Nathan Kreamalmyer
The Life and Tragic Death of Patricia Spillsmore
The 23rd of August started out like most 23rds of August for Mrs. Patricia Spillsmore. Patricia woke up around 5:30 in the morning, just as she did most every 23rd of August, and proceeded downstairs to cook her family their traditional 23rd of August breakfast extravaganza. On the way downstairs, Mrs. Spillsmore noticed, from the corner of her right eye, that her pool had collected a very large number of leaves and dead bugs. Patricia decided that once breakfast was ate, her husband ventured off to his pedestrian job selling raffle tickets at any and all geriatric functions, the kids were off to school, and the laundry was washed, dried, folded and put away, she would clean her pool with the large screen she had purchased just a week prior.
Breakfast went over without a hitch.
“Wow Mother!” The children exclaimed.
“Yes Dear, what a great breakfast!!! When I get home from work tonight, I'm going to plow you like a garden!” Her husband, Steven Howard Spillsmore III, said with a mouth full of sausage.
“Alright, Steve, that will be enough. Kids get your things and head to the bus stop. Steve, you best get to work before all your clients keel over dead”, Patricia said and after a rousing laugh she continued, “I've got the laundry to do, so best be on your way!”
With the house to herself, Patricia set to her housewifing duties joyously. After all her chores were completed, around 2:59 PM, Patricia ventured outside to give the pool a much needed goings over with the pool screen. Just as she reached the pool, the story of Patricia Spillsmore took an unfortunate and unforeseen turn.
You see, there were no trees in the Spillsmore’s back yard that were anywhere near the in ground swimming pool. However, as she approached, she noticed that the leaves were stacked at least a foot high off the water.
How could this be, Patricia wondered to herself.
Another startling discovery was made when she noticed that all of the bugs were still alive, and frantically buzzing around in frenzy.
“What the f...” she started to say as she slowly dipped her screen into the pool to remove the first layer of leaves and bugs.
She suddenly gasped as she removed a screen full and noticed that the water was stained red with blood. Immediately, bugs flocked to the revealed pool of blood, and it was covered again. Mrs. Spillsmore dropped the screen and covered her mouth. A musty, raunchy smell leaked out when she moved the leaves and bugs, and she suddenly felt sick. She ran to the side of the patio where she puked all over the yard. She puked so hard her eyes were watering, and her stomach was cramping. She puked so hard she fell to her knees and while she was puking, sounded like Grizzly bears in a fight over a bucket of honey! With each thrust, puke flew out of her mouth as she shook violently from the force of each blow. Finally, after about 10 minutes of straight puking, and 5 minutes of dry heaving, Patricia returned to her feet. As she stood, her neighbor rounded the corner of the 17 feet tall privacy fence which divided their properties.
It was Milda Spencer, the neighborhood friendly. She was like the kid in school who was always up in your business and wouldn't take a hint from anyone that she was hated by all. But Milda had a weird growth on her forehead, and nobody in the neighborhood had the heart to tell her off because of it.
“Howdy Patricia!” Milda greeted, “Do you need some help cleaning out your pool?”
“Umm...no Milda, I'm fine. Why don't you just go home, I'm not feeling well today,” Patricia replied.
“How'd ya get so many dern leaves in that pool? And where the sam blue blazes did all those bugs come from? And what's that God ridiculous smell? And why did you puke up something sick and rotted all over your yard? Why you sick anyways? You were fine yesterday. And why in the f...' Milda went on.
'”MILDA!' Patricia interrupted, “I don't know! Please, just leave me be for awhile! You’re, you're annoying!”
“Oh, well, alright then. I hope you feel better neighbor,” Milda mumbled in a sad tone and walked away like a dog with its tail between its legs.
Patricia slowly made her way back to the pool, picked up the screen net, and prepared herself for round 2.
“This calls for drastic measures.”
Just then Milda enormously smiled and peered over the fence.
“Need some help?” she asked again.
Patricia rolled her eyes and said, “Please go home! Okay? I’m sorry but I don’t need your help!”
Milda cheerfully smiled, uncomfortably chuckled, and disappeared behind the fence. Patricia made her way to the shed in the corner of her back yard and pulled out a gas mask, a pair of full sleeved gloves, and rolled out a 400 horse power sewage pump from inside. She tossed on her safety equipment, threw the huge black tube into the pool, and put the other end of the tube over Milda's fence.
“System engaged”, said Patricia as she switched on the ridiculously high powered sewage pump.
The machine made a noise that shook the entire neighborhood and the disgusting water was shooting all over Milda's back yard. Through the air flew entire raccoons, squirrels, and mice that had been torn to shreds by savage bugs that filled the pool.
Milda heard all the commotion coming from her back yard and looked out through her back sliding glass door.
“Oh goodness!” she exclaimed and threw open her door to try to redirect the hose pumping all her neighbors pool filth into her back yard.
Milda ran for the hose, slipped and fell on the grass as the force of the nasty water ripped off her clothes. She screamed loudly as the water devastated the rest of the neighborhood. Milda caught a ride on a wave of sludge over the next three yards and into a nearby neighbor’s back door where she landed on the lap of a man sitting in his living room.
As she sat perched, naked in his lap, the man's wife rounded the corner from their kitchen with a snack and asked, “Dear me, what’s that terrible smell?”
The woman saw Milda sitting on her husband’s lap unclothed. Milda smiled cheerfully with nasty pool residue in her mouth.
“Hi Maude, how are things?” Milda politely greeted.
Maude dropped her snack on the floor with her mouth wide open in shock. Her facial expression soon turned to anger as she stomped toward her husband, screamed out, “Walter!”, and smacked him in the face.
Meanwhile, back at the Spillsmore residence, Patricia had just finishing pumping her cesspool. She removed her gas mask and said, “That’s that!” Satisfied with her work, she dusted her hands by smacking them together. She let out a whistle as she began to roll the massive sewage pump back into her shed. But her song and dance was interrupted by an eruption of hisses and growls. Creepy noises filled the entire neighborhood beyond the privacy fence that surrounded her.
Mrs. Spillsmore ran in the tool shed and shut the door. She tried to escape the hisses and moans, but they only grew more intense as she huddled in the corner of the small shed. After about an hour of these weird noises going on, Patricia's fear gave way to annoyance and she decided it was time to end the nonsense. Patricia grabbed the shovel from the corner next to her and slowly headed out of her shed's door.
Cautiously Patricia approached the fence, and peering through a knot-hole she found something most unexpected. You see, Mrs. Spillsmore had thought the noises were coming from several different places, and possibly things, but all the sounds were originating from one source. There, standing in the yard beyond the fence, was 2008 Republican vice Presidential nominee Sarah Palin.
Sarah Palin was barbequing moose and drinking Molson, Canada's finest beer. Patricia gasped at the sight of the first woman nominee for a major political party, and this caught Mrs. Palin's attention.
“Oh, well hello there my little Joe Six Pack. Whatcha doin' over there?” Sarah asked.
Patricia did not answer Mrs. Palin's question, evoking a more aggressive assertion this time.
“Well Joe, I hope you aren't cohorting with any known domestic terrorists over there. ‘Cause, golly that just wouldn't be good. I had to take patriotic action on your neighbor over here, old Mr. Vincent Hindergooden, ‘cause he passed a known domestic terrorist in his car on the highway yesterday and, you see, he didn't flip him off. And that's not the kind of person we need living here in America”, Sarah Palin strolled to the fence as she recounted the events from the day before.
Patricia finally answered, “First off, my name is not Joe. Now you best tell me, Mrs. Palin, what you did with Mr. Hindergooden?”
“Tell you what Joe, why don't I just show you what I did with old Mr. Hindergooden?” Sarah said as she shoved a set of moose antlers through the fence between Mrs. Spillsmore and Mr. Hindergooden's yards.
The antlers grazed Patricia's face, cutting it slightly and drawing blood. A scream escaped Patricia's lips as she rolled back away from the fence.
“You see, Joe, my running mate and I are Mavericks. And we are reformers. So, why don't I show you how I reform by REFORMING YOUR FACE?!” Mrs. Palin screamed as she front flipped over the fence and threw the antlers above her head, preparing to strike.
As she brought the full force of the antlers down, Patricia rolled across the lawn. The antlers shattered as they hit the ground next to Mrs. Spillsmore. A sigh of relief escaped Patricia as Mrs. Palin's only weapon laid broken next to her.
“Oh, you little six packer, I wouldn't relax quite yet. I don't mean to toot my own horn, but when I took on corruption in Alaska's Oil companies things got pretty rough. And that's where I learned hand to hand combat, and how to be a maverick”, Sarah said with a wink as Patricia scrambled to her feet.
Just as Patricia had gained her balance, Mrs. Palin smoked her in the eye with a right cross. Patricia landed hard on the ground. Her jaw was shattered and her head was throbbing. Mrs. Spillsmore realized that when she landed on the ground, she had hit the side of her head on the shovel she had brought from the shed.
THE SHOVEL, that’s it! Patricia screamed to herself.
Patricia grasped the shovel firmly and jumped to her feet. Swinging wildly to stave off any incoming attacks from Mrs. Palin, Patricia moved forward. Sarah Palin made some sort of weird growling sound and lunged for Patricia throat. Patricia, knowing Mrs. Palin's reputation as a pit bull, had anticipated this and simple sat back biding her time. With Palin's lunged, Patricia drew back and smashed the shovel across her face, sending Sarah sprawling to the ground. Mrs. Spillsmore quickly moved
forward and pushed the shovel to Palin's throat.
“What's the meaning of all this?” Patricia desperately tried to catch her breath as she questioned Mrs. Palin.
“I'm just doin' my patriotic job. Ya know, defendin' the country from both, uh, you know, foreign and, uh, domestic, um, threats and enemies and all,” Palin answered in her annoying little folksy way.
“Why'd you fill my pool full of blood and dead animals?” Patricia pressed on with the questions.
“Well, ya see Joe, those animals have been known to associate with domestic terrorists. Those animals did not fulfill their patriotic duty. They did not stop the terrorists of the '60s while those criminals today were, ya know, walking the streets and heading to their, uh, jobs and exercising and going about their days like they weren't radicals from 40 years ago. So, again, I had to exercise MY patriotic duty and, ya know, take care of the animals for not taking care of folks like Joe the Plumber and Joe the Housewife. And most of the animals here were socialists as well, and that’s just not what America wants, those, um, socialist animals”, Sarah paused and then continued, “But ya know there Joe, that wasn't blood in your pool. No way, that was a red wine marinade. Ya see, as Governor of the United States only oil producing state, Alaska, we are teaching our children at a very young age to, um, not take the land around us for granted, uh, unless of course you can sell it for, ya know, billions of dollars. So we never let things like road kill or things like that go to waste, because that is pork barrel spending.”
Patricia was trying to sort through the very confusing statement from Mrs. Palin. Sarah took this opportunity to take Patricia by surprise. Palin, rolling her feet towards her chest, kicked the end of the shovel and sent it flying through the air over Patricia's head. Sarah then unhinged her jaw like a snake, rose up, and devoured Mrs. Patricia Spillsmore whole. Sarah Palin swallowed down every inch of Mrs. Spillsmore, with the exception of her shoes, which she spit to the ground because Palin does not have a taste for shoes.
“Saving America from those with obscure associations to known domestic terrorists, one person at a time! That's why they call me the pit bull!” Palin said, followed by a small burp.
Showing posts with label 2009. Show all posts
Showing posts with label 2009. Show all posts
Friday, December 11, 2009
Monday, November 30, 2009
Second Place Winner in Creative Non-Fiction Category
Johnathan C. Blunt
Darth Vader versus Fabio: For Dave Barry
It happens to every guy. You’re sitting at home sifting through the crap on television enjoying a night with your wife, girlfriend, Star Wars action figure of Princess Leia (in slave outfit), or significant other. She snuggles close and you may wrap yourselves in a blanket and share a tall mug of mint hot chocolate when she turns to you and asks, “What do you want to watch?”
Now if an action figure just talked to you, you need to seek some help. If not, you are now faced with a choice. You could flip it to Spike TV and watch the phenomenal Patrick Stewart in yet another rerun of Star Trek: The Next Generation, or you can find a charming yet utterly pointless romantic comedy. Now, if you’re like me, you want to see Star Trek. You would like nothing more than to see the Enterprise blow some Romulan ships into space dust. However, your other half is sitting there full well expecting you to find that romantic comedy, or else. You see, “What do you want to watch?” is actually code for, “You better find something I like on this television right now, and it sure as hell isn’t going to be The Matrix Reloaded.”
Women, as a general rule, do not enjoy science fiction. They don’t enjoy travelling to other universes or running from stormtroopers or kicking some alien tail. And, as Dave Barry suggests in his essay, “Beauty and the Beast,” it all goes back to childhood (371). Guys, you remember the elation you had when you got your hands on a new Transformers action figure or a toy lightsaber to beat up your friends with. It was all about the action and the technology. The future was cool and you wanted nothing more than to be there. In fact, I’m going to go so far as to say that you were supposed to be there in that future, and somehow you got transported back to the past where there are no new problems to solve. No damsels to rescue, no planets to save, no aliens to defeat. Girls, on the other hand, had toy dolls with their dreamy prince companions, cars, dollhouses, ovens, mops, brooms, fake food, and other such nonsense. Girls are groomed from the get-go to be grounded in realism which explains their need for verisimilitude versus lasers, aliens, monsters, massive Hollywood explosions, and space ships. You start to see a pattern in development. Already, guys are being conditioned to look to the future as their mode of escape whilst women are encouraged to look to the past or present.
But the pattern isn’t exclusive to childhood toys or movie choices. Next time you’re at your local Wal-Mart, take a walk down the small, poorly stocked book aisle. It’s end to end filled with titles like, “Midnight Passion,” “A Lover’s Kiss,” or “Insert Generic Smut Title Here.” Women are reading Nora Roberts when guys are more inclined to read Robert Heinlein or Richard Matheson. Women are reading about muscle bound, irresistible yet intelligent men they could never find much less have while guys are reading about sexy robot space girls with green skin.
You might think, what’s the difference? Guys and girls both want something they can’t have. But there is a difference. There’s this illusion, this fairy tale ending, that gives women nice warm, fuzzy feelings while guys roll their eyes. The princess is swept away by her prince charming and they live happily ever after. Blech. Guys want conflict, and it doesn’t even have to be resolved. Guys want a problem to solve, and their groomed to put themselves into any situation and say, “What could I have done better?” Take a look at The Empire Strikes Back. Han Solo is frozen in carbonite, Luke finds out the most evil man in the galaxy happens to be his father (and he gets his hand chopped off), and Leia is left with the realization that she’s now in love with a newly formed hunk of rock. Bummer, right? No happy endings there, and that lack of resolution is enough to drive women mad.
And that is because women seek simplicity. They’ve been groomed to seek simplicity from day one going all the way back to their plastic kitchens and bubble gum ironing boards. Up until about thirty or forty years ago, it was expected of women to be simple. They were to cook for the man, clean the house, raise the children, and tend to the mundane tasks that men didn’t want to do. And men don’t want to do those things because they’ve been conditioned to think ahead. Look to the future. This world is man’s world to inherit, so they thought. Today, the world has been turned upside down, and though it may be for the better, we still have strong undercurrents of our past affecting our development. You don’t see too many Barbie dolls with gauss rifles and sonic grenades, and you certainly won’t find a GI Joe wearing an apron including an all-new action mop. It’s not going to happen. We’ve got these roles placed upon us by gender that have been so engrained generation after generation that we’re going to see this sort of thing for many years to come. Girls will seek simplicity. They will look to the past or present as their mode of escape, and guys will look to the future. It’s just a fact of life, and it may cause some minor conflicts on the home front.
So next time you’re faced with the question, “What do you want to watch?” just do what I do. Hand the remote to her and smile.
“Whatever works for you works for me, babe.”
Works Cited
Barry, Dave. “Beauty and the Beast.” The Longman Reader. Ed. Eliza Comodros, John Langman, and Judith Nadell. 9th ed. New York: Longman, 2009. 371. Print.
Darth Vader versus Fabio: For Dave Barry
It happens to every guy. You’re sitting at home sifting through the crap on television enjoying a night with your wife, girlfriend, Star Wars action figure of Princess Leia (in slave outfit), or significant other. She snuggles close and you may wrap yourselves in a blanket and share a tall mug of mint hot chocolate when she turns to you and asks, “What do you want to watch?”
Now if an action figure just talked to you, you need to seek some help. If not, you are now faced with a choice. You could flip it to Spike TV and watch the phenomenal Patrick Stewart in yet another rerun of Star Trek: The Next Generation, or you can find a charming yet utterly pointless romantic comedy. Now, if you’re like me, you want to see Star Trek. You would like nothing more than to see the Enterprise blow some Romulan ships into space dust. However, your other half is sitting there full well expecting you to find that romantic comedy, or else. You see, “What do you want to watch?” is actually code for, “You better find something I like on this television right now, and it sure as hell isn’t going to be The Matrix Reloaded.”
Women, as a general rule, do not enjoy science fiction. They don’t enjoy travelling to other universes or running from stormtroopers or kicking some alien tail. And, as Dave Barry suggests in his essay, “Beauty and the Beast,” it all goes back to childhood (371). Guys, you remember the elation you had when you got your hands on a new Transformers action figure or a toy lightsaber to beat up your friends with. It was all about the action and the technology. The future was cool and you wanted nothing more than to be there. In fact, I’m going to go so far as to say that you were supposed to be there in that future, and somehow you got transported back to the past where there are no new problems to solve. No damsels to rescue, no planets to save, no aliens to defeat. Girls, on the other hand, had toy dolls with their dreamy prince companions, cars, dollhouses, ovens, mops, brooms, fake food, and other such nonsense. Girls are groomed from the get-go to be grounded in realism which explains their need for verisimilitude versus lasers, aliens, monsters, massive Hollywood explosions, and space ships. You start to see a pattern in development. Already, guys are being conditioned to look to the future as their mode of escape whilst women are encouraged to look to the past or present.
But the pattern isn’t exclusive to childhood toys or movie choices. Next time you’re at your local Wal-Mart, take a walk down the small, poorly stocked book aisle. It’s end to end filled with titles like, “Midnight Passion,” “A Lover’s Kiss,” or “Insert Generic Smut Title Here.” Women are reading Nora Roberts when guys are more inclined to read Robert Heinlein or Richard Matheson. Women are reading about muscle bound, irresistible yet intelligent men they could never find much less have while guys are reading about sexy robot space girls with green skin.
You might think, what’s the difference? Guys and girls both want something they can’t have. But there is a difference. There’s this illusion, this fairy tale ending, that gives women nice warm, fuzzy feelings while guys roll their eyes. The princess is swept away by her prince charming and they live happily ever after. Blech. Guys want conflict, and it doesn’t even have to be resolved. Guys want a problem to solve, and their groomed to put themselves into any situation and say, “What could I have done better?” Take a look at The Empire Strikes Back. Han Solo is frozen in carbonite, Luke finds out the most evil man in the galaxy happens to be his father (and he gets his hand chopped off), and Leia is left with the realization that she’s now in love with a newly formed hunk of rock. Bummer, right? No happy endings there, and that lack of resolution is enough to drive women mad.
And that is because women seek simplicity. They’ve been groomed to seek simplicity from day one going all the way back to their plastic kitchens and bubble gum ironing boards. Up until about thirty or forty years ago, it was expected of women to be simple. They were to cook for the man, clean the house, raise the children, and tend to the mundane tasks that men didn’t want to do. And men don’t want to do those things because they’ve been conditioned to think ahead. Look to the future. This world is man’s world to inherit, so they thought. Today, the world has been turned upside down, and though it may be for the better, we still have strong undercurrents of our past affecting our development. You don’t see too many Barbie dolls with gauss rifles and sonic grenades, and you certainly won’t find a GI Joe wearing an apron including an all-new action mop. It’s not going to happen. We’ve got these roles placed upon us by gender that have been so engrained generation after generation that we’re going to see this sort of thing for many years to come. Girls will seek simplicity. They will look to the past or present as their mode of escape, and guys will look to the future. It’s just a fact of life, and it may cause some minor conflicts on the home front.
So next time you’re faced with the question, “What do you want to watch?” just do what I do. Hand the remote to her and smile.
“Whatever works for you works for me, babe.”
Works Cited
Barry, Dave. “Beauty and the Beast.” The Longman Reader. Ed. Eliza Comodros, John Langman, and Judith Nadell. 9th ed. New York: Longman, 2009. 371. Print.
Winners of the Fall 2009 Writing Contest Announced
The English Department is happy to announce the winners of its Fall 2009 Writing Contest. Our judges noted that this year’s decision was the toughest yet. We had over sixty fiction and creative non-fiction entries, and they were all of very high quality.
We would like to thank all those who submitted in this semester’s contest. You should be proud that you made the first step in making your writing count. We hope that you continue to submit to contests in the future.
Fall 2009 Creative Non-Fiction Winners:
1st Place: Edward Smith for “The Happy Road”………………………..........$100
2nd Place: John Blunt for “Darth Vader Versus Fabio: For Dave Barry”……..$50
3rd Place: Bethany Joy Swoboda for “The Deer”………………………...….$25
Honorable Mention: Ryan Theissen’s “Inside of a Barn” and
Melissa McMahon’s “Burning Bras and Losing Hair”
Fall 2009 Fiction Contest Winners:
1st Place: Shawn Sullentrup for “Mr. Jones”………………………………… $100
2nd Place: Brian Farrar for “Willful Drowning”………………………………....$50
3rd Place: Elin Feldmann for “Prophecy”………………………………………$25
Honorable Mention: Nathan Krealmeyer for “The Life and Tragic Death of Patricia Spillsmore” and Fred Davis Jr. for “The Daoist Tale”
If you see these people, please give them a round of applause. They deserve it.
I would also like to thank our judges (Linda Barro, Sue Henderson, Leigh Kolb, and Lissa Rosebrough) and all those who helped promote this contest. You helped make this year’s contest a success.
All contest winners are automatically published in the Spring 2010 edition of the Literary Review, so everyone will get a chance to read the winning entries in April. Please look out for the Spring Poetry Contest next semester. Details: TBA.
Thank you for supporting the written arts!
We would like to thank all those who submitted in this semester’s contest. You should be proud that you made the first step in making your writing count. We hope that you continue to submit to contests in the future.
Fall 2009 Creative Non-Fiction Winners:
1st Place: Edward Smith for “The Happy Road”………………………..........$100
2nd Place: John Blunt for “Darth Vader Versus Fabio: For Dave Barry”……..$50
3rd Place: Bethany Joy Swoboda for “The Deer”………………………...….$25
Honorable Mention: Ryan Theissen’s “Inside of a Barn” and
Melissa McMahon’s “Burning Bras and Losing Hair”
Fall 2009 Fiction Contest Winners:
1st Place: Shawn Sullentrup for “Mr. Jones”………………………………… $100
2nd Place: Brian Farrar for “Willful Drowning”………………………………....$50
3rd Place: Elin Feldmann for “Prophecy”………………………………………$25
Honorable Mention: Nathan Krealmeyer for “The Life and Tragic Death of Patricia Spillsmore” and Fred Davis Jr. for “The Daoist Tale”
If you see these people, please give them a round of applause. They deserve it.
I would also like to thank our judges (Linda Barro, Sue Henderson, Leigh Kolb, and Lissa Rosebrough) and all those who helped promote this contest. You helped make this year’s contest a success.
All contest winners are automatically published in the Spring 2010 edition of the Literary Review, so everyone will get a chance to read the winning entries in April. Please look out for the Spring Poetry Contest next semester. Details: TBA.
Thank you for supporting the written arts!
Monday, May 4, 2009
3rd Place Winner - ECC English Dept.'s Spring Poetry Contest - Brian Farrar
Brian Farrar
Let This Be My Escape
(Inspired by Motion City Soundtrack's "Hello Helicopter")
I see my getaway
so close.
Close enough to taste the liberation
I’m owed.
I feel its violent
wind pushing on my chest,
mocking my wound.
I hear boots
rustling in the sand,
struggling for freedom.
I smell the oil from its engine.
The fuel, we’re fighting for.
Now it’s gone. Fleeing
from the land, as
hope flees my mind.
Helicopter, you fly so far above me I can’t
taste you now. I taste only the foreign dirt
grinding between my teeth,
and blood
bittersweet in my mouth.
Helicopter, now I can’t
feel you. I feel only the ground
under my back, and the bullet
trapped in my chest.
Helicopter, now I can’t
hear you. I can only hear the crackling
of a nearby fire and the sound of guns being shot.
Helicopter, now I can’t
smell you. I only smell flesh burning
as I lay on this battlefield.
Helicopter, now I can’t
see you. I see one final bullet in my gun,
and a choice not to be made lightly.
Let This Be My Escape
(Inspired by Motion City Soundtrack's "Hello Helicopter")
I see my getaway
so close.
Close enough to taste the liberation
I’m owed.
I feel its violent
wind pushing on my chest,
mocking my wound.
I hear boots
rustling in the sand,
struggling for freedom.
I smell the oil from its engine.
The fuel, we’re fighting for.
Now it’s gone. Fleeing
from the land, as
hope flees my mind.
Helicopter, you fly so far above me I can’t
taste you now. I taste only the foreign dirt
grinding between my teeth,
and blood
bittersweet in my mouth.
Helicopter, now I can’t
feel you. I feel only the ground
under my back, and the bullet
trapped in my chest.
Helicopter, now I can’t
hear you. I can only hear the crackling
of a nearby fire and the sound of guns being shot.
Helicopter, now I can’t
smell you. I only smell flesh burning
as I lay on this battlefield.
Helicopter, now I can’t
see you. I see one final bullet in my gun,
and a choice not to be made lightly.
Spring 2009 ECC Literary Review Contents
Ashley Adkison
Heave Ho (poem)
Confession (poem)
Amanda Aichholz
Subtle Appreciation (poem)
Kevin Branson
Felonious Resuscitation (non-fiction)
Jennifer Dixon
Sisters in Crime (fiction)
Untitled (poem)
Scars (fiction)
Brian Farrar
This is Punk (non-fiction)
Freedom (non-fiction)
Let This Be My Escape (poem)
Chelsey Hartupee
In Excess of Age (fiction)
William Hawkins
Hope, Follow Winter (fiction)
Thomas Modglin
Senseless Scentless Sentences pt. 1 (poem)
Darla Nordeck
Dad’s Guitar (poem)
Kim Pierce
If You Put Lipstick on a Pig, Is It Still a Pig? (non-fiction)
Christine Pennington
Ode to a Notebook (poem)
Gina Petzold
You Don’t Have To Tell Them, They Already Know (poem)
Shawn Sullentrup
The Porch Swing
The Vacation
Elizabeth Teague
Give the Devil His Due (fiction)
Danita Wilson
The Glass (poem)
Steven Wise
The Modern Knight (non-fiction)
Welcome to the ECC Literary Review Blog!
Hello fellow readers and writers,
This blog was created for those who read and submit to East Central College's Literary Review. The Literary Review is created by the students of ECC's main (Union, MO) and satellite campuses (Rolla, Washington, Warrenton, and Sullivan). We accept poetry, fiction, and non-fiction submissions in the Fall and Spring semesters. Submission guidelines: TBA. The Lit. Review is an annual publication, published in the Spring.
The Spring 2009 issue of the ECC Literary Review is out now! New issues are only $4 and are available for purchase from Josh Stroup, English Instructor and Lit Review, faculty advisor in AC 153 or email, jpstroup@eastcentral.edu for more information.
This blog was created for those who read and submit to East Central College's Literary Review. The Literary Review is created by the students of ECC's main (Union, MO) and satellite campuses (Rolla, Washington, Warrenton, and Sullivan). We accept poetry, fiction, and non-fiction submissions in the Fall and Spring semesters. Submission guidelines: TBA. The Lit. Review is an annual publication, published in the Spring.
The Spring 2009 issue of the ECC Literary Review is out now! New issues are only $4 and are available for purchase from Josh Stroup, English Instructor and Lit Review, faculty advisor in AC 153 or email, jpstroup@eastcentral.edu for more information.
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