The Night Belongs to the Killers, Part I by Scott Wolbert

I stood there next to Jenny Walters as she tried to drag herself to my feet. Her long slut red nails dug into the dirt road trying to grab something but failed and only made a nasty scratching noise when ever she hit a rock. This didn't bother me because all I could hear was what she was trying to mutter out at me.

"Bitch… you're a fucking… bitch!" She started to cough on the ground, blood flowing out of her mouth.

"Bitch? And the F word? Wow! Why would you use such provoking language? Am I not kind enough?" I asked as I kneeled down next to her on the ground.

"Why are you doing this?" She muttered out with some more blood spilling on to the ground around her.

"You know, I really don't know either… I guess you could just say that I don't like you," I smiled with only joy and bliss.

"I'll give you money. I'll give you… you my body," She bleeds in desperation.

"Sex? Ha! No thanks I don't want your bloody body and I don't want your money either. I just want to see you suffer…"

"Suffer?" She cried out as more blood continued to pour from her mouth. "What kind of freak are you?"

"A fuck'n angry one!"

I grabbed her blond hair and yanked back forcing her to look up. Lifting up my foot I started to stomp down on her face over and over as her cries of agony and pain muffled by my boot. Blood begins to splatter with every step and I enjoy it. So entrancing to my thoughts, to my true feelings about people I stop this brutal beating.

"Jenny? Oh Jenny?" I call to her as if she's an animal. If she was one she would be a bitch. Ha-ha!

After such a brutal beating I begin to wonder if she'll ever talk again, I mean I stand here and gaze at her fuck ugly face even after my minor improvements. But I see a women with blood red hair, pink broken skin, a caved in nose with a few missing teeth.

"Jenny? Jenny are you there?" I repeat to call to her.

"Leave me a… lone!" she responds in a howl as if she were an animal.

"But I thought we where having fun?" She started to move in attempt to get away. "Trying to get away?" I ran up and kicked ribs with a fatal crack.

Then she started to cry, something I can't stand. Not one bit. Unlike the many other people in this world who have that pathetic something called sympathy and stop there lives to help that weak individual who chooses to cry their eyes out, I get frustrated with it, annoying me more then the typical cheerleader in high school who is stupid because that's the only way she can get attention aka attention whores.

"Shut up!" I yelled at the top of my lungs, these are the rare moments were I'll admit that I lose my own control. To my own definition of control that is.

She continued to cry but this time louder.

"I said shut up!" I tried to cover my ears but her cries found a way in.

Aggravated I walk out of the scene and come back shortly with a large black bag, also known as a body bag.

"Jenny, if you don't stop crying I'll have to end our play date soon." I gab her hair again and lift her head so she can see the body bag I hold but looking at her face I realized she was so fucked up that her eyes were so bruised they unable to fully open.

"What… is it?" she asked trying to stop her cries.

"It's a body bag for a lucky someone"

"NO!" she began to cry again.

"I just told you to shut up, bitch!" I let go of her hair dropping her body back to the floor. I left the room in attempt to get away from her cries.

* * *

I could only assume that her last moment consciously alive that she thought of all the things that she would of regret if she where to see the next sunrise. That as she inhaled her last breath that she cried herself a song with a meaning that only she could relate to. That as I shoved her body in the bag she thought of all the things that she would miss, in a dream of a vacant reality.

Yellow by Shirlynn Carreon

Take the opportunity.

My speed is fast,
the light turns yellow.
Do I make a sudden brake
or run the light?

Next Time I won't stop while running fast
when the light turns yellow.
I won't brake
but run the yellow light.

Too long I've let things run away
and never come back before my eyes.

With my cautious sudden stop.

Untitled by Joy Baek

It's amazing how stupid people can be. Really. It's so amazing that if I wasn't doubled over laughing my guts out or staring dumbfounded at the said "stupid people," I'd applaud them. And I'm not saying this out of sarcasm. I mean, I truly would applaud them, which for me, says a lot. I'm the type of person that could care less whether or not I follow the code of social formalities, also known as etiquette. I've been told on many occasions that I'm too honest. In other words, in my colloquial "straight up" terms, I've been told that I am too blunt. And harshly so, at that. I'm not telling you this because I take pride at my particular lack of social grace, but because I don't see the point in making life more complicated than it really is. I've had my share of drama simply by watching my dear mother try to turn her soap opera fantasies into a reality. It's painful enough having to watch a single mother come home drunk every night, either wasting away in front of a flat screen TV or giggling like a sixteen year old in a locked bedroom door with her most recent boy toy. I really don't need any more complications. And it's because I truly believe this, that I'e given up on this concept of being "polite" that this society seems to hold in such high esteemed value. Some people may argue that this principle of mine will complicate things rather than simplifying them, but fuck that. I don't see them having it any better off than I do y kissing up to "important people." I'd much rather say what I gotta say and do what i gotta do. That's always been one of my top ten rules in my book. That and he fact that I'm always on my own side would probably be the top two. 

Anyways, I digress. Back to the original subject matter, which happens to be on stupid people. So basically, I was working at 76 as usual and business was pretty slow. Most probably due to the inflation of gas prices. Compliments from those billion dollar companies and rich guys that thought it'd be brilliant to devise their own way to drive up demand. Anyways, it was 3:48 am. I was working on the morning shift and was only half awake when I realized from half watching the monitor, that on of the cameras, the one facing the ATM, had picked up something quite interesting. I watched the screen intently as i witnessed two poorly disguised men trying to steal the ATM machine. As I continued watching I couldn't help but chuckle at their apparent lack of common sense and observation skills. Not only did they fail to realize that the ATM was bolted to the floor, but they tried to rip it off by tying a rope around the machine and attaching it to their vehicle, which was a run down chevrolet. The poor thing probably had only 100 horse power at most so I wasn't a least bi worried of any harm being done. I continued to chuckle as they strained to steal the firmly bolted machine, and when they gave up and left empty handed, the soft chuckles turned into stomach clenching, breath stopping, non stop, full blown, raw laughters that brought tears to my eyes. This was certainly a fresh way to start the day. Stupid people. You just gotta love them. As I finally caught my breath and somehow managed to stop laughing, I walked out from behind the counters of the gas station and walked towards the ATM. As I gave the machine a brief check up to make sure that it wasn't damaged, I chuckled a few more times and shook my head. It was in perfect working condition, and I couldn't find so much as a scratch that could have potentially marred the screen. School hasn't started yet, but I can tell that the day today will be a bearable one. No, let me rephrase that. School, as boring as it can be, will actually be enjoyable today. Because today, I have something to think and amuse myself with during endless rants and life stories teachers like to call "lectures." It was going to be a nice change. Or at least, I thought it was. 

Polly the Popcorn Girl (Part I) by Robert Pipes

My name's Paul. I'm nice. I'm interesting. I'm a great guy, but. That's what Sally said. And Maggie and Molly, too. "You're a great guy, but I don't think we have any chemistry." "You're a great guy, but you're just not my type." "You're a great guy, but I think we should just be friends" Ugh. That last one's the worst. Friends? Why would I want to be friends? My libido would commit suicide if I did that. Damn Molly and her friends.

So as you can tell, after Molly broke my poor, blue, anguished balls, I became a bitter little horndog. I concluded that girls were nothing more than God's means of torturing me, and that they should best be avoided altogether. I deleted Molly's number from my phone and started watching copious quantities of porn. Porn stars are nicer than real girls, after all. You don't have to buy them flowers, you don't have to meet their dad, you don't have to humiliate yourself at some shitty prom with them, and you don't have to be their friend. You don't have to say a damn word. It's just one click, one chick, two clicks, two chicks, etc., etc. It's a wonderful world.

That is, until you forget to clear the history and that damn auto-complete thing on the address bar brings up hometownhotties.com when your mom starts typing HGTV. Then your parents sit you down for a calm, concerned talk, and before long the vodka kicks in and Plastered Pete's yelling at you to "quit bein' a faggot and go bang that Molly chick." What a prick. That dude watches more porn than I do, and believe me, that takes some dedication. He watches that bestiality shit with the horses and dogs. Sick fuck. And here he stumbles in reeking of Smirnoff and semen and starts yelling at me for essentially watching National Geographic. I can't tell you how many nights I've gotten up to get some Twinkies and milk and heard that incessant clickety-clicking in the office. When I open the door, sure enough, there's old Petey, headphones clamped tight over his ears, images of hounds and pussies flashing on the screen. Mother Mary's in the bedroom, pretending to sleep, pretending not to hear the flutter of fingertips on the keyboard and elsewhere. Pretending she's still loved.

Mary's always been the futile, sympathetic breed of mother. She's worked for the last nineteen years of her life trying to cheer me up, but has only ever made my despair inflate. I remember my sixth birthday party, when none of the eight friends I invited showed up. She sat me down at the dining room table with Bobo, Carrots, Elmer, Coco, Tiger, and Big Bird, and cut us each our own slice of home-made key lime pie. It was kind of cool. Stuffed animals are nicer than real kids, after all. They don't break your brand new Batmobile. They don't take seconds on your pie and puke it up all over your stellar purple Teenage Mutant Ninja Turtles T-shirt. And they always seem to listen.

Much of a blast as my birthday may have been, though, it didn't help me through the gauntlet of kindergarten. I guess holding a party with creatures that don't sink your room in slobber and snot just wasn't the cool thing to do in those days. Billy Brinker called me a homo, whatever that means, and Christy Kenders said I should talk to her dad, who was a "psycryatist." I was happy though. I had enough pie to last me the rest of the lonesome week.

The great thing about moms, or at least my mom, is that they never seem to change. Despite my most valiant efforts to estrange myself from my blood, mother Mary comes to me, speaking words of wisdom. No, I'm not that kind of Paul. But after Pete had dribbled off his Smirnoff and passed out in the La-Z-Boy, Mary walked into the living room. She patted out his Marlboro in the knick of time – just before it reached his nubby orange fingers. Those fingers.

"What'cha watchin' Paul?"

"TV."

"Is this 'The Road Rules'?"

"'The Real Life.'"

"Oh, 'The Real Life.'" You could tell she was programming this into her brain. We stared blankly at the TV for a couple minutes. I just don't get it. All that had happened before she came in was Nick and Jesse were fighting over conditioner and then Heather came in and couldn't find her blow dryer. And she was like, "Jesse, I know you were using my blow dryer last night. Where the fuck did you put it?" And Jesse was like, "I didn't use your fucking blow dryer. That shit doesn't even ionize."

Perfectly PG on the sex factor, right? But lo and behold, just as soon as Mary walks in, the very second she glances at the TV, Heather and Nick are undressing each other in the Jacuzzi. I just don't get it. Always. I could be watching the 700 Club for God's sake, and as soon as my mother walks in, I money-back guarantee you, Terry Meeuwsen will drop to her knees. That's just a mother's magic, I guess.

"Listen Paul, I was thinking about our little episode and, well, I just wanted to apologize for how it turned out."

"It's not your fault," I said honestly. I couldn't look my mother in the eye though. I never can when it comes to girls and gametes.

"Well, I-I know." She was usin her tranquilizer voice again. That voice she uses when she's about to make it all better. "But I still feel bad."

"Don't."

"I-I know you don't want to tell me what happened with Molly, but I can tell you're upset about it." She reached into her jeans pocket and pulled out a post-it and handed it to me. I was absolutely appalled at her nerve. The plethora of embarrassments she'd inflicted upon my ego over the years paled in comparison to this outright degradation of my manhood. There, in magenta gel pen were neatly written a name and a telephone number. It wasn't a suicide hotline. It wasn't a psycryatist's name. It wasn't even Pastor Gene from the Methodist Church.

No. There, teasing me in pretty pink cursive, was Polly. 767-2676. "Polly? Honestly, Mom? This is how you help me forget the words Paul and Molly? What, is this that niece Mrs. Mortimer keeps telling me about? You have crossed the line, Mary! I'm moving out!"

That would have made a good James Dean scene, huh? The heartbroken heartthrob leaving the nest. Unfortunately, my name's Paul. I've got 12 zits, twice that many braces, and no car. My blood boiled in my throat and cut my tirade down to an inaudible groan.

"She's a really nice girl, Paul. Real pretty, too. She's got long blonde hair, and blue eyes too."

"And double-D's and stilettos?"

"Don't be shallow, Paul."

The clock was edging toward midnight now. The Real World Spring Break Marathon was drawing to a climactic close. Kyle walked into Nick and Heather in a bedroom and Latisha talked shit behind Natalia's back, so Natalia and Cherry Blossom went to a bar to talk shit behind her back. Eli and Ashley got back together, and the future of Phil and Ronaldo remains uncertain.

Poker Face by Christy Bauer

 Lousy Irish weather reared its ugly head, the perfect highlight to a somber funeral. The Todd women had heard enough "we're so sorry" and "if there's anything we can do…" to last them a lifetime. Both Katherine and Dana had stepped away from the crowd several times, each occasion leaving Laura to accept condolences and then scope the two others out of the bathroom, the cloakroom, wherever they'd managed to find respite.  

Laura stood in a row with her family at the entrance to the dining hall where they had set up refreshments for the vast amounts of people that came to mourn. It was surprising to her how many people had in fact come, and not just because of the short notice. He had been a General, but he certainly never qualified as man of the year. The Air Force should have been the ones to host the party, not the family he held second to it.

Laura didn't hold a decent conversation with anyone all afternoon. She sat on the floor with her sister a few times as she cried and shook hands with people she'd only ever heard of and hugged a lot of them as well. General Sheppard finally made his way to the head of the line and had a long moment with Katherine, clasping her hand and giving her a big bear hug. Moving down the line, he merely looked at Dana and she nearly fell into him with sobs. Laura had never seen her sister so broken. She simply didn't understand the connection that her sister suddenly had with their father in the last moments of his life…

A young man had caught her mother's attention for a few minutes, so Laura stepped away to the bar for the whiskey she'd been thirsting for all day. The man working the bar was a friendly guy from a favorite local restaurant of hers. He didn't bother to card her anymore. She was 21, barely, but he'd seen her enough to know her drink order before she made it to the counter, and there were several of them depending on her mood. Today was a hard liquor day, anybody could tell you that.

The truth was that Laura thought the liquor might loosen her up so she could bawl with her sister. She hadn't felt much of anything today. She sat at a table alone, just watching all the people around her sharing stories of the late General Jackson Todd. She really didn’t care. Hell, he hadn't cared. She was done with military service as far as she was concerned, and therefore she had been shuffled completely out of his life. Not that he had made time for her before then either.

The man that had been talking to Katherine was at the bar now, trying to convince the barkeep to give him something spiked. Receiving an evil look from General Sheppard, the man begrudgingly changed his order to a soda. He turned, only slightly phased, and approached Laura's table without hesitation or second thought.

"Mind if I sit?" He didn't wait for a response before pulling out a chair. "You're Laura Todd, right?"

She stared blankly at him for what seemed to be minutes on end.

"I'm Bill," he said. "You've probably heard this a million times today, but I'm sorry for your loss."

"Not much of a loss," she breathed quietly.

"You're wrong," Bill snapped. "He talked about you all the time. He was a good guy, once you got to know him. He and my dad were best buddies, but I'm sure you know that."

Laura flinched as she realized who the man was, General Sheppard's son. This was not the William Sheppard she remembered watching from a distance on sunny summer days, racing his friends through fields of honeysuckle and clover. He'd grown up considerably; his tawny blonde hair had become dirtier with time and his knobby knees had filled into a slim, muscular build.

"He would gush over you, over Dana and your mother. He loved you all so much," he continued, his soft voice rough against her ears. "That's all you can ask for nowadays."

Bill stared at her, finally taking a long sip of his drink. Laura shared his silent gaze for a moment before she stood to escape him. She heard the scuff of his chair against the hardwood floor and it halted her in her tracks. There was a warm hand against her shoulder that spun her around gently. Bill was there, staring into her eyes and she felt them burn through her soul. He smoothed the hand around her back and hugged her, giving a comforting squeeze. Her poker face was strong, but her lips were parted ever so slightly in stupor. Laura sighed and felt tears brim for a moment. He was warm against her rigid body, the soft hand supporting her lower back tempting her to the precipice of dissolving the blockade that stopped her emotions from bubbling.

The fleeting moment was gone with a sudden icy wind caught between them, and she was cold again. Her blockade was at full strength once more as she saw him walk away.

"Thanks for the drink," he threw over his shoulder as he discretely picked her glass up off the table and disappeared into the crowds.

 

No Envy, No Fear

          Laura plopped down on the couch, ready to sink her teeth into a book she bought a few months back. The television across from her was looking like a good escape as well. Either way she was looking forward to a couple hours away from work. The past few weeks had been overly stressful, excessively lonely.

She's contemplated calling him. The idea rolled around in the pit of her stomach to see him again, to pick his brain and have him be the one to answer her questions. God, he threw her for a loop. He was someone that she had come to trust, one of the few she did. And that scared the hell out of her.

Fidgeting with the pages with her freshly painted nails, she decided no, too clingy to start dragging out of him the curiosity that he'd sparked. He certainly didn't need to hear from her. But she couldn't help wondering what he was up to at… 7:30 on a Friday night. Rolling her eyes, she mentally chided herself and cracked open the book.

Suddenly, there was a sharp knock at the door. Laura jumped at the sound, not expecting anyone. Getting to her feet, she put down the book and her fine rimmed glasses. Looking through the peephole, what she saw brought on a sigh of relief. Bill stood outside her door with flowers and a bottle of wine.

"Hey," she said with a warm smile as she opened the door. In the few years that they had known each other, he had never been to her apartment. She found it odd that they always wound up at his place, as much of a bachelor pad as it was – a tearing brown leather couch, a fish tank in the corner, computer desk, weeks old take out in the refrigerator, and a barely used bedroom. Then again, they hadn’t met often and it was generally simple happenstance.

"Well, I thought some wine would be a good offering to get me back in your good graces after our, well..." Bill looked completely relaxed for a change in his jeans and sweater, a sharp contrast to his uniform. Still, the comfortable attire did nothing to hide the uneasiness evident in his voice. "Can I come in?"

"Uh, yeah," Laura murmured as she opened the doorway to admit him. Their last chat had been about as happy as their first, ending in her storming out of his apartment in frustration.

"Here," he said handing her the flowers, "I got these for you. I remember you saying you liked pink roses."

"That's very sweet of you. I'll put them in some water." Laura grabbed a vase and carefully watched him from the kitchen as he sat on the couch, place a couple of wineglasses on the table and start to pour.

Bill was glad. Glad he had come, glad he could glimpse into her life. She had been easy for him to read early on, but looking into her home told him so much more. The complexity of Laura mounted each time they talked and there was only so much he could find out on his own. He had wondered why they couldn't seem to end a conversation on a happy note. He wondered why they kept trying if it always ended badly. Between them there was no envy, no fear… But he'd made a lot of assumptions that got him into trouble and he still couldn't tell what she thought of him. Perhaps that was part of why he decided to drop by.

Laura brought the flowers back into the front room and sat next to Bill. He handed her a glass and they clinked them together before taking a sip.

"So, what's on your mind?" Her wariness was obvious but she didn't mind.

"I want to get to know Laura Todd," he said coolly before taking another sip of wine.

An eyebrow shot up as she answered, "What do you want to know?"

Bill laughed a little at her guarded manner. "Everything?"

"Cute," she snorted, taking another sip of wine and leaning her elbow against the back of the couch to support her head, "You know my birthday, you know my favorite colors, actors, television shows… My family, intimately, my profession… What else is there?"

Much to their surprise, they spent hours on her couch talking about what else there was to know of her and what else there was to know of him.

"…I wound up running the 2 miles all the way home. When my mother saw my dress she almost fainted."

Bill laughed at the tale of little Laura, the girl he hadn't paid any mind in his youth.

"I have no idea why I just told you that story."

"It's you," he chuckled, "Only 15 years ago."

"That's for sure…"

An awkward silence fell between them. Laura tinkered with the stem of her glass and Bill looked at the clock hanging on the wall next to a Cezanne. The dark lake scene fit Laura, the painter too – solitary, even among family, a fat plate of daddy issues, and lurking genius struggling in a chaotic world to find structure and order. This was a piece of her that he was looking to find, a subliminal message on the wall that confirmed his suspicions.

Registering with a double take of the clock, he took in the time. "Wow, it's getting late. I guess I should be going home."

He got up and was heading for the door when she blocked his exit.

"Are you sure?" The tone of her voice was suddenly desperate from a moment before. "I mean, I've got more stories and I'm sure you've got more…"

Her dancing eyes matched her thought process, grasping at reasons for him to stay, until her gaze locked with his own. Laura was at a loss for words. Moving closer by some intangible force, they found themselves in an intimate embrace. The feel of his arms around her was eerily familiar and completely natural to Laura as Bill inched himself closer to her mouth. They were lip locked in an instant, no thought and no regret. Laura wrapped her arms around his neck and slowly broke the kiss. He stared deep into her eyes, full of contentment, not wanting to leave the cozy little apartment.

"Stay," Laura whispered to him sultrily.

"Laura," he breathed heavily while weighing the consequences, "I don't think that tonight is the night."

Laura gazed into the chocolaty eyes she had stared into many times before, this time seeing more. She saw something she knew she couldn't stand to be without. He had seen her emerald orbs search his before, but this time he was seeing something on his own. The normally shimmering green was duller now, dark and shadowed. He kissed her, gentle and firm, trying to will the darkness away.

 

 

In The Mood For Love

The tapping of the pen against the desk filled the airspace. There was nothing like being booted out of your office, out of your job, to ruin the week. Except, of course,  losing your job to the one person who would like nothing better than to change all that you had spent the last two years building. Her boxes were filled and waiting at the door for her to move them to the car. She took one last look around her office, heartbroken for the most part, relieved on another level. No more political games. Her toughest rivals would be 8 year olds fighting her lesson plans. She brushed the thought away and loaded the boxes into her car. The radio blasted as she drove back to her apartment. Anything to keep her mind off the disaster that loomed in the education department.

Laura didn't wind up at her apartment. She wasn't in the mood for desolation and solitude. She was in the mood for love and companionship. She sat in her car staring up at Bill's window looking for a sign of life. She was quickly rewarded as he opened a window, saw her car and waved her up.

He was standing in the doorway when she stepped off the elevator. "I heard about… well, everything. I'm so sorry."

Laura smiled gently, her keys slapping against her thigh as her arm swung back and forth in angst. "Thank you, Bill."

Bill shifted to glance down the hallway. "Look, some of my squadron is coming to watch the game tonight. You're welcome to stay. They're more than a riot, believe me."

"I'd love to," she said without hesitation.

Bill had never laughed so hard in his life. Laura seemed to fit right in with the group of unruly pilots. She'd even made a friend, a fellow Alabaman, and they broke into a chorus of "Sweet Home Alabama" each time their team scored. During halftime, the crowd became more inquisitive.

"So, what do you do, Laura? I've never known Bill to associate with many people outside the hanger," chuckled a woman they all addressed as Leftie.

"I'm currently in a transitional period," she answered poetically.

Leftie giggled, "So… what were you?"

"I was on the Education Board. I'm going back into teaching."

Slammer, a man with frizzy curls and a moustache, looked up at her response. "Are you the commissioner that got fired for that slime Gina Brennan? That's bull shit."

Laura was taken aback by the man's sudden force.

"Sorry," he apologized, "my wife is a teacher, too. She's been upset about this for a while now. She liked you."

A weak smile crossed her lips. "Tell her I appreciate the support, but I'm kind of glad it's over."

"But, you were making such progress…" Bill interjected.

"The truth is I fell into that job. I never set out for a political career," she conceded. "I lost myself to the fleeting buzz that making a difference gives."

A silence fell over the group. One of the guys in the corner of the couch, Hot Shot was his call sign, raised his beer and nodded it in Laura's direction, "Here's to you, Madame Commissioner of Education, to all ass kicking that you have done and to any future ass kicking you will do."

"To Laura's future ass kicking," the woman next to him said and raised her own drink. She and Hot Shot took a long swig as the rest of the group raised their bottles and followed suit. Laura was last to take a drink, but she took a long gulp as she fought back the sniffles that threatened to come out.

The clock was about to strike one as Bill and Laura finally sat alone in his apartment. They sank into the couch, the all-consuming leather sucking them into sleep. They were wide awake though.

"Are you really all right with losing your position?" Bill asked in the quiet of the room.

"No," Laura admitted. "Gina is going to rework all the goals I set and began to achieve. Our schools are going to suffer."

"People are dumb, what's new?" Bill pulled her to his side and kissed her temple. "They will be the ones that will have to live with their decision."

"Meanwhile I go back to third graders."

"Meanwhile, you make the most of your time. Who says you can't keep making plans and accomplishing goals? You have a voice; use it to push policy like you wanted."

She sighed and sat up. "Do you really believe that I'll get my job back?"

"Hell yes."

"Good." She stood, slipped her hands down his arms into his palms and she pulled him up from the comfy couch. Bill was hardly fazed, but the sparkle he'd seen in her eyes made follow her willingly.

Bill brought her in close as they came through the door to his bedroom. He sat her on the edge of the bed and unbuttoned her blouse. Laura lifted the sweater over his head, letting it fall to the floor. He took advantage of her neck being so close, kissing down one arm. She watched him, her skin tingling and heart racing. When he reached her hand, she drew him close again and drove at his mouth. They fell onto the bed, taking article after article of clothing off between passionate kisses. They finally lay together, bare and exposed.

Bill saw the passion and longing that had always been left pushed aside for another day in her eyes as they grew darker. He wanted her just as much as she wanted him and tonight was only the beginning. This was new, unexplored. He took his time to watch her every move, memorize her every curve and freckle, absorb each sensation into his being.

          Splayed in a mess of limbs, Laura traced the features of Bill's face and chest. She was studying him, the warmth in her belly growing with the constant contact. Bill's eyes had long fluttered to sleep but his thumb drew lazy circles on her lower back. She settled her head below his chin and brushed her lips against his clavicle. The feel was almost electric against her tender skin. Everywhere he'd touched seemed to light on fire, burning the memory deep into her flesh. It still smoldered.

          "I can hear you thinking," Bill whispered.

          Laura smiled against his chest. "Sorry…"

          Shifting her body, she turned around in his embrace and cradled her frame against his. Bill's arm fell easily around her waist and drew her tight to him.

"Laura, this sadness… it doesn't matter. You're only thinking about what is tugging at your heart. Let someone else worry for now. You…" he trailed off in thought. She felt the curve of his lips twist into a smile against her back. "You don't do sadness."

 

First Breath After Coma

The cool night breeze broke through the curtains, moonlight briefly exposing the lovers tightly entangled in bed. As the curtains closed again, Laura's eyes flashed with the shifting lights. The clock on her nightstand blinked 10:13.

She watched Bill open his eyes every so often. He'd tried to sleep, but he'd open his eyes with each flicker of the curtains and the persistent moonlight. She hadn't tried to sleep. She knew it wouldn't come for a few days yet. Not decent sleep anyway.

Moving slowly and carefully, Bill removed himself from their heated knot. She watched as he headed for the bathroom, turning back to watch the curtains as soon as he closed the door. She was exhausted, and her eyelids drooped, but her current predicament nagged at the back of her mind and kept her awake.

Bill slid back into bed behind her, wrapping his arms around her waist and across her abdomen. Warm breath washed over her ear as she wrapped her own arms across his, smooth fingers interweaving with her own. After two years, he still wore the gold band on his finger. Had she died, Laura wouldn't mind so much. But the woman he'd married divorced him. Michelle. The name sickened her, but that was something she would never admit to him.

The day the papers were finalized, Laura vividly remembered him staring at her sitting in her open office and staring back at him on the landing. She'd wanted to say something so badly, but the words stuck. She'd wanted to hug and kiss him, but she'd held back. They needed space. There was too much between them, too many buttons to be easily pushed.

She'd spun back around in the cubicle and reread a notice of resignation, though there was very little to it. It had been a sudden move for Gina Brennan to retire after her battle to get Laura's position in the first place. There were too many coincidences that formed the puzzle that entwined Gina, Bill, and her job. Laura knew she shouldn't be looking a gift horse in the mouth, Gina's departure gaining Laura's position back after five years, but all her ponderings brought her back to Bill. Something had transpired between Gina and Bill that got her a job in the education department again and now had Gina resigning a few years later.

She'd shoved the file into her bag as Bill approached Gina's former office. Laura skillfully whisked away out of her chair and off the floor without contact. Their eyes were locked even as she flew around the corner away from him and escaped into the elevator. He'd let her go, too. She was obsessed with her politically twisted puzzle. It was corrosive, a slow burn that carefully ate away at her soul, barely noticeable. But, if examined closely, the pieces flaked off in scorched leaves.

The window let the breeze flow in through the curtains. Soft blue light spilled over the lovers in bed, wrapped in light sheets and separated after an evening of lovemaking. Sleep had taken them over, and their breathing was soft and relaxed. The clock on the nightstand blinked 11:21.

Laura rubbed her eyes and sat herself up, gazing over at the fit body that lay next to her. Resting her elbows on her knees with her chin on the cross of her arms, she watched the shadows dance across his skin. Leaning in she gave his shoulder a soft bite, raking her teeth over his flesh gently, and kissed his shoulder blade. She stood, pulled some clothes off the chair and sauntered to the bathroom to clean up.

She slipped into her deep magenta nightgown and satin robe. She stretched languidly in the doorway. Liaisons seemed to be the core of their relationship now. He was going on a mission in two days and every spare minute was spent at her apartment, usually cuddled on the couch or wrapped up in her sheets. But they weren't kids anymore and this fantasy life couldn't last forever. The secrets he'd been keeping would have to come out sooner or later.

She was missing him, the piece of him that had fallen away from her in the recent years. They were here, though, in a place where an intensely tender intimacy deepened steadily despite her attempts to maintain a distance and retain her perspective. It was getting harder for her to resist the desire to seize him entirely for her selfish reasons, to forget about the separate lives they had lived.

It was like breathing her first breath after coma. The contentment she felt with this man was mind blowing. They'd almost reached a healthy lifestyle together, once the darkness cleared away. Her thoughts were muddled. Her head begged for clarity on what Bill had been doing the last half dozen years. Her heart was a woman's heart, aching for a home. Her gut, the part of her that she had come to trust the most, was demanding she let her worries go. So, Laura followed her gut and crawled back into bed with Bill, wrapping her leg around his thigh and resting a hand on his back as she slipped into a delightfully peaceful sleep.

 

 

 

Just A Dream

Arlington was a happy place at one time, the place where she lived and worked. Her old apartment was close to anything and everything, but tucked away from the blaring city noises. As much as she liked her little apartment with its white wash walls and wooden fixtures, it was never home. Home, she had come to understand, was not a place so much as it was… a feeling.

There were so many things that she had missed about her life all those years ago – the challenges of living in the fast lane while walking the tightrope of the political scene. It was a rush that she still yearned for at times. Looking back now, she wouldn't have traded it for the world but she was glad she had given it up. After a while, she could do no more in her position. Her bout of cancer forced her to give it up.

Laura could see it clearly now, the addictions that had built up in her, the constant and ever growing need for approval and acceptance. Bill brought them to light every chance he could – he wanted her to grow and he loved to watch Laura discover new layers to her own person. The walls she had worked so diligently to breakdown for him were mounting once again, and as much as she fought those walls they were the only way to keep the snap of the wind from breaking her bones. From breaking her spirit. He'd want her to cry now. He'd want her to let her feelings out.

There was an ache in her belly for the beauty that was lost to the world and lost to her. Her feet froze in the January snow but nothing could make her care. She wanted nothing more than to stand obstinate against the wind at the top of the hill, a daunting black figure in the midst of the pure white snow drifts. She wanted everyone to see her cry over him, because that was what he deserved. Her tears couldn't bring him back now, but there was justice in each wet bead. The salty droplets landed on the rich wood coffin dusted with fresh flakes. They cleared a path as they traveled over the side and fell into the dirt below.

Hope, she'd discovered, was a dangerous thing for it lead to dreams. Dreams had kept her wishing for a better life. Bill had shown her how to make dreams come true. He hadn't done a thing; he just listened, smiled, and shook his head. This was not how their dream should have ended. She was counting on forever, but forever had been shot in the gut by an insurgent soldier. Forever sat at his bedside as he bled to death internally. Forever nestled next to him for hours as he slowly slipped away into darkness, his arms wrapped around her tighter than he'd ever held her before.

There were angels around her, the priest had said. They were the people we least expected, not the winged beings of myth or legend. Her sister and mother, Bill's parents and his flight crew, they weren't the most angelic of people, but they were saints today to stand in honor of their fallen family.

She couldn't breathe. She'd never prayed in her life but she prayed that this hadn't happened. Hot Shot had handed her the folded flag. It had happened, all right. She was the last one on the icy hill paying her respects to the love of her life. This was her eternal right. He had been the one for her, her lover and her friend. She had been the one for him in return, the ring on her finger reassuring her of that. The cold metal made him tangible to her still, silly as that might have sounded. A flag and a ring of gold.

No, it was not supposed to happen like this.  She prayed it was just a dream – the flight, the bullet, the cancer, the chemo.

The wind picked up and Laura clutched the flag to her chest tighter. She gasped for air as the sobs finally wracked her body. She let out a sick heaving moan as she threw her arms in the air and kicked a lump of snow across the hole in the ground at her feet.

"Why, Bill? Why did this happen, huh?" she screamed, "Why you? Why me? Why did it have to be us, Bill? Why? Why! WHY!"

She was tired and exasperated. Panting to catch her breath, her head fell back and she stared at the cloudy sky.

"This can't be happening…" she said to no god in particular. Rolling her head back to the grave, she read the headstone for the hundredth time: William 'Tin Man' Thomas Sheppard – Loving Son and Husband – United States Air Force, 37^th Squadron.

Laura knelt down, picked up a clod of earth and sprinkled it over the coffin. She squatted low for a moment, letting her fingers play with the edge of the flag sitting on her lap. More tears were threatening to spill out of their bounds. She clutched her left breast through the velvet of her suit jacket and let them flow freely down her cheeks.

A Wedding that Never Took Place by Simoneel Czar

When we are little kids, we have crushes on the weirdest people. For example, our neighbors dog, our cousin's friend's older brother, or maybe even the school janitor. But what do I know? I don't know any of these people. But I did have crushes-that too on the weirdest people--when I was three, I was madly in love with Simba, from Lion King. The freaky part is that I still get shy when I watch that movie. My second biggest crush was Aladdin. I loved him so much that I told my dad I wanted to get married to him as soon as possible. Once I even convinced him that we take a vacation in Agrabha, which sadly never took place. I also believed that humans were capable of having puppies. And that's what I wanted to have after I got married to Al. Life would have been so perfect with me, Aladdin, and our two puppies named Oreo and Milk, inspired by my favorite cookies. Just to make sure, I asked my mom how babies were born, I, of course didn't want any casualties from receiving them. My mom replied by saying that "babies are bought by angels from the heaven above, and they leave the child in the mother's arms". Sadly, to this day I believe it.

But, as I grew older, I realized that life isn't a fairy tale because apparently unicorns and flying carpets don't exist! The day I found this out, I threw a huge anger tantrum because I didn't know how I was going to get to Aladdin (I had already checked with the travel agencies, and no one was flying to Agrabha any time soon…like twenty years). That's when my dad suggested that I could use his private jet. But it was me who had to remind him that he doesn't have one.

But know that I really do like someone. He has blue eyes and blonde hair and is in this very class. He's right there, pinned on to the wall. Brad Pitt, the man of my dreams (speaking of dreams, last night I dreamt that Ms .T gave me an A+ in her class). Well…actually no… not exactly. I mean he is like forty- two.

But, I think that everybody in this class has learned far too much about complex relationships, heartbreaks, backstabbers, unanswered texts and phone calls and the once long held conversations on the phone, twelve at night. We have learned a lot about crushes, boy/girl friends, but never enough. But, then again, what do I know? What do I care? It's not like I am going to write a book on love, but let me tell you something now, if I do, I will make millions…maybe even billions. Coming back to my subject of matter Aladdin…what can I say? God just doesn't make men like him anymore.

Goodbye Lady by Laura Gonzalez

It's late and I'm scared. Walking through dark alleys at night with someone you don't even know following you is not my idea of a merry Christmas. I don't want to turn around but all I smell is a pungent grandma-like perfume. I speed up my walking and I turn back to see if the person following me is still there, and to my surprise they're gone. This is the third time this has happened within just one week. My heart stops racing, I grab the rosary from my neck, hold on to it tightly and begin to pray. I pray to my mom who is up above to make sure she is watching and taking care of me. Before you know it I'm home safe and sound being welcomed by my dog jumping on me and licking my face all over. My home is my sanctuary, my dog is my only companion, I don't trust people which is probably why they don't talk to me. The look on my face tells them to stay away and I really don't mind. This Christmas has been the loneliest Christmas ever, all I did was just go to work and come right back home. Last year at least I spent it with some co-workers. It's okay though, its getting late anyway and I need some rest. I wake up about two hours later because I heard a knock on my window and I'm freaking out. I look out the window and there is nothing, all I hear is the wind whistling, police sirens, and the sound of cats fighting. The usual. Maybe I was just dreaming about hearing a knock on my window. I go back to sleep and sleep until the next morning when it was no longer Christmas.
I get to work at around ten something and start setting up the store. I work at a little grocery store, doing different things, whatever my boss tells me to do. I would much rather be working at a job with an office but I didn't go to school for that, so my complaining ends here. "Clean up on aisle seven" says the voice over throughout the store and I immediately stop what I'm doing, get the cleaning cart, and head over to aisle seven. A lady dropped and stepped on a few tomatoes, she keeps saying she's sorry but I've seen worse. She keeps staring at me as I'm cleaning. She stands there like a statue as if I enjoy someone watching me pick some tomatoes up from the floor, can she stare any harder? I ask myself. I don't want to be rude but in the nicest way possible ask her what the fuck she wants. She doesn't reply. The lady drops what she had and runs out of the store, thankfully no one saw that.
It's time for my 30 minute break. I usually go to the coffee shop right next door to have a cigarette with some coffee and some pound cake, but for some reason it was closed. For the past 5 years that I have been working at this damn grocery store that coffee shop has never been closed. There's something weird about it but I only have 25 more minutes left of break so I cant ponder much, I move on to the next place to look for something to eat. I come across Eric's Sandwiches and notice that the lady that dropped the tomatoes is there too. She sees my face and once again, her eyes are glued to it. I order a turkey sandwich with everything on it but onions and mustard and a lemonade to drink. I sit down on the opposite side the lady is sitting on, she watches me closely, I give her a taste of her own self and watch her. Before I knew it, it was already time to go back to work. Goodbye lady.
Work gives me a lot of time to think and I tell my co-workers all about it. Johnny, my good friend, tells me he doesn't feel save with me walking down the dark lonely alleys of the city and he wants to give me something. " A gun?" I ask. And he replies "Yeah, think of it as your bodyguard. If anyone tries to fuck with you, give 'em a piece of your 9mm. Or even that lady just scare her with it you know." The way he said it made it sound safe, so I took it. He taught me how to use it and I got the hang of it so easily I was actually looking forward to walking home that night. Night came faster than I thought it would, Johnny and I closed up the store and said our goodbyes. I thanked him once again for the gun and started walking home. I passed through a large garbage can and I heard a bunch of rats which scared the hell out of me so I pulled out my gun, just in case. I hear some more noises and realize that there's someone behind me again. But this time, I'm not alone, they are.
I notice this person has the same smell from last time. I turn around and to my surprise it's the lady that has been following me, the one from the tomatoes and the one with the grandma smell. There's something in her hand but I cant tell what it is. I ask her what she wants but she doesn't say a word and keeps walking towards me. I tell her I have a gun but she still keeps coming my way not saying one word. I tell her I'm not afraid to use it and prove to her that I'm not.
I cant believe what I have just done. I run up to the body I just shot and see what she held in her hand. She looked up at me and said "I wasn't dead, they lied to you" and handed me a baby picture of me, a copy of my birth certificate, and a piece of my favorite teddy bear. It was my mother. The one person I was convinced was dead really wasn't but now I shot her. And from my jail cell, I will be praying to her every single night. Goodbye lady.

Butterflies by Andrey Neumann

Butterflies.
There was a ton of butterflies.
It was never like this before, or maybe I just hadn't noticed.
But this year there were literally flocks of them flying around.
"Maybe it just me."
I mumbled to myself, and took a pull from the blunt.
Then I blew a long and powerful gust of smoke into a nearby butterfly.
It did a loop and flew into a wall, landing gingerly on the ground.
Mick Jagger smiled at me from across the room.
I gave him the thumbs again laughing to myself.
"You're my best friend Micky."
I said and drowned in giggles.
Davey's long blonde hair suddenly popped up in the door, then his freckled face and his tanned lean body.
"What's wrong with you? You're talking to yourself." He said as he climbed up the ladder and into our tree house.
Even though it was like seven in the afternoon, it was scorching hot out still.
Davey wasn't wearing a shirt, I wouldn't be either but my mama bought me a new button up and I wanted to show it off.
"No, I am not talking to myself. I am talking, to Mick."
"Ooooh, Mick."
"Yes," I unbuttoned the top button of my shirt and said "Mick."
We stared at each other in silence for a brief moment and broke out laughing.
"Haha, alright whatever, you talk to much baby, just pass the blunt."
I smiled and complied.
"You know, we really should go to one of Micks concerts sometime."
Davey looked at me over the blunt he was sucking.
He started to cough, "Ugh, oh this hits hard" He looked at me and said "Id much rather go to a Beach Boys concert."
"Pfft, you kidding? All they sing about is girls on the beach and love, what's the fun in that?"
He stared at me curiously.
"You don't like girls on the beach and loving them?"
I clicked my tongue at him, "You got a point, but the Rolling Stones are so much more badass."
"Haha, since when were you the badass?"
I pulled out two bottle of Coca-Cola from under my chair.
"Well I did just steal these Coca-Colas from my little sister..."
I tossed him one across the room.
"You never cease to amaze me you bad boy, Rolling Stones it is I guess."
"Cheers"
"Cheers"
Our mutual feelings were interrupted by a rock that suddenly hit the window pane.
I jumped up and leaned out the window.
Down below stood Albert, or Al as we called him.
He had dark curly hair and glasses, his lean body leaned against his bike as he stared up at us.
"Rachael Springsten is having a party fellas !" He shouted up at us.
"And how do you know?"
"They broadcasted it on the radio, god dammit guys, lets go!"
Al took of down the street headed towards Rachael's house.
I shrugged at Davey, downed the coke, and swung down to the ground below.
I heard Davey land behind me and pick up his bike from the side of the tree trunk.
He picked up his shirt and threw it on quickly.
I tossed the coca-cola bottle across the street where it shattered against the cement road.
"Great job bad ass, now Martha is going to complain about us to your mama."
I tried to pull off the bad ass act by pretending to not care that id be in trouble later.
"Pft, what is she going to do."
"EAT YOUR EYEBALLS" he said laughing.
"Oh nooo." I said in a high pitched voice and took off down the street.
Davey was in close pursuit behind me.
"Mrs.Boomer! MRS.BOOMER! Your, little, DEMON PISSING SON, YES THAT ONE, YES ETHAN. The DEMON PISSING BOY, and his DEMON PISSING FRIEND, yes that one!"
Davey imitated my neighbor screaming for my mom last time we had pissed her off.
We had quite literally pissed her off.
Davey had dared me to pee on her front door, and it was something I couldn't pass up.
Coincidently Martha had opened the door as I started to leak.
I couldn't stop.
Hence the nickname "Pissing Demon Boy."
The bike ride over to Rachael's was truly awesome.
Cars were so overrated.
Everyone wanted there cars so bad at my age, but I really didn't see the benefit.
Bikes are cheaper and just as good, and your saving energy.
I remember when Jake Carlow had got his brand new Mustang.
All the girls were all over him.
Including Dianna.
My Dianna.
I've had a crush on Dianna since freshman year.
She was a succubus, a voluptuous vixen, a banshee sent to eat my eyeballs.
I never got a chance to tell her how I felt.
I wasn't even sure she knew my name, how cliché right?
This party would be the perfect chance to tell her how I felt.
Id put this off for way to long.
But what if she was disgusted by my confession and never talked to me again.
Dammit, why where girls so confusing.
They just didn't see the beauty in a pair of wheels and a nice guy.
Girls didn't see how hard it is to come by a nice guy now a days.
Then they cry and complain that the bad boys broke there hearts.
Well the perfect little angel is sitting right here on this bike, ladies! …Stupid ladies.
The world is unfair; I frowned to myself but quickly cheered up.
Dianna wasn't a stupid lady, just a ignorant lady.
She's just being ignorant when she's dating a new football jock every week or making out with Jake next to my locker.
Just ignorant. Id knock some sense into her.
Haha, Knock.
The wind felt good as I cycled swiftly down the paved streets.
Very gratifying.
As we approached Rachael's house I noticed all the cars parked around.
"Hm, looks like this party is kickin'!" Davey said and kicked the air while still on his bike and in the process falling off.
I laughed at him, but stopped laughing when I spotted Jake Carlows mustang down the street.
"Ugh, he's here." I said glowering at the shiny red mustang.
"Lets…piss on it!" Davey whispered cheerfully.
I guffawed and gave him a high five.
"Okay ill get the driver seat you get the back seat."
We hopped into the car and deployed our weapons.
"It's a good thing this car is hoodless, makes it easier to mess with" I said.
"Aaah." I heard Davey sigh.
Suddenly the front door of Rachael's house flung open and Pat stood there pointing at us and yelling.
"Jake! Ethan and Davey are peeing in your 'stang!"
"Aw no!" I cried.
Zipping up I jumped out of the car and headed for the fence into Rachael's backyard.
I would get a chance to tell Dianna how I felt. No matter what Jake tried to do.
"What are you doing? Are you crazy Ethan?" Davey yelled after me.
"Yeah! I'm a bad ass remember? Rendezvous at the cliff!"
I yelled over my shoulder and butt as I lay on top of the fence.
I lost balance and fell over the fence into the backyard.
My shirt caught on the top of the fence and ripped off.
I landed on some grass by a lawn chair, and to my horror, Dianna sat in the lawn chair in nothing but a bathing suit.
I quickly got up, a little too quickly, dammit play it cool Ethan.
I brushed off the grass from my pants and shirt and stared down at Dianna.
She didn't seem to acknowledge my presence, she just stared of into the sky.
I smiled at her sunglasses and took a step forward nervously, bouncing on the balls of my feet.
Leaning forwards I put my fist to my mouth and coughed.
She didn't react, maybe she was asleep?
Or maybe she couldn't hear me cause of the music.
I glanced around and saw people walking around with cups, some people were swimming other people dancing.
"Wouldn't it be nice if we were older, then we wouldn't have to wait so long…"
Uh, maybe we should go to a Beach Boys concert, they seemed to be in style.
I returned my attention to Dianna, I coughed again while cleverly blending "Dianna" with the cough.
It sounding something like "CchaamDianahhh."
She slowly raised her hand and slipped her sunglasses down revealing her eyes.
My heart froze, her eyes were gorgeous.
"What?" She snapped at me, a little more aggressively then I had imagined in my daydreams.
"Oh, um, well hello." I said smiling nervously.
She stared at me with clear distaste.
It felt as if she was trying to burn a hole through me with her stare.
Suddenly this idea didn't seem so good.
"uh, hello? What, do you want?"
"I love you." I spit out.
Why did I say that! That wasn't cool, what would Jake say…
"What?" She said laughing.
I desperately needed a quick save.
"I , uh, I love…you? And I have really nice calf muscles see?" I stammered slowly, and spun around showing her my legs.
Let her get a glimpse of those puppies.
She burst out laughing, arching her back from the long chair.
You succubus, you vixen, god I hate you, but you are beautiful.
I bit my lip and stared at her, not knowing what would come next.
Suddenly a booming voice yelled my name.
"Ethan!"
I looked up in fear as I saw Jake walking towards me hastily.
"Your trapped now you little bunny rabbit!"
Suddenly I felt extremely scrawny next to the 6 foot tall muscular Jake Carlows.
"Im gunna eat your eye balls!" I screamed and slipped past Jake just as he lunged.
Why did I say that? Was I trying to be scary? Dammit! He's going to beat my ass now.
He landed on top of Diana who let out a scream, of delight or fear?
That bastard on my lady.
I grabbed a pool noodle and began beating his back with it.
He got up and turned around, his face was furious with rage.
People were no longer dancing, we were the center of attention, and I was the laughing stock.
Jake slowly crept towards me, as I slowly crept back.
Once again he lunged at me, not gracefully, but efficiently.
His large body moving through the air as he grunted in triumph .
He was like a lunging bear, a flying missile, a Jake Carlows.
I lunged back to avoid this behemoth, and found myself submerged in six feet of water.
I considered staying underwater until everyone forgot about me.
I surfaced to a roar of laughter.
This wasn't how I was supposed to go.
I slowly got out and stepped over Jakes laughing body on the ground.
I walked through the house and towards the front door.
"You're getting the floor wet!" Rachael screamed at me in panic. She began milling around and mopping the floor with someone's shorts.
"Bite me."
I slammed the front door behind me and made my way to my bike.
Girls don't know the beauty in two wheels and a nice guy.
I sighed.
Maybe I should get a car…it might work.
With that thought I peddled off towards the cliff.
Dianna, you succubus, you voluptuous vixen, you banshee sent to eat my eyeballs.

Of Film and Friendship by Ahsan Rathore

If there is one thing cinema has given us, it is the power of being moved. The power of being swept off your feet and being immersed into another world. In my life, nothing has inspired me more than movies. What is it about cinema that does this, how can art play with your emotions? And not just any art, the art the combines all other art forms to make something so overwhelming,, that it can change your political views, it can make you feel cleansed, and complete. Only the emotional roller coaster known as film can do this. .As time goes on, I'm able to draw more parallels between my life and movies, good or bad. There is a theory that film is the gateway into the mind, That what you see on screen is not only the external world of the character but also the internal world of the character and the filmmaker. You can tell a lot about someone just by knowing there favorite movies.

Just like peoples tastes change so does our definitions and beliefs change. Friendship is one that has drastically changed for me. During my teenage years, my friends and I where the typical teenagers, Loud, obnoxious, and fake. At least my friends where, I tried not to be but peer pressure and the longing to fit in got to me. This is a lot like the movie "A Bronx Tale", which stars and directed by Robert De Niro. In this movie, De Niro's son Calogero is part of a small time teenage gang. His friends would lie, cheat, and steel from each other. They would go jump people and rob them. Calogero was apart of that but he knew it was wrong. This is very similar

to my life, we called each other friends but we where not really, for they could turn on each other at any second. This was not me though, I would not act like someones friends, then stab them in

the back just to gain something out of it. I guess I had to be screwed over to realize what real friendship is. Now instead of trying to fit in, I try to stand out. I got out if this fake, superficial mindset, and left my so called friends but now that has gotten to me, all I see is fake people, people who use friendship as an excuse to use people and take advantage of them. It feels like I'm the only person who won't go behind someones back just to get ahead. I have turned into Travis Bickle, an other character played by Robert De Niro in "Taxi Driver" which is one of my favorite movies. Travis is a man isolated by his hate for bad people. All he sees on the streets are pimps, druggies and murderers, and as his hate for them grows, the more his insanity and isolation grows, until one day he snaps. I'm afraid I'm going down the same path and its making me depressed. When I thought I found someone intelligent and good hearted, we goes to his friends house and he steals from him and tries to push him over the edge. All I'm thinking is What makes people so fake and immoral. How can you call someone a friend then deliberately hurt them. The only thing that is keeping me from depression is that I know that I will never sink so low.

There is so many things in the world that is wrong, so much destruction and corruption caused by human beings. People are born with souls, and with the souls, we can differentiate from right and wrong, from good or bad, from light and dark. Then why is there so much evil in the world? what makes a man sell his soul? Money, power, are those things worth the price of ones soul. I would say that right now there is vastly more evil in the world, but for every thousand bad things that is done, there is one thing that the human spirit creates that is pure and magnificent. Something with such beauty that it obscures the the many bad deeds of the world

and lets you wallow in the moment, something timeless. There is only one thing that I know that has this much power, and that is art. That is my only escape from the world of deceit and

corruption. Art is my only chance of salvation. I want to make movies, I want to move people, teach people, and help people. I want to leave people in a sublime state of awe.I want to show the world through my eyes, I want to reveal all the evil in the world, and then replace it with beauty. The only way I could do this is with cinema. For me movies is not just entertainment, it is art. It is my passion, it is my love, and it is my life, it drives me to the the brink madness then brings me back, it scares the living hell out of me then takes me to heaven. Most people just watch movies, I do a lot more then that, I dwell deep into the core of the movie and extract its soul, it power and synthesize beauty and meaning out of it.We have not yet tapped the full potential of film, but I intend to. I will end this essay with a quote from "The Shawshank Redemption" which is true on so many different levels. The movies major themes are hope, and redemption. And that is exactly what you feel when the end credits start rolling. You feel redeemed by hope.