathe.
Lift your hands to the clouds reach for the time escaping us at every given second-
I can’t comprehend never being there on time
To hold you.
Pill popping may be just as sweet as the innocence you once had or the sanity I protected but that was stolen from us
And you’ve never felt more violated
From me grabbing your hips,
Or Tasting your body.
Because I don’t even have a tongue to say the words I’ve never thought.
Mouth sewn shut
Remain vexed
Calm keepings
You molested my smile and gave it a new name
You called it beauty.
You dismantled the arbitrary seclusion
Of my sanity
Your cold lifeless hands
Choking me
Oxygen is a privilege
To my skin
And you try to hold my hand
But I just can’t give this trepidation
A fair shot.
I kiss my own hands better than anyone
Who has ever held them
I’m rotting at your touch
The abyss of your fingerprints
You burn my flesh
You stunt my growth
I drown in ignorance
So blissful
I tend to my flowers with broken glass
Cut the stems
Force the alcohol into their system
The bitter taste on my lips are not the words I’ve never said
Rather than the words I regret to have ever spoken
Pills sprout a new flower they help me
I am slitting my airways and drowning my veins.
Keep calm.
Remain vigilant.
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Poetry

Puddles – Brooke Safferman

Puddles.

Tears of melting cinnamon and something sweeter than the coffee you adored

Nothing I could have said would have brought you back,

But just maybe,

This was for the best.

 

Puddles.

All the things that remind me of you, now stuffed into my canvas duffle bag

It’s time for this nomad to get all packed up and to head on home.

It’s funny though, because I sincerely thought that you were my home.

 

Puddles.

The warmth of your voice and the sound of your skin

And all my senses blended into one, jumbled by the thought

Of how much bliss I had gained from your kisses and your caring.

 

Puddles.

I think back to the times when you held me in your arms;

“I will always love you,” you said, but that was never true.

It seems more accurate to say “I will always love you.”

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Poetry, Prosetry

A Blade Only Cuts Halfway – Ivy Juniper Manchester

Follow her blog for more writing: http://taintedyours.wordpress.com

Whispers across a silent room, 
the onlookers glance around, 
claiming it to the wind, 
but I stay rooted, 
clinging to the voice of you, 
each word 
a dagger deeper 
than the last- the last? 
you said 
no 
while i pleaded yes 
and 
then 
you were 
gone 
and you never 
came back 
to say 
goodbye

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Poetry

Heart is Divided – Ugonma Ubani-Ebere

My heart is divided
No longer can I hide it,
My love is a puzzle piece, and I can’t find peace.
Too scared to let my love lines decease.
So I equally give my time
Getting drunk off my quality wine.
Each one holds a special part
If one goes I will break apart.
What is a person to do
When more than one holds the glue
I could tell you that I have not the slightest clue.
The caress of one
The other is fun
Another is aggressive
And another feels as if they’ve already won
I cry at night from my confusion
A heart wrenching, sordid, ploy of revolutions
As I laugh through my delusions
And I come to the conclusion.
That in spite of my affliction
All of them are a depiction
Of something my heart transpires
Something my soul desires
But I know the consequences are dire
Because you always get burned when you play with fire
But like a moth to a flame.
I am entranced all the same.
A wild heart that can never be tamed.
A free soul that refuses to be chained.
I know I will never win in this game.
When you play with matters of the heart
Wounds will be inflicted
Hurt feelings will not be restricted
Words full of bitterness and malice will not be constricted.
My heart is divided,
Only one can make me and it whole
Only one can win me over and mend my beautifully, dark, twisted, and delicious soul.
My heart is divided,
Someone stop me, and pull on my brakes
Because my heart is divided
Only one can win
The other hearts must break.

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Poetry, Prosetry

dynamics – Karlee Sanders

a fortissimo recollection of memories floods my mind with thoughts

I remember your forte screams that directed everything I did

your mezzo forte demands at home for me to grab you a beer or to come to bed
my mezzo piano answers that you’d never hear because you were too busy thinking about the next move you’d make on me to make your wish my command
my piano voice under my breath uttering my hate for you
your pianissimo voice now over the phone from your jail cell
begging me for forgiveness and bail money
only to get a dial tone in return
k.s. 3:15 pm 12/7/14
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