Ink Tank! Volume Four: Spring-Summer 2012

INK TANK

SPRING 2012 Page 1 Ink Tank! Volume Four: Spring-Summer 2012

“... write in the kitchen, lock yourself up in the bathroom. Write on the bus or the welfare line, on the job or during meals.” - Gloria Anzaldua

“Tu, was du willst.” — Michael Ende.

Ink Tank!

A production of the Writing Center at Sonoma State University

Volume Four Spring-Summer 2012

Page 3 Ink Tank! Volume Four: Spring-Summer 2012

Our Mission Statement:

As a funded program of the Instructionally Related Activities fund, Ink Tank!, a student literary journal, aims to provide educational and experiential opportunities for students interested in writing and in becoming writers. The journal is collaboratively published by the SSU Writing Center and AllWrite, a chartered student club at Sonoma State University.

Ink Tank! specifically aims to provide a forum wherein students from all sectors of campus life, including remedial and lower-division writing classes, may see their work in print.

All written works, photographs, images, and other creative contributions to Ink Tank! were created by current students or alumni of Sonoma State University and are copyright ©2012 in the names of their respective creators. Page 4 Ink Tank! Volume Four: Spring-Summer 2012 -- Contents -- Essays 9 Amajad Almousa 10 Daniel Clements 12 Erin Fisher 17 Megan Lovejoy 26 Juan Mercado 30 Ralph Valdoz 35 Poetry 41 Hayley Barnett 42 Tara Bowers 44 Rachel Cushman 45 Sarah Dalimonte 49 Valen Dudley 51 Allie Enriquez 55 Kaley Kemp 56 Jenna Madsen 58 Janet Prouty 59 Brian Strauss 62 Eric Wilson 65

Fiction 69 Christina Caronia 70 Erin Fisher 73 Donna Linzy Garcia 75 Elin Honea 91 Katy Krum 97 Jenna Madsen 99

Page 5 Ink Tank! Volume Four: Spring-Summer 2012

Rayna Penning 102 Janet Prouty 117 Jessica Reben 129 Shibby Rodriguez 131 Dannielle Sage 136

From the [Writing] Center (Ellyn Percoski) 139 Ink Blot! 140

How to get published 144

Editorial Staff 145

Editor’s Note 145

Page 6 Ink Tank! Volume Four: Spring-Summer 2012

-- Images --

Front and back cover images by Ben Leaf Page 8 image by Sarah Harkins Page 40 and 68 images by Anonymous

Page 7 Ink Tank! Volume Four: Spring-Summer 2012

Page 8 Ink Tank! Volume Four: Spring-Summer 2012

Essays

“I believe the language I use on a daily basis reveals and shapes my own personal identity.” -Daniel Clements

Page 9 Ink Tank! Volume Four: Spring-Summer 2012 Amjad Almousa Untitled Essay

Saudi Arabia is the largest country in Western Asia in terms of area, which form the bulk of the Arabian Peninsula, and the second largest in the Arab world, after Algeria. It Is bordered by Jordan and Iraq in the north and northeast, Kuwait, Qatar, Bahrain, United Arab Emirates on the east, and the Sultanate of Oman in the southeast, and Yemen in the south. The Red Sea is located to the west, and the Persian Gulf lies to the north-east. Saudi Arabia was founded by Saud bin Abdul Aziz Al-Saud (known in most of his career as Ibn Saud) in 1932, despite the conquests which eventually led to the establishment of the Kingdom began in 1902 when he captured Riyadh, the hometown of his family, grandparents. the Government of the Saudi, which was an absolute monarchy since its inception, and refers to the system of government as an Islamic, in spite of this challenge by many to be on a strong foundation in Salafism, a school of thought in Islam, a minority. And sometimes called in the Kingdom of the “Land of the Two Holy Mosques” in reference to the Sacred Mosque (in Mecca), Prophet’s Mosque and Al (in Medina), and the holy places in Islam. Saudi Arabia is the second largest oil exporter in the world. Any person who has not visited Saudi Arabia has believed for a moment that Saudi Arabia is a large desert contains many oil wells, but in fact, the reality is different. There are Plains, rivers and beautiful heights mountains and a lot of big cities all around the Empty Quarter which is the only big desert in Saudi.

Page 10 Ink Tank! Volume Four: Spring-Summer 2012

Furthermore, A recent economic study confirms that the Saudi capital Riyadh and Jeddah are the fastest growing in the world after Shanghai. Because Riyadh in a short time transformed from a small village surrounded by walls to the modern city and a home to millions of people. Jeddah is Saudi Arabia’s second city and economic capital of the Kingdom of famous skyscrapers, where a lot is the first in terms of projects, towers and skyscrapers.

Page 11 Ink Tank! Volume Four: Spring-Summer 2012 Daniel Clements My Identity

Many people use unique sets of language that help to shape their personal identity. For example, the words people use in their everyday conversations may be a reflection of their racial identity, gender, or academic background. I believe the language I use on a daily basis reveals and shapes my own personal identity. In this paper, I will discuss three separate stories, each of which reveals a moment when my identity was shaped through language. These stories explore the dialogue I use with my family, in sports, and in socializing with my friends, all of which have helped to shape me into a respectful, competitive, and caring person. When I am with my family, people often comment on my good manners and respect toward others. This could be because in introductions to family friends, I use formal language. For example, when my dad has an event for his work, I am careful to use respectful language with his partners. My father works for the New York Life Insurance Company, a very formal business. Each year, the company holds a huge meeting that can be anywhere in the United States. We have had several opportunities to be in five star hotels, where the company provides events for us during our stay. In 2007, we went to The Disney World Hotel. The minute we arrived in the lobby, I was shaking hands and meeting all kinds of people with whom my dad works. My dad would say things like, “I would like you to meet my son, Daniel.” Then I would shake this person’s hand, look them in their eyes and say, “Very

Page 12 Ink Tank! Volume Four: Spring-Summer 2012 nice to meet you.” The words I would choose to use in meeting these people were always formal and polite. Often, my dad would tell me later that many people commented on what a well-mannered and respectful person I am. The reaction of my father’s co-workers reveals how my choice in language helped to shape my identity as respectful and polite. It also helped to show my family that I was on my best behavior. In situations like this, my parents really appreciate how generous and kind I am to others. My conversations reflect my maturity and good communication skills. The formal vocabulary in my dialogue, and the fact that I am being attentive, shows the other person that I am interested in what they have to say. It also makes the other person feel comfortable, that I am into the conversation, and really enjoy talking to them This language of respect comes from my parents. They taught me how to behave and to show respect to others. I feel I have done well. Having a respectful identity is important to me. My personal choice of language has helped me convey and acquire respectfulness. Language has also helped me develop my competitiveness. I play a lot of sports and am a very competitive person. (I get the competitiveness mostly from my grandpa.) Tennis is the main sport that I play. I remember a time when my coach told me, “You’ve got to relax and be yourself, and have fun out there.” My high school tennis team was playing against one of the tough schools. I was playing number two for the team. After my coach talked to me, I went to the court and played my hardest. The language my coach used with me helped me to believe in myself and my ability to win. I used words to physic myself up, like, “Play like a champion!” Or, “I can do this, just

Page 13 Ink Tank! Volume Four: Spring-Summer 2012 prove it to myself, don’t worry about others.” I played one-hundred percent on every point and whenever I made an incredible shot, I said, “let’s go!” This use of competitive language really motivated me to play even harder and to my limits, and it worked. I eventually won the match. I remember my coach being so proud of me, and how competitive I could be out on the court. I always want to play perfectly, and want to execute my shots well. Even if I make a mistake, which I do, and often give myself a hard time, but then try to play better. I did everything that my coach instructed me to do, and I was very successful. The thing I love about sports is that it teaches me how to be competitive in life. I practiced tennis everyday when I was in high school, and I still practice at Sonoma State whenever I have the time. I play as hard as I can because I want to improve at my game. The language of competitiveness helps me to not give up at all. When something bad happens to me, I have to think about what I should do next, and maintain control of myself. I sometimes go through things the hard way, but whenever I do, it feels so good that I can solve most things by myself. In tennis, and in my life, when I’m down, I have to figure out how to come back and win. This kind of competitiveness helps me to survive on and off the tennis court. I am also careful to show good sportsmanship. When I show respect to my opponent, soon enough, we become friends. Shaping my identity by using respectful and competitive language helps me to establish good relationships and survival skills. In the same manner, language I use with my friends helps to shape my identity. I talk to my friends face to face, through Facebook, and by texting on my phone. I most of the time communicate through Facebook and texting since most of my friends are far away from home, and I cannot really see them as

Page 14 Ink Tank! Volume Four: Spring-Summer 2012 much. The way I communicate with them reveals what a caring person I am. One of my friends that I care very much about is James. I have known James since the eighth grade. Over a year ago, he was sent to the hospital. For some reason, his body system just shut down. This was really serious. He was in the hospital for a long time struggling for his life. Later he had to deal with a lot of physical therapy and catching up in school. I can relate to James because when I was two and a half years old, I had Neroblastoma Cancer, which is a very rare cancer. Like James, I was in the hospital for a long time. Both of our families were really upset and had to deal with the pain they saw us going through. This is unbelievable, but for no reason, our body systems were shut down for a while. We had to go through a lot of medicine, therapy, surgery, and pain. We both found a way to fight back. We believed we had a second chance to live on Earth, and we did. I believe that going through these similar situations has helped me to be a more caring friend. When James was in the hospital, I expressed my caring by being there for him. I said positive things to him like, “Everything is going to be ok. Remember the good times we had. Don’t forget what a good day that was that day.” Using these caring expressions showed that I was there for him. James and his parents see me as a supportive and caring person. Now, I go to his house and just have conversations about myself and about him. I just say things like, “School is going well. I have good grades right now and am very busy with all the work that the professors assign. I go the recreation center and work out and play basketball. I’m rooming with five other people which is very interesting in terms of stories. Otherwise I’m great. How are you doing?” James goes on and talks about his day and so on. Then we talk about video games, movies, and

Page 15 Ink Tank! Volume Four: Spring-Summer 2012

jokes. I’m happy that James is much better than he was before. It is nice to be able to talk to him. I care about him, and absolutely love his family. I get this kind of caring mostly from my mom. I see her being helpful. People like her and she is happy to help others. My mom was a teacher and helped a lot of her students. and I said to . The use of caring language helps me connect to friends and show my kindness. The language that I used in the three situations above reveal the kind of person I am. Such language has also helped to shape my identity as a respectful, competitive, and a caring person. My parents, coaches, and my friends all like me for who I am. Through the years, I have learned so much about myself and how my choice in language can help me to become a better person. So many people love me because they identify me as a good person. The dialogue I use with my family, in sports, and in socializing with my friends, has helped to identify me as respectful, competitive, and caring person.

Page 16 Ink Tank! Volume Four: Spring-Summer 2012 Erin Fisher Sex Education

At a young age my father always told me “don’t have sex until your married” and “if you have sex, you’re at risk of an STD and do you want that for the rest of your life?” These words might have been said to you or someone you know, maybe you said or are going to say these words to your children. Today children are socialized about sex at a young age from societal influences. These influences can com from parents, the media, schools, churches or even government. Sex education is about how society teaches our children and future generations about sex and that these different influences have a huge impact on the affects of sex education and society. Since the United States overall has a heavily based conservative society about sex education, the United States has higher teen pregnancies and STD rates. In order to correct these high rates in the United States that are negatively affecting teens, the Country needs to require national standards for comprehensive sex education. Today the “teen-pregnancy and birth rates in the U.S. continue to look like an epidemic compared with those in other Western countries” (Sullivan1). This is because of abstinence-only sex education, “which instruct kids to delay sex until marriage” (Sullivan1). This type of sex education is supported by the United States with “176 million dollars in federal funding” specifically for abstinence-only education (Sullivan1). This money being funded for abstinence-only programs is causing “local districts [to] have a powerful incentive to restrict their sex-education curriculum”, which is one of the reasons that one third of states in the

Page 17 Ink Tank! Volume Four: Spring-Summer 2012 United States do not have any form of sex education (Sullivan1). Therefore, sexually transmitted diseases and teen pregnancy rates are rising and becoming more common in middle school and high schoolers. Sexually transmitted diseases are an uprising epidemic in the United States consisting of “9 million sexually transmitted infections among 15-to-24 year old youth” (Feijoo3). STD’s are “six times greater than in Germany”. Sexually transmitted diseases are also more easily spread in the United States because of the absence of contraceptive use, causing diseases and pregnancies. Each year “2.5 million teenagers are affected by sexually transmitted diseases” (Olsen) and infect others because condom use is “20% less than that of France” and birth control is “50% less than that of France” (Feijoo1-2). Young women and men in the United States are not using forms of contraceptive because they lack the right education to protect themselves if they decide to have sex before marriage. Advocates for youth have compared the United States statistics about sex with different countries in Europe and discovered a large gap between many issues, like teen pregnancy, birth, and abortion. “The United States’ teen pregnancy rate is almost three times that of Germany and France, the teen birth rate is nearly eight times higher than that of the Netherlands” and “In the United States, the teen abortion rate is twice that of Germany” (Feijoo1-2). These high rates of abortion, pregnancy, and birth, get in the way of a teenagers opportunity to have education, independence and affects their ability to support their family, “costing U.S. taxpayers more than $9 billion in health care, foster care, public assistance and lost tax revenue.” (Sullivan1) Pregnancy in the United states has the highest rate out of all developed countries and today “Forty percent

Page 18 Ink Tank! Volume Four: Spring-Summer 2012 of 14-year-old girls will become pregnant by the time they are 19” (Olsen). This high percentage has been caused over time by abstinence-only education, which has taught teenagers that abstinence is the only right way, and if abstinence is not practiced, they are subject to these negative affects. To change these issues we need to embrace societal openness by enforcing national standards about sex and teaching comprehensive sex education. Comprehensive sex education is “one of the most important tools to ensure that young people have the information they need to make healthy and informed choices” (Parker227). The goal of this type of sex education is to “enable young people to acquire knowledge, attitudes, skills and values to make appropriate choices in their sexual behavior and thus experience a healthy sex life that is age-appropriate” (Pinter169). Comprehensive sex eduction focuses on “skill-building and role-playing, they teach how to use condoms, but they also encourage young people not to have sex” and it has been proven to “[reduce] sexual risk in three areas: delaying the age at which teens first have sex, reducing the number of sexual partners they have and increasing their use of condoms” (Sullivan1). This means that comprehensive sex education will properly teach teenagers about sex and how to be safe if they choose to have sex. Comprehensive education also teaches that practicing abstinence is the best and safest option. This ideal knowledge enables them to choose for themselves, instead of having a bias abstinence-only program that focuses on waiting until marriage. Teenagers are at risk for pregnancy and sexually transmitted diseases because of abstinence- only education and societal influences that promote ignorance about sex. This causes teenagers to lack the

Page 19 Ink Tank! Volume Four: Spring-Summer 2012

proper education to prepare for today’s society that is heavily based on physical emotions and relationships. Countries like France and Germany have such a low teen pregnancy rate and a high contraceptive use because sexuality education is mandatory and is provided in primary and secondary schools, beginning at the age of six. They also integrate biological knowledge, psychological, emotional, social, cultural and ethical dimensions of sexuality (Pinter170-172). Europe promotes sexual activity because they understand that there are major societal influences that are inevitable to avoid in today’s world. Europe gives teenagers rights, respect, and responsibility, giving teenagers the education and tools they need to have safe sex; avoiding pregnancy and STD’s. In Europe young people are viewed as assets, not as problems or issues. Adults in Europe respect and value teens, expecting teens to act responsibly with every action. Also governments in Europe support sexuality education through federal programs or just programs that teach self sufficiency for youth (Feijoo4). Europe has such high contraceptive use and low pregnancy rates because they have national standards for comprehensive sex education. Even though most states have some sort of policies regarding sex education, Amy Sullivan explains that “very few set standards on how to give students factual information about sex or teach them to develop healthy relationships. Even fewer attempt to evaluate what is covered in the classroom” (Sullivan1). As a society we need to embrace comprehensive sex education through national standards to lower the negative affects of pregnancy and diseases at a young age. In March 2012, the article, “New Standards Aim To Guide Sex Education”

Page 20 Ink Tank! Volume Four: Spring-Summer 2012 proposed new national sex education standards that are “intended to mimic content standards for other subjects, which introduce concepts early in school, based on children’s ability to understand them, and then add to them grade by grade until graduation” (Shah1). These standards would change sex education in schools, starting sex education at a young age and informing them about “contemporary issues of social media, sex-ting, and bullying” (Shah2). Also these standards “[enable] young people to acquire knowledge, attitudes, skills and values to make appropriate choices in their sexual behavior and thus experience a healthy sex life that is age- appropriate” (Pinter171). These standards would start by the end of second grade teaching students that all living things reproduce, describing characteristics of a friend, identifying healthy ways to express feelings for one another, how to respond if someone is touching them in an inappropriate way and using the proper names for body parts, including both male and female anatomy (Shah2). These standards would continue to be taught through the end of fifth, eighth, and twelfth grade. By the end of twelfth grade students would know how to define and obtain emergency contraception, they would know the options, which are condoms, contraception, or abstinence and would understand the skills and resources needed to become a parent. The school and the teachers would promote respect and dignity for everyones personal choices (Shah2). Embracing these new standards would also ensure that schools would hire sex education teachers who are trained to talk about sex, not “athletic [coach’s] doubling as a health teacher or a science instructor who drew the short straw” (Sullivan1). Sex

Page 21 Ink Tank! Volume Four: Spring-Summer 2012

education would be taught in middle school and high school by a professional sex education teacher. An example of this is Kristen Jordan who teaches at Starr-Iva Middle School, “she teaches two courses-- one focused on basic sexuality, the other on decision- making skills--to each class in the sixth, seventh and eighth grade. The program gives students escalating levels of information about STIs, pregnancy and contraception. But it also encourages them to delay sexual activity, works on building self-esteem and uses role-playing to teach them how to resist pressure from peers and partners” (Sullivan1). After middle school Jordan becomes their high school counselor being someone that students can turn to for questions or in a time of crisis. Jordan acts as a safe zone for students, having someone they can trust and feel comfortable with in the time of major changes. Having teachers like Jordan in every school and national standards for students to learn about sex education in a proper way could change the negative affects of the United States having high pregnancy rates and sexually transmitted diseases. Comprehensive sex education is giving teenagers the responsibility to choose for themselves and decide what future they want. Government to some extent does agree that comprehensive sex education has a more positive affect on young children; “Bush Administration report- -has concluded that comprehensive programs are most effective at changing teen sexual behaviors” (Sullivan1). Even very conservative southern states like “South Carolina [who] passed the Comprehensive Health Education Act, which requires sexuality education from elementary school through high school, including at least 12.5 hours of reproductive health

Page 22 Ink Tank! Volume Four: Spring-Summer 2012 and pregnancy prevention education” (Sullivan1). Even five states have already enforced these new standards into their schools (Shah2). Changes are starting to be made as individual states begin to see that comprehensive sex education will lower the risk of teen pregnancy and disease, essentially creating better opportunities for teenagers and costing the state less money into programs like foster care. The lack of proper and realistic education through abstinence-only programs is causing the United States to have the highest abortion, teenage pregnancy, adoption, and sexual disease rates in the world. The federal funding from the government in support of abstinence-only education should be taken out, and in its place, standards that would guide educators on how to teach sex education comprehensively (Shah2). Europe requires these national comprehensive education standards that empowers teenagers by giving them trust, responsibility, and ideal education. Europe shows their teenagers that knowledge is power through proper education. The United States needs to stop disempowering teenagers through abstinence- only education and give teenagers the opportunity to have the power over their own bodies through knowing what is realistic and safe. The United States needs to empower teenagers by treating them as assets to society and giving them the opportunity to obtain power and knowledge through education. Giving teenagers these tools through mandatory comprehensive sex education in public schools will lower the high risk factors of teen pregnancy and STD rates today. To change the high rates created by the United States lack of societal openness about sex, society needs to embrace comprehensive sex education

Page 23 Ink Tank! Volume Four: Spring-Summer 2012

and enforce national sex education standards for all schools.

Works Cited: “11 Facts about Sex Education in the U.S.” Do Something. Web. 31 Jan. 2012. .

Feijoo, Ammie. “Adolescent Sexual Health in Europe and the US.” Advocatesforyouth.org. Advocates for Youth in 2000 and 2001. Web. http://www. advocatesforyouth.org/publications/419?task=view<>.

Olsen, J.A., and S.E. Weed. “The Effects Of Three Abstinence Sex Education Programs On Student Attitudes Toward Sexual Activity.” Adolescence 26.103 (1991): 631. SPORTDiscus with Full Text. Web. 14 Mar. 2012.

Parker, Rachael, Kaye Wellings, and Jeffrey V. Lazarus. “Sexuality Education In Europe: An Overview Of Current Policies.” Sex Education 9.3 (2009): 227-242. Academic Search Premier. Web. 14 Mar. 2012.

Pinter Bojana, et al. “Aspects Of Sexuality Education In Europe – Definitions, Differences And Developments.” European Journal Of Contraception & Reproductive Health Care 15.3 (2010): 169-176. Academic Search Premier. Web. 14 Mar. 2012.

Shah, Nirvi. “New Standards Aim To Guide Sex Education.” Education Week 31.17 (2012): 1-13.

Page 24 Ink Tank! Volume Four: Spring-Summer 2012

Education Research Complete. Web. 14 Mar. 2012.

Sullivan, Amy. “How To End The War Over Sex Ed.” Time 173.12 (2009): 40-43. Academic 3Search Premier. Web. 14 Mar. 2012.

Page 25 Ink Tank! Volume Four: Spring-Summer 2012 Megan Lovejoy You Are What You Eat Imagine being locked inside a small room the size of a closet with 20 other people. Now imagine only being allowed to eat candy and pie. This is exactly what a feedlot animal has to experience. Although gnawing on a well-cooked steak is quite pleasurable, people do not always consider exactly where their meat is coming from. Vegetarianism may seem out of reach for some people, it may be a decent idea in order to protect our planet and human health. Feedlots today, which is where some of the US’s meat comes from, is a place where animals are raised in confined places and then slaughtered in large masses in order to profit economically instead of taking moral health and correctness into consideration. Here, the planet and our bodies are suffering around the world from this state of mind. If everyone boycotted the meat packing industry and meat in general and became vegetarian, then our environment would be less polluted and we as humans could consume healthier foods allowing us to live healthier lifestyles. Eliminating meat from our diets would benefit the environment by preventing pollution because animals that are raised in feedlots create harmful runoff and contribute to global warming. Cows which are fed corn based feed in lots and not grass that could natu- rally grow in the area, is problematic because growing the corn not only requires space and more farming than necessary, it also causes even more fertilizer to fun off into nearby streams and lakes that algae blooms which causes water’s ecosystems to die. This happens because the fertilizer contains phosphates and nitrates which help plants grow faster, and “when it contaminates lakes, the lakes die due to eutrophication” (Mack p1).

Page 26 Ink Tank! Volume Four: Spring-Summer 2012

Also even more run off of the feed lot itself is an issue. Because the lots are not maintained, manure piles up under the animal’s feet and when it rains, causes leakage into nearby water sources, which also aqua ecosystems to die. The feedlot cows live in conditions that are inhumane, and go against their nature, “these animals live in crowded living conditions where they stand in dirt and manure all day. With feedlot cattle, it is difficult to remove all the fecal contamination because the cattle stand all day long in dirt and manure for months on end” (Corn, Cows, Feed Lots and Your Health p1). Not only is this an issue, but feed lots also release greenhouse gasses, such as carbon diox- ide, into the air when the feed is being processed and transported to the meat packing plants. Agriculture in general produces greenhouse gasses, “greenhouse- gas emissions from the agriculture sector account for about 22% of global total emissions” (Anthony, Powels, Butler, Uauy p1). When livestock production, which includes the growing of feed and its transportation, is taken into consideration, then “livestock production (including transportation…and feed) accounts for nearly 80% of the sector’s emissions” (Anthony, Pow- els, Butler, Uauy p1). These two issues could be easily avoided if meat was cut out of our diets, because then the extra agricultural space for potential run off could be avoided and global warming could begin to be reversed, which would decrease our ecological footprints. Eating feed lot meat is not only sickly to the environment, but also to ourselves. Because of the ob- scene amounts of manure that the animals practically live in, there are resulting harmful consumption issues to consider. In a typical feed lot, the animals create waste which is not maintained. Instead, the manure is left, and the organisms have no choice but to stand,

Page 27 Ink Tank! Volume Four: Spring-Summer 2012

eat and live in it all day long. By the time the animals are going to be butchered, they are caked in it, which can cause some serious health risks. Even after the meat is treated and checked, there is still a high risk of conceiving a life threatening disease such as ecoli because of how saturated the manure is on their skin. This clearly has its own health issues, “And from there he goes through a series of stations to clean him and to remove his hide. One of the real problems is that the animals have spent their [lives] lying in their manure, are smeared and caked with it, and they’re entering the food plant. And so many steps are taken to make sure that the manure doesn’t infect the meat, which can happen very easily” (Corn, Cows, Feed Lots and Your Health p1). As one can imagine this is not safe or reassuring to the consumer. Eating processed meat is also harmful to our bodies because the animals are not fed food that they were built and meant to eat. Cows, for example, are meant to eat grass, but the feed lots give them processed corn feed. This, in turn, off sets the proper fat and nutritious ratios of the meat causing it to even be considered unhealthy to consume because the feed’s purpose is to just fatten up the cow quickly for slaughter and not for healthful purposes. In a way you are what you eat, “Grass Fed beef, on the other hand, is leaner and contains a balanced ratio of ‘good’ fats. The ratio of Omega 6:Omega 3 fatty acids for 100% pasture raised grass fed beef is 2:1, a perfect ratio for optimal health” (Corn, Cows, Feed Lots and Your Health p1). Overall, the meat processed in lots is not only unhealthy on the inside of the animal but also unhealthy and un- safe on the outside.

Page 28 Ink Tank! Volume Four: Spring-Summer 2012

To conclude, if meat was eliminated from our diets then we could have a healthier environment and a healthier bodies. Here, you are what you eat is a very important idea to ponder because it allows one to really think about how what they eat effects not only themselves but also the world around them. Eliminat- ing meat from our diets would help our world and our bodies which can also help us improve our state of mind to not only want to make profit, but also to make morals important.

Bibliography: “Corn, Cows, Feedlots & Your Health.” onlyGrassfed. com. N.p., n.d. Web. 16 Nov. 2011. . J McMichael, Anthony , John W Powles, Colin D But- ler , and Ricardo Uauy. “ScienceDirect - The Lancet : Food, livestock production, energy, climate change, and health.” ScienceDirect - Home. N.p., n.d. Web. 10 Nov. 2011. . University, Jeremy Mack | Miami. “Eutrophication | Lake Scientist.” Lake Scientist | Your online source for lake science and technology. N.p., n.d. Web. 16 Nov. 2011. .

Page 29 Ink Tank! Volume Four: Spring-Summer 2012 Juan Mercado Human-Like Machines The idea of machines living among humans has been fascinating to many and has inspired many computer scientists to work hard to find different ways of developing new software and technology. Computer scientists believe that one day someone will develop the technology to make a machine that will have a human-like appearance and attributes. If a machine is made to act a certain way, the information it needs in order to achieve that characteristic has to be given to the machine by its creator. Would computer scientists be able to teach a machine how to feel emotions and have all the unique attributes that a human learns through experience from birth? There are many characteristics that distinguish humans from anything else in the world that can’t be taught because they are learned from previous mistakes a person has made. Even though machines may one day be capable to think, act, speak, or look human, they will never surpass the line that differentiates a human from any other creature on earth. Humans possess certain complex qualities that when combined help an individual cross the invisible border between being human or being another type of creature. Those qualities may not be unique to humans but the way they act with each other help share and determine the functions that make us the way we are. This invisible but unique line which separates human beings from any other creature on earth is referred to as “Factor X” by Francis Fukuyama in his article called “Human Dignity.” According to Fukuyama, “Factor X cannot be reduced to the possession of mutual choice, or reason, or

Page 30 Ink Tank! Volume Four: Spring-Summer 2012 language, or sociability, or sentience, or emotions, or consciousness…. It is all of these qualities coming together in a human whole that make up factor X” (Fukuyama 158). Not all these abilities are unique only to humans. Some animals are sentient and feel pain and pleasure just like humans do. We use past experiences as examples to be able to decide on what is best for us and what will cause less pain and more pleasure. Computer scientists are now learning how to create artificial intelligence that will allow computers to learn from examples that are given. Even if the computer can remember the mistakes they made in the past, they will never have the ability to combine emotions with moral choices just as humans do. Computers do not have the ability to know how good or bad the experiences they were given are, because they didn’t actually live through the experience themselves. Computers will only come up with the best solution to any situation, but it will not know who it will benefit or hurt. They will give the best statistical answer based on probability, but it will never be able to decide by choice. Our ability to feel different emotions depending on the situation we are in allows us to make decisions that will bring us less pain and more pleasure. The human brain helps us think really fast in crucial moments in order to come up with a solution to a problem we might encounter. Let’s assume that a mad dog gets loose and decides to chase an individual. That person has the ability and will make a split second decision depending on the emotion the dog provokes from him or her. The article called, “Robots with Emotions” by Cristol says, “When humans are sizing up a situation, they must ask three vital questions. How important the situation is? Is it good

Page 31 Ink Tank! Volume Four: Spring-Summer 2012

or bad for me? Can I handle it adequately?”(Cristol 6). This individual that encounters the mad dog will answer those questions in no time and will run or fight the dog. Computers will need to analyze those three questions in less than a second and use memory to know what the outcome will be. It will also need to feel scared, sad, excited, confused, or any other emotion that will determine what needs to be done in order to get it-self out of that situation. The article by Cristol also says, “Emotions are an essential part of what makes us how we are” (Cristol 5). Emotions would determine the way we act and look at certain situations. Humans have emotions and a machine does not. Computers may act like a human because we want them to look similar to us, but can we make them feel the same way as we feel? Can they become conscientious? People have different emotions, thoughts, and ideas and it would be difficult for scientists to make a machine that feels its own emotions and believes in its own ideas. It would be even harder to make a machine conscious. Humans do not know how to explain many of the human emotions in words or in any way and its necessary for us humans to know what we want to replicate into a machine. The essay called, “Consciousness in Meme Machines” by Susan Blackmore says “If we hope (or fear) to make a conscious machine it would be helpful to know what consciousness is. We do not” (Blackmore 10). It would be impossible to replicate something that is unknown. Whoever tries to replicate consciousness would be like a person looking for an extraterrestrial being that looks exactly like a human being. He would know the extraterrestrial being is out there in the planet, but he wouldn’t know where or

Page 32 Ink Tank! Volume Four: Spring-Summer 2012 how to look for it. His efforts would be pointless. The essay by Blackmore also says that consciousness is just “an illusion” and those who believe in god say that “consciousness is a God given soul” (Blackmore 11). If God gave humans a soul, which we call consciousness, can God give machines a soul as well? Machines would need to have similar biological components as humans. Susan Blackmore explains that the only way a machine would obtain consciousness would be that “the machine would be capable of imitating and develop a human-like illusion of consciousness” (Blackmore P. 8). If that was possible, the machine would be closer to being human. The problem is that the machine wouldn’t have its own consciousness because it would be that of the person being imitated. Computer scientists would only be using an individual’s brain as a blueprint to make the robot’s consciousness. Producing a machine that would have human qualities would be difficult and hard to achieve, but even if they were possible to make, machines would not be considered human because they would be a replicate of a human being. The human-like machine would not be able to feel its own emotions, or have its own consciousness, because it would only be imitating a person. Every human is different because we have the ability to choose our own path in life. The machine wouldn’t have that freedom. It would be like a flash drive with the fake human personality stored in it.

Page 33 Ink Tank! Volume Four: Spring-Summer 2012

Works Cited

Cristol, Hope, “Robots with Emotions” Futurist; Mar/April 2003, Vol. 37, Issue 2 Blackmore, Susan, “Consciousness in Meme Machines” Journal of Consciousness Studies; 2003, Vol. 10 Issues 4/5 Fukuyama, Francis, “Human Dignity” Emerging pg 158

Page 34 Ink Tank! Volume Four: Spring-Summer 2012 Ralph Valdoz The Importance of Surrogates Everyone has some kind of imagination of their own happiness, whether it being success or having the chance to live another day. Relying on just imagination to predict future happiness isn’t a bright idea. Our imaginations aren’t always the best way to pave our ways in life because we all imagine things that are, in reality, hard to accomplish. We all, at young ages, imagined ourselves becoming doctors, pilots, lawyers, chief executives or even the President; but will our imaginations of having a prestigious job title make us happy in the end? I believe that our imaginations are insufficient to predict our future happiness and need someone as a surrogate to predict our future happiness. Predicting future happiness through a surrogate is very useful in that they can tell us first hand experiences about their lifestyle, gaining more knowledge is better, and depicts that our imaginations aren’t reality. We should use surrogates as our personal life counsels in order to predict future happiness rather than using just our plain imaginations. A surrogate, according to Daniel Gilbert, is a person that has a personal experience or information that a person wants to know about or wants to experience. They basically know or have experienced the path someone wants to take. Using a surrogate is helpful because a person with more knowledge compared to a person with just imagination is better off making decisions as to whether they still want to follow what they want to become. Knowing a particular surrogate’s lifestyle or experiences is beneficial to predict future happiness to an individual because

Page 35 Ink Tank! Volume Four: Spring-Summer 2012

knowledge is better than no knowledge. Surrogates can help us give a perspective about what something is in reality compared to our plain imaginations. Daniel Gilbert explains that “we are the mammal that shows and tells” information “about almost any experience we can possibly imagine,” but we don’t really use them (170). Our society isn’t using the several resources that can offer answers to our imaginations, which are other people, or surrogates, that have had the experiences that we are imagining about. Some people want to know what it is like to move to a different state, marry a pilot, or become a doctor; and end up going through it without any knowledge which can make a person unhappy with their decision. If we used surrogates as our personal source of information, then people will know what they will be heading into. For example, my ideal surrogate is a doctor and I would want to know what it is like to be a doctor before I become a doctor. Knowing what it is like being a doctor rather than imagining what it is to be a doctor will be better for me to make a decision of whether I should become a doctor or not. If I just went into the profession of a doctor without knowing anything about doctors and I didn’t like being a doctor then I would be unhappy knowing that I wasted so much of my time on school. Let’s say that someone wants to be a pilot when they grow up because they think it is cool to fly a plane, but that person can’t stand being away from his/her family; that person could talk to a pilot and ask how often the pilot is away from family and if it more than the person imagined then that person wouldn’t want to become a pilot anymore and choose a different profession that will make him/her happy. This will help a person a lot knowing that what they imagine to do will make them happy or not in the future. Surrogates are a

Page 36 Ink Tank! Volume Four: Spring-Summer 2012 great source of answers for our personal imaginations because they give us knowledge. The more knowledge a person has, the better perspective that person have with what makes them happy. Gilbert states that everything that we learned originated from someone else (170). Our happiness can reflect upon whether or not we accept what information is given to us. From generation to generation, knowledge is passed along. Surrogates are helpful in fulfilling other people’s knowledge because they are basically human libraries. They can tell you whether you should go with your decision or not to. A good example about knowledge is the amount of happiness money can provide. According to the text, “people with live in poor nations are much less happy than people who live in moderately wealthy nations,” but those people living in decently wealthy nations “are not much less happy than people who live in extremely wealthy nations” (Gilbert, 173). Going back to my ideal surrogate as being a doctor; I wanted to be a doctor because they make great money, but making more money than above average will not make someone happier than people think. We all think that making more money will make us a lot happier, but it doesn’t really. The people in the extremely wealthy nation tend to work much harder than the people in the moderately wealthy nation (Gilbert, 173). They are too busy working that they can’t even have fun going out on their luxurious yacht that they have worked for. If people knew, from a surrogate, that more money doesn’t necessarily make someone happier then they wouldn’t dread themselves with long hours of work. It isn’t worth it to work longer hours to be just as happy as the person that works for 8 hours a day. People that don’t approach the idea of surrogates tend to use imaginations, but imaginations

Page 37 Ink Tank! Volume Four: Spring-Summer 2012

aren’t a great path to follow. Our imaginations have the “tendency to fill in and leave out without telling us” which can give a person a falsified view of a situation if it didn’t come from a surrogate and just from pure imagination (Gilbert, 178). It gives us a false sense of happiness because our imaginations, just like people, have their own flaws to a particular situation because we haven’t had firsthand experience. Another shortcoming that imagination tends to is that it “projects the present onto the future” (Gilbert, 179). For example, consider a heavy smoker who just finished a pack of cigarettes and he/she tells himself/herself that they will stop smoking because they feel satisfied at the moment, but in reality will still smoke in the future in order to be happy. The third shortcoming of imagination is that we tend to “recognize that things will look different once they happen- in particular, that bad things will look a whole lot better”, therefore, using a surrogate is helpful to know the actual truth rather than our imaginations filling in the blanks for us because our imaginations don’t know the whole truth (Gilbert, 180). The whole truth can tell us if our future will actually bring us future happiness or not and knowing the truth is better than using our imaginations to think we will have future happiness. Many people can argue that using surrogates questions people’s individuality. People could question someone’s lack of uniqueness by using the knowledge of a surrogate rather than their own. Our society “tend to overestimate everyone’s uniqueness” which leads people to think that they are way different than other people, but in reality everyone is similar in some ways (Gilbert, 183). We are actually very similar to one another because we all obtained our respective

Page 38 Ink Tank! Volume Four: Spring-Summer 2012 knowledge from the same sources or almost the same source. Another reason why people think using surrogates isn’t always a great idea is that it may provide inaccurate beliefs that could be transmitted to corrupt our minds because they aren’t accurate beliefs. The inaccurate beliefs may not be accepted at first because everyone is used to the accurate beliefs, but if the inaccurate beliefs makes someone happy and it is spread from person to person then more people will accept the inaccurate belief. For example, someone who doesn’t know how to shoot a basketball teaches his way of shooting a basketball to other people not familiar with shooting a basketball and makes every shot then those people will accept that his shooting is accurate. Surrogates providing inaccurate beliefs aren’t necessarily a bad thing because people still can learn from the inaccurate beliefs. People should consider using surrogates and overlook that it may question our individualities. Many people can benefit from using surrogacy because it gives people important information about a particular situation or event in their lives that they want to know. Knowing significant knowledge about something a person wants to do from a surrogate can be the deciding factor if that person will carry on with their ideas or diverge to a different idea such as choosing a career because the idea you imagined wouldn’t make you happy as you thought, which makes surrogates helpful to predict someone’s future happiness or not. Surrogates also save time for people who consult a surrogate compared to someone who doesn’t because they don’t have to waste time experiencing what will happen if they have a surrogate to just tell them what will happen.

Page 39 Ink Tank! Volume Four: Spring-Summer 2012

Page 40 Ink Tank! Volume Four: Spring-Summer 2012

Poetry

“Why are you teaching this to me, Don’t you know it’s just a tree?” - Kayley Kemp

Page 41 Ink Tank! Volume Four: Spring-Summer 2012 Haley Barnett Girl With the Bright Red Rain Boots

The Girl With the Bright Red Rain Boots was always there, She was the weird girl who made dinosaur noises instead of playing tag. She was the girl who wore a dino green t-shirt and a purple skirt every day. She had a mop of auburn hair that was nothing but fly- a-ways, hazel eyes that shined like the sun with the carefree attitude that She always had. and not once did she stop wearing her Bright Red Rain Boots.

She was made fun of. It never stopped. but She would smile and let it slide, like it didn’t matter to Her. when push came to shove, She would shove though. nothing could get to Her, not that it mattered. She never changed, not once. same color shirt, same color skirt all her life, and the Bright Red Rain Boots that never seemed to leave Her.

I would always think back to the times when She was expected to grow up, when She could be the person She always was, because people thought She would grow out of it. She never did. She stayed the same all her life, and even now, as She walks slowly towards me, I can see the slightest glimpse of her Bright Red Rain Boots,

Page 42 Ink Tank! Volume Four: Spring-Summer 2012 peaking out from under her Snow White Wedding Dress.

Page 43 Ink Tank! Volume Four: Spring-Summer 2012 Tara Bowers

Cycles of Life It was a day like any other that the Empire was formed, It’s spires poking at the clouds high about, The bells tolling the call… And so it was a day like any other, that the Empire fell, Destroyed by force and fire, Its majesty sinking to the floor…

To Build a World To build a world all on your own is such a task, A lonely tour that must be done without a mask. When a world is shared there is a grace That those two intimately face. And the world grows with unbounded strength. Where is my other that will make two one?

Emotion Feeling nothing, Just not caring. Misplaced anger, Then subsiding. A nauseating well of feeling, Nameless, antagonizing. Root emotions Overwhelming my reason. Fearing what will come, Forgetting where I am.

Page 44 Ink Tank! Volume Four: Spring-Summer 2012 Rachel Cushman Breaking Free Another day will come; you won’t know what else to do, You know all you can do is just take another step, Becoming surprised at what you find on your unforgiving path of life, Looking up to the horizon you see a flicker of nothing like before, You hear the echo of a sound you’ve been waiting to hear, Realizing your suffering will finally end and you will be given another chance, Now you are starting at a new beginning, a beginning to a wonderful life, You will stray from your path but the waves keep you on the right course, The light will shine and you will find your way back, The words are weaving, starting to find your safe passage, You turn back to the right way and follow the right reflection, Now you are near the beginning and you are near the end.

CHANGES (The Changes of Life are the Changes of Leaves: Changes are Obstacles) There must be some kind of mercy in life The kinds of things that happen to people Should never come to pass like the wind through the

Page 45 Ink Tank! Volume Four: Spring-Summer 2012

air In the end it’s all right For those who struggle become enriched with sweet nutrients When we bind together we become one As the roots of trees in a sacred forest Fight back for our freedom we gain our much welcomed strength For we are never alone and nothing is wasted All the changes of the seasons will never be FORGOTTEN! Everything is becoming beautiful If you fall you will get up again Like the leaves starting over within a new season Our hope is found through the people around They will never give up on you So never doubt yourself LIVE FREE IN THE CHANGES!

Dreams All I want to do is cry, Cry for the warmth of someone’s love, Love that brings peace, Peace within another day, A day in a new home, A home that is full of sweet happiness, Happiness that is never ending; To the point where you cry To the point where you know the love is sincere To the point where you feel peace To the point where you wish for another day To the point where you feel at home To the point where you feel happy

Page 46 Ink Tank! Volume Four: Spring-Summer 2012

Hope My words have stayed hidden It is time to come out Break the ice Begin to heal I do not have to be scared anymore The fear is unreal Someone does care There is hope left in my life Struggles will come to an end Finally start to heal It is not so far away I can soon face what I am ashamed of Start talking Take a chance You have nothing to loose

Results Loss of interest Inevitable resistance Constant thoughts Racing that never stops Overwhelming destruction No chance for reconstruction Always fought Never forgot Wanting distance With no assistance

Can I rebuild my motivation? Is there room for letting go?

Page 47 Ink Tank! Volume Four: Spring-Summer 2012

Will things ever come to an ending? How can my thoughts go on like this? Will there ever be a chance to relax? Is there still hope for me? Where is the energy? When will they give up? Is it true that I can never be alone? If so, will I ever find a connection?

Serenity The need for a safe sanctuary The need for something secret The need for relief from my sorrows The need for satisfying support The need for a sense of safety The need for a person that shields The need for soundless sensitivity The need for a sacred society The need for undying sanity The need for surrender

Page 48 Ink Tank! Volume Four: Spring-Summer 2012 Sarah Dalimonte Linger

The man found her clothes crumpled in a heap on the sand Watched her suspended under the smothering foam of whispering waves Sinking below the invisible line that divide Blue from Black And wondered if this woman had someone A girlfriendboyfriendhusbandwifecompanionlover someone He fingered her clothing and fiddled with the thought of Them While looking

A waxy pale face Her prettiness still lingering Not smudged away just yet Not that she had any time to be very pretty mind you With all her plans to off herself and what not Death robbed her of what beauty she would have had Had she taken the time to pull herself out of her hole Suicide kind of killed her for him anyway He didn’t do well with depression and the like Dealing with some mopey self- determined chick sounded downright tedious Although the sex might have been good Needy women unconsciously turned to some sort of physical contact So as to ward off the darkened edge that always crept back into the hollows of their eyes

But then wasn’t he such a darkened edge? Always lingering watching wondering waiting craving

Page 49 Ink Tank! Volume Four: Spring-Summer 2012 More. So in a sense he would fit perfectly inside the edge of her gaze Made his home in the purple pillows that resided beneath her eyes He licked the salt from his lips with a smile At the idea of being her exhaustion Of exhausting her until he became that smudgy thought on the edge of her vision

His hand slid easily beneath the waistband of his jeans for the blade He’d have to clean it later But not before leaving her clothes in a neat folded square for the waves to eat up.

Page 50 Ink Tank! Volume Four: Spring-Summer 2012 Valen K. Dudley A Fugue for the Twentieth Year I How many more days until then? water splashes from the sink icy bullets on my forehead I pluck three gray hairs from my widow’s peak. Light is within the bathroom but the house is dark and the pipes creak. I have such a splitting headache. II The disorientation of the times. Clocks never sound at the same moment. My hands feel around for each trying to turn them off simultaneously before the last punishing heaviness of sleep gets up from their seats on my eyelids. III While on the subject of sleep: I stopped sleeping with you not because I can’t love you but because the thought surrounding the emotion disgusts me.

IV I make sure to stockpile the cleaning products.

Page 51 Ink Tank! Volume Four: Spring-Summer 2012

This is the first time I’ve forgotten to water the plants. I keep feeling my better choices rise in the back of my throat. I touch the ceiling with my fingertips before jumping from the dining room chair. V I made sure the plaster was never strong enough in the correct places. VI There is frothy yellow vomit pouring out of her throat. Never take the night too seriously or you can end up where you thought you’d be tomorrow. Alcohol is an odd anecdote to be choosing. we’re all swallowing our fear chasing it with juice concentrate. VII What room was I just in? VIII The handiwork of a thousand well placed hands and there are too many people here to appreciate the architecture. one after another they drop down from their barstools. (it’s as if a single strip poker game led to thievery, miscalculations, and loose threads on the edge of her messenger bag.)

Page 52 Ink Tank! Volume Four: Spring-Summer 2012

VIV One can never judge from a passport photo. There is so much glare in my eyes that any further examination would make them water. So I stop staring. I wonder if she still drinks chicken broth in place of vegetable. IX My fabric is not softening like the bottle said it would. First things first: I have a feeling that sitting on the dryer will not help in pushing me to or- gasm. Outside children make chalk drawings on your front porch. Upon finishing: “What did you learn?” “I was told there wouldn’t be an audience yet.” X The real ending is at the beginning. Hurry, try to remember. Cold water, pain, Clorox, Wilcox. Words throw themselves upon the paper. Should we take their virginity?

Page 53 Ink Tank! Volume Four: Spring-Summer 2012

Untitled Desperately alone Suffering masses Abandoned judgment Heavens heaving Rocky waves Exquisite agonies Blame Cry Shatter Starless laments wreak danger Lambs afloat oceanic beauty Wolves blast carnal thunderstorm Affection dared swim Fires Bodies Excess salt Human anguish Briny ocean foam Breathe, shark woman.

Page 54 Ink Tank! Volume Four: Spring-Summer 2012 Allie Enriquez Wisdom Teeth He said, “Your wisdom teeth don’t have roots” And I sat nodding “It will be easier to take them out” I thought- I want my roots to grow in “It will be easier to separate you from it” I want them to elongate down through my body “It will be easier to let them dry out isolated” I want them to grow into my bloodstream “It will be easier to dump them” I want them to span into the code of my DNA “It will be easier to forget about them” I want them to toughen as they break into my nerve ending He said, “You only have two wisdom teeth” And I sat nodding “This makes it easier” he said “It’s a lucky thing” He said.

Page 55 Ink Tank! Volume Four: Spring-Summer 2012 Kayley Kemp How Many Ways Can You Describe a Tree? Poetry means nothing to me, How many ways can you describe a tree?

When trying to figure out a poems meaning, It gives me a queasy feeling.

Why are you teaching this to me, Don’t you know it’s just a tree?

When reading it line by line, Do you really have to make it rhyme?

There are a million ways you can describe it to me, But all I see is a stupid tree.

When learning about a poems tone, Inside my head I moan and groan.

I don’t care if it’s a soliloquy, To me a tree, is a tree, is a tree, is a tree, is a tree.

Page 56 Ink Tank! Volume Four: Spring-Summer 2012

Wait, a poem has to have a theme, this really wants to make me scream!

Don’t teach me about the ABC, I don’t care about this dumb ass tree.

You tell me about the wonderful poets out there, Does it look like I really care?

Do you see the Irony, Maybe I like that stupid tree.

Think you’re teaching me a lesson by being kind, Please don’t make me change my mind

Because in the end don’t you see, Poetry means nothing to me.

Page 57 Ink Tank! Volume Four: Spring-Summer 2012 Jenna Madsen The Hometown Haze The memories in this town Don’t seem to be what they used to. I grew up here, I love it, yes. But there comes a time when you see things for exactly what they are. All my old friends are pregnant, getting’ married, or doing little to none with their life. This is the reason I got away, and now it all makes sense. I drive around town, thinking to myself, I used to love it here. I used to party here, go to school here, and have a typical life here. But now, I cannot see that through the haze of darkness cast over the town. Now my life is 200 miles away, in a sunny, thriving com- munity. I’ll never forget my hometown. But there’s a reason I left, and it has never been clearer until now.

Page 58 Ink Tank! Volume Four: Spring-Summer 2012 Janet Prouty Child Spirit Raw sawdust scents float between hot plastic slides, swings. A girl with bare feet the boys with bare grins sing, skip rope. Hide and Seek! “Are you ready yet?” Meetings in dark tunnels “Found you!” smile, smile. Make castles in the sand. Orange twilight melts shadows Mothers call with reaching hands A girl with bare feet swinging standing waves. “Who is she, love?” Shrugging shaking head. Street lights blink a stage for singing crickets chasing the cars home. A girl with bare feet and sand dusted hair sighs shadow lengthening with the sound. perfumed OL sweat Page 59 Ink Tank! Volume Four: Spring-Summer 2012

overpowering sweet sawdust scent high heels not made for sand carry her home.

Little Red Trousers This poem is about an abandoned child with a pocketful of jellybeans in the woods. Dropping a trail too sweet for birds waiting for the Wolf with the fat belly angry, angry Hansel. Bearing a blade too heavy for a child of ten. Poor, poor Gretel. Out of the witch’s oven into the Wolf’s fat grin. Hungry, hungry beast.

White crescent tooth Bright crescent scythe The hungry eye meets the angry eye and leaps

Pregnant with child, Wolf is too slow for the swing of the scythe and the scream of the boy so familiar with the stench of death.

Page 60 Ink Tank! Volume Four: Spring-Summer 2012

Slice the stomach, drain the blood. Through that gaping hole grasp a small boney hand; Sister and brother united again.

Mama, papa, witch and wolf soak the little red trousers of the child in the woods.

Page 61 Ink Tank! Volume Four: Spring-Summer 2012 Brian Strauss Ode To Parkinsons I sat alone In the darkness of the morning fog And I lit a cigarette. It felt much too thin between the tips of my fingers. Smoke trailed off, Copulating with the mists of emergent steam. My hand stayed steady, momentarily, Giving into the uncontrollable urge of movement. I watched my fingers tremble, With a mind of their own, As if belonging to someone else. Maybe they did.

Page 62 Ink Tank! Volume Four: Spring-Summer 2012

Post-Traumatic Stress Disorder Spurts of dust clouded the air of the room As I pulled the curtains and opened the windows. Light poured in, coating the surface of The rich mahogany mantelpiece above the fireplace. Photos sat untouched, as if still living In the age that preceded me. Low rumblings of a nearby train passing by Stirred the house Irritated the inhabitants, Made them wild with rage And they danced to the pulsing rhythm Of the locomotive heart. They beat the drum and the tambourine Of ancient ray-banned poets Belting out the plight of the negro masses And the undermined servants. Beneath the scattered ashes of Long awaited souls Seeking refuge within the confines Of a concrete jungle, There is a living eminence, A staggering burst of laughter, Crying out among the ageless tears of Broken hearted veterans

Page 63 Ink Tank! Volume Four: Spring-Summer 2012

Left to die in a war that goes beyond the realm Of foreign battlefields. A seemingly endless silence grabs hold Of the dispossessed And rattles their bones like the loose Links of a chain Or the clink of a key Against the metal of a lock. And buried beneath the ruins of A gilded memorial Are the cries of untamed manifestations. The young boy sits beside the wall, Beside the graves, Feeling the itch of the grass against his bare skin, And he reads the names Like only lottery girls on television read names. With an eager bit of insensitivity, But a sense of pride at having read them. Forget about the yellow brick road, Because only the bloodied Nile remains.

Page 64 Ink Tank! Volume Four: Spring-Summer 2012 Eric Wilson Gutter’s Gluttony Time stutters when you hault in the gutter, exposed grated gluttony blocking the artery of the city.

Always Busy tonight, are you? Always so busy. Turn off the lights, won’t you, on your way out?

Hmm. Where’s the raven now? Even his company would suffice, to say, but he never comes. Never more. Pft! Never ever, more like. More like…

Hmmm. Hmmm. Why do I keep doing that. that hmm, obnoxious hmm? Never more (ha!)…

The house is still, but the sounds? Never… Never…

Page 65 Ink Tank! Volume Four: Spring-Summer 2012

The lights crackle. When it’s dark, the fridge buzzes. When it spoils, the freezer churns, a factory producing clogs, in clumps, plopping in unison only after overwhelmed, imperfect ice clumps.

Even when the machine is eshausted, buzz still hangs, distilled in air distraught with pangs of stillness.

I am a fate. Ha! Who’s the fool now? I eat your bullshit for breakfast, Ehh! That was good! Et tu, Brute? Nothing! Nothing!

Brutal, not tender, mind you, brutal are all the nights, each night, waiting nigh a fortnight, nay, four fortnights, for what? That’s what! I don’t know! I don’t know! And what is wrong with that?

Tender would be the nights were a nightingale, or a raven, for that matter, to be there… Here… Listen…

Page 66 Ink Tank! Volume Four: Spring-Summer 2012

Hear me now, not the follies of Modernity (what a word)! Not the house expanding, then contracting, creaking, stretching, flexing. Hear my essence!

Did you get it? Of course not. You are you; I, me. My pains are mine alone, Alone… Always… Evermore.

Should you come back, in the morning, no doubt, yearning for softness to ease those yawning eyes, Look at me. This is real; You are here, always alone, and forever.

Page 67 Ink Tank! Volume Four: Spring-Summer 2012

Page 68 Ink Tank! Volume Four: Spring-Summer 2012

Fiction

“Her arms flutter in the air a moment before falling. Light flashes, eclipsed by the swing of her dark hair vanishing over the ledge.” -Janet Prouty

Page 69 Ink Tank! Volume Four: Spring-Summer 2012 Christina Caronia Life: March 9, 2012 @ 10:00 p.m.

When life flashes through your eyes its hard to describe it, its hard to interpret it but you just feel it. You just go on with life and all the events in it, you learn to cope. You learn to heal and learn to deal. Life, birth, and death unto dust you just feel a sense of fear. Fear of this thing we call fear. The things we go through in life are experiences that make us grow mentally, physically and most importantly, emotionally. The slow death of my grandma has really taken a toll on my life at the moment. I knew it was coming, and I knew I was going to have to learn to cope, and learn to deal. I just wasn’t ready to have this happen. It happens so fast, in a blink of an eye and its almost over. Another life gone, and yet the world has yet to stop. Does the world stop when someone dies? No, we do. Everyone around us goes on with their daily lives and life keeps moving. Thats that, life keeps moving faster and faster, slipping under our feet at any given moment. I haven’t written in a long time, maybe since I was twelve. This event in my life has led me to write. I haven’t felt this feeling since Uncle Shannon, since Bella and its an everyday thing with my Nonnu. Again, I have learned to cope and learn through life. Dance my way through life at all the bads, I learn to dance it away and feel myself feel the pain through music. Anyway, when your brought upon a death its not wanted nor is it fair. My grandma’s life is pure and innocent. This feeling is not wanted, its a feeling of life and new beginnings and new feelings. I wish life was fair and just but I guess death is a thing we all have

Page 70 Ink Tank! Volume Four: Spring-Summer 2012 to experience. I never wanted to experience this, never wanted to be away from my family while this happened. I wanted to be there 24/7 all the time, around the clock. I wish I was there by mom, attached to the hip like I once was when I was a child. Secretly I am always attached to her hip, no matter what I am always there. I will always be that little redhead when she would turn around and find me stuck around her while she made dinner or walked down the halls with me holding onto her like a monkey. Holding onto my mother is like a piece of comfort and a sense of safety. Holding onto my father is like holding onto a bear taking you in at any moment but ready to pounce on anything not right or out of the ordinary. I wish my family was close enough to touch at any second. Being away has really made me realize how hard it is to be on your own. There are many experiences in my life recently that I have seen and or been around. I am so grateful for my parents and all they have taught me throughout my life. I don’t know what they did or how they did it but they did it, and let me tell ya, I’m not being selfish or boasting, but I think I’m pretty damn wise. When I took care of children for a whole weekend I realized how hard it is to handle two babies. I noticed that when I would teach them something or tell them something I thought about how my parents taught me and I wondered if I was going to raise my children like them. I hope I do, event though I say I won’t (thats a lie), because they have done an amazing job teaching us everything we need to know. I thought about what I have done in college or just in general what I have done and I was thinking, “OH GOD, I HOPE MY CHILD IS NOT LIKE ME!” But hey, everyone says that. Life is an amazing thing and a precious thing. Life isn’t necessarily a “thing” but it is hard to explain. How can you explain the word life? What does it mean? Can you explain your life in one word? I doubt it. When you come up with that word, you

Page 71 Ink Tank! Volume Four: Spring-Summer 2012

think of another one and another and another. That’s exactly my point. Life isn’t about one word its about many words and many aspects that involve life and evolve AROUND life. Life may go by fast but its about what you do in your life that makes it. Death is not something we want to go through, its spent crying and shedding tears like a river flowing with no end. That’s how I feel. A flowing river full of tears with no end. Every time I think about it I get all tingly inside and I start to tear and it doesn’t stop, it just goes and goes. Losing someone close to you is like a part of you dying. To go through this its like a process but the process never works, the process is to tell you in the end that time will heal. Time does heal but it never fully heals. Its like putting a bandaid on a scar. The scar is there to remind you of all the experiences you have suffered and been through and the bandaid is there to make sure it is okay for the time being. Its only there until time has done it job. Dealing with time is like waiting for rain in a drought. You just wait, waiting and learning to cope, and learning to deal. Sometimes we go through life changing experiences, some good and some bad. If God takes the good ones why doesn’t he just take all the bad ones away so all the good ones can stay and be healthy and long living. I just have to remember, life goes on, and we remember the memories, the scars, and the bandaids. When one door closes another one always opens, you just have to find it and not give up. I know God wouldn’t give me anything I couldn’t handle, I just wish he wouldn’t trust me this much.

Page 72 Ink Tank! Volume Four: Spring-Summer 2012 Erin Fisher White Horse

I closed the book, placed it on the table, and finally decided to walk through the door of the coffee shop. The book I have been reading has been giving me a sense of hope. Examples of people who have been broken. Stories of broken families, broken hearts, or broken souls. The book gave me solutions and options of this new life I am now forced to approach. I’m not ready to be alone, or ready to be broken. I remember when I was happy and careless; you gave me happiness and life. You helped me escape from my worries, and told me that you cared for me. What happened to that? Was everything you told me a lie? Now all I can concentrate on is the heavy beat of my heart, beating and beating; it feels as if it is slowly sliding down into my stomach, leading me to the death I so longed for. Sitting at the red wood coffee table, smelling the fresh coffee beans, I await my fate. For the past years he has been controlling my life, because I let him. The waiter with the largest gauges approaches me asking if I would like anything. I knew this man was talking about a beverage, so I politely said no thanks. But in the back of my mind all I could think was..Of course I would like something. I would like to be confident, strong, and optimistic. But my pessimistic mind was holding me back, glueing me to the seat that I wished I could escape from. I am a pig whose fate is decided by the owner. I am the pig, a pig with a long curly tail who walks around seeking satisfaction in any little thing. I want to be a sheep, who doesn’t mind following the crowd

Page 73 Ink Tank! Volume Four: Spring-Summer 2012 but at least gets protection from the shepherd who has the best interest at heart. Finally, he walks in to the coffee shop. Slow, persistent and confident, he approaches me knowing that he is in control. He takes over my body in one wave of emotions. I feel my life fade; the blurriness in my eyes begins to blind me, and i feel a numbness similar to when all the blood escapes from one part of a limb. He made me feel everything and forget everything at the same time. Despite the emotions of depression, a euphoric feeling approached me while glued to this chair. I began to feel protected by the shepherd. No worry crossed my mind.. Tick, tock, tick, tock. As time mysteriously passes I awaken to the smell of dirt and sand; I can hear the creaking of a swing in the distance. I look around as the darkness overwhelms my eyes, the cold air lifting the hairs off my arms. I notice that a man, the man with the gauges from the coffee shop, now lies beside me in the fetal position. Where was I? A park, Luna park, at 3am in San Francisco. The dream that over took my consciousness was merely a dream, portraying the relapse. As I lay in the grass, soaking in my tears and developing a thought of regret, my face begins to light up and formulate a smile. It was a smile from the devil that has achieved his ownership. No matter how hard I tried, my fate is pre determined by the seat that I am stuck to, the cocaine that owns me. I can never escape even when I thought I could, because I now know without a shepherd to protect me, I am nothing but what the owner wants for me. I am the pig, trapped until my owner sets me free.

Page 74 Ink Tank! Volume Four: Spring-Summer 2012 Donna Linzy Garcia Three Crosses

He got into his car and started driving. He didn’t know where he was going, but he knew it had to be somewhere other than here. He sped down the freeway, the engine under the white hood of his Tacoma truck growled with appreciation, and the wheels continued to carry him mile by mile, hour by hour. He reached the beach, as the sleepy sun slowly slipped under the horizon like a child fighting sleep. Soon the bright of the day was extinguished, and he sat still in his truck, hearing the soft waves caressing the pale white sand in the dark. He finally let out a forced breath and thought of her. It had been a while since he let himself think of how she was in the end. That part was behind a strong stone wall in his mind, but now he began to break the wall down, slowly and apprehensively, not knowing exactly how everything behind this wall was going to change things. First, the memories began to push from behind the wall, like water, leaking from every open crevice available. As he tore more and more at the rocks the watery memories flowed faster and faster, until the wall was gone, and every memory, every feeling he had spent so much time putting behind the stone wall was a wave crashing down on him, forcing him to remember. She was good at being sick, if that was even something to be good at. He always noticed that about her. Even the day she got her test results back, he remembered watching her face. It never contorted with sadness or cringed with fear. Instead it stayed expres- sionless, staring ahead. They sat in the doctors office, hands clasped together; nervously they waited. Finally, the doctor spoke.

Page 75 Ink Tank! Volume Four: Spring-Summer 2012

“I’m sorry Olivia, but the test results show that it is cancer. I have some treatment options for you to look over, but I think its important that we decide together...” He didn’t hear the rest of the doctor’s statement, the word cancer seemed to be the only one that he could hear. He looked at Olivia’s face, it was still. Not a face of shock, or panic, or even fear, but as he looked more closely he saw something change in her face. It was acceptance that seemed to roll over the blue of her eyes. The next statement broke Brian’s heart. “It’s okay doctor, Im refusing treatment.” They sat in their room that evening. Brian didn’t know what to say, the only thing he was able to say since the left the doctors office was to ask if she was hungry. She wasn’t, so they continued to sit in silence as they passed from freeway to freeway, until they were home. When Brian stepped foot inside their house, he felt like everything should be ransacked, broken and ruined. However, he was surprised to walk in and have everything exactly how the had left it; ceramic cereal bowls still in the sink, a tooth brush next to the tooth- paste, whose cap didn’t even fit from the dried paste that was crusted to the top. He knew she hated that. Suddenly, he had an urge to clean it, as it that would have some kind of impact. He found her among their sheets, hair the color of melted chocolate, tossed over her shoulder, almost a stain on the linen. She lifted her head as he walked into the room. He had no idea what to say, or how to handle this. He wanted yell at the top if his lungs, scream at her until all the blood rushed to his face: tell her she’s making a mistake refusing treatment, she needs to fight. She needs to do something, something other than sit there on the bed like she didn’t just receive a death sentence. However, more than he wanted

Page 76 Ink Tank! Volume Four: Spring-Summer 2012 to yell, he wanted to cry. He wanted to just fall right where he stood, and cry hot tears. Everything was falling apart, and nothing he could do or say was going to stitch his life together again. The last couple months with Olivia were a time to be remembered. As painful as the memories were, they were times of beauty and love. A blooming flower in a vine of thorns. It was difficult to watch her disin- ergrate. Literally, like someone had turned her volume down, day by day. Until one day the speakers were left with nothing else but the pulse of silence. Brian sat in his truck, not moving and remem- bering all of the past year. It was the first anniversary of her death, exactly a year ago she had laid in their bed, her frail body poisoned, tired, and with one last breath she passed. He hadn’t slept in that bed since. He never entered that room of their apartment anymore. He had made his bed on the couch, and learned to shave in the kitchen sink. He couldn’t bear to go in there. It was exactly the way she had left it. The sheets and pil- low cases laid wrinkled from her last touch. The bed, surrounded by easels, paints, charcoal, were accompa- nied by her last pieces that she could do from the bed. She never believed in God. Going to church was a worship that she chose not to attend. Instead, she sketched it. She sketched, painted and drew what she believe lied in the future for her. Some pieces were hard for Brian to see, but most held beauty for something more. Something more than this life that had given her such a horrible deal. One of the last times Brian had walked into their room, her frail silhouette sat on the edge of her bed, arm waving across the canvas. Brian crawled on the bed, and slid behind her, arms around her waist and nuzzled her neck. God, she was skinny. exhausted, she leaned against his chest and silently they studied the drawing. It was three crosses, the traditional Page 77 Ink Tank! Volume Four: Spring-Summer 2012 view, which is what she drew most towards the end. This picture had her personality in it, her life forming thick lines and shapes, while her soul filled them with bright colors. It was Brain’s favorite. He remembered so well sitting behind her, watching her skeleton of a hand form these images, and as he watched her he knew she was drawing her future. Even though that made him hug Olivia tighter, he also knew she was trying to let him know that it would be okay, the only way she knew how. He saw that picture now as the morning sun started to peak back over the horizon, blinding pinks and oranges that exploded the sky. He looked down at his right arm. He had the picture tattooed on his arm a month after she was gone. A bottle of Jack and anger were the only witness to his impulsivity. It took up his whole arm and the crosses rested right above the inside of his elbow on his bicep. He loved the feeling of this picture on his arm; it was a reminder of the moment she drew it, when he held her in his arms. It was the last part of Olivia that he could hold. With that, the sun began to be pulled back up into the sky, as it did everyday. Brian reversed out from the beach and contiued to carry on with the three crosses on his arm.

Page 78 Ink Tank! Volume Four: Spring-Summer 2012 Untitled

The sultry evening air wrapped around Ethan with a warm comforting touch. Breathing in the humid summer heat, he took in the last moments of his haven. Opening his eyes, his vision was immediately penetrated with in- tricate shapes, a beautiful woman existing only on a piece of canvas, brought to life with vibrant tints. Ethan reached out to touch the painting, checking to see if the oil paint had dried. Seeing thered paint had colored his fingers, he mindlessly wiped his soiled fingertips on his pants and stood up from his stool. He then raised his arms above his head and stretched, looking out into the fading day. The concrete patch of Eden, was secretly nested above the city. Looking down upon the metropolis, he saw tall buildings protruded from the garden of concrete and metal; however, none compared to the height of his great oak tree, towering over the rest of the flowers in the overgrown garden. His refuge was so high that the sounds of civilization down below were almost impossible to hear. That’s what made this place, this blessing, so miraculous. It was the only place where Ethan could paint, could live, could love. The only place acceptance filled his spirt and the limbs of his mind could be released into the world from the dark grottos they inhabited. He checked his wristwatch and realized that it was almost time to leave. His mother would be home soon, if she wasn’t already. Ethan’s mother hated his painting. What others would call a talent she called a habit. A disgusting, futile habit. He took his canvas to the small, makeshift shelter in the corner of the roof, making sure it was out of sight and out of harm’s way. With everything out of sight, he opened the door that led to the

Page 79 Ink Tank! Volume Four: Spring-Summer 2012 hotel below. Stepping through the portal, his restraints were strapped back on,uncomfortably pinching him into a contorted shape of what he would never be. Ethan sauntered over the plush pink carpet of the hallway and numbers passed in his peripheral vision at a slow pace. His long legs hesitantly carried him to the end of the hallway. Suite 9999 was a room only the owner could have, which was exactly what his mother was. Ethan’s father had always been out of the picture. He was killed in a car accident when Ethan was younger, and that’s about all he knew. Ethan and his mother never talked about his father, let alone anything else. Ethan pushed the smooth, white door open and the room echoed with a haunting stillness. He tip- toed into the main room, surveying it. Empty. Walking across the room,past the marble counter tops, Ethan came to a halt when the ice cold voice spoke from the kitchen, “Ethan.” Slowly he turned around to face his mother. This woman, he was rumored to be born from, stood poised near the counter tops. Her face pointed like an arrow; there was not one comforting feature about her. Her body was wrapped in a green silk dress, her mahogany hair was pulled professionally back into an up-do, and red lipstick stained her lips like blood. She closed her leather business book and pursed her lips. Impatience slithered from her mouth in verbal form, “Where have you been?” With his hands in his pockets, Ethan calmly replied, “I took a different route home from school.” Breath released from her lungs, allowing her irritation to become more apparent. She walked around the ban- quet-sized island, coming face-to-face with Ethan. “Well, with your little adventure, you wasted my

Page 80 Ink Tank! Volume Four: Spring-Summer 2012 time and yours. The Fergeson Showing is tonight and you need to wear something other then those scrubs.” She picked at Ethan’s gray, button-up polo and examined the rest of his garments with a judgmental eye. Moving her stiff hand from his t-shirt, she grabbed the side of Ethan’s jeans, closely examining the red paint smeared there. “What is this?” she growled, pulling the fabric so that it was tight against his inner thigh. “Oh that,” Ethan stalled, stumbling over his words. He pulled a lie out as quick as he could, “I rubbed up against a bench that they were painting in Central Park.” “Well, good. Now you have a reason to actually throw those rags away.” She let go of Ethan’s pants, turning on her heel. “I am leaving now, a limo will pick you at 7:30. Please arrive in appropriate attire. We don’t need to make a scene tonight.” She picked up her purse and walked through the living room to the outer door. Once her hand was clasped around the golden knob, she turned to look at Ethan. “Are you just going to stand there?” she snapped and, with that, she was out the door. Ethan breathed a sigh of relief, and his muscles slowly worked out the rigor building in them. Leav- ing the kitchen, he entered his room, which reflected himself almost as much as his mother did. Reaching into the closet, he pulled out his black suit and began to dress. Ethan was actually excited for the Fergeson Showing that night. Fedrhick Fergeson was one of the new age painters that had emerged from the slums of Brooklyn. Through paint and brush strokes, he showed the world his impression of life. Normally, this wouldn’t be something Lucille Curry would attend, but since she wanted copies of all his paintings

Page 81 Ink Tank! Volume Four: Spring-Summer 2012 in the rooms of the Curry Courtyard Motel, she said this was a perfect time to initiate a business deal. Ethan never chose to go any where with his mother. Any time he did, it was against his will. But this time was different. He felt as if he was about to go converse with an angel in hell, someone who felt his struggle for acceptance in a room of people who lathered themselves in judgement. “I’m Lucille Curry’s plus one” Ethan explained to the large security man who was grasping the plastic clipboard so hard Ethan was surprised it wasn’t splintering. “Ok,” he finally grunted to his other security friend, waving his hand to let him pass. Men in white suites with black bow ties opened the large, wooden doors, allowing Ethan pass into the magnificent meeting hall. At the end of the room, a large stage was set up, surrounded by colorfully decorated tables. The stage was set with musicians and their instruments, filling the room with sharp notes. The catering tables were erected on each side of the hall, giving the elite- rich of New York only the best of the sea, land, and sky. Moving in and out of pawns, Ethan struggled to find the masked rogue. Finally, after swimming through the tides of black and white, he found his mother. The person, who he approached was not the same woman who left their penthouse only an hour before. Her smile radiated through the room, attract- ing people to her, hooking them in with her friendly eyes. This was a mask Mrs. Curry had been practicing and perfecting for many years. However, for those who had the pleasure of watching and picking her apart, the flaws of her disguise were apparent. Her body was still stiff and when she reached out to touch people, her hands did not conform to the softness of their bodies. She remained stiff as a jagged rock placed on

Page 82 Ink Tank! Volume Four: Spring-Summer 2012 the sand, never sinking in. Lucille finally saw her son and her smile grew. The friendliness fell from her eyes and was replaced with caution not for her, but for Ethan. Lucille stiffly took his out stretched arm. “Hello Mother”. “Oh Ethan, you certainly clean up well”. Many people mumbled in agreement, however, Ethan fully grasped the underlying meaning of the statement. After the necessary small talk with the elderly elite, patrons were instructed to find their seats. Lead- ing Lucille to their table, Ethan cordially pulled her chair from the table, assisting her, and then he sat down. Soon the cuisine was delivered by waiters in white uniforms. The food was good, but Ethan suddenly remembered why he hated these gatherings. They were boring. Ethan began to think back to his Eden when he was disrupted by Mrs. Garfield across the table. “Excuse me?” he mumbled, crawling out from his thoughts. “What are you doing next year, sonny?” she re- peated in her gruff voice. “Tell them about Princeton, honey.” Lucille en- couraged in her sickly-sweet voice. “Oh, Princeton.” “A very good choice son.” Admirations echoed around the table and his mother stiffly patted his hand, smiling, as if it was her accomplishment, which it very well may have been. “Well, actually,” Ethan began, ignoring the tight- ening of his mothers hand, “I have been exploring some other choices.” “Oh really?” Mr. Carter questioned from a couple of chairs down. Ethan turned to explain further, but the hand around his pushed his words away with bone

Page 83 Ink Tank! Volume Four: Spring-Summer 2012 crushing pressure and he turned to look at his mother. “You don’t need to bore these people with these plans; we know what your futurewill be.” she warned. Ethan took a look at his boundaries, daring to push them, and with confidence he stepped into forbidden territory. “I really would enjoy studying art. I enjoy painting and I would like to expand my experience.” “Is that right?” a youthful, fresh voice said from behind Ethan. The whole table’s eyes moved to peer at the stranger. Fedrhick Fergeson stood behind Ethan’s chair. The table sat quiet for a moment, taking in the master’s appearance. Fedrhick towered not only over everyone sitting down, but also over the major- ity of the few men who were standing. Long, red hair reached his shoulders, straight as a pin. His body re- jected the unfamiliar formal garment, almost making the constraints he wore physical. “Well, young lad, why don’t you take a seat?” Mrs. Garfield prodded, motioning to Fedrhick the empty seat beside her. “Thank you.” Fergeson’s boyish face lit up and he strode over to his throne. After settling in his new seat, Ethan looked out the corner of his eye at Lucille and the corner of her mouth reflected her anger. To the rest of the table, however, she appeared enthu- siastic to have Fedrhick blessing their table with his presence. Ethan knew this was not how she had envi- sioned the evening. “I just love A Winter’s Summers Eve, I can feel the heat just radiating off the canvas, Mr. Furgeson.” Jan Poppy said, squealing with delight. “Thank you. That is one of my favorite as well. I think the colors work marvelously together although I can barely take credit for it, nature put those colors together. I merely transferred it to a canvas.” This

Page 84 Ink Tank! Volume Four: Spring-Summer 2012 comment struck up a very nice conversation between Jan Poppy, her husband, and Fedrhick. As Fedrhick spoke, Ethan watched him. He was comfortable, yet careful. No muscle tensed in his body, yet he made sure he was conveying the proper appearance according to his surroundings. Ethan continued to study Fedrhick. Something caught his eye. While Fedrhick moved his hands in a circular motion in front of him, demonstrating a paint stoke, his sleeve retreated back from his wrist revealing a tattoo. His tattoo was a rope, looped around the thumb knuckle of his left hand, and wrapped around his wrist, appearing to continue up on to his forearm. Ethan only saw it for a moment, long enough to cap- ture his curiosity. Both Ethan and Fedrhick were interrupted by Lucille’s cool voice. “I have long admired your work as well Mr. Furgeson; I would be honored to display it in my hotel.” Slowly, Fedrhick looked at Lucille, letting his arms fall to the table and lacing his fingers together. Cooly, he replied, “I’m sure you would Mrs. uhm, Cur- ry, is it? However, your hotel is neither a gallery, nor does it deserve my work.” Lucille recoiled with shock, and swallowed the words that were just spat at her. Her mouth became a thin line and her body became rigid. Lucille was not used to the lack of respect and she excused herself from the table to avoid making a scene. Ethan looked away from his mother as she disappeared in the crowd and took in the table’s reaction. Meeting Fedrhick’s eyes, he was the first to break the silence. “So your a painter as well, Ethan?” He questioned heartily. Regret twinged at Ethan. “Well, I paint. I’m not sure I would call myself a painter.”

Page 85 Ink Tank! Volume Four: Spring-Summer 2012 “Why?” His response came so quick, it surprised Ethan. No one had ever asked him that before, let alone talked to him about painting in the presence of other people. That was outlawed. “No one ever sees my paintings.” “Just because no one sees them doesn’t mean they are any less beautiful.” Sincerity filled his voice, forcing Ethan to look away from Fedrhick. He took this into consideration. The voices at the table raised in conversation, erasing the previous one. Ethan looked up to find that Fedrhick had left his seat, only to feel a hand on his back. He turned around and looked up to see Fedrhick bending at the waist, meeting Ethan at eye level. “I am always up for seeing beauty in a cave of darkness.” After the ceremony, Ethan waited patiently in front of the wooden doors of the meeting hall. Walk- ing down the steps, he searched for his mother in the blanket of people crowding the exit. After the crowd thinned and only the drunks were left, stumbling from the building, Lucille Curry was nowhere to be found. Ethan was not surprised. Humiliation was not something that Lucille excelled in, so her sticking around at the ceremony was not too likely. Turning toward the street to wave a taxi, he decided against it. Realizing what a beautiful night it was, he started to stretch his legs and wash himself of the pretentious scum that had germinated upon him this evening. The streets were quiet, letting the night press heavily around Ethan, oiling the gears of his mind. “Ethan!” An energetic voice reverberated off the brick walls of the alley way, making him come to an abrupt stop. He turned around to see a figure jogging towards him, eventually slowing to a stop. A street light illuminated red hair like a burning blaze, then brought familiarity to Ethan when he saw the

Page 86 Ink Tank! Volume Four: Spring-Summer 2012 face of Fedrhick. He was no longer burdened with the constraints he wore earlier, but a button-up shirt that cascaded cotton down his chest. His jeans bore blotch- es of his work, paint smears up and down his leg that would make Lucille Curry cringe in physical pain. “I’m ready to illuminate the hieroglyphics.” The men walked down the cemented sidewalk in a comfortable silence. Ethan led the way to the Curry Courtyard Hotel. Shortly, they were both ambling over the pink trail of carpet of the highest floor. Quietly opening the door, Ethan allowed a perfect stranger to enter his Eden. The air was colder on top and the only light shone from the rock in the sky. Moving to the edge of the roof, Fedrhick looked down upon the other buildings of New York, feeling the light breeze dance around his body, permitting goosebumps to build a village on his pale skin. “So this is where you paint?” Fedrhick asked, stepping back from the ledge. “It’s the only place I can. You saw my mother tonight; she doesn’t believe in art.” Ethan walked over to a dimly lit crevice and pulled a worn, wooden stool from the darkness, like a magician pulling a rabbit out of a hat. Fedrhick chuckled under his breath. “It’s hard to think that people now have to believe in art. Isn’t seeing believing?” Ethan gave a sad smile, “That’s the thing, nobody sees it.” With that, Ethan walked over to the makeshift shelter. A pile of nails and boards that seemed to be piled on top of each other. He gently pulled out pages of his canvas bible, letting eyes other then his own observe them. Ethan had three large paintings and five smaller ones, including the one he finished of the woman just days before. He laid them flat allowing Fedrhick to swim in the colors and behold the shapes

Page 87 Ink Tank! Volume Four: Spring-Summer 2012 that made each painting. While silence pervaded, Fe- drhick continually paced around the paintings looking at them from different points of view, testing how the light from the rock in the sky contorted them. Ethan stood nearby, arms crossed, feeling more and more self conscious with each passing moment. Finally, Fedrhick spoke. “It was my Dad. He insisted that art was no way to make a living. For years, I tried to convince him, but there was no moving that man.” He paused, lost in his past. “A real man works for his money, that’s what he would always say. We fought about it till his death.” Fedrhick continued. “After he passed, I was mad; this man kept me from my dream. He never believed in me. That’s why I got this tattoo.” He pulled up his sleeve, exposing his left forearm. The rope wrapped up his arm to about the elbow, where it seemed to be cut and was frayed. “ I had to remember that nothing could keep me from making my dream come true, nothing could tie me down.” A chilling silence fell upon the men. Both lived a hellish situation, one escaping, living with the scars of his broken past. The other, fighting the constraints tying him down, while wishing for something more. Despite that, both wanted to change the world with a brush, to inject color and feeling into people’s lives to help the indigent souls believe again. “I think I can help.” Fedrhick stated and, with that, they laid out a future all revolving around colors and canvas. Everything was set up. Paintings were laid against the couches and chairs of Ethan’s living room. Quietly and patiently, he sat in an overstuffed chair, waiting for Lucille to enter his world, brought down from the heavens and placed temporarily in this mediocre realm. Soon, she arrived, descending slowly, step by step, Ethan could feel her burning eyes look-

Page 88 Ink Tank! Volume Four: Spring-Summer 2012 ing around the room. She stepped off the stairs and prowled over to the gallery that was set before her. Ethan watched his mother with careful eyes, taking in each of her movements, reading her body language. The tension of the room was slit with her barbed words. “What is this trash doing in my living room?” These words instantly ignited the flickering flame that had been burning inside of Ethan for years, exploding into a full blaze that smoked confidence through his body. “These are my paintings, Mother.” “That is why I ask what is this trash doing in my living room?” “I wanted to show you my work, before I left. I created these. They came from my hand and my soul. I wanted to share them with you, one last time.” Cold eyes questioned Ethan and he continued, “Fedrhick Fergeson thinks they are very good. He sees my potential and talent and is going to display my paintings in his gallery. So, I am leaving Mother, for good. You cannot keep me from my dream.” Tears pulled at his eyes, but he blinked them away, not allowing weakness to overflow. Staring at his mother, she was still. Her mask spoke nothing to Ethan and after a quick look around the room, she took a last glance at her son. For a moment, regret flashed across her face, as she realized everything her son would never be and would never have. Then, just as quickly as it disappeared, her mask was strapped on tightly and she retreated back upstairs. Ethan gathered his children and his few posses- sions. Arms loaded, he opened the door and stepped out onto the pink carpet one last time. Ethan felt nothing as he shut the door and called the elevator. All of this had meant nothing, had been nothing. Everything that had mattered in his life was wrapped within his arms. Sinews, ligaments and

Page 89 Ink Tank! Volume Four: Spring-Summer 2012 skin, pressing everything he had a right to call his own, near his body and his heart. He walked across the marble tile of the lobby and felt a glowing sense of pride. He was doing it. This was where his dream begins. Stepping out onto the crowded streets of New York, he felt his tarnished constraints falling to the ground, being tossed aside and crushed under the hard souls of mortals treading carelessly on the sidewalk.

Page 90 Ink Tank! Volume Four: Spring-Summer 2012 Elin Honea Seized Without Expectations

I was leaning against a wooden post when I began thinking about what had occurred. I then started walking and starting searching. I needed a place to work, to stay, to survive. After several days of searching, I came across this small town. There really wasn’t much left, except for a society living within itself. “Well,” I thought to myself, “This barren land is relatively flat.” Why am I thinking that? This is survival, no time to analyze the scenery that has everything taken away amongst it. No, rations or relatives left. I moved fast, because there was little daylight left. Clutching my ripped clothing from falling apart, I started making my way into town. I then climbed a gate that had the remains of barbed wire. I cut myself here and there, but I needed food, fast. I don’t remember where I had gotten my last meal. I was searching for any spare change on the ground when I accidently tripped. As I tried to get back up in front of a guard’s watch, he threw me back down. “Get lost,” my poor boy!” I could see abandoned train crates from which merchants were selling their food, water, and other leftovers. The guards loudly blew their whistles when I approached the crate. “Keep a watch out on that, ‘[o]ver there!” he yelled to the other guard. He was armed. As I kicked up dust, a huge cloud skewed my vision temporarily. I ran to the nearest line of people that I stumbled upon. It happened to be a titled, wheels upturned ice cream truck. It screeched a

Page 91 Ink Tank! Volume Four: Spring-Summer 2012 cracked drone that not even a crow could stand to hear. As the shop appeared to be closing, a few travelers were unclear on the price of a few leftover soup cans. They took longer than usual, and my impatience was growing. My stomach began to rumble, and I was feeling faint. Luckily, the travelers ahead noticed my condition. It was an elderly couple that looked better off than the rest of the town. “Excuse me sir,” I said. “What do you want?” said the man. “Could you spare some change?” “What? No! Get lost!” said the man. “Ooo Harold! I’m sure it wouldn’t hurt to spare a penny!” exclaimed his wife. “We did accidently receive extra change.” I quickly grabbed the few pennies while other money-hungry travelers eyed the change as well. I was too hungry to appreciate their kind gesture. I paid the merchant for my food.

When the couple left, I heard some noise coming from inside the shop. An angry man stormed out of the crate and took the merchant aside to the back of the abandoned freight train. He furiously yelled at her for what appeared to be a mathematical error. “So, that’s why the couple gave me their extra pennies,” I thought to myself. The angry man’s shadow was dancing along the walls and was lit by a small tea candle. I knew he was infuriated because of his body language toward his assistant. I didn’t ask any questions. There were guards that patrolled the area. They stuck to their rigid standards and dictated citizens by their rules. Yes, the guards owned this town. Apparently, those that had

Page 92 Ink Tank! Volume Four: Spring-Summer 2012 the guns were the ones in power. The guards fired three shots in the air to warn anyone who might be in the area not to come. Then minutes later they fired one more shot. Someone must have been killed. The next morning, I didn’t see the angry merchant. But, I saw his assistant. There were stacks of money behind the counter. It must have been a busy day for them. “Is there any way I may be of assistance to you?” Is this freight hiring?” I inquired about a possible job. “Why yes, you sure can!” No experience required. We sure have been busy and can use extra help!” I then asked about the man who had been shot. She gave me the grim details. “I guess this is the new way of life,” she said. Just taking things are they come. “Well,” you never know what to expect. I guess you’re right. We are living in the age of a new social order. After a while, I adjusted to this situation that was presented to me; this is how things are. Life is a struggle, and the strongest survive by taking opportunity.

Page 93 Ink Tank! Volume Four: Spring-Summer 2012 Ketchup With Me

As soon as I arrived, I could sense that something was out of place. While everything was blurred, the only thing I could vividly recall was their faces... As I glanced down, all I could feel was a rush of bone-chilling air. Despite being claustrophobic, I was in an egg-shaped Pod full of recycled air. My hair was flying in front of my face and there were dried blood stains on my jacket. With eyes squinted from the bright light, all I could hear was a voice. It was soft and delicate and spoke, “We greet you in peace, and all we ask is that you do the same.” The next thing I knew, I could feel a hug of cool air as I drifted slowly back to sleep. “Here, we have him,” replied a strange-looking doctor. It wasn’t your typical doctor. He had black hair growing down to his feet and metallic earth-print shoes. I jolted awake. My first reaction: “Cool shoes, dude.” My second reaction: “Where am I?” As I sprung up from my Pod, my arms ached with jaw-clenching pain. The blood stains were caused by a ketchup packet that I had punctured inside the Pod. “Hmm...I must have had French Fries!” I thought. However, little did I know this ketchup packet would save my life. This short, strange doctor eyed me up and down before entering the next room. His long, white coat swept the ground and turned a tight corner before disappearing out of sight. The symbol of a tomato with a circle and cross stricken through was embroi- dered in the back. Oddly enough, some force compelled me to

Page 94 Ink Tank! Volume Four: Spring-Summer 2012 throw the ketchup packet in my Pod at this strange being. The doctor’s face melted in horror as the ketchup liquefied him. I watched in shock as the other doctors followed the tomato’s rich ripe smell and slowly consumed him. “Now’s the chance to escape! But, where to?” I thought. “Wait, I can’t talk!” I finally realized. “I’m sorry about the ketchup!” I mouthed silently. As I jumped away from the Pod, I turned my gaze to the window to escape. My hands felt for an escape. But as I turned around, the hungry doctors slowly turned toward me with their hands clawed. My apology was unaccepted. As soon as this thought registered, two different long-haired doctors with tomato immunity necklaces grabbed me and placed me back into my Pod. They waved goodbye with tears in their eyes. The Pod flew back and landed with a Bang! on Earth’s soil in the snap of a second. I ran into my house, hoping to tell my friend of the news. But as I turned to hurry him out into the backyard, the evidence dissolved right in front of my eyes, seconds before he arrived. “See, I told you you’ve watched too many movies!” chuckled my friend. But, as we both looked into the night sky, together, we saw a red spaceship zooming by...

Page 95 Ink Tank! Volume Four: Spring-Summer 2012 What sets you apart from the crowd? This is a very interesting prompt. I am going to explain how a ladybug would feel based on a real-life experience. A red ladybug with exactly ten spots just wanted to sleep in a quiet, safe place with no disturbance. However, the ladybug being offended by its title with the word “bug” in its name decided it would like to be called “Ms. Lady” because she felt her ten spots and sweet personality separated her from the rest. Upon resting on a fresh blade of grass on a windy, warm spring day, two strangers stumbled upon her habitat. The “ladybug” knew that the strangers would not harm her because of their warm presence. Ms. Lady was feeling a little discouraged because it couldn’t find its friends. “Eem…time to explore!” thought the ladybug. “Dududud…ahh! Something coming towards me! It’s going to squish me!” thought Ms. Lady. “Time to fight or fly!” The finger of the stranger gently caressed the ladybug’s wings. Ms. Lady responded by gently crawling towards this strange being. Its antennas and short legs reached out to the extended finger of the stranger’s. “You cute little ladybug, you!” said the stranger to Ms.Lady. “Hey! I’m not a bug!” said Ms.Lady. “I’m not what you think I am!” A couple sitting by the Koi Pond laughed and whispered to each other how “stupid” the stranger appeared. “Look at that person talking to the grass!” This is just one example how ridiculous I can look at times. But, it’s “Me” and that’s what matters.

Page 96 Ink Tank! Volume Four: Spring-Summer 2012 Katy Krum Had a Bad Day

On June 30, 2010 I was at Leland High School working as a teacher’s aide for Math Enrichment. I was in the classroom, on my break, reading the mesmerizing auto- biography of Kendra Wilkinson. The hot air was blowing into the classroom, making it feel like the air condition- er wasn’t even on. The amount of sweat dripping from my face was revolting. My aunt was in the classroom next to me. I helped Mrs.Bono correct papers and teach lessons. Tanya and Aneeka were the other aides in the classroom assisting the students in completing their tasks.”Okay class, time for minute math,” Mrs. Bono explained to the math students, while I relaxed on my break. I felt incredibly worn out from being at my trou- blesome job all day. Excitement was an understatement to how I felt. While reading my book, all of the sudden my aunt barged unto the classroom and said, “Mom’s here to get you, meet her up front.” I sat there baffled at why I had to leave. She just kept repeating, “She needs help with Yael.” Yael is my cousin who lives in Valencia. We have been on many family trips together, treating each other like sisters. Though she can be a little dorky at times, I wouldn’t trade her for any other person in the world. I didn’t comprehend why I had to go with my mom to pick up my cousin. I know she is capable of driving to the train station by herself, though it can be a strenuous task for someone like her at the age of fifty-four. I gradually got up and collected my things and said good-bye to the Tanya, Aneeka and Mrs. Bono. When I walked out the door, I still pondered why I was leaving early, but I just shrugged it off. As soon as I made it to the front of the school,

Page 97 Ink Tank! Volume Four: Spring-Summer 2012 my mom and sister approached me with sullen faces. I have only seen that look on my mom’s face once and knew it didn’t mean something good. When I got to them, my sister broke the news. She looked at me with these sad eyes and said, “Dad died” All my mom could say was, “I’m sorry. It’s unfair.” At that point I didn’t want to hear anything more. I just wanted to crawl in a hole and never come out. I then decided to call my friend Laura and tell her what had happened. As I broke down in tears over the phone, I heard the same words I would hear over and over again for the next few weeks, “I’m sorry.” We just arrived at the train station and loaded Yael and her luggage into the car. She came up to San Jose for her second wedding celebration for all the guests who couldn’t make it to her actual wedding down in Valencia. The next few weeks were a blur. I felt as if I were lost in a tornado of emotions. Many long phone calls were made to my dad’s family and friends. Though his death was tragic, the event brought me closer to his sisters, who I had never met before. We started to get his memorial plans together. I bothered my mom for the longest time, always asking, “When are we going to go down for Dad’s memorial?” Two weeks later, we made our journey down to Los Ange- les. Finally, it was the day to get my dad’s posses- sions. I knew that there were many things of his I wanted because I grew up seeing them in the house. When I arrived at his house, it reminded me of all the good times we had had there. His house was small, but the perfect size for a simple guy like him. It was one of the most difficult days for me.

Page 98 Ink Tank! Volume Four: Spring-Summer 2012 Jenna Madsen Life Is Just Ducky

It all started in third grade when I laid eyes on the day old ducklings. We had raised them from in- cubated eggs in my classroom, and we watched them grow until they were able to be on their own. It was then I realized I wanted my own ducklings, and before I knew it, I was with my dad in the car, driving home with two mallard ducklings in a cardboard box. A family friend had determined they were both females, and I decided Precious and Angel were fitting names. From there it was love. We spent our young lives together. They nuzzled up to my neck, swam happily in a big bowl filled with water, and roamed the yard. They grew by the months, and began to chase flies like it was nobody’s business. Once they had finally grown into their adult feathers, it was quite obvious that our supposed Angel was a boy. But we welcomed them as a pair with open arms, and they were inseparable, as was I with the two ducks. The years passed, and Precious and Angel were a dynamic duo, experiencing more than many ducks could live to tell about. They rode in my high school homecoming float, and took many road trips to our summer home. They survived dog attacks and were spoiled with snails, lettuce and bread weekly. People thought I was crazy when I would tell them that I had pet ducks. But to me, it was a special bond that was more unique than having a dog or a cat. Precious and Angel were always there, and petting and holding them was a source of comfort and contentment for me. I was their Mama and they were my babies. They were both almost ten years old when Precious’s health started to

Page 99 Ink Tank! Volume Four: Spring-Summer 2012 decline. I could tell in her eyes that it was her time to go, and the day that I was coming back for the spring 2011 semester, she finally gave up. Until this day I miss her. She was the best duck a girl could have. But this left Angel a widow, and he needed a mate. In comes Polly, an adopted wild mallard from a nearby farm. She was not the cuddly type, and actually seemed to hate human contact. I realized this once I got home from college for the summer. She darted away from me like I was some kind of plague. After a few weeks of attempts, she began to accept my touch, but was never anything like Precious. But Angel seemed happy, and that was all I really wanted. We had Polly for less than a year when she flew away. It was late winter and she must have felt the need to migrate with the other ducks. It was sad, but she was always a wild one. However, once again, Angel was left alone. Ducks are very sociable animals and prefer to be in pairs, so it is not preferable to leave them by their selves. Hence, this brought forth the idea of buying and raising two new ducklings. I couldn’t have been more excited about something. It had been ten years since I raised ducklings, and this was the perfect opportunity to have the chance once more. It was a normal Friday afternoon for most people in Humboldt County, but not for me. My mom and I had just picked up two ducklings from the feed store, and again started the cycle of feeding, bathing, and caring for the peepers. But I didn’t mind a bit. I wanted to spend all day with them, watching their funny antics, and how they could barely balance with their awkward webbed feet. They followed me all throughout the house and peeped to the high heavens when I put them away for nap time. They grew and grew, starting to explore the outside

Page 100 Ink Tank! Volume Four: Spring-Summer 2012 world for themselves-cracking and eating snails with their beaks, splashing in the kiddie pool, and eating like there was no tomorrow. I continue to watch them every day, laughing at their antics. Most people look at me like I’m crazy when I tell them about my ducks, but I smile because there is nothing quite like having pets like them. It’s a certain love only I can understand, I suppose. And quite frankly, I’m perfectly content with that.

Page 101 Ink Tank! Volume Four: Spring-Summer 2012 Rayna Penning A Magnificent Failure

When Joel Carmichael asked me to do a little snooping to find out whether his wife was having an affair, I thought it would be a routine case. I hoped desperately that it would be, because the last thing I needed at the moment was another complication. 1957 was turning out to be a difficult year for me, indeed. Business continued to drop off, and I had recently been dropped myself. My fiancée had decided I wasn’t worth her time anymore. Apparently recently released convicts were more appealing than private detectives with an ounce of integrity, and now I had been reduced to the level of any other two-bit detective, spying on people simply because I had nothing better to do. My English father and American waitress mother had high aspirations for their only son, and they educated me accordingly, offering forth all the money they had to send me to the best schools on the East Coast. When my father died during my early adult years and my grief-stricken mother followed soon after, it became easier to do whatever I wanted. Sometimes, I had to remind myself that I was in the right business after all. A difficult task awaited me that Monday morning as I entered my office. It was hard enough adjust- ing to the murder of my partner and friend, Jack Parr. It was hard enough trying to understand why my other partner, Bernie Holmes, had suddenly become so distant and secretive. But of course, there had to be more. Telling Joel Carmichael about his wife’s in- discretions had been surprisingly easy. Considering my tendency to get far too emotionally invested in

Page 102 Ink Tank! Volume Four: Spring-Summer 2012 my cases, I couldn’t account for the indifference with which I had given him the results of my investigation. What had severely unnerved me, though, was how well Joel handled the news. I had spent a great deal of time planning my approach, because experience told me that sensitivity and understanding were always the most important aspects of this sort of case. Bernie had told me otherwise, but I rarely listened to him. Joel quietly studied the photographs I had brought with me as proof of his wife’s infidelity. He hardly said a word when he learned that the partner in his wife’s adulterous scheme happened to be none other than Roger Collins, the man who had the desk next to Joel at his accounting firm. After calmly offering to refill my drink, to which I replied that I should really be getting back to work, he walked with me to the front door and thanked me. By this time, I was seriously beginning to wonder if he intended not to pay me. However, when he explained vaguely that he had simply not yet gotten the chance to arrange his finan- cial matters, I suggested we meet later so that he could give me the check. It was my policy never to accept cash from a client. Regardless of the sacrifices I may have made for clients in the past, something told me that in this case, it was better to be safe than sorry.

Three days later, I was beginning to have more than just a nagging doubt that there was something exceptionally odd about this case. Joel had still not called me to set up a meeting. I hated to disturb a client who would clearly be in a highly fragile emotional state at the moment, but I was also not above hound- ing someone when I did not receive my promised compensation. I sat down at my desk and picked up the phone. After a few rings, a man answered. “Hello?”

Page 103 Ink Tank! Volume Four: Spring-Summer 2012 “Mr. Carmichael, James Grahme.” “Yes, Mr. Grahme. How are you?” I was struck by how unemotional Joel sounded. Apparently he was still in shock, or denial. I wondered if he had managed to carry on a normal relationship with Marilyn and Roger all this time. Then again, Marilyn was no great intellect; she probably would have noticed a new frown line in her face before she noticed a changed in her husband’s demeanor toward her. “I’m fine,” I replied. “Are you all right?” “Of course. I’m sure I’ll get through this. I’m glad you called, actually.” His last few words slurred together. I realized then why he was coping with my news so well. He was drunk. It probably hadn’t taken much. He was a small man, after all, and I didn’t imagine that he was generally disposed toward heavy drinking. “Mr. Carmichael, I wanted to remind you of our agreement,” I said swiftly, fearing that he would find some way to wriggle out of it. “Oh, I haven’t forgotten, Mr. Grahme. Why don’t we meet at O’Brien’s Pub, say, eight-thirty? I’ll have your compensation for you then.” “All right,” I agreed reluctantly. “Excellent. Until then.”

At eight-fifteen that night, I drove through downtown San Samona, once again reflecting on the oddity of its desolate and God-forsaken existence on the California coast, just hours north of Los Angeles. Since the days following the gold rush, when would- be miners had chosen it as their final refuge, the town had continued to attract failures and miscreants of every profession. The newly-developed suburban neighborhood where Joel and Marilyn lived had no place in San Samona, and it was predictably over-

Page 104 Ink Tank! Volume Four: Spring-Summer 2012 run with a strong criminal element within a couple of years. In this town where dreams often came to die, it seemed as though time had stopped in 1950, dooming us all to the eventual fate of becoming relics of a distant and undesirable past. Upon further reflection, I decided it would be better to leave my car in front of a safer, more respect- able-looking establishment, so I parked in front of the bookstore and began to walk down the street toward our meeting place. O’Brien’s was the only real Irish pub in San Samona, another oddity in a town full of drunks. As a result, the regular patrons could be a pretty rough crowd. As I entered the front door, I noticed that the place was remarkably deserted, even for a Monday night. I pushed my misgivings aside, however. I was there for one purpose. After that night, I would never have to set foot in O’Brien’s again. I sat at the bar, ordered a Jack Daniels, and set about making myself as inconspicuous as possible. It wasn’t difficult. The bartender hardly gave me a second glance. A few minutes later, I heard the door open. I turned slightly. Joel walked in. To my horror, he was followed by Marilyn and Roger. Joel and Roger were deep in conversation. Marilyn, as usual, looked completely uninterested in anything her husband had to say. I twisted a bit more in my chair and sighed exas- peratedly, as though I found it impossible to get comfortable after a long day at work. I strained my ears, and was able to decipher their speech. Joel was speaking. “So, as I was saying, it really isn’t so bad once you listen to it a few times. I mean, it’s what all the kids like these days.” Roger looked somewhat uncomfortable. “Do you hear yourself, Joel? You’ve been babbling for the last ten minutes, ever since we got in the car. You haven’t made any sense. All this talk about Elvis and Buddy

Page 105 Ink Tank! Volume Four: Spring-Summer 2012 Howard—” “Buddy Holly. He’s very popular with the young people, Roger.” “Yes, well, you know, I’m really at a loss as to why we had to come here, of all places. If you wanted to have a nice meal, we could easily have gone—” Joel suddenly glanced toward the bar. If he saw me, he didn’t acknowledge it. “Nonsense, this place was highly recommended by a man I happen to trust.” He must have been referring to me, because of course he couldn’t choose this moment to give away the fact that he had arranged this meeting. Roger hesitated. “You know, I’m not really sure about this. You never know who could overhear our conversation, and considering that our work often concerns some rather sensitive issues—” For the first time since they had entered the pub, Marilyn spoke, maintaining her tone of general disinterest. “Listen, if all you two are going to do is talk about work, I don’t really see any reason for me to be here.” Joel hastened to placate his wife. “No, dear, I promise, we’re finished talking about work. There really was a reason I wanted you to come with us.” “Well, in that case, we can hear all about it over a drink. It’s been quite a long day, hasn’t it, Roger?” “Why don’t we go to the bar and order?” Roger suggested. It was clear that he was still highly un- easy. As they approached, I turned in my chair so that I was facing the bartender again. I hunched low in my seat and leaned over my drink, still listening intently. “I think I’m going to have something strong,” Roger continued, “like a, a, hmm, what do I want?” “Well, both of you make up your minds,” Joel urged him. “Whatever you decide, it’s all on me. As

Page 106 Ink Tank! Volume Four: Spring-Summer 2012 many as you want. I think perhaps I ought to be the responsible one tonight, especially considering that I was certainly less than responsible this afternoon.” “That reminds me, Joel, what was wrong with you today?” Roger asked. “I mean, what caused you to take the day off work? I can’t remember you ever missing a day at the firm before.” “Ah, well, you know, I really just needed a day to take care of some personal business,” Joel replied vaguely. Suddenly, I knew that Joel was not all right after all. Something in his tone disturbed me. “One needs a break from the fascination of accounting every now and then,” he continued, a bit more cheerfully. “The tax forms weren’t so urgent as to require my attention today.” “I thought you said you were done talking about work, Joel,” Marilyn whined. “You’re right, darling. I’m sorry. So, changing the subject. Let’s order our drinks, shall we?” “Okay, what did I say I was having?” Roger ab- sently drummed his fingers on the bar. “Hm. Why don’t I just have a, a beer, then?” “Oh, come, Roger,” Joel chuckled. “Anything you want, on me. Is that really all you’ll have? What about a cognac, something a little more exciting?” “Joel, leave him alone,” Marilyn simpered. “I’ll be more adventurous. Give me a Manhattan.” “That’s my girl.” Joel beamed at her. “Why don’t we sit here, at the bar? It’s so much more intimate, don’t you think?” To my renewed discomfort, Joel seated himself on the stool closest to me. After tousling her platinum hair a couple of times, Marilyn settled herself next to her husband. Roger took the stool on her other side, though I noticed he kept his body twisted, with his feet on the side closest to the door.

Page 107 Ink Tank! Volume Four: Spring-Summer 2012 “Really, Joel, what’s gotten into you today?” Roger’s nervousness was impossible to hide now. “You’re not yourself. Are you ever going to tell us what’s wrong?” “Soon enough, my friend,” Joel replied calmly. “Ah, why don’t we toast to—to my lovely wife, Marilyn, whom I have never deserved. What attracted her to me, I’ll never know.” He lifted his glass, and the others followed suit. “Joel, please. You’re embarrassing me,” Marilyn said uncomfortably. “Yes, to Marilyn,” Roger said quickly. They all drank. “Why don’t you tell us why we’re here, Joel?” “Nonsense,” Joel continued, as though he had not heard Roger’s desperate request. “I don’t deserve you, Marilyn. Though I think tonight I’m going to come closer than I ever thought possible.” “What are you talking about?” Marilyn queried, mildly curious now. “Are you okay, Joel?” Roger asked. “Yes, I’m quite well.” As Joel raised his glass again, his elbow brushed my arm. “Oh, excuse me, sir. You see,” he went on, “the thing is, there’s a very specific reason for my asking the two of you to accom- pany me here tonight.” Roger was now positively writhing with discomfort. “And what might that be?” he inquired as non- chalantly as possible. “Well, you see, the thing is, I happen to know about the two of you,” Joel answered casually. “What do you mean?” Too much longer, and Roger was going to crack. “There’s no need to keep up the pretense any longer, Roger,” Joel said. “I have proof. You’ve been seen, there are pictures, I know. That’s it.” Marilyn’s manicured hands flew dramatically to

Page 108 Ink Tank! Volume Four: Spring-Summer 2012 her face. Her voice was suddenly reminiscent of that of a talking pet macaw. “I don’t know what you’re talking about, Joel, honestly. Maybe this wasn’t a good idea. Maybe we should just—” “No, we need to have this out.” Joel’s voice was entirely too calm now. “Both of you can stop pretending. You don’t need to hide your feelings any more, though I must say you did a lousy job in the first place, considering that I’ve been suspicious for quite some time. In fact, I have my proof right here. Meet Mr. James Grahme. He’s a private detective. I hired him to confirm my suspicions, and he did. He did exactly what I hired him to do.” I turned slowly in my seat to face the three of them. Marilyn and Roger’s faces registered shock at my appearance. I dreaded what was to come next. “Roger, I recognize this man,” Marilyn managed after a moment. “Don’t you remember that time we saw him outside the movie theater? He didn’t do such a good job after all, did he? I need another drink.” “Actually, considering that you only saw him once, he did much better than most other detectives in this town would,” Joel said. “Although that only shows how engrossed you were in each other’s company. Mr. Grahme, perhaps you’d care to show your evidence now?” “Are you sure this is a good idea, Mr. Carmi- chael? You’ve had a lot to drink today. Maybe we should wait until another time—” “No, I insist that we resolve this now,” he interrupted. “You do have the pictures? Show them. Maybe that will change their minds. Maybe that will get them to tell the truth.” “Well, yes, I do have the pictures, but—” “Show them!” His eyes were wide, and he was beginning to show evidence for the first time of how

Page 109 Ink Tank! Volume Four: Spring-Summer 2012 the ordeal of the past three days had truly affected him. “You know, I really don’t think that’s necessary,” Roger spoke up. His voice was faint, and his face had gone a good shade paler than it was when he first entered the pub. “I’m sure we can all work something out.” “You’re right, Mr. Collins,” I said quickly. “We should all just discuss this rationally—” “No, I’m not sure that’s going to do any good.” Joel had calmed down again. “I’m afraid it may be a bit late for talking.” “Where is everyone?” Marilyn demanded, looking wildly round the pub. She was slightly hysterical. “Why is it so deserted in here? Why is there no one else—why is the bartender gone?” I turned my head swiftly. The bartender had indeed disappeared, probably off to a back room to wait for our quarrel to dissolve. “Why don’t we move over to that table in the corner?” Joel suggested. “It might be a bit more private.” “No, Mr. Carmichael,” I said firmly. “I think we really ought to stop this now. I’ll drive you home, or to a hotel, or—” “No,” he interrupted again. “I’ve had enough. We’re going to end this. Now. Just tell me, Roger. Tell me how you really feel about my wife. Have another drink.” Marilyn’s shrill voice cut through the short silence left in the wake of Joel’s words. She had lost all sense of control. “Roger, no—Joel, what are you doing? Stop! You’re not yourself. Listen to Mr. Grahme. We’ll all go home. We should just—” “I asked Roger a question,” Joel said. His voice was low and dangerous. He completely ignored his

Page 110 Ink Tank! Volume Four: Spring-Summer 2012 wife’s outburst. “Surely our relationship is worth that much to you?” He gazed intently at Roger. “Surely we can at least be honest with each other? Tell me, what are your feelings when it comes to my wife?” “I—I love her,” Roger began reluctantly. “I love your wife. I love you, Marilyn.” “Roger—” Marilyn gasped. “I know you love her, Roger. That’s the problem.” Joel’s voice was matter-of-fact. “That’s what I can’t accept. I’ve tried, ever since Mr. Grahme told me, but—for some reason, I just can’t be happy for you. That’s why I brought this.” Everything seemed to move in slow motion as Joel reached into his coat and pulled out a .22 caliber handgun. He calmly and methodically pointed the gun at Roger. Marilyn screamed. “Joel! Joel, please!” Roger attempted to reason with Joel, but his voice shook too violently for anyone to take him seriously. “Now, Joel, come on—” “Mr. Carmichael, put that away,” I pleaded. “We’ll find some other way to settle this. Come now, this isn’t necessary.” “No, I’m afraid it is,” Joel corrected me sadly. “I’ve thought about this long and hard, believe me. But this is the only solution I could come up with. I don’t know what else to do. Roger and Marilyn have betrayed me, and I just can’t accept that, no matter how much I try. I’m sorry, but it’s the only way.” “Joel, please.” Marilyn was shaking now. “Don’t do this. I—I’ll come home with you, we’ll sort this out, I promise.” “No, Marilyn. I’m sorry. We can’t fix this now. You’ve made your choice. You love him. I can see it. I can see that you feel differently about him. You care for him more than you’ve ever cared for me.” “Joel—”

Page 111 Ink Tank! Volume Four: Spring-Summer 2012 “No, Roger, it’s all right. Don’t say anything. Believe me, I don’t think any less of you, and I never will. It’s just that there’s really no other way.” “Mr. Carmichael, listen to me—” “Don’t worry, Mr. Grahme. You’ll get your pay- ment. You’ve done very well. I’m very happy with your work. I wouldn’t hesitate to recommend you to my friends, but I don’t suppose that’s going to happen now, is it?” Joel kept the gun trained on Roger as he spoke. I had dealt with countless lunatics in the course of my work, but although I was attempting to stay calm and take control of the situation, I was sure that my inner panic would soon bubble over. Joel suddenly cocked the hammer on the gun. Marilyn’s voice immediately went up another octave, and my pleas became more frantic. “Mr. Carmichael, give me the gun.” “Listen to him, Joel, do what he says!” “No, it’s too late,” Joel snapped. “We can’t go back. I want to say something to Roger. You really have been a great friend these last few years, and I’m going to miss our time together at work. I’m awfully sorry about this whole thing. I’m only doing this because I want Marilyn to be happy. That’s all I’ve ever wanted.” “I will be happy, Joel,” Marilyn insisted. “I will be happy if you’ll just put down the gun and leave with me right now. Let’s just go home. I promise you, I never have to look at Roger again after tonight. We’ll go away together. We’ll work this out.” “No! I told you it’s too late for that! Mr. Grahme, you’ll find your check in my coat pocket. Getting it out is going to be a rather unpleasant business, and I apologize for that. Now, I think I’ve stalled long enough.” To my utter astonishment, Joel abruptly turned the gun on himself, resting it against his tem-

Page 112 Ink Tank! Volume Four: Spring-Summer 2012 ple. Marilyn lost her head again. “Joel, no! What are you doing?” “No, no, no,” Roger moaned. “Mr. Carmichael—” I tried once again to reason with him, but even as I raised my hand to wrest the gun from him, I knew that any further effort was absolutely futile. Joel Carmichael wanted to die. He adopted an oddly theatrical air. Under any other circumstance, the scene would have been comi- cal as Joel made his final exit. “And now I make my final farewell: goodbye, my friends. I wash my hands of this terrible business.” Joel pulled the trigger. I remember being vaguely surprised at how little gore there was as the bullet passed quickly into his brain and he slumped in his chair. The gun slipped from his hand and clattered to the floor. Marilyn lunged forward and grabbed Joel’s collar. “Call the police! Someone help him!” she screamed. “He’s dead, Mrs. Carmichael,” I said quietly, attempting to pull Marilyn off of her husband’s body. “I’m sorry. There’s nothing anyone can do.” Roger, meanwhile, was shaking his head in dis- belief, staring at the corpse with unseeing eyes. “He was my friend. What have I done? How could I—?” “I’m sorry for both of you,” I said, knowing that any attempt to console them would be useless. “We’ll have to leave him here. Believe me, I really am sorry it ended this way. I never meant for—Mrs. Carmichael, what are you doing? You can’t touch that.” Marilyn had bent down to retrieve Joel’s gun from the floor. Her shallow green eyes were filled with the same morbid curiosity I was accustomed to seeing at any crime scene. Nothing in her expression suggested that the man now dead in his chair was, or ever had been,

Page 113 Ink Tank! Volume Four: Spring-Summer 2012 her husband. The rapidity with which her demeanor had changed was one of the most disturbing and in- comprehensible things I had ever seen. She examined the gun with a surprising vacancy of emotion, even for her. I used my handkerchief to snatch the gun from her hands and lay it carefully on the bar. I felt miser- able. Joel was dead, and I had clearly failed to do my job properly. Most other men would be faced with a dilemma here, but for me there was no question as to what to do. I could not by any means take the money that Joel had meant me to have. I would inform the in- vestigating officer of the presence of the check in Joel’s pocket, and hope that he, at least, would do his job in reporting it as evidence rather than claiming it for himself. Roger had turned to Marilyn. “I’m really sorry about this. I guess—I guess he wanted us to be together. I guess this means we don’t have anything to worry about now. We’re doing the right thing, aren’t we?” Marilyn slowly raised her eyes to Roger’s face. In that moment, recognizing the complete lack of compassion in her expression, I felt total sympathy for Roger. He had been nothing more than a pawn in Marilyn’s desperate attempt to escape the confines of her marriage to Joel, a man she neither loved nor re- spected. Roger’s importance had been exhausted. “I don’t know what you mean. I don’t think this is going to work out. I think it would be best if we put an end to our relationship.” As Roger struggled to comprehend this startling turn of events, Marilyn delivered the last, cruel blow: “You know, Roger, you’re really not my type anyway.” To my utter disgust, she turned to me. Her pasted-on smile might have worked on another man, but I was too familiar with her methods to let myself fall for it. “So, Mr. Grahme, is it? James? I’ve heard pri-

Page 114 Ink Tank! Volume Four: Spring-Summer 2012 vate detectives usually make quite a large sum from these kinds of cases. What do you say we have a look in poor Joel’s pocket and see how much he was planning to give you?” When I didn’t answer, she batted her eyelashes a few times and added a proposition that she apparently thought would make her seem more attractive to me. “You know, I am a widow now. I might just be inclined to let you take that money and buy me a new dress for my poor dead husband’s funeral.” I remained unimpressed. “I shouldn’t waste time worrying about what to wear to Joel’s funeral if I were you,” I retorted calmly. “I imagine you’ll have far more pressing matters to deal with.” “But what do you mean?” She was confused, as though my reaction had not figured into her plan. She was probably not at all accustomed to men refusing her. “Well, you know, it’s quite difficult for a woman on her own these days. Unless you have some sort of hidden skill, I don’t see how you’ll be able to maintain your present lifestyle. You’ll have to scale back quite a bit.” Her eyes widened. Apparently she understood at least part of what I was saying. She quickly looked to Roger for some reassurance, but found none. For the first time in her life, Marilyn had failed to come across a man who would fit into her scheme. She was utterly alone. The three of us sat there until the police came. As I watched Marilyn being led away for questioning, I felt no concern for her whatsoever. All I could think about was the total lack of regret in her eyes when she surveyed her husband’s body, and the complete absence of affection when she looked at Roger. I knew that she probably would not be on her own for very

Page 115 Ink Tank! Volume Four: Spring-Summer 2012 long, as the world was full of desperate men like Joel and Roger. I felt no sense of pride in the fact that the issue had been resolved, didn’t care at all that the job had been completed. As far as I was concerned, this case would be included in my list of failures.

Page 116 Ink Tank! Volume Four: Spring-Summer 2012 Janet Prouty Sparrow

This is a story I’ve been avoiding for a long time. In the living room our Mynah bird croaks echoes from that night: “Wah-ee!? Wh-y!?” No matter how many words I shout into its face, its dumb brain is caught in a two syllable loop. I beg Shin to get rid of it, but he refuses. Late at night when he comes home from work I hear him doting on that damn bird as if it were his child. From under the covers I listen as he microwaves his dinner and talks to the Mynah through the cage bars. Their strange conversation follows me as I drift to sleep, Shin’s words and the bird’s inhuman voice spinning through my nightmares. When I wake in the morning Shin is gone. In the early dawn I rage at the bird and shake its cage till it flutters and screams. Ringing its neck won’t make Shin love me, which is the only reason it is still alive. In the past two years of marriage we made love only once. Since the accident, Shin hardly spares a word with me, much less touches me like he used to. Instead, he works longer and longer hours, coming home after midnight just to eat and sleep. Alone in the apartment, I shut myself in the bedroom and practice the cello from morning till afternoon. The melancholy notes flood the room with enough sound to overpower the bird’s question. For his daughter’s fifth birthday, Shin wanted to buy her a bird. I warned him that the idea was stupid; how could a five year old take care of an animal? Suzume’s room was already full of birds. Yellow ducks patterned her pajamas, and cranes flew over her bed- spread. Cotton stuffed birds of all shapes and sizes lined up over her pillowcase and dresser. Even in our

Page 117 Ink Tank! Volume Four: Spring-Summer 2012 bedroom, I suffered the cluttered mess of her bird drawings pinned on the wall. Each night Shin read an entry from the book Birds of the World as Suzume clutched her toy ducks. Her mother, Ai, had loved birds. She had been the one who named their daughter after the Japanese sparrow. After Ai’s death, Shin moved to Tokyo where I met him handling stagecraft at one of my performances. Shin and I married six months later, but even after we moved in together, I felt haunted by his ex-wife’s presence. As if to make up for her loss, Shin filled Suzume’s life with the creatures Ai had loved. On the day of her birthday, Shin promised to be home early after I brought Suzume back from school. Higurashi cicadas call in mournful tones as I stand at the daycare gate. Suzume emerges from the bob- bing yellow hats of children, clutching a red piece of construction paper in her hand. Her steps quicken to a stuttered run as she sees me waiting. She holds the paper over her head proudly, expecting me to praise her scribbled art as senselessly as her father. I glance at the words printed at the top of the sheet: “My favorite animal is a…” My hand snatches her sticky fingers and pulls us away down the sidewalk. On the seventh floor of our apartment complex I jam the key into room 704 and halt as a paper notice flutters below the cracked number plate. Dear Resident – Cooling system maintenance is scheduled for today 4-9PM. We apologize for any in- convenience– I tear the message down and yank open the metal door. Suzume follows me inside and takes off her shoes silently. The air inside the apartment is humid enough to choke on. Sweet smells of baking sugar pour from the oven I’d left on since an hour before. Frosting melts in a plastic bowl on the coun-

Page 118 Ink Tank! Volume Four: Spring-Summer 2012 ter. For a few hundred yen Shin could have picked up a cake from the grocery, but he insisted that Suzume have homemade. “Ai made one for her every year, even when she was weak from the cancer treatments. I already bought the ingredients. All you have to do is throw it together.” In the bedroom my cello rests in its corner by the window. The next concert is in a few days, and I have yet to perfect the measure of the last few chords. Hours I could have spent practicing are instead wasted mixing together this lump of sugar. Suzume’s red randoseru backpack thumps on the living room floor as she climbs onto a chair. Still in her yellow school hat, she unclips the bag’s hook and carefully lays out paper and a box of crayons. The oven timer rings, and I force my attention to taking the cake out before it burns. The potholder slips from my hand and my fingers brush hot metal. In an explicit curse I drop the pan to the counter and slide my reddened fingertips into my mouth. Suzume’s head turns up for a moment, then dips back to the table. Overhead, the clock Shin brought home from a business trip in Kyoto clacks against each second mark as the needle climbs upward. Ticking from the clock, the cicadas’ outdoor screech and the scratch of Suzume’s crayons torture my ears until I clutch my head in pain. If only Suzume hadn’t been born, Shin and I would have the quiet peace of the ideal marriage I’d dreamed of when I was young. We deserved that peace. It was Suzume who had driven a nail between our hearts. As long as Suzume exists, Shin will never let go of his dead wife’s memory. Through her daughter’s eyes, Ai’s ghost jeal- ously guards Shin’s love and prevents us from being truly happy. The cupboard slams back on its hinges as I search for the plastic bottle of food coloring. Into the

Page 119 Ink Tank! Volume Four: Spring-Summer 2012 mess of frosting I squeeze red drops, watching as the dye runs down the white sugar and turns everything pink. I beat furiously until the red color stains the rest of the bowl. From the table Suzume starts to sing to herself in a low whisper, her tiny voice carrying over the cicadas and the pounding of the spatula.

Circle you, Circle you. The bird in the cage When, when will she escape? At the end of the dawn The crane and tortoise slipped Who is behind them?

The children’s play song echoes in the hot concrete room. My hand stills, wiping perspiration from my brow before tossing the spatula into the sink. “Be quiet!” I bark as she starts the song over. My fingertips press into my sweating temples, teeth grinding as a headache starts. Suzume bows her head lower over her drawing, silent. The song of cicadas takes her place in a rising crescendo. With loose hair sweeping across my face I press my knuckles into the coun- tertop and stare at my reflection in the metal sink. As the clock needle circles back to its peak Suzume lifts her head and pushes off her chair. “Mommy, I’m thirsty…” she calls as she lays her hat on the table. Fingernails slide into the fat of my palms. “Didn’t I tell you not to call me that!? I am not your mother!” From the drying rack I snatch Su- zume’s plastic cup and slam it into the sink. Water streams from the tap, yellow with chemical residue. My throat tightens as I hold the cup against the light. Floating particles of dust from the rusted pipes swirl like living creatures in the toxic water. “Um…this is for you…” My eyes move from the

Page 120 Ink Tank! Volume Four: Spring-Summer 2012 cup to the tiled floor where Suzume stands holding another one of her crayon drawings. Pressure in my head boils over into a shriek. A flick of my wrist slaps the filthy water over Suzume’s face. Drops bleed across the drawing and drip down the girl’s round chin. She blinks in shock, still holding the paper upward. “Get out! I wish you had died with your mother! Then you wouldn’t get in the way between Shin and me! If it weren’t for you, Shin wouldn’t have to work so hard, and he would have time to love me. It’s all your fault!” Her hair curls into my fingers in wet seaweed tangles. Our socks slide across the wet floor, Suzume’s hands scrabbling at my arm. “It hurts! It hurts!” she whines. Her voice makes me want to scream and vomit out the frustration I’d silently endured since Shin and I married. Halfway through the living room the paper slips from her fingertips and slides under the bookshelves against the wall. With my left hand I roll back the sliding glass door to the veranda. Heat beats across my face, and the cicadas’ chorus becomes so close that I can follow the sound to their bodies crawling over the tree. Suzume’s feet trip onto the concrete landing as I let go. With an arm shielding my eyes from the sun I step back and yank the door shut, flipping the lock before Suzume has time to climb to her feet. After returning to the kitchen I try to ignore the girl’s stare through the glass door. Pink frosting slaps over brown cake, melting and rolling down the edges. The cake is still too hot. Everything is a mess. I glance again at my cello resting in the back room, feeling the ghost of the bow press at my fingertips. I picture myself in the dark cathedral space of the orchestra. The audience watches, amazed at the harmony of inter- twining sound, at once awed and envious of the musicians’ skill. The orchestra is the one place where I am truly beautiful. Suzume’s singing voice interrupts my

Page 121 Ink Tank! Volume Four: Spring-Summer 2012 thoughts. Suddenly my bow slips from the notes, con- fusing the melody with the ugly tune of a children’s song. On the other side of the door, the girl’s face no longer watches me like a lonely specter. A branch from the oak tree bobs towards the veranda as a brown sparrow lands on its tip. Suzume’s blue skirt flutters against the fence, her belly pressed to the rail as she reaches for the branch. Glaring sunset halos her groping fingers in red. The sparrow cocks its head, peering back curiously. A shrill chirp cuts through the roar of cicada noise. Disturbed by the approaching fingertips, the bird’s wings flutter and lift into the air. In the kitchen the spatula drops from my hand, spattering pink drops across the floor. My feet slip on the spilled water as I move toward the door. I scream as my knees hit the tiles, looking up in time to see the sparrow’s brown body diving out of sight. Su- zume’s middle finger brushes the empty branch. Her perched hips begin to seesaw forward over the rail, head dipping to follow the bird’s flight. My body won’t move. From the kitchen floor I watch as Suzume’s legs fly upward. Her arms flutter in the air a moment before falling. Light flashes, eclipsed by the swing of her dark hair vanishing over the ledge. In the flickering fluorescents of the kitchen Shin rages until a paramedic forces a tranquilizer into his arm. On the table, a beady black eye watches me through the silver bars of a cage. The Mynah bird flutters on its perch, absorbing the chaos of the outer world. “WHY!?” Shin screams at my back. “WHY, WHY WHY!?” Police and paramedics drag him into the hallway as he slams his fists into the wall. The door closes, and the shouts and footsteps recede into silence. My nails chip at the pink frosting stains on my knees. Slowly I stand, walking past the bird’s cage to the

Page 122 Ink Tank! Volume Four: Spring-Summer 2012 bookshelves. By stretching my fingertips into the space between the bottom shelf and the floor I can reach the piece of paper and drag it into the light.

To Akane Thank you for taking care of me and daddy. I am glad you married him because he doesn’t cry anymore. Now we can all be happy! Love, Suzume

Page 123 Ink Tank! Volume Four: Spring-Summer 2012

Talk to Strangers An excerpt from the story Shaian

“Ready to see my first victim?” Terra calls from my laptop screen. She has taken possession of my computer chair, sitting with her legs pulled up and her chin grinning over her knees. “I take no responsibility for your sense of responsibility,” I remark from my bed. “Hey, kids that go on this kind of site are asking to be trolled. Everyone knows that only fat pervs have the time to waste chatting with random idiots on the web. That’s what this site’s for. Aaand…go!” she cackles as she hits the connect button. I stick my nose deeper into my Zetsubou Sensei manga and do my best to ignore what was going on in her screen, lest I be accused as an accomplice to her psychological abuse of strangers. “Are you including yourself in those random idiots?” I ask through a mouthful of stale pretzels. I’m not a fan of pretzels, but they were the only remotely healthy snack material stashed away in my closet since last August. Terra had wondered if I was sick again when I chose fruit and yogurt at the dining commons over doughnuts. Watching her plow through pastries and whipped cream topped latte had been absolute torture, but I couldn’t risk another at- tack after what happened this morning with the co- coa. “Me? Of course not. I’m the cyber overlord who plays with the idiots. I am GOD! AHAH HAH-” “In other words, you’re the craziest idiot of them all. Be careful you don’t get played yourself. So, how’s your first victim responding?” I yawn widely and lean back into my pillows.

Page 124 Ink Tank! Volume Four: Spring-Summer 2012 “Eh. I’m still surfing and waiting for an interesting catch. So far they’ve been greeting me with dirty words and stuff about my momma. Ah…here we go. This guy might be remotely sane.” Her fingers clatter over the keyboard. Pulled by reluctant curiosity I put my book down and peer over the end of the bed.

Stranger: Hi, honey. You: Afternoon, madam. Stranger: You want my specs, right? Thirty year old lonely all-American female in Texas. Blond, busty, and looking for a good chat. asl?

“ASL means age-sex-location,” Terra explains as her fingers tap the keyboard. “If they follow the ritual, it’s what they ask first to see what sort of character you’re playing.” “What does ‘all-American’ mean in this context?” I wonder over her shoulder. She shrugs. “It’s like a patriotic brand name I guess. How much you wanna bet he’s an obese white male with I Love America bumper stickers on his truck? Probably got bored with porn and decided to go fishing with his ideal avatar.” “Uh-huh. But we’ll never find out anyway,” I chew through my pretzels.

You: 68 year old male fisherman in Maine

Terra types quickly. There are a few seconds pause as Blond and Busty absorbs the shock. Finally he decides to plough ahead with his own trolling agen- da regardless.

Stranger: wanna have some anal sex?

Page 125 Ink Tank! Volume Four: Spring-Summer 2012 Terra doesn’t even pause before replying.

You: depends. do you like the smell of fish?

This time the pause lasts a full thirty seconds. Then quite suddenly a disconnect message flashes onscreen. “AH HAH HAH HAH! I WIN! The person creeped out enough to leave the chatroom first loses!” Terra hoots and punches a fist into the air with two fingers held out in a victory sign. “Is the basis of this game a contest between desperate loners to see who is the most outrageously psychotic?” I ask sarcastically as I crawl back to my pillows and manga. “Pretty much. It’d make a great reality show premise, huh?” “No wonder you’re so good at it.” “Yeah I…wait, what’s that supposed to mean?” “Don’t think too much on it.” I yawn again and flip a page. A pencil hits me in the stomach, and I brush it off without glancing up. “Hey.” “What? I’ve seen enough of that site; I’d rather not expose my virgin brain to any more.” “Where’d you get those kick-ass boots? Did uncle Kay-yer-on give them to you as a pity present since your dad missed all your birthdays?” she perks enviously. The grip on my book tightens. “I guess so. He’s not my uncle, he’s my dad’s college friend who happened to stay in touch with mom’s side of the family after they broke up. He was their best man at the wedding.” This was the story I’d worked out inside my head since coming home. The only danger of it was the chance that Terra might ask mom about the tall dark stranger at her wedding.

Page 126 Ink Tank! Volume Four: Spring-Summer 2012 Maybe I should Photoshop a ghostly figure into her wedding photos in order to pass the whole thing off as one of Terra’s jokes. “Can I borrow them sometime? Promise not to get mud on them. I need a pair of classy boots to look impressive when I go in for my Spanish final. I’m banking on the fact that my professor will be so overwhelmed by my aura of magnificence that he won’t notice when I flub up conjugations.” “If students got brownie points for looking smart, my grades would be doomed,” I groan from behind my book cover. “Are you kidding me? As far as looking smart goes, you’ve got it made; skinny, glasses, unsexy out- fit; you’re the perfect innocent nerd profile. You could commit a murder and the detectives would look right through you,” Terra titters as her hands fly over the keyboard. “You’re right. This quote pretty much sums up my life,” I mutter with a point to one of the speech bubbles in my manga. “’Come on, such an inconspicuous person couldn’t possibly exist. He must be a fairy!’” I read in a high voice. Terra coughs on her soda. “See? Kouji Kumeta knew what he was talking about when he made up his character profiles. Invis- ible people like you are really fairies pretending to be human,” she splutters in a laugh. “I always knew there was something magi- cal about me,” I retort through a mouthful of pretzel crumbs. A fairy pretending to be human. The truth was more like a Grimms’ Fairy Tale version of a fairy, something twisted and evil. A mutant fairy. “New record! I scared this person offline in less than thirty seconds! Hoo yeah!” “They don’t give out awards to people for be-

Page 127 Ink Tank! Volume Four: Spring-Summer 2012 ing creepy. Why don’t you do something proactive like studying for your Spanish final? Isn’t that why you hauled over all those textbooks?” “Pfft. Hipócrita. I’ll start studying when you do. Did you really eat half that bag of pretzels by yourself? Gimme some,” she whines with a beckon. “Shut up, I’m hungry,” I grumble as I throw the bag in an underhand toss. Starving would be more accurate. Fruit and yogurt did nothing to make up for yesterday’s fast. Hunger gnaws my insides, and my leg muscles are still miserably sore. While Terra amuses herself I get up to microwave a cup of ramen. My teeth gnaw on the ends of my wooden chopsticks while the Styrofoam bowl revolves in the oven. “Terra.” “Huh?” she answers distractedly. “Let’s go see a movie or browse the mall or wan- der downtown tonight. Do something teenagerish.” “What happened to being proactive? Sure, we can go on a mindless journey of procrastination after lunch. Let me terrorize a few more idiots first.” The microwave beeps, and I pull out my steaming bowl of artificial flavor goodness. If I don’t keep busy, keep moving, the fragile walls of my illusionary peaceful world will crack. “Being a fairy isn’t easy,” I whisper into my noo- dles. Luckily Terra is too absorbed in her psychological warfare to hear.

Page 128 Ink Tank! Volume Four: Spring-Summer 2012 Jessica Reben Angry Eyes

She closed the book, placed it on the table and finally, decided to walk through the door. She just wanted everything to be fine, like nothing happened, but it was time to stop stalling. She took a breath and walked into the kitchen. There he stood with a knife in his hand, chopping up tomatoes for the salad. Too much was going through her mind, she couldn’t think of what to say. Her mind couldn’t even process words. She closed her eyes and imagined her telling him she wanted out of their ten- year marriage. Anger filled his eyes, and he ran right into her, stabbing that knife in his hand into her already beaten stomach. This wasn’t the first time she wanted to tell him she wanted out. She thought of it loads of times, but the next day after every night of the beating, he brought her flowers and cute little teddy bears. He would treat her like a queen. And for a few hours, for a few moments, it seemed like he was the man she fell in love with. How could she love a person so much after what he put her through? How could she love someone she was afraid of? She remembers the first night he came home from work in a bad mood. He walked into the house, put his briefcase down, hung up his coat, walked to the couch, and then turned on the television. She knew he was having a bad day and he was in one of his moods, so she knew to just shut her mouth and went to put his dinner into the microwave. She took it out of the microwave, got him a beer, and then brought it to him in the front of the T.V. He couldn’t even look at her, and when he had to look at her for that one minute she put the

Page 129 Ink Tank! Volume Four: Spring-Summer 2012

food in front of him, it was with disgust. He leaned to bring the food closer to him, but the plate was too hot and he burned himself. “Why are you so useless?” He said with a stern voice. She was already used to him being rude to her, so she just ignored it, and went back into the kitchen. Usually he would just fall asleep on the couch, or his anger would go away, but this time he got up from the couch and followed her into the kitchen. “Why are you so useless?” he yelled in her face. Her face and body were filled with fright. He raised his right hand and threw it against her face. She fell back and held her red cheek. He raised his hand again and slapped her on the same cheek. There was now a small indent of his senior ring on her. This time she fell to the floor and went into fetal position, “useless” he whispered as he walked back to the couch and his television. She didn’t know what to do, so she just laid there, helpless. That would be the first time out of many times he would raise his hand to her. From that day on she became his little punch- ing bag. Back to reality, she stood their watching him chop. He stopped chopping, “what are you looking at?” his angry eyes turned on. “I just wanted to know if you needed help.” She said very timidly. “Do this” he put down the knife and left to the couch. She started chopping and then he suddenly got up from the couch. She froze as he walked behind her, and pushed back her hair, “ I love you. You know that right.” He whispered in her ear, and then gently kissed her neck. How could she ever leave him?

Page 130 Ink Tank! Volume Four: Spring-Summer 2012 Shiby Rodriguez Rekindle She closed the book, placed it on the table, and finally decided to walk through the door. She turned off the light and gave one last look at her daughter who was nestled under the covers and sound asleep. She walked to her room, did her usual routine of washing her face and brushing her teeth. She put on that silky smooth nightgown and climbed into bed. She turned over to the lonely side of the bed where Ben should be laying. Now married for five years, she has gotten used to sleeping alone. Ben worked as a firefighter, day or night. He’s great at his job, but she fears for his life every second he’s gone. At the beginning of their marriage, Isabella would cry herself to sleep, worried whether or not Ben would be back. Luckily, every morning she would wake up to him passed out right next to her. She couldn’t sleep tonight. It was probably the 2 cups of coffee she had this afternoon that was still keeping her up. She liked to remember. Reminiscing of the past was her favorite. She flashbacked on the time she first met Ben, seven years ago at their favorite restaurant, “Lolita’s”. The clock read 7:30. Crap, I am 30 minutes late and am still trying to perfect my lips in the car. I had met this guy on an online dating website and this is my first impression, ‘yay me!’ As I got out and walked up to the restaurant, I saw that no one was there. ‘Guess he didn’t have enough patience’, I thought. As I turned around, “Wait!” he shouted, “Isabella?” I turned back around and there he was,

Page 131 Ink Tank! Volume Four: Spring-Summer 2012 Ben Olmen. On the website, he described himself a little taller but he fit the looks exactly; dark brown hair, pale blue eyes, and a strong built body frame. “Yes I’m Isabella Cazuella”. “Well, nice to finally meet you,” he said, “but we missed our reservation. ‘Shit just my luck,’ I thought. I put on an apologetic smile. “Luckily, I know one of the waiters working tonight so he got us a table in front of the fireplace.” My smile widened. “Shall we?” he said and reached out his hand as I grabbed and held on to it. Ben kissed her gently on her forehead, “good- night baby girl”, he whispered as he tucked in Abby a little tighter. He went to the bedroom, took off his clothes and put on a new pair of boxers. He pulled over the covers and was amazed of such beauty. She was in fetus position carrying a great amount of warmth. He felt her smooth skin, her still body dreaming of wild imagination. He spooned behind her, taking in all the warmth she was giving off. He held her tight and gave her a kiss on her neck. Isabella squirmed around for a bit until they’re bodies fit like a puzzle piece. The smell of her shampoo brought him back to when they had so much time together, before his job and before Abby. He missed the days they would spend lounging or going out. He wanted to bring that back to Isabella; he wanted to woo her again. He hugged her tighter until his eyes slowly gave out. The sun was beaming through the skylight as Isabella woke up. Next to her was not Ben. It was no one in fact. She smelled the air, and said “breakfast?”. “Yes breakfast!” Ben shouted as he came through the door with pancakes, bacon, sausage and Abby clinging to his leg. “We made you breakfast Mommy! Let’s eat!” They both climbed into bed as Isabella was in shock. “Now who is this man that is so called my hus-

Page 132 Ink Tank! Volume Four: Spring-Summer 2012 band?” she asked jokingly. “He is right here,” he said mysteriously and shut her up with a kiss. “Enough gushy stuff, I’m hungry!” exclaimed Abbi. “Yes let’s, I am starving,” Isabella said as they all dove into a deli- cious breakfast in bed. Isabella hated seeing Ben get ready for work. “I still can’t help but worry Ben,” she said as he was looking for his boots. “Bella please, I do this a thousand times. I’ll be just fine!” he chuckles. “This is not a joking matter,” Isabella’s voice softens, “I love you, I’m allowed to be afraid.” Ben took a hold of her, put her hands around her face and said “I love you more and I loved you first, nothing will happen to me baby.” And they kissed for so long that he showed up a little late to work. “Finally Ben makes it to work!” The guys shout at him. Ben laughs, “Sorry guys, had to take care of a few things at home, if you know what I mean.” “Yeah yeah, watching kid television shows I’m sure.” “Shut up Matt,” Ben said. Matt was his best friend and has his back through everything, especially when they’re both on duty together. “How’s today been? Busy?” Ben asked. Matt responded, “Actually it’s been rather quiet until you got here. I am sensing no danger today.” Ben sighed, “Well let’s hope so.” The buzzer went off, the timer was ringing, the water was boiling and the phone rang all at the same time and Isabella was going crazy! Thankfully Abby was at a friend’s house but she would be home any minute! Isabella turned off the buzzer and timer, put a lid on the water and answered the phone. It was a stupid telemarketer. She was so annoyed, she slammed the phone down and threw the towel at the stove and walked away. She went upstairs to get some medicine to relieve this aching headache that would not go

Page 133 Ink Tank! Volume Four: Spring-Summer 2012

away. She swallowed the pills and lay on her bed for a bit. The pillows and mattress felt so comforting; she just had to close her eyes for a bit. She woke up to a strange smell and was sweating profusely. “What the”, Isabella said in amazement witnessing a fire soaring through her staircase. She acted immediately, looking for the phone but she had left it downstairs. She tried to escape but there was no way out of the two story building. Her only window was the skylight and a tiny one in her bathroom. Isa- bella panicked and she screamed for her life. “Everyone on command, there’s a fire off of Canterbury!” the boss shouted. ‘Canterbury?’ thought Ben. ‘I live off Canterbury.’ “What’s the address sir?’ Ben asked. “We aren’t quite sure; a neighbor spotted a two story house engulfed in flames.” Ben got up, got in the truck and drove as fast as he could. His mouth dropped. It was his home. His family. “I’m sure no one is in there Ben, it’s going to be fine”. Ben was devastat- ed. He couldn’t even believe that bullshit. By the size of those flames and no call, he knew that Isabella and Abby were gone. “Daddy, daddy!” he heard. He looked over and saw Abby running to him. He picked her up and hugged her so tight. He was so thankful she was alive. “Daddy, mommy is still there!” she sobbed. They sprayed the house down until the fire calmed down a bit and he went in. Ben saw the kitchen which was completely destroyed. The bottom floor was cleared which meant Isabella was stuck upstairs. There was no other way up but the stairs so Ben moved quickly. He gasped at the sight of his wife, her body motionless, next to the flames. “Isabella honey wake up!” she heard, “wake up baby please!” She struggled to open her eyes, she

Page 134 Ink Tank! Volume Four: Spring-Summer 2012 couldn’t breathe. She gave a soft whimper until the lights went out Ben picked her up and carried her out of the burning building before it was too late. He rushed her into the ambulance as they tried to revive her. He prayed that she would make it, he give anything to look into her eyes. “No pulse,” said the paramedic. “Try it again!” shouted Ben. The paramedics did so, as Ben held on to her hand and he heard one small beat.

Page 135 Ink Tank! Volume Four: Spring-Summer 2012 Danielle Sage The Book on the Table She closed the book, placed it on the table, and finally, decided to walk through the door. She turned her bedroom light on, and looked at the clock. She couldn’t believe how long she had been studying and how late it was. In just a few hours, she would have to sit at a desk and attempt to reit- erate everything she had been studying. And even though the book was still on the table, she kept going over and over everything she had spent hours studying in her head. It is finals week after all, and the thought of sleeping rather than continuing to re- read the history book on the table seemed uncom- mon of any other student preparing for a final. She brushed her teeth, and with every brush she mentally recited several important dates and events that she had been memorizing straight from that book, hoping that they would stick. She got into bed, and turned out the light. And although her eyes were closed, her mind was still back in the living room, sitting in that chair, reading the book that should be closed and lying on the table. Her eyes were closed, yet every single word flew off the pages of that book and appeared on the inside of her eyelids. Stories of bloody wars and inhumane acts of violence kept playing in her mind on repeat, and with every replay came a new detail that she had almost forgotten. Specific dates such as the bombing of Pearl Harbor stuck with her, and when she felt as if she had gone through the entire book, she would start over. It wasn’t until she could recount everything she needed to know without any sort of pause that she was finally able to fall asleep. When she woke up, to say she was nervous

Page 136 Ink Tank! Volume Four: Spring-Summer 2012 would be an understatement. She was exhausted, and it felt as if she had only gotten a few minutes of sleep. Should she have slept more rather than studied? Could she still remember everything she had studied? She popped right up out of bed and went straight into the bathroom to brush her teeth. With every brush, she went over everything once more. If she had forgotten something, she reminded herself that this final could either make or break her grade, and she knew that she had to do well. She went to the breakfast table, and with every bite of her cereal, she skimmed through the pages of the book, just to make sure she hadn’t forgotten even the smallest of details. As she drove to school, she continued to recap every war, every tragedy, and every important histori- cal figure. Finally, she was sitting at her desk inside of a classroom. As the teacher began to pass out the test, she began to mentally prepare herself for the chance that she might not do well, but at least she did her best. Right before the teacher handed her the test, she held her breath and accepted that whatever happens, happens. Then, she finally looked at the exam. It was exactly the same as the things she had been reading over and over again! She breezed through the test question by question, and she was able to retell everything she had been reading, and she no longer had any doubt that she may not pass. She even had a strong feeling that she may even do extraordinarily well. She finished the test, turned it in, and walked out of the door. That book on the table could finally stay on the table, and she could go straight home and sleep peacefully.

Page 137 Ink Tank! Volume Four: Spring-Summer 2012

Page 138 Ink Tank! Volume Four: Spring-Summer 2012

From the [Writing] Center

A Letter to Emily Dearest Emily, how I shall miss thee! Thou art the summer sun that warms my heart And the spring spurring it to bloom with glee; What shall it become when thou shalt depart? Two years mark the friendship of mine and thine: The first by privilege under thy lead, The second the same but more time to twine, Both, nonetheless, one magnificent seed. To not see thee daily as now or past Will dissolve my spirit like autumn’s leaves, And frost my frown with winter’s icy cast For thou art more to me than eyes perceives. May the clock’s ticks nurture our seed than sigh When the Writing Center prompts our goodbye. Ellyn Percoski

Page 139 Ink Tank! Volume Four: Spring-Summer 2012 Ink Blot! “Ink Blot!” features work from me the Writing Center or its compan- ion club, All Write! (The Writers’ Consortium). This issue, we include pieces from the WC’s penultimate staff meeting. The following stories are from our very own tutors. See if you notice a theme.

The Case of the footprints looked unusual, but didn’t pay them much Slurpee Machine mind as he tracked the M. Bryn Schut theif. He was so anxious; and Julie Craig it had been years since He turned the key anything he loved had in the lock and opened been taken from him, and the door. To his horror, even then the loss of his he saw that his apartment mother in that bicycle had been ransacked and accident hadn’t hurt this his prized slurpee machine much. (won from that raffle at the At last, he found bankrupt 7-11 last year) his way into what looked was missing! A set of red like a zoo. Curious at this footprints led out an open strange turn of events, window and to the street. Ricky followed the tracks Furious at the theft of his to the enclosure of a giant prized possession, Ricky panda. To his absolute immediately gave chase. shock, he found the The footprints went panda fiddling with his on for miles, though slurpee machine! the red gradually faded “What are and was replaced by you doining?” Ricky blue. Ricky thought the demanded.

Page 140 Ink Tank! Volume Four: Spring-Summer 2012

The panda looked proof next time. at him and shrugged. “Trying to make a bamboo slurpee. Duh. And you An Awesome outbid me on the machine Narrative last year. I looked Aaron Robinson up your address and and Ellyn borrowed the machine. I Percoski was totally going to bring There’s a guy sitting on a park bench reading it back once I found out the newspaper across the recipe worked.” the street from a 7-11 Ricky blinked. store. Then he sees out “Dude, you could have of his peripheral vision, asked.” over the top of the paper, a quickly-moving object. “Hey man, Slurpees He looks up to see what wait for no man, or it is, and he sees a big fat panda, or permissions.” panda charging towards “Still. Were you the 7-11! He sees the going to share?” panda enter the store, and through the windows “Well, I guess.” he watches it hasten to Ricky sighed. “Just one of the aisles and stuff give me a Slurpee.” item after item into his The panda passed giant panda knapsack. a cup of bamboo Slurpee With a growl, the panda crashes through the 7-11 to Ricky. The young man towards the cash register, took a big drink, made knocking over the shelves a face, and spat it out. and pushing people to the “Nope. Not a good flavor. floor. It’s a huge mess. Is Red’s better.” the panda really going to pay for his things? NO! With that, Ricky He leaps into the air and punched the panda in the kung-fu kicks the cashier face and took his Slurpee in the face, knocking machine home. He made him unconscious on the sure his home was panda- floor. The panda throws

Page 141 Ink Tank! Volume Four: Spring-Summer 2012

the knapsack over his back, and with one big leap he crashes through Friend or Foe? the storefront window Katie Linderme and makes his way down and John the street in a black and Kincheloe white blur. The detective saw “What’s the hurry?” his opportunity. He shouts the newspaper- grabbed the waitress’s reading bystander. arm and said “I can see that you’re anxious Yolanda, but we can’t Untitled focus on that right now. Tara Bowers and Please, come, sit. We’ll talk about something Kim Nyugen else.” The asteroid was Yolanda reluctantly hurtling straight for Scott looked at the diner the Panda! He looked up window. She watched the to the sky with great fear cars drive by. Taking a and slipped on a banana deep breath, Yolanda sat peel. Luckily, from this in the vinyl green seats. new angle, he spotted She brushed her hair out a cane. He anxiously of her eyes. “what do you waits for something to want to talk about?” come out, but instead “I don’t know… Let’s he sees a light coming talk about friendships. I’ll from the other end. Bits go first. I used to have of asteroid begin raining an imaginary friend when down like cats and dogs. I was younger. I didn’t One nearly hits Scott in have a lot of real friends. the face, so he turns and He was a giant panda gallops toward the light. named Harold. Man we The light is… 7-11; he had some good times.” grabs a coca-cola slurpee Yolanda looked at and cheesy nachos. Scott the detective curiously. was saved. The detective continued to speak. “One time, I remember, when I was walking home from

Page 142 Ink Tank! Volume Four: Spring-Summer 2012 school, I really wanted with a soft pretzel and a slurpee, but I didn’t a peachy Arizona Tea: have any money. Harold, heavenly. Just when I got who was usually a very to the register, a very large virtuous friend started to man with rollers in his convince me that simply hair arrived on the scene. taking it was a good He screamed “trouble” idea. I said no, because from head to panda- that was not something slippered-toe. Really, he a future detective would had pandas on his feet: do. This friend who I terrifying things, those had trusted completely, not-bears. Rodney and someone so loyal to me I, however, became fast was now the enemy. I friends. knew I had to stop him!”

Pantastic The Katies: Pink and Dubs Silvery flakes drifted down, glittering in the bright light of the harvest moon. The blackbird crossed my windshield, squawking all the way. Being so close to Bodega, and given my terror of feathered things, the racket filled me with a tremendous amount of anxiety. All I wanted was to make it to my local 7-11 for some beef jerky and gummy bears, but now I could hardly concentrate on the road. Somehow, I made it. I decided to reward myself and my bravery

Page 143 Ink Tank! Volume Four: Spring-Summer 2012

How to get published

Getting published in Ink Tank! is easy:

Submissions for the magazine may be brought to a meeting of the Writers’ Consortium or taken to the SSU Writing Center. Once a piece has been examined by a Writing Center tutor or a member of the Ink Tank! editorial staff, it is given back to the author for any desired revisions. (It’s perfectly acceptable to make no changes at all, despite our suggestions — whatever the writer prefers.)

Final submissions are made in MS Word “.doc” (or “.rtf” or “.txt” — no “.docx”!) format and sent to our email address, listed below. Art images should be submitted in high-resolution “.tif” or “.jpg” format. Please make sure your name (as you wish it printed) and any submission title(s) you wish to include appear in the actual text of each of these files.

When emailing your submission to us, remember to include your name in the subject of the email, something like: “Yourname Ink Tank! Submission” — thanks!

Thanks!

After workshopping, email submissions to:

[email protected]

Page 144 Ink Tank! Volume Four: Spring-Summer 2012

Editorial Staff Daniel DeLeon, Ink Tank! Senior Editor Tara Bowers and Katie Pinkston, Managing Editors Scott L. Miller, Faculty Advisor Special Thanks to: Loriann Negri and Virginia S. Rhoda

Editor’s Note You may have noticed this issue of Ink Tank! looks a bit different than its predecessors. There must have been something in the crisp Spring air because the editorial staff decided to make a change! Not only is this issue a literary beast, with well over a hundred pages, but we at the Writing Center are also excited to present a new section featuring students’ academic essays. As always, this would not have been possible without the help of several brilliant people, and I must state for the record that Katie Pinkston was absolutely instrumental in the composition of this particular issue. Her creativity and experience has given Ink Tank! a refreshing twist, and I’m lucky to work beside her. With that said, whether it be the exceptional poetry, prose, or essays bound within these covers, I have no doubt there is something in here for everyone. Enjoy!

Daniel DeLeon, Senior Editor June, 2012

Page 145 Ink Tank! Volume Four: Spring-Summer 2012

Page 146 Ink Tank! Volume Four: Spring-Summer 2012

Page 147