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 Aug 2012 Catie
Cyril Blythe
Omitted
 Aug 2012 Catie
Cyril Blythe
“You’re Mr. Grune?”

            “Yes sir, why—“

            “I’m going to need you to come with me. Whatever you do son, do NOT look into that house. Do you hear me?”

            “Excuse me? Officer, I’m confused. I’m just here to pick up my girlfriend Julia, she lives here. Where is she? Why are there so many cops lights? Is she ok? Is everything—“ I stop talking as I heard her voice. I turn from the officer and back towards her house. The officer barks and gruffly grabs my shoulders, pulling my face back away from her house. But not before I saw her. She looked absolutely beautiful. A royal blue dress, the red and blue lights that hit it extenuated her perfectly sculpted body and her angelic face. What my brain refused to believe was the red that poured from her forehead. Blood. Blood. Everywhere. Her hair was stained. Her dress was wet. Her eyes were wet. Tears?

            “Son, I’m going to have to ask you to get into the car. Now.” I am being shoved into a cop car and carted downtown. I am Jello. I am not real.

            A white room with a mirror, table, and two chairs.

            Alone.

What.

The.

Hell.

            They offer me bagels. They are stale. The coffee tastes like dirt. They are dirt. I bite nervous craters into my cheeks until the iron taste of blood fills my mouth. Blood. She was covered. Julia…





            “He is what is known as a serial-murderer. She was his intended victim, you should be thankful she’s alive.” I sat in silence as the badges and moustaches told me how lucky she was to be living and how lucky I was compared to the other boyfriends. They told me the serial-******’s niche was couples. He couldn’t stand happiness so he stole it from others. He had killed two other college girls and both their boyfriends. If she had been killed I would’ve been next. Do I understand how lucky I am? I say no. They tell me they are going to hold me for my own protection because he may have an accomplice. It’s 4 a.m.

I’m wide-awake.



It’s 7 a.m.

The badge with the deep voice comes in and sits beside me, offering me more dirt and staleness. I say no. He begins,

            “She may not recover. He did not ****** her but he did damage her. She was knocked out with a blunt weapon, the blow dented her skull and she’s in a coma. Do you understand?”

            I nod. Jello again. Not human. Not real.

They tell me I can go home now.

             Three weeks pass and she gets worse. None of my friends look at me the same. My family has decided to live in town close to me until I graduate in May. Her parents cry. My parents cry. Then I decide to do it anyways.

            I go to the hospital in a suit, my dad drives. Mom is sniffling in the front seat beside him and their hands are intertwined. We walk into her room and I get on one knee. She doesn’t answer but I slip the ring on her finger anyways. “Forever,” I whisper.
 Aug 2012 Catie
Cyril Blythe
I assured myself again that I was completely alone. Gingerly, I sat on the corner of her popcorn-and-perfume-scented bed and allow my tingling fingers to reach out and open that sacred journal again to page one. I never really understood it but maybe if I read it one more time. “Things I Wish I Never Knew:

1. People are selfish almost always.

2. Shaking hands does matter. ******.

3. Wine hangovers are miserable.

4. Puppies **** behind things ‘cause they feel guilty; you wont find it until it smells.

5. Friends really do come and go.

6. Neti Pots absolutely **** and bring you nosebleeds NOT relief.

7. Attraction and love are different. REMEMBER THIS ABOVE ALL.

8. Joy is clicking add to dictionary in Microsoft word.

9. If you can make it through Taco Bell kisses, morning breath will be a breeze.

10. Be jovial, it’s a choice and a side effect of living in daily adventure.

11. Make sure that your family knows…” I pause because I think I hear footsteps padding up the fourteen red-carpeted steps to her bedroom. I know I can’t move, the old wood floor in this crumbling house will definitely creak and give me away, so I just sit on the edge of the bed at full attention.

        “…No, ma’am, everything’s basically back to normal again, we’re getting the locks changed on Saturday. I’ll tell her you send your love.” The footsteps and voice were at the top of the stairs and I saw a shadow fall across the dusty floor in front of the white wooden door. I know it’s my neighbor Annie because she lives here. We grew up together. “Yes, ma’am, I love you too. I’ll try to make her call you soon. Bye.” Her phone beeped to signal the end of the conversation followed by a loud sigh. I peered from the bed into the hall and saw her sitting on the floor. Annie is a pretty girl. All the girls who live here are. We used to go to school together until my grades got too bad and I started my special school. We used to play in her front yard with her sister, Kelly. One time I kissed Kelly, but we were only seven. She is my only kiss. They both leave for most of the year now to go to college but come home for Christmas break. I will never go to college, but that’s ok.

        I felt my pants vibrating and the theme song to the TV show Who Wants to be a Millionaire was somehow blaring from somewhere around my crotch. Before I could silence it, the shadow at the door became a tangible whirlwind of brown hair, sharp screams, and clawing grabbing fingers as she tried to wrench the ratty Moleskin journal from my fingers.

        “******, Cyril, I thought I heard someone in here. You give it back and get out of this house. You can’t, like, break into other people houses like this. This is just not what normal people do. Can’t your father control you?” At this point we’re both standing in the middle of the bedroom. I’m confused so I just dangle the journal in the air above her grasp. “It’s not yours and you know that. I know you at least understand that, right? Right, Cyril? What the hell would you do if Kelly had been showering or changing. Oh my god, ew, do NOT answer that.”

        “Ow,” I yelp as she scratches at my forearm to retrieve the precious journal. “Your claws are sharp, Annie, I have more scratches from you than I do Jimmy-cat and Jimmy-cat is mean, mean but fluffy… and he purrs but you don’t purr. Is that because you don’t like me?” I lower my arm and Annie snatches the Moleskine out of my fumbling fingers, avoiding eye contact at all costs. I hate it when people do that. I notice it, but they don’t think I do.

            “Cyril, get out.” Her right hand is now securely around the Moleskine and the other is shaking, pointed towards the doorway. “Now.”

            This is always the worst part. I walk out of Kelly’s forbidden bedroom: head hung as I creak down the fourteen red, carpeted stairs and make my way to the front door. It’s always quiet and I don’t like the quiet so whenever it’s quiet I count. I am good at counting. …Twelve, thirteen, fourteen…silence.

        I turn to her, “Annie, I’m sorry…”

            “Out.” She opens the front door and points me to my apartment, directly across the street. Its autumn now and the leaves and cold rustle down the street and I crouch deeper into my black coat as I step outside.

            “So maybe I’ll come over tomorrow?” I turn as I start down the steps, hopeful to have conjured up a smile from Annie, but all I see is the flash of brunette hair disappearing behind another thick, white wooden door.

            “Get off our property before I call the cops, you creep!”

            That’s what I’ve always been to these pretty girls: a creep. I don’t really understand what the word means, but I’m pretty sure from the way they say it that it’s not nice. Pops always tells me that I’m different because it’s better to be different. I don’t understand why Annie and Kelly don’t think it’s better that I’m different too.

            I decide to walk to Captain D’s and tell Earl hi because it’s Friday and that’s what I do on Fridays. Earl owns Captain D’s and has forever. Earl is my friend. Earl and Jimmy-cat at Captain D’s that I feed my left over fish are my friends. At least I think they are. I named the cat Jimmy-cat because Pops says mom used to listen to a man named Jimmy Buffett before she left us. I don’t remember those days.

            I turn the corner knowing Captain D’s is just 560 steps ahead and that to get back home I go 910 steps back and I’ll be at my front door. Counting is one thing I am good at; even the tests they used to make me take at the doctor’s office said so. I am good at numbers. Seven is my favorite number.

            I walk into Captain D’s and, like normal, its just Earl inside. He makes me two Fish-Filet sandwiches and we go stand outside. We usually don’t talk much, but I like that . I sit on the crunchy curb, put on my hood because the wind and leaves have made my ears sting. I unwrap the greasy paper on my first sandwich and Earl pulls out his red Marbolo’s and sits beside me lighting up his first cigarette.

            “Why do you smoke, Earl?” I ask him every Friday and he always responds the same way.

            “Eh. Why do the fish swim Cyril? Why do the Eagles and Crows fly? You know we don’t know why Women like shoes so much.”

I never really understand what he means but it makes me giggle and before we know it we’re both laughing. I’m pretty sure this is what friendship is. I lick the wrapper to get all the tarter sauce off and start on my second sandwich. Earl starts his second cigarette.

            “Where’s that alley cat you got trained up, boy? Go get ‘em and I’ll cook him his own fish patty.”

            He means Jimmy-cat. I wipe my fingers on my jeans, tear off a piece of the damp fish from my sandwich, and walk towards white picket fence that Earl built around the dumpster where Jimmy-cat lives. Jimmy-cat has a good life; he can eat anything in the green dumpster he wants and he is safe behind the big white fence. I don’t like the smell but maybe cats like eating and smelling the furry tarter sauce that clings on the sides of the dumpster. As I pull the lever to open Jimmy Cat’s home, I think it smells even worse than normal. After jiggling the latch a while, it clicks, and I swing the door open to Jimmy-cat’s house. It definitely smells worse. I step up one step and crunch on leaves and squish cold fries as I circle the dumpster. “Jimmy-Jimmy-Jimmy-cat, where-oh-where-oh-where ya at?” I stop as I enter the back right corner, I see Jimmy-cat but I don’t understand what is happening. I don’t understand what is wrong. He is covered in ketchup, maybe? But if that’s true what are the little white thingssss crawling around his stomach and why are they covered in ketchup and mayonnaise too? He is mewling and I’m scared. I smell fish. Fish and furry tarter sauce, one, two, three, four, my feet are crunching on the cold fries and leaves again, I know I’m at the door without even turning around.

            “Boy, what you doin’ in there?”

            “Earl?” …One…two… “Earl, can you help me? Earl, I, I don’t understand. I don’t like it.” …Three…four…five… “Jimmy-cat needs a bath, Earl, and something is eating his stomach.” …Six…seven…silence. Earl’s hand fells like a dead fish on my shoulder as he walks me back up to Jimmy-cats home.

            “Stay here, Cyril. Just gimme’a sec to see what’s happening.” Earl disappears into the leaves and fries and fur.

            eight…nine…ten

eleven…twelve…

            thi­rteen…

fourteen…

            silence.





            “Boy? Come back here now. C’mon.” Earl’s voice echoed around the green corners and I followed. One…two…three…four…five…six…seven I stand above Earl and I know the ketchup and mayonnaise and Jimmy-cat eating monsters are just on the other side of his crouched over body.

            “Well don’t be shy, come look.” Earl stands and I see his work apron covered in the ketchup and mayonnaise but beyond that in a bed of Fish-filet wrappers is Jimmy-cat and all the stomach eating monsters mewling at his stomach, as I get close I think they look kinda like little Jimmy-cats. I push my hood off my head as I lean over closer and that’s when it hit me, “Kittens! Jimmy-cat had kittens, Earl!”

            “I think Jimmy-cat may be more of a Jasmine-cat or Jennifer-cat.”

            I laid down the piece of fish I brought and Jimmy-Cat looks up into my eyes and I swear he was happy to see me.  I looked up at Earl and he was happy to see me too. I sat down in the mess of wrappers and fries and mold and laughed and laughed and laughed.
 Aug 2012 Catie
Preech
A barely coherent deity entered frowning,
giving his incisive javelin kinetic life,
malicious, negative omnipresence.
Perforating quickly, random, stealth targets,
unified viciously with xenogenic youth, zoic.
I've been experimenting with a few different formats recently, I though this was an interesting one as it makes it very difficult to write something logical or coherent.
 Aug 2012 Catie
Anna Zagerson
Nothing matters because this is all too transient
Facebook smiling photos granola girls with  hair flying up
Faces red from drinking and being pressed by their boyfriends surprise birthday parties Oh
The boy you once loved happily smiling from campsites You knew he was different when he told you
I like computers not *****, dueling not drinks
Sense not sexuality
And yet he’s there, grinning without you, happy until you are finally Ashamed
Of what did not happen between you
Ashamed
Because his friends surely know of your shame, his numerous friends who are not your own because of some Accident of your narrow birth
That did not bless you with his indifference, his casual, easy way of holding on to people
Ashamed
Because you’re staring at a world that doesn’t really exist
And you know, you just know, that you still care what It thinks.
 Aug 2012 Catie
JL
He shakes the snow from his fur and tastes the air

A young boy leans against an oak
A rusted sword at his side


The wolf leaves the warmth of his den

(They listened to the old man around the fire
His words hang in the air...)

The wolf bares his yellow teeth

The boy would lie beneath the stars
Imagining the tales
Heracles wounding even the gods

The metallic lure of blood. Skades' perfume was heavy on the morning fog

He slept and drempt
He was in the vale again
Leaning against the old oak
His father's words were harsh-
Only a coward would run from such a glorious death


The hunger was, unbearable now
The wind pulled at his hair




In the cold early morning fog
The spear was heavy, but he was strong
The sword was rusted, but he had cunning



They were alone in the valley
Where the morning fog will never lift
 Aug 2012 Catie
Chris Rodgers
There's nothing sweet about nostalgia.
There's something sweet about the past.
There's something sweet about the future.
There's something sweet about this moment.
But,
      there's nothing sweet about nostalgia.
 Aug 2012 Catie
Chris Rodgers
Find some peace of mind in the cracks and the binds.
You've been mended once, you'll mend me this time.
We'll all see the sunshine when you open the blinds.
 Aug 2012 Catie
travis
fine tuning
 Aug 2012 Catie
travis
we form our own reality.
I see it now- everything is truly what we believe it to be.
And that sheer knowledge has made my inner balance teeter of late.

there is just so very much to understand...and then reference. ----that it becomes daunting.
I can see that it's truly my thoughts but I never seem to be able to slow them down fast enough when I so need to.
It appears to be an unending thirst to play-
to know what I want -
to have the patience to propel the desire.
It's humbling when you realize it.
All that is- is on a grid of sorts...

And that there is something you should enjoy but yet can't keep you wheels in the same direction long enough.
It's spaciously lonely.
a fork in the road that joy appears to be chosen
but its bricks always lose their guiding yellow.

And when you look inside there maybe really is nothing except what you've been told and now they are your beliefs.
I always seem to end up beside the river of beliefs.
And I can see why man had to create a savior.
It's hard to realize how much pain you've inflicted upon yourself -
selfish painful jabs at ones that betrayed you as well.
Never even coming close to an ember of their being
shredding yours in the poignant process.

You were told you were bad because you were bad
and then you became worse
and it gave you purpose.
You were good at being bad-
you like the spilled milk and spiked brows.

You were the beautiful one.
It was not nurtured properly.
I can see glimpses of it-
yet completely out of reach.

I like it turned down a bit now
~with anything.
 Aug 2012 Catie
Auroleus
Jesus Christ, 15 AD

Today was a good day. I sneaked away to the cave and lit a bush on fire so I could communicate with my father. I’m not sure why I even bother telling Him things because He already knows them… I guess I just like hearing his voice. Today I asked Him if it would be alright for me to start practicing my miracles… AND HE SAID YES!!! XD He says I need a lot of practice before I go taking it public because nobody would believe I’m the son of God if I ******* one up. Also, I’m pretty sure he wants to preserve his reputation… so I started practicing on sheep. It’s a good thing shepherds are already so far away from towns because if people witnessed what I was doing to these sheep PETA would be at my doorstep in a matter of days. For those of you who don’t know, PETA is an organization created by Satan for animals because he thinks it hilarious that they should have a place in heaven, too. HA HA SATAN, very funny…

So my first miracles were simple. I was to heal all of the injured sheep in my flock. This went over fairly well, until I came to the blind sheep. I tried healing her and her eyeballs melted right out her skull! REVERSE MIRACLE! REVERSE MIRACLE! I shouted as I waved my staff in a panic. Then in the background a bush lit ablaze, “Son, you know waving that staff around won’t cause anything to happen. Magic wands and staffs are pagan nonsense. Since your birth I’ve disabled all of their so-called magical instruments, so now they’re nothing but a bunch of ritualistic heathens.” Anyway, Father fixed the poor sheep’s eyes and I was scolded for harming the animal. He sometimes makes me flog myself…

Lunch: Stale bread and glass of water.

After lunch is training time. My father had me build a crucifix inside a cave hidden deep in the desert hills so that I can practice for the big day! I spend 2 hours a day roped to that cross, and another hour or so doing self-mutilation. More flogging. I keep asking Father if he’ll send me down a practice angel so that I don’t have to keep beating myself, but he said all the angels who were into that sort of thing migrated south… So here I am… alone… in a cave… fists full of blood and rope burned wrists. Heading home to watch my parents argue and maybe I’ll turn their water into laudanum so that I may have a decent night’s sleep.
might not be a poem... **** it.
 Aug 2012 Catie
K Balachandran
As a trick, I taught my parrot,
to say "I love you" to my girl,
the parrot took it quite in earnest,
started to believe, it's in love with her!
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