Archive for the ‘Fiction’ Category


In Fiction, Group 3 on December 7, 2010 at 9:21 am

By Molly Parker

Fucking women. Stupid, glorious creatures he so loved to adore, but were incapable of the slightest bit of empathy. Most eyed him with a look of uncertain pity, some physically recoiled from his person, and all of them, at some point, rolled their eyes. How he hated that dismissive gesture. It was inevitable. He would approach them with an aura of positive energy surrounding him, filling his heart with hope, and say something sensitive and understanding. They would roll their eyes. Damn them! He was not the one who scarred them, caused the pain which rendered them unable to trust. He only wanted to find a companion, his treasured companion, and try to move along with his life with her by his side. He had had his share of scarring occurrences in his short existence. He knew how it felt to be both used and discarded all at once, left feeling damaged and inadequate. He knew the pain of being rejected by those morally obligated to be his family and care for him. Yet, despite the unfortunate hand he had been dealt, he knew better than to transfer the blame for these events onto people completely uninvolved in hurting him. They were not there; how could he feel negatively towards them?

Strolling down the streets of the metropolis he called home, he reached tentatively into his jacket pocket in order to re-establish in his mind what object was held there. During that millisecond he knew only that it was heavy, causing the jacket to hang askew on his shoulders, pulled down noticeably on the left. When his hand closed over the handle of the hammer, the wood smoothed by years of hard use, sincere surprised registered on his face and remained there while his fingers made acquaintance with the cold iron of the head. What in the world? What was he doing with a hammer? More importantly, who carries a hammer in their jacket pocket? This guy, apparently. He had no recollection of putting it there, a fact which frightened him deeply. Could this be connected with the blackouts he had been having as of late?

The city hung in a beautiful limbo between the purple night sky and the garish lights of the commercial establishments lining the block, providing an ideal environment for this brief flash of nostalgia. He was quickly taken back ten years, seven months, and eleven days to the moment he realized he was in love with her. Norma. They had met in the parking lot behind the church where local AA meetings were held, both waiting for a parent to emerge miraculously purged of the demons who tormented them and their sweet, impressionable children. Norma was breathtaking in her Nirvana t-shirt and ripped-up jeans, her hair in casual disarray. He wore a Metallica t-shirt and a dopey smile. It was love at first angst. They spent the rest of that fantastic evening hiding in the heavily-wooded lot which made up the rear perimeter of the church yard, smoking and bitching about their respective alcoholic parents, his mother, her father. For him it was less like finding a love interest, more like finding a home. A place to feel welcomed, supported, cared for. God, he loved that girl. Worshiped her was a more accurate word for it, really. And who could blame him? His entire life up to that point had been spent in vain trying to gain the affection of a single woman, and here was a girl who accepted him, as he was, at first encounter. His love for Norma and his hate for his mother grew in equal amounts, both heavily affected by the other. Mother. What a joke.

He and Norma were immediately inseparable. Their idealistic romance continued through high school, until their junior year. It was February, and they had been having sex for just over three months. They made love with caution, mindful of the horrid upbringings they had both endured due to being raised by people who were mere children themselves. In spite of the care they took, a life was formed within his lovely counterpart, equals parts Norma and himself. After their initial shock and fear subsided, they locked eyes and came to an agreement: they would escape this fruitless town and lay roots elsewhere, thereby shielding their microscopic child from the family and friends who had so long dragged them down. It was a perfect plan, trimmed in the excitement that only utter cluelessness can provide. Until Norma’s father found out, that was. He opened a letter addressed to his daughter, as was his normal routine. It was the official results from the women’s clinic, having been sent to the house despite Norma’s desperate instructions against it. No one can know exactly how he reacted upon initial discovery, but when the boy and Norma came walking up the driveway, home from the library, her father was waiting on the porch with an aluminum baseball bat. Norma screamed for her young suitor to run; they both thought he was her father’s intended victim. He wasn’t. Her dad came after Norma like an enraged bull, laying blow after blow upon her back, her head, her stomach. Especially her stomach. He remembered how Mr. Malevo’s skin was slick with sweat when he jumped on his back from behind, punching wildly at his face and arms. Her father threw him, with the strength of a volatile drunk, ten yards down the driveway. His head bounced viciously against the asphalt. He regained consciousness just in time to witness Norma hemorrhaging in the grass just out of his reach. She smiled at him as she took her last breath, her life, and the life of their baby, extinguished in front of his very eyes. Hate bloomed within him, quelled only when a merciful darkness finally overtook him.

The man took a deep breath, and shook out his arms. He despised reliving that day. The strongest emotion, however, was regret. Regret that he never went back to avenge the death of his beloved jewel and their love-child, a child conceived of actual Love. Ever since then, he was plagued with fantasies of murder, of taking a blunt object and ejecting the life out of that man, that abomination. How dare he? Who the fuck was he to make that sort of decision? He never deserved to have Norma as a daughter. The man wavered unsteadily on his feet, sensing the darkness trying to steal time away from him again. At last, he submitted. No one was there to watch him fall.

Oh holy hell. That dumb sonofabitch went out walking again, didn’t he? I swear to fucking God, he is such a pansy-ass wuss-ball, if I could get my hands on him I would wring his stupid little neck. He gets all emotional and escapes to the fluffy pillows in the back of our mind, leaving me to step forward and deal with whatever injury we may have incurred when he “fainted.” How I hate that fucking bastard. Leonard is his name, in case you wondered. He hates it, and I don’t blame him. You can call me Leroy. Bad, bad, Leroy Brown. I will kill a mother-fucker before I let them disrespect me, you can goddam believe it. So really, I should be thanking Leonard, for here I am, on the dark streets of my wondrous hometown, with my trusty little hammer in my pocket. I can’t believe he didn’t dispose of this, especially with it being all covered in blood and chunks of that old man’s brain. Maybe he didn’t even know it was there. Maybe he did. Maybe, deep down, he realized that I’m here, and that I only want to make this all go away for him. I kill people to cleanse my(our)self of our past, as a way to let out some of this fucking rage that’s been holding us hostage all these years. He seeks Norma, I seek death.

Molly Parker is a wife,mother, and Criminal Justice major.


The Three Little Pigs

In Fiction, Group 1 on December 7, 2010 at 8:25 am


By Steve McNamara

  It is now day 3 of the hunt. I am tired of tracking these pigs but I know I must continue for my fight is right, and my cause is righteous. As I track the two pigs that got away I can not help but think of the reason I am hunting these pigs. For years the deaths of my parents have haunted me. For years I have searched every woodland, every mountain, every farm, every sea for clues. It all boiled down to me finding those cowards that set up and killed my parents. Those three…little…pigs. They killed my parents in cold blood and made them look like murders. For what? I do not know. But I damn sure am going to find out.

                                I must continue to forge on, I keep telling myself. And I do. I see the tracks getting warmer and I know I am getting closer. Through the thick brush I push through. I fight my way through the thickets and through the dead brush up to an incline. The path opens up to a hill with a lone structure on top. I think to myself, this has to be it, this has to be where these cowards are hiding. I trek up the hill with full intention of retribution in my heart. On all fours I climb leg by leg, paw by paw until the structure becomes more and more clear. It is a brick building. Well built. I keep climbing thinking this will not be easy. I must have been lying to myself thinking it would be easy.

                                I make it to the top of the hill, facing the brick structure. As I approach the house I hear the squeals of those horrible animals and the slam of a door. While walking closer and closer I can see a snout and a pair of eyes on me from inside the house. I yell at the pigs inside, “Come out you cowards! Come out and face me!” I wait and hear no response. So again I yell, “Get your fat asses out here!” and again I wait for a response. There is no movement. I start looking at the structure when I hear a voice inside. “You may of knocked down my brothers houses but never will you do the same to mine. Where my brothers may lack the proper knowledge and foresight in building a sturdy permanent house, I do not.”

                                I replied back, “Are you mocking me pig? I know what you and your brothers have done. I have come too far to walk away from this. I will get into your house and make you pay for what you have done.” I could hear the pigs inside laughing, they were mocking me, I just know it. They should get their laughs in now while they can still breathe. One of the pigs finally responded back, “What are you talking about wolf, we have done nothing to you, and your fight is with someone else” After hearing that remark I became very heated. I shouted back, “Do you remember the night of December 11th, Do you remember Larry and Sarah Wolf, two hard working wolves that did nothing wrong to you or anyone, Do you remember killing them in cold blood! Do you remember that pigs!” Silence filled the area.

                                One of the pigs replied from inside, “I do not remember a Larry and Sarah Wolf, but I do remember two dirty wolves that needed to be taken care of. They were building up a good reputation for wolves and pigs became the filth of the world. So we set up those two to make it look like they killed that family of bunnies and then killed each other. They were acceptable losses. They were nothing but big…bad…wolves.”

                                Livid, I couldn’t contain myself. I started getting worked up, shouting obscenities. Breathing heavily I started to pant; I started to suck in more and more of the air. I looked at the house and my eyes filled up with rage. Taking in what seemed like all the sky into my lungs I began to huff, I began to puff, and I blew with all my strength trying to blow down the house.

                                Trees began to uproot, the sky turned black and the air filled with a thick cloud of dust. I found myself on the ground looking through the clouded air. Waiting to see a pile of rubble I continued to wait. Slowly as the dust settled all I could see was a brick wall. As the dust settled some more I could see the entire area around the house was destroyed. But then I saw the house still standing, still intact. I was devastated. My gut felt like it was upside down. I had a giant lump in my throat. Becoming overcome with emotions I blurted out, “I am going to murder you bastards!” From inside I heard a pig laugh and say, “You can’t do a thing, you’re worthless just like your worthless parents.”

                                Further enraged I continued to pant again, I began to breathe heavily. Sucking in as much air as possible, seemingly sucking the very clouds out of the sky I filled my lungs to capacity. With every fiber of my being I huffed with great exuberance, I puffed with all of my might and I tried to blow the house off the face of this earth. I felt the ground shake. I blew with such force my body went flying into a pile of debris. Lying and waiting again, I felt my weak body struggling to move. With a smirk on my face I knew the house must have been absolutely obliterated, however I still could not see anything yet. Slowly the sky began to settle and the dust began to clear. I glanced up, only to see the house still standing. I felt dead. I didn’t know how something like this could happen. Closing my eyes my mind began to race, thinking of my parents, thinking of how I must of let my parents down. I had come so far only to be stopped by that damn brick and mortar.

                                As I was lying in what appeared to be my grave I heard the opening of a door. I slowly opened my eyes to see the three pigs I pursued to be standing above me with one wielding a 12 gauge shot gun.  The pigs began to gloat, “I told you that you wouldn’t be able to get in. You wolves are so dumb, you do not deserve a place on this earth.”

                                “You can huff and puff all you want but it will all be in vain. You wolves are the scum of the earth and one less wolf in this world is a world that I want to live in.” Upon saying this the pigs squealed and laughed at this with disgusting humor. The pig wielding the shot gun pumps the handle. An empty cartridge flies out and another one loads into the barrel. The pig shoves the gun closer to my face and asks, “Any last words wolf?”

                                I begin to squirm up to a seated position and start to smile. I say “Yea, you should have never come out of that house.” Upon finishing my sentence I sweep the leg of the pig holding the shotgun while knocking the barrel away from my face. The pig falls and the other two attempt to jump on top of me. I grab the shot gun and thrust the butt of the gun into one of the pig’s face while rotating my opposite elbow across the nose of the other lunging pig.

                                I stagger to gain my balance as the first pig starts to lunge at me. I quickly round house kick the pig knocking him down. Pumping the shot gun I shoot and hit the two pigs still lying on the ground.

Pump, Click, Boom!

Pump, Click, Boom!

                                Just Like that two thirds of my problem is done. I slowly turn around and start making my way towards the last pig on the ground. Holding his own shot gun I stagger closer and closer to him. The pig on his back attempts to crawl away.

                                I had enough strength in me to stomp my foot into his chest and stop his movement in his tracks. The pig begins to whimper, he pled, “Look, Look you killed two of my own, all that stuff was their idea, I love wolves, and they made me do it.” Excuse after excuse, they didn’t all make sense and I knew this cowardly swine was just trying to get out of the situation. I point the shot gun right into the pig’s face and say, “A world with one less pig is a world I want to live in.”

Pump, Click, Boom!

                                I drop the gun and collapse to my knees. I think I did it…I really did it. I caught them and made them pay, The weight of the world was lifted from my shoulders. I then fell to my back looking up into the sky thinking I have finally avenged my parent’s death. I can finally rest. It’s all over.

Steve McNamara is a free spirited individual that loves to help the rainforest and hug dolphins in his free time. He also is super awesome in the world of Cricket.

Two Dumb Pigs and My Brother-In-Law

In Fiction, Group 1 on December 6, 2010 at 9:57 pm

By Henry Smith

So what happened to telling full stories nowadays?  Since when did my husband and my brother-in-law’s names become The Three Little Pigs?  Does it even sound logical for a wolf to have enough strength to blow a fence over, let alone a house?  This is why I do not associate myself with gossip.  Gossip is just no good and by the end of the week the original piece of information is almost the exact opposite.  Well I am going to tell you the real story of how things actually happened in the story of the Three Little Pigs. Details such as what everyone’s names were, the lead up to the houses being attacked, and the scoop on other characters that were not mentioned like me.

Hi my name is Pamela, I am the wife of the genius little pig who thought that building his house out of sticks would be a good idea.  His name is Mike, I met him and we began dating while we were in college.  Our relationship started during our sophomore year at the University of Piglets.  It was a pleasure to get to know him and his other two brothers Mario and Monroe, they were triplets.  As me and Mike went on dates we got very close and he saw how well I got along with his mother Mrs. Piggy.  That led Mike to ask for my hand in marriage right after we graduated from college, I accepted.  We had a wonderful wedding and honeymoon, which made our futures look very bright.  Now we had the daunting task of trying to find a house to live in and start a family.  Little did I know that it was Mike’s family tradition for the males to build their own house.  Since me and Mike got married right after college not only did Mike have to build a house, but so did his brothers. 

I had my doubts, but I figured that since all of their majors were in architecture that Mike and his brothers would easily be able to create their own houses.  Boy was I wrong.  It seemed that Monroe was the only one who actually paid attention to what he was taught in his architecture classes.  During a family gathering at Mrs. Piggy’s house, Monroe explained his elaborate blueprint of the house he planned to create to everyone.  Although he said it would be time consuming and costly, Monroe figured that in the long run it would pay off.  My husband and his brother Mario did not consider the same factors.  Mario had always been known for being cheap and carried this same trait in housing decision.  Mario found out that he could build his house for nearly a third of what Monroe paid for brick by substituting it with straw.  I love my husband to death, but he is one lazy pig because he did not do much better in his choice.  We had the finances to purchase brick to make our house, but he knew if chose brick it would be a lot longer and harder to make our house, so he chose sticks instead. 

Mike made me so frustrated that he was going to put us in a house made of sticks, even with knowing how many wild wolves were in our city.  Sadly, even in today’s time of increased law enforcement and better knowledge about morals, there are still wild wolves who try to eat weaker animals.  But Mike assured me that we would be fine and not to keep worrying about it so I tried my best not to.  A few weeks later, all three of them completed their houses and everyone had moved in them.  Things were going well and my worries were slowly beginning to fade until me and Mike received some horrible news from Mario.  Mario called our house very late at night from his car saying that a wolf had used his claws to tear apart one of the walls of the straw made house and tried to eat him.  Mario said he barely got away and that he was now terrified.  Mario then went on to say that he would have asked Monroe if he could have stayed in his brick house but Monroe had a hot date that night and he did not want to interrupt.  So we let him stay that night with us, but I could not go back to sleep thinking if the same thing happened to us would we be so lucky to get away?

The next morning Monroe heard about the attack and he immediately insisted that Mario, Mike, and I should have came to stay with him until both of our houses were redesigned with brick.  Mike turned down the offer, claiming that the wolves could not tear through his sticks and the chances of another attack would be slim.  Mario said that the brick still would have cost too much. Mario also said that he would rather stay at our house because we had better video games to play than Monroe.  I really tried to convince Mike and Mario that they should have taken Monroe’s advice, because all of our lives were at stake.  Not only was I unsuccessful, but even Mrs. Piggy’s words could not convince them to use brick as protection for their houses.  At that point, all I could do was try to convince myself that Mike and his brother were right.  What were the chances of another wolf coming to attack my house, too?

However, the chances of another wolf attack were higher than we thought.  The wolf that attacked Mario had tracked his scent and followed him on his drive to our house.  For a few days the wolf was spying on our house and waited on the perfect opportunity to attack us while we were sleeping, in hopes of feasting on all of us. Ironically, the day leading up to the night of the wolf’s attack had gone by so lovely.  It was a Saturday and I woke up Mike to a beautiful bed-in-breakfast of his favorite morning meals.  After we both sat down and ate, he returned the favor by cleaning up the entire house.  Then we drank a couple beers and watched some college football on the big screen in our living room.  We cheered as our University of Piglets devoured our longtime rival school, Mudhog Tech.  Even though Mario was staying with us at the time, he was scheduled to work during the whole day, so we had the house to ourselves.  We were able to make passionate love as loud as are hearts desired and slept until it was dinner time. 

While Mike and I ate dinner, Mario had finally got off of work and joined us at the dining table.  We laughed and enjoyed our meals as Mario joked about his interesting day at work until it was time for bed.  About three hours into my sleep, I woke up to a loud scraping sound and right after a howling noise.  The howling noise also woke up Mike, so he quickly got dressed grabbed his bat and ran into the guest room to make sure his brother was okay.  Mike came to find Mario in the claws of a wild wolf that was obviously looking for a feast.  Mike cocked his bat back and swung as hard as he could over the wolf’s back.  The wolf shrieked and fell over the floor instantly.  Mike grabbed Mario then darted back into our room grabbed me and we all ran as fast we could out front door to Mike’s car and took off.  As we were driving away we could see the wolf coming out of the hole on the side house he created and chasing us as if he knew exactly where we were going.

We knew the safest place to go to was Monroe’s house, so I called him and explained to him what had just happened.  He took the news calmly, told me that everything was going to be okay, and to get over to his house as fast as possible.  Monroe knew that the wolf had got a hold of our scents and he was going to try to track us down within a matter of hours.  When we arrived at Monroe’s house he gave us soup, comforted us, and told us to get some rest.  Mike and Mario could not believe their eyes.  Mario questioned Monroe by saying, “Why are you not afraid bro?  Do you know that wolf wants to eat us!” Monroe carefully explained how there was no way that the wolf could tear through the brick walls of his house.  Then he went on to say that he took pride in his house and prepared for situations like these.  Also that his safety was much more important than any amount of money or free time Mike or Mario always gave more value.  Before the two could even respond back to Monroe, the wolf had already reached the house.  The wolf began banging on the door, clawing away at the brick walls, and howling as if he had not eaten in months.  The wolf was so desperate that he did not realize how long he was taking to try to get in the house.  Mario, Mike, and I were very afraid but Monroe kept his calm manner, grabbed the phone, and called the police.  The police arrived on the scene and shot the wolf with a tranquilizer gun immediately.  Once I saw that the wolf was unconscious and handcuffed, I looked Mike directly in the face and said, “I love you, but if you don’t start using that brick-head of yours to actually make our house out of brick, I’m leaving!”

Henry Smith is a person who balls it up on the basketball court, and will school you and your mother, and he also has a little softer side that likes to take long walks on the beach with his pet snail.


In Fiction, Group 2 on December 6, 2010 at 7:31 pm

By Daniel Radkey

I can smell the fear. It is thick in the air. Overwhelming, intoxicating, like a drug I cannot be satiated by. As I dart in and out of the brush I catch a glimpse of my prey, then it’s gone. I can’t see it, but I don’t need to. The scent in the air is so heavy I can practically see it, like streamers trailing off the backside of my prey.

The forest is teeming with life. It is a new season and everything is fresh and new. The trees have begun to blossom and the fresh petals slowly fall to the ground like a velvety blanket of snow. The evergreens seem to have turned an even deeper green than they normally are and the squirrels that jump from branch to branch sound like little children playfully chattering at each other or at any other animals that “dare” to enter their elevated domain. The rush of the river in the far distance is a constant underlying soundtrack to the never ending sounds of the forest. Paired with the sounds of the chirping birds and the busy insects, the noise is deafening, almost intolerable.

Even with all these noises, and smells, and other animals, there was still only the two of us, hunter and prey. It knew it as much as I, knew my hunger just as much as I knew its fear. I could hear the blood pumping; the heavy panicked breathing just as if it was standing right next to me. As we neared the bottom of a small ravine there was a break in the brush. With nowhere to go but open field I finally caught sight of it. Taller than I, with lovely, meaty haunches, coiled tight like a spring ready to release all of the pent up tension.  Small horns on its head that were more for show than anything else. Once I was on top of it those horns would be useless, nothing more than an ornament gracing the top of its head. As I gained, matching stride for stride, I could sense its panic, eyes bulging looking for a way out, but we both know. It’s too late. As I leave the ground I know, my teeth will find purchase on what they seek. We both hit the ground, it crumples under my weight helpless but struggling. It kicks, trying frantically to escape just as my teeth rip through its soft tender flesh. Ecstasy, bliss, as the warm salty blood rushes over my tongue, gushes onto my face. I can sense its death, slowly ebbing from it, with every spray of blood onto my muzzle. Even more satisfying is the knowledge that I will eat well tonight. I will survive here, on my own.

I slept well that day, better than I had since the frost left. I almost didn’t notice the loud noise of some awkward creature stomping through the wood, like some injured doe that pays no mind to the trail it leaves behind. I was not hungry, but this was not a scent I was familiar with. I had to know what it was. I caught glimpses of a tall creature, which stood on its two hind legs. She had the scent of a female. Perfumed like the blossoms on the trees, but it could not cover the scent of her, the unequivocal smell of the female’s musk. It differed from any other animal but it was unmistakable. She was tall, pale hide like the freshly fallen snow, and her mane was a deep dark crimson, darker than any fox I’d ever seen, dark as the blood that ran from my prey’s neck. She carried a bundle of sticks that seemed to be woven together for some purpose and out of the top of this bundle I could see the small heads of fungus from the wood that I found extremely unappetizing and dry. She seemed to be lost, fumbling about in the wood with no purpose or direction. There was something innocent about this creature, unassuming and pure. I found myself drawn to it. There was no sense of fear, or hate, which were the two things I was most familiar with. She turned back towards me and as she fumbled through the underbrush she caught sight of me. I could feel her tense, but her fear was different, she seemed excited by it, aroused. She did not run. Why didn’t she run? All the animals run when they see me. Instead, she took a step forward. “Hello” she said.” What a beautiful fur coat you have my darling wolf”. Why was she not running? She took another step forward. I snarled a warning, she hesitated but still advanced. “What beautiful fangs you have my darling wolf”. I felt strangely at peace with this creature. She did not run, she was not scared, at least not like the other animals are scared. I could hear her heart beating like a drum within her bosom but she did not let it show. She took another step forward and was standing directly in front of me. The scent of her filled my nostrils and calmed my tightened muscles, the hair on my back returning to its normal lackadaisical manner.  “ I seem to be lost out here in the woods” she said to me,  “my grandmother warned me of the fierce wolves deep in the forest but you seem nice enough to me, doesn’t seem like you want to eat me now do you?”  In the distance I could hear a sound, like a crane crying, “Red, oh Red! Where are you?” “It’s my grandmother” She said, ‘she must have known I was lost when I didn’t come right back! I have to go now, it was very nice to meet you” and she scampered off into the woods towards the sound of her kin.

A few moons passed, and I had all but forgotten my strange encounter in the woods. My last meal was exhausted, what I could not consume the various other woodland creatures had finished for me, cleaning the flesh from its bones until they were bare. It was time to look for my next meal. There was a storm on the wind, and not a very good time to hunt, but meals were scarce, and I had to use every moment to survive out here.  As I stalked through the woods, the wind howling through the trees, I searched for any scent of prey. Through the muddled scents of the storm I suddenly picked up on something very familiar. There she was, the strange creature from before, only this time there was fear.  Not of me, she could sense the storm too, and she was panicked. I followed the scent until I came upon a small sapling uprooted and fallen. She was lying underneath it, trying to escape.  “Oh Mr. Wolf!” she cried “I’m so glad to see you! Please help me!” I could not let this poor creature suffer as if in a hunter’s trap, as quickly as I considered making a meal of this sweet young girl I was already pulling the branches of the tree aside to free her from it. “Thank you, I knew you were a kind soul and would never hurt me.” As I turned away to continue my hunt I realized that she was following me. I turned and snarled. “Please, I’m lost and don’t know what to do.” She continued to follow me. She followed me through the thick woods; she didn’t even waver when the storm finally blanketed the darkening woods. As the water fell from the sky I knew that any chance of a meal tonight was long past, there were flashes of light in the sky, and any sensible animal was seeking shelter in the trees or their burrows. Still, she followed me.

As I reached my den I could sense it, her fear, her excitement was peaking, she couldn’t brave the dark woods by herself in this storm, but every nerve in her body was screaming for her not to enter with me. I could hear it in her breath, in the tense heaving of her breasts. “I’m coming in, you won’t hurt me right?”  She followed me in, timid like a field mouse, but still confident. No more hunting tonight, I may as well get some rest and try to be ready for tomorrow’s hunt. Still she followed me.

As I lay down she slowly removed the cloth that covered her pale hide. I could see the rain sliding down her smooth hairless body, skin glistening in the moonlight that shone in through the trees into my den. Her body offered up an unwilling shudder. I curled myself into a ball. Let this creature do what she may, it’s of no concern to me, even though some part of me wanted her, wanted her warm hairless body curled up next to mine. As she lay down next to me my hair stood on end, but not because I felt threatened, this was different, this was something new. I made no move, which she took as a sign to advance. As she lay with me, her hands slowly rustled through my rough hair, caressing my back, my stomach, my sore haunches. Her smooth body was strangely exciting to me, something new and different. I could feel her warm body against mine even through my thick tangled hair, and I could smell her musk, I could sense her excitement. She seemed to be favoring her wounds where the tree had fallen on her. As I turned to face this strange creature I could feel her excitement, about to burst, so different from her fear, even more intoxicating and powerful. I cleaned her wounds for her as I would my own pup. I could taste her excitement; her body shuddered again but this time not from the cold. As I lapped at a scratch near her hind quarter she let out a moan, but she didn’t seem to be in pain. I continued as she writhed on the ground, her excitement seemed to be bleeding into me just as it poured from her wounds. I could feel the quickening of her heart, the sweat escaping from her smooth hairless body, and my heart quickened as well. The air was thick with her musk and the excitement was as overwhelming as the hunt.  As she wriggled about on the ground I thought suddenly of my prey, and the death throes of the almost lifeless body as the last bits of life ebbed onto the ground, and as my fangs pierced her skin, she let out a moan, and the warm rush of her love filled my mouth and covered my muzzle…

Daniel Radkey is in his freshman year studying a major in computer science. Daniel enjoys long walks on a short pier.

Things you should know….

In Fiction, Group 5 on December 6, 2010 at 5:59 pm

By Jessie Emmons

I fucking hate you. You shouldn’t let your ego get the best of you, because honestly you aren’t that great. You should probably stop sleeping around, and you should probably stop letting shit explode from your mouth on an hourly basis, as you are inducing vomiting in the people around you. You should probably also stop sending the same ridiculously ambiguous text messages to multiple women.
You probably should have one more beer, and then drive your car home. Or maybe you shouldn’t because I don’t want you take any other life than your own. You can still continue to sell copious amounts of drugs from your off-campus apartment to pay for your life, because I will probably call the cops with an anonymous tip.
You should probably stop blaming your mother for all your problems; you are just like her, but more of a prick. You should also stop being so hard on your brother, he may be 6 years younger than you, but he is more of a man than you will ever amount to be. You shouldn’t probably stop admiring your dad for being such a great man, great men don’t cheat on their wives.
You should also learn to admit when you are wrong. You should stop playing the game, because eventually you will lose. You should stop pretending to be a bad ass; your actions speak louder than your words. You should know that you are a douche bag.
You should know that when someone tells you that all they want is for you to be happy, that you shouldn’t call them a horrible person. You should know that your shit does stink. You should know that those absurd hats you wear aren’t a fashion statement; they make you look like a moron.
You should also know that even though you are a selfish asshole, I love you. Even though I tell myself everyday that I shouldn’t. You should know that out of all the people in my life, I miss you the most. You shouldn’t know that I know that it will never work out between us. You should know that I know that we will never be friends. And you should know that these will be the last words that I ever say to you.

Jessie Emmons really enjoys long walks on hot coals with iron dragons, and beverages that taste like vinegar.

Here We Go Again

In Fiction, Group 3 on December 2, 2010 at 9:42 am

By Ashley Hilliker

From the beginning, I knew she would once again arrive.  The land that was once so beautiful, is now filled with malicious beings fueled by the Red Queen.  This may end upon her arrival.  As she approaches, the sight of her brings hope to my wretched being.  Lunacy and psychosis have overcome me, for not until the White Queen reigns will I be at ease.  I stare at my watch, shaking it as if it were an hour glass.  Perhaps it is possible to speed up time.  No, do not be ridiculous you Mad Hatter, the day will come.

     My doubts invoke my severe madness.  What if she fails?  Such a thought is dangerous to have.  She will defeat the beast, under the control of the Red Queen.  I will then be free from my own mind.  Do not misunderstand me, I care about the well-being of the young beauty, but revenge and justice are my primary motivations.  The wondrous life I lived was demolished by the Queen’s selfish acts of unnecessary violence.  I was happy once, in a time where I did not have to resort to psychotic delusions and ideas of the world to keep my sanity.  Although, that is quite a pun, is it not?  Anyhow, I was rather joyful in those days.  I was the Hatter for the White Queen, respected by others in my profession.  I had a wife.  We always wanted children, though it never quite happened.  We thought we had all the time in the world.  She too worked alongside the White Queen, a Queen that was often so selfless and noble.  The castle was filled with warmth and care, where tyranny did not exist.  That is, until her behemoth, big headed sister destroyed our tranquility.  She sent her beast, the Jabberwocky, to torch the castle, as well as the surrounding village.  I managed to elude death through the firey blazes that surrounded me.  My wife, however, was not so fortunate.  Such events, as well as the mercury poison I was exposed to, have led to my present day insanity.  (I will tell you about my mercury exposure later). There is no way to understand craziness, for if you could, it would not be crazy in the first place.  I may be seen as the Mad Hatter, but I am a person, with real emotions and concerns.  I am Tarrant Hightopp.

     Now then, enough about past memories and tragedies.  The present is essential to this story.  Back to that present day; Alice has once again arrived at our tea party.  I have been here so long, like time has been frozen in her absence, and I have not left this table since the last time she embarked on the journey down the rabbit hole.  I have been drinking the same cup of tea, surrounded by the same mindless chatter, including my own.  I have been waiting for time to continue, for my watch to start ticking.  Now that Alice has arrived, time will continue on, finally!  She seems different than before, but she must be the right Alice.  No one else could make such emotions arise within me, this overwhelming sense of hope and excitement.  For once, my mercury driven madness has a sane reason to come to the surface.  I should note my appearance, one that has a tendency to frighten newcomers.  My days as a Hatter were terrific, but the glue in which I used to make my creations had significant mercury content.  As a result, it transformed my appearance into a massive orange.  I was characterized by my firey hair, as well as a tint of orange that glowed through my skin.  My eyes are that of an amazing green, which grow brighter in moments of intense anger.  Hence the name, Mad Hatter, I symbolize the saying, “mad as a hatter.”  Oh how I love the association between myself and madness.  At least I am known throughout Wonderland. 

     No matter, Alice looks through such a facade, seeing me for what I used to be, what is buried deep below the surface.  I truly hope she fulfills the prophecy, putting an end to this outrageous dictatorship.  Not to mention her minions, who are some of the most annoying and brutal beings in this place.  No land should be ruled by cruelty and punishment.  “Off with his head!” a saying claimed by the Red Queen.  Her voice often bellows these words so often and loudly you can hear her from miles away.  Off with her damn head is what I say!  A mutiny is what is necessary, but no one will dare stand up to the Queen for the fear of death, which by the way is a common occurrence in her presence, even for minor offenses.  Alice will be the answer to these problems.  To be graced with her presence is a miracle for Wonderland.  Nevertheless, Alice is wary of her destiny.  But she must achieve the prophecy.  She will gain reassurance from myself and those around her of her capabilities until the moment she slays the beast.

     They will soon arrive.  They are aware of her return, and without a doubt will want her head on a platter.  The robotic actions of the Red Queen’s followers are so predictable.  They will pay a visit to our tea party, once again ruining a pleasant day.  Or, at least what could be construed as a pleasant day in this hell.  I will not allow the Queen to ruin another moment of my life.  She will pay for her past discretions, (present ones as well) if it means the end of me.  With this in mind, I have decided to send Alice to the White Queen to prepare for the upcoming events, while I venture to the residence of my favorite globe headed woman.  I wanted to get into her quarters, to distract her from focusing on Alice and her own impending doom.  With initial resistance, and facing the “off with his head” threat, I managed to gain inside access to the Red Queen’s estate.  I saved my own skin by promising to create a variety of hats for the Queen’s ungodly sized head.  This will be fun, I must say.  For a woman who loved hearts, she was quite heartless.  Her decor stifled my creativity.  It was as though someone spat all over the walls.  Hideous, I say.  I am mad and could decorate better.  Anyway, I did my duty and designed what I could muster for this hideous being.  The distraction did not last long, however, for the Queen discovered Alice’s whereabouts close by. 

     Although she has discovered Alice, I have fulfilled my purpose in coming here.  The Queen is not as frightening as she appears to be, unless of course you consider her god awful appearance.   This moment has been creeping upon us since Alice arrived.  She has become more confident in what she must do for Wonderland. The White Queen tends to have such powers of persuasion and positivity while in her presence.  The events that have occurred here and will occur can have a positive effect on the mind, you see. Or a devastating effect, depending on your level of sanity and understanding of the impossible.    Now, I do not wish to confuse my audience, nor jump to the conclusion of this riveting story, (come on, you know you have been entertained) but I assume you would like to know the outcome, correct?  Well, let me oblige you by giving you this information.   

     As everyone assembled to watch what was thought to be a bloodbath, surprise struck the hearts of all in Wonderland, as Alice succeeded in slaying the beast.  Such events are prophesized, written on ancient scrolls, but the faith in their actual accomplishment is doubtful until it is seen, in the flesh.  Vengeance was achieved, and I must say I was quite pleased with the outcome.  The Red Queen lost her authority, and banished for eternity.  I guess I can live with that judgment, but I still say “off with her head.”  A mad man can only hope, right?

Ashely Hilliker is a senior at IUSB, majoring in Psychology.

Noah’s Ark

In Fiction, Group 2 on December 2, 2010 at 9:41 am

By Clayton Pittman

A king’s life is never an easy one.  Always somewhere to be, some problem to resolve, some ultimate decision to make that only I can make.  Yes, it is my lot in life.  But every king knows a kingdom cannot be managed by a single soul, a lesson my father taught me.  Each morning he walked my brothers and I through the kingdom to ensure everything was moving along in the proper way.  Every morning now I do the same with my own sons.  After all it is their kingdom as well.

But this morning was unlike any other morning.  I was not in my normal resting place.  I was standing in a line, two by two, with all the members of my court.  In front of us is a tired looking human man with a white beard.  His face looked kind enough, but my father warned me about their species.  They were not to be trusted.  Their capacity for chaos and destruction has no equal.  Even a herd of clumsy elephants will leave less damage when they go.  “Never go near or allow a human into our kingdom,” my father would tell me.  “Remember, only humans kill their own kind.”

For some strange reason I knew I had to be here, and this human was a part of it somehow.  Perhaps this was going to be some horrible slaughter.  Even a man with a kind appearance is capable of unspeakable harm.  Yet, there it was, that horrible burning in my sternum that told me I had to be here.  I don’t even know where here is.  And standing next to me is my beautiful wife.  She looked old and worn down.  I never told her anymore how much I loved her and thought of her at all times of the day.  Through all my trials and delusions of grandeur, she was always there.  She was the mother of my children, the love of my life.  As we were waiting, perhaps to be mutilated by some sick, sadistic human, I realized how much I had taken her for granted.  But just as always, she was right by my side.

“Please step forward, Panthera Leo.”

The human with the white beard was speaking to us.  I recomposed myself only to realize we had moved to the front of the line.  Where had all the others gone?  Could they have gone in this giant box floating in the water?  I hadn’t noticed the thing before.  How could I have missed the large collection of trees that were bound together and placed in the water?  I’ll bet the human had something to do with this.  Leave it to them to ravage and tear apart a forest for their own purposes.

“Welcome, children.  May God bless and keep you?”  Was that the strange man’s name?  What an unusual name.  “We have a long journey ahead of us.  All we will need is here inside this ark which I have constructed with my own hands.”

“Pardon me, God, but what exactly are we doing here?”  God looked at me with a grin a placed his arm around my shoulder.

“We have all been chosen to represent our species.  This world as we know it will forever be changed.”

“Are we going to some sort of symposium or something?”  The man let out a loud guffaw.  I was completely befuddled by what was transpiring.

“A great flood is coming.  Soon, the skies will open up and all that we know will be washed away.  We have been chosen by the Almighty to carry on our races.  The world of men has become too baneful.  This world must be cleansed.”

This was making less sense.  I must be in the middle of a really bad dream.  Or had we all gone completely batty?  The members of my kingdom, my wife, and I were waiting here and this man, who called himself God, was taking us somewhere because someone called the Almighty wanted to wash the Earth.

“God, could you answer me just one question?  What?”

“Oh, no.  I am not God.  My name is Noah.  I have been chosen by God to be spared along with my wife, three sons, and their wives.  You have all been chosen as well.  We have are here to carry on our species.  You, I, and all the rest will be safe and secure inside this ark while the rest of the world will be covered in the flood, thus ending all life save for those of us on board.”  Was he for real?  I have heard some tales in my time before but this was unique to say the least.

“So who is this God fellow you keep referencing?”

“He is the creator of all we see around us.  He came unto me and commanded me to build an ark.  He has seen the evil ways of man and has decided to rid the Earth of this evil.”

“So why doesn’t he just eliminate humans?  Are we all meant to pay for the evils of man?  I have children, you know, and subjects I watch over.  I don’t see any evil in them.”

“But man was created in His image.  We are far superior.”

“Superior?  If you are so superior, why have you brought damnation upon the rest of us?”

To this only silence.  This man who now called himself Noah looked cross by what I had said.  I was only pointing out the obvious.  My home, my children, my kingdom were all about to be covered in water.  How were we supposed to trust God?  Humans were created in his image, and they were evil.  Does this mean God is evil, too?

“How can we be sure God will actually protect us once we are on this ark?  If this supposed flood is powerful enough to wipe out all life on this planet, what makes you think this thing will keep us safe?”

“His love will be our protection.”  He was talking in riddles now.  I hate riddles.  “I have built it to his exact specifications.  He designed it and provided me with the materials.  He loves us all.”

Love?  I love my wife and children and all the creatures in my kingdom.  I couldn’t imagine ending their existence to prove it.

“I have everything we need on board,” Noah continued.  “I have enough food for all.”

“Well, yeah, I saw the antelopes.”

“You cannot eat the antelopes.”

“Okay, the Zebras?”

“No.  I have food.  You may not eat any of the animals.  They must be kept alive to carry on their destinies.”

“But what happens when we get off the ark?  What then am I supposed to eat if I have to wait for them to repopulate?  I don’t do plants, you know.”

“You need not worry.  As long as you have His love, you will have all you need.”  His love was about to take away all I had ever known.  From what Noah was telling me, God had created man in his image, and now he was unhappy with what he had created.  For this we were all to be punished.  I was losing it all, but for some reason I didn’t understand I was going to be saved.  Could I go on knowing everything I now know?  I would have to live out the rest of my days with the knowledge that I turned my back on them all so I could be saved.  I knew what must be done.

“I want to thank you for your offer, old man.  However, I must respectfully decline your invitation.  I have watched over the lands of my kingdom since I was a child.  It is all I have known.  If it goes, then I must go with it.”

“What are you talking about?  You have been selected.  This is His will.  This is your destiny.  This ark is all of our destinies.”

“No this is your destiny, Noah.  I know where I belong.  If men are the reason for the demise of my children, then they will be the reason for my demise as well.  A king does not turn his back on his subjects because times get hard.  A true king loves his kingdom and would never destroy it because he is unhappy.”

Noah was silent.  I looked behind me and saw the chosen ones of each species lined up looking as confused as I had been.  It was they whom I had to answer to.  I do not claim to understand God or know why he has made this decision.  The beautiful part of life is that we all can make our own decisions.

I turned to head home.  I wasn’t exactly sure how to get back, but I knew I would get there one way or another.  As I came to the end of the line of animals, I looked down at the ground.  My father used to tell me that we all came from the Earth and once we died we went back to the Earth.  I reached to within the depths of my being and let out a kingly roar.  I didn’t look back to see, but I could feel the other animals were right behind me as I walked away from Noah and his ark.  I was their king, and I had just doomed them all.  I am lion, king of the jungle, and I was on my way home.

Clay Pittman is currently in his junior year at Indiana University South Bend.  He is majoring in political science with a minor in mass communication.


In Fiction, Group 4 on December 2, 2010 at 9:37 am

By Ethan Matthew Westgerdes

I am a girl, my name is not important because no one will remember me.  I am my father’s daughter, a farmer who raised his children to love and worship the Gods above us.  Every week with my father, we would take livestock from our farm and sacrifice for Zeus, showing him how we are pleased with his mercy and grace.  My father always told me that if we are loyal to Zeus he will be loyal to us, I believed him until the last minutes of my life.  It was one of Zeus’ bastard children that murdered my entire family along with all of our friends.  Heracles came to our feast in my father’s grandest tent and laid waste to everyone, I was his last victim. 

            It was a beautiful day, the sun was warm and comfortable like a warm bath, and the grass was green and seemed softer than usual.  A nice breeze was blowing just enough to make the trees sway back and forth.  The Gods had really blessed us with everything we needed to have a proper feast.  Father had been sacrificing twice a week instead of his ritualistic once, and he had even sacrificed his largest bull in asking for a beautiful day to put on a community feast.  Our crops this year were our best ever, and the animals multiplied greatly the season before so we had many for slaughter.  Mother told me that the God’s were pleased with our faithfulness and that is why everything seemed to be going so well on this very special day.  Everyone from our town was coming to have supper with us, as was tradition in the community.  The farmer with the highest yield would hold the feast to honor his achievement.  The morning of the feast; my mother asked me to go into town and get some wine for our guests to drink.  The town was talking about two things, our feast (this made me very happy very proud, in my last moments I wandered if why that is why my life was cut short, my pride) and Heracles.  There were rumors going around that the brut had murdered his entire family.  (His wife and all his beautiful children gone in the blink of an eye, could this be true I asked myself?)  Heracles’ reputation was that of a fire.  His temper was always burning hot and if stoked it would really get hot.  He would have never married a woman who was not beautiful so I’m sure that his wife and children were of the finest in all of the world. 

I asked the man selling the wine, “Is it true Mr. did Heracles really murder his wife and children?  He replied, “That’s what everyone is saying miss.”  “Why would he do such a thing, I know his reputation is that he kills anyone if they don’t give him exactly what he wants, but I was always under the assumption he loved his family.  At least that’s what my mother always told me.”  “I’m not sure miss, but I heard he is on the move and is still killing innocent people along his path”  “You don’t think he would come this way do you?”  “No most likely not, we have nothing to offer him, no riches, no beast for him to slay and brag about or any fine maidens he can rape and kill.”  As I was walking back to the farm with my wine, the words of the salesmen stuck in my head.  “No fine maidens he can rape and kill…” 

I always thought of myself as a beautiful girl, and my family and friends always told me the same thing.  He told me I wasn’t beautiful but I couldn’t be mad, it meant that Heracles would never come to get what he wanted from every other beautiful girl in his reach.  It just didn’t make sense; Heracles never just killed anyone he ran into.  There was usually some kind of reason for him to kill anyone no matter how ridiculous it was. 

            The feast was always the highlight of the summer and it was indeed a beautiful day.  The dirt road beneath my feet was warm from the sun and the birds in the trees were singing beautifully.  Just outside of town I could see father’s large tent, he was so proud of it.  He had spent nearly three years saving up pelts from all the animals that we slaughtered to make enough for it.  Then he had mother sow it all together, making a beautiful large tent.  I hadn’t really realized how big it was until I could see it from so far away.  The skins of wine I was carrying seemed to be getting heavier, given my conversation earlier, my mind went back to Heracles. I thought to myself, I wish I was strong like him, and then I wouldn’t have a problem carrying these skins.  It was only a thought, and I continued my trek back to our farm, back to my home for the last time.  I could smell the delicious food as I got closer, the smell of freshly baked bread and warm meat cooked over a large fire. Wagons full of families and friends were throwing clouds of dust high into the sky behind me.  People were coming in from every direction; the feast was just about to begin!

            Unknown to me or anyone at the farm Heracles had just run into the center of the town.  Lion pelt askew and covered in the blood of countless innocent souls, club at his side bruised and dripping in blood he looked fierce and mad as any man could ever be.  His hair was long and unkempt, his clothes torn and dirty.  He was unshaven and his eyes were dark red, similar to the color of the blood dripping from his club.  There were very few people in town due to our feast, but those who hadn’t left yet stood no chance of survival.  In a flash he began his rampage on a little town not very many people would have ever come across, now no one would ever hear of it.  Heracles ripped through every store killing every living thing he saw.  He smashed through walls throwing wood splinters high into the peaceful blue sky, the screams of those he slaughtered never reached an ear that could do anything to help.  The wind on this beautiful day was blowing from my father’s farm towards the town, so not even the Heracles roars of pure rage could be heard.  We had no idea what was going on, or what was about to happen.  He ripped bodies in half with his bare hands, showing no mercy for anyone or anything.  Blood spilled like the rain falls, and when he thought he had killed everyone in town he looked towards the farm and saw the cloud of dust from the wagons of guests arriving.  He began to walk slowly towards the light brown mist filling the air.  As Heracles turned onto the sun baked dirt road he saw a man running a ways off in the distance toward a large tent.  Gripping his club tightly with both hands he dropped it behind his head, and with great strength he hurled it end over end at the man running away.  In no more than a few seconds the man was hit hard by Heracles club, shattering his bones.  With this kill he screamed towards the heavens and began running towards the end of my life.  His scream might not have reached my ears or any of those around me but Zeus heard his son’s blood curling scream and saw what Heracles was doing.  At this Zeus called Athena and told her she was to stop Heracles with the sober stone, a stone that would knock Heracles out of his madness. 

            The feast was in full swing and everyone was having a great time.  The tent was full of people enjoying themselves.  The air was full of many sweet smells, wine was being poured and meat was being devoured.  Fresh bread, golden brown was being broken amongst friends.  The mood could not have been any better.  I was in the corner of the tent talking to some other girls about whom we hoped to be married off to, when I heard it.  The noise was deafening.  Heracles had reached the tent and let off another of his monstrous roars. This caused confusion and a wide spread of fear across the entire tent.  I am sure that some people realized what was happening given the rumors that were being spread around town, but I had no clue.  I didn’t realize what was going on until the girls surrounding me let out screams and ran as Heracles covered in dirt splinters of wood and blood that was clearly not his stepped into the tent.  He was holding a man around the neck up with one arm, his muscles bulging and veins popping.  He really looked furious, shirt ripped showing his muscular body, blood splattered across his face.  I wanted nothing more than to run for my life but my legs locked and I could not move a muscle.  I was in the farthest corner from where he began his last massacre.  I can’t say how long this went on but I watched him crush the man he was holding by simply clenching his fist and with the other hand he wiped five people from existence with his club.  Flipping tables with ease he moved through every part of the tent in a tornado of carnage.  I watched as he crushed a table of my family in one swift flick of his wrist, his club smashing through the wood and leaving a foot deep indent in the ground.  He made quick work of my neighbors, using nothing but his rock like fists.  With every person he killed he became more and more enraged.  There were only a few people he had not murdered now, my father being one.  A strong farmer, my father knew he stood no chance but he still reached down and pulled a large piece of fractured wood and ran towards Heracles.  I knew then that I was going to die; my father was trying to save those of us he could.  As he ran towards Heracles a sick smirk grew on his face, this was the first man to challenge him and he loved a challenge.  My father was no challenge, running towards the monster responsible for all the blood shed he jumped off and upturned table and came down to strike Heracles.  My father was caught in mid-air and ended in one quick moment.  I screamed the first action I was able to muster since this monster walked into the tent. 

Heracles heard me and began in my direction.  On his way he crushed the last of the remaining souls in his wake till it was just me and him left.  Wood and bones cracked under his heavy feet, both his arms at his side.  I could now see his eyes, they were a dark scarlet like the roses my mother had grown.  He did not rush to kill me; he slowly picked me up with the hand not holding the club.  I could do nothing again my body failing because of the fear I was experiencing.  He lifted me to eye level, tears were rolling down my dirty cheeks, and I knew this was my last moment on earth.

 I asked aloud, “Why did you let this happen Zeus?”

My father had told me that if we were loyal to Zeus he would be loyal to us; somewhere along the line I must have displeased him.  Heracles moved his head backwards and moved me forwards; in this very quick moment I thought I saw the Goddess Athena behind my murderer.  He slammed his head into mine a fraction of a second before Athena hit him with the sober stone.  He was knocked unconscious and when he would wake his rage would be over.  Had the stone hit him two seconds sooner I would be alive to tell how I had survived Heracles’ mad rage caused by his stepmother Hera, but that was not my destiny.  I am a girl, and my name is not important because no one will ever remember me.

Ethan is a psychology Major and has beautiful brown eyes.  He enjoys long walks along the St. Joe river and cold pizza for breakfast.