I Hear the Cocking
(Rhyming)
Running’s no fun
I much prefer walking
Unless there’s a gun
Then there’s no talking
No better time for runs
Than a bullet’s quick stalking
Hotter than fresh buns
Dead after a fresh Glocking
Anxiety Thinking
(Free Verse)
Anxiety thinks he is wrong
But knows he is not.
No.
Anxiety knows he is wrong
But thinks he is not.
No.
Anxiety thinks nothing
And feels everything.
Yes.
He will never wane
And he deserves it.
Dying Times
(Haiku)
Permanence is fake
Forever is a long time
Won’t make it ‘till then
Trying; Tried
(Tanka)
Try again for once.
Only champions can rise
From where they once failed.
What kind of story is it,
Your memory collection?
Contracted The Devil
(Lyrics)
He’s breaking up the posture of the man.
Please let him address the problem, if you can.
Cry again he’ll BLEED you out.
Question him again you’ll be devout.
Trade with me your darkest fantasies,
I’ll give you love and comfort
Like you’ve never seen.
He’s makin’ you scream, the blood is gushing out.
No place you’d rather be than here and now.
I think we lost him. No, he’s coming back.
He’s coming to, but now his soul is black.
Trade with me your darkest fantasies,
I’ll give you love and comfort
Like you’ve never seen.
You’re walking now, be running soon.
You recovered but still he’ll come for you.
My apologies, you should have been warned…
The devil doesn’t need a contract anymore.
Kona
I woke up to my mom telling me that my dog had died. His body was still here, and she told me to come say goodbye. My first first feeling wasn’t sadness that my dog had died, it was more like pity for myself that I now had to get out of my comfortable bed to deal with it. I tossed and turned, trying to get comfortable again. My brother had already gotten out of his bed which was next the night stand that divided our room into our two respective sides. After my ten minutes of self-pity were up, I reluctantly ventured outside of my warm sheets and the day slapped my unsuspecting body with its good morning chills. I opened my broken shirt drawer that was full of pants, long sleeve shirts, and t-shirts. I don’t even know why I had other drawers, I only ever threw my clothes into this one. Even though it broke, I never broke the habit of using it.
I walked down the hallway staring down the November colored rug that followed us around everywhere we moved. Still hazy after my recent awakening, I let out a long yawn as I entered the family room and laid eyes on my dog. His presence turned my yawn into me surprisingly clearing my throat. I don’t know what I expected. Maybe my body just assumed I was walking out through my family room to get to the kitchen for breakfast like every other morning. This morning was much different. I got the same feeling I would get on Christmas or Easter of this being a special day, like the day had a filter over it and it will have always been that way no matter what. Like how on Christmas or Easter a child rushes out of bed because he must see his presents, except I was reluctantly getting out of bed to see my dead dog. It wasn’t like I was excited to see my dead dog, but it was the only day I could have seen my dead dog, and in that way, this day was special. His body faced towards the TV on the larger version of the hallway rug, lying like he would have to take one of his afternoon snoozes any other day. His layers of brown and white fur still dusted the house, irritating everyone’s eyes and making the living room smell like his personal doghouse that others were graciously allowed to light candles and incense in. Words were said by my parents in this moment, but they were unimportant. They actually angered me. No words could erase the dead dog in front of me.
He was a big dog, probably around 85 pounds, but my dad managed to wedge his arms under his stomach. He lifted the furry corpse up and I finally saw his face. His eyelids were still half open and his lifeless jaw fell agape. There were glossy marbles in place of the sweet brown eyes that once begged for bites of chicken, and now beg for nothing. I felt as empty as him. I would look like that one day. The life would leave my body and my eyes would not be mine anymore, they would be marbles. Those who loved me would not be able to bare the sight of my cold, stiff face. I imagined my fingers would tingle as my essence escaped through them, leaving me like fizz leaves a soda flat. At this moment, I finally felt something. An overwhelming amount of sadness painted my face and bubbled from my chest up to where my throat becomes my mouth. I swallowed the feeling and briskly walked back the way I came through the hallway. I made it into the bathroom where I proceeded to cry dry tears into my loosely balled up fist. The moment his jaw fell open looped in my mind. He still looked so tired… I just wanted to see him running in the yard again, getting excited at the sight of his old chewed up tennis ball. He would always bring the ball to me so that I could toss it and watch him run unathletically towards it, get tired from the run, lie down, chew on the ball, then walk back to me a few minutes later. Never again would that happen. Never again would he lie down in the middle of doorways just to get stepped over all day.
I heard the car start outside and went to look out my bedroom window. My dad was in the driver’s seat and Kona was no doubt accompanying him for the final time. I didn’t want to know where they were on their way to, and never would I ask. I went and laid back down in my bed, resenting the air for making the bed cold in my absence.
Tate Shanley-Beaudry
Words: 1321
Grade 12
The Way it is
Theo Beauman walks down the mildew scented hallway half-smiling and half not because he cannot decide how he is feeling. While he walks, he swings his backpack to his front and unzips it to grab the home lunch he made for himself the night before. His bologna mayonnaise sandwich accented with mildew steadily becoming bolus in his mouth. He nears the end of the hallway and sees the blue door leading outside. Taped unevenly on the inside of the the door is a poster that was not there yesterday. Just more propaganda from people trying to confuse everybody’s opinion. Most people do not know the facts, and just follow whichever voice sounds like it knows what it’s talking about. Therefore, most people are voting wrong. Theo could have voted correctly, were he not trapped in the body of an 18 year old. He has never felt that his age represents him. Since birth he has been gifted with artificial experience as if he sees all of the possibilities that his peers don’t. This is why Theo does no socializing; he finds his own company the most tolerable. Theo can’t even find an adult that he thinks worth his time. They are all too stupid or think they know better than him, and they should know better than that. Theo sits in the damp grass eating his lunch alone, as planned.
After a long day of listening to adults that feign wisdom as if being 50 makes them a higher life-form, he gets on his usual green bus and sits in his usual spot at the very back where nobody can hear him think his unusual thoughts. His thoughts are not to be shared out loud, but he sometimes decides they ought to be. These are the rare occasions where Theo raises his hand in class. Theo thinks his unusual thoughts until his brain betrays him and thinks the wrong thought: he was going to his home. With a heart thump and a new feeling of dread conjuring in his chest, he thinks about what is waiting for him at home. His three younger brothers with intelligence rivaling that of a newt, his sweet but oblivious mother, and his hard to look at impossible to be around stepdad. “Impossible to be around” is an understatement. Theo’s step dad is the type of person to cheat on his wife and forbid her from so much as talking to another man. It was not this that made Theo feel helpless, it was that his dear, sweet mother of whom was the only person Theo could stand on this earth, and whom might even love, still thought that he had a good side. It is her fault that Theo often could not focus in class for the dread of going home occupies his thoughts, it is her fault that his younger siblings all share his step dad’s small piercing eyes and altruistic ideals, and it was her fault that Theo is alone…
Theo arises and walks to his dresser. He looks from his white shirt up to his mop of dirty blonde hair. His eyes involuntarily make contact with themselves in his mirror. Tired is always the way he looks. It doesn’t matter how much sleep, how much water, how much effort, the dark circles are there to stay. If only boys could put on makeup. He chuckles briefly to himself picturing the looks on everyone’s face seeing him, with the quiet intellectual air he has emulated through all of his high school tenure, walking through the halls with a face caked in lipstick and rouge. Theo’s chuckle stops when he realises that most people would have a friend or two that they could share this thought with. Theo has a mirror.
Theo’s mother has been gone for two days to represent her kitchen appliance company, so his step dad took this as permission to behave even less like an adult. Instead of learning how to cope with his anger issues and low I.Q., he searches for people to be mad at and creates any justification in his own mind why he should be. It’s not unlike trapping a bee in a jar, shaking the jar, and letting the angry bee fly out of the jar around children. The whole night so far has been filled with hearing him thump around and yell upstairs. He’s shaking his own jar. Theo’s step dad marches down the stairs leading to the hallway and then then either the kitchen or the door. Despite Theo’s half-hearted prayers, the man’s steps get closer and before long he bumbles into the kitchen where Theo is doing his homework. He looks more frazzled than usual. Some people are happy drunks, some are flirty, and some are angry. Some are violent.
“What are you doing?,” he barks with the same tone one would use to get a criminal to drop a gun. Theo’s eyes scan the room pretending or hoping that he is talking to someone else.
“Homework,” Theo says tentatively, not breaking eye contact with his graphing worksheet.
“Why can’t you do that in your own damn room?”
Buzz…
“There’s no table in my room.”
Theo surprises himself with how calm he sounds despite how hotly annoyed he actually is. Why does he feel the need to ask him these stupid questions? Every day is filled with the same things all trying to unhinge Theo and make him do something he does not want to. The thoughts he has are often not his own, they are coming from somewhere else. A place where people can give in to their hedonistic and violent tendencies. A place where his step dad surely belonged. The man grunts and searches for other unpunctured flesh to shove his hateful stinger in. He won’t be denied his daily fresh spread of hatred, and Theo knows this. He walks into the living room where his children are and Theo sighs. It’s back to the graphs until one of his siblings is heard loudly crying and screaming. God damn it.
Theo crashes open the door to see his step dad standing over his three children, one of whom looks at Theo with a sort of panicked relief that he has never seen before. His step dad stands breathing heavily and turns his unremorseful face towards his eldest victim. The two lock eyes. Theo is not letting him get away with this, and the man knows this. He makes a lunge for Theo who simply slams the door with his foot against it. Shit! Theo steps as far away from the door as he can without letting his foot up. His step dad isn’t even trying to enter through the door, it seems his tiny brain could only think of banging on it. Theo reaches for the nearest drawer and tries to slide it open. The drawer completely comes out and crashes on the floor. The step dad seems to have turned back to his children. Theo did not know what he was mad about, nor did it matter. The papers that the drawer contained were all over the floor. A shine of metal peaks through the papers and Theo gets on his knee awkwardly not letting his foot up. He sifts through the papers for a second before finding the somewhat dull letter opener that’s purpose was once to open letters. Today it has a new purpose.
Theo doesn’t recall making the choice to take a life, but sometimes instinct takes priority over the consciousness. Perhaps if the consciousness is troubled enough, instinct is all that remains. It is possible that Theo has lost it, but he certainly knows right from wrong. The only thing he regrets is not doing it sooner. Theo sits with his crimson shirt, takes a deep breath, and finally does his homework in peace, contentedly.