Krystal Gardela

This is an excerpt from Krystal's short story:

“Hey, hey, watch it cat.” I jumped back at first then remembered that I was a cat. I did not respond, but merely walked inside. Walked into my favorite room of the house. It was a dark, completely black, No windows, no skylight, it was perfect. I noticed the dog never left so going out, I would go as a cat. “Why don’t you leave? Don’t you have an owner missing you or something?” I asked one day, finally. At first he seemed surprised that I spoke to him, he finally spoke back to me, after a while. “I’m a stray. I don’t have a home, or people who miss me.” I felt a bit sorry for him so I stayed to talk. “What about friends? You must have some of those.” He looked at me strange. “No, no friends. It’s just me.” I walked closer to him. “Aren’t you lonely?” He smiled, or what looked like a smile a cross his puppy face. “How can I be lonely when I have some one like you to talk to.” I felt my body turn warm. How could a puppy, a dog, do this to me. “First, puppy, I’m a cat. You should be trying to eat me, or something. Second, I’m a house cat not a street cat, and I don’t need a street dog as my friend.” I saw as his puppy face turned cloudy and dark. I thought for a while then gave in. “Fine you can be my friend.” His head popped up and he started licking me out of excitement. “Oh this is so great I mean I haven’t had some one to play with in the longest.” He started jumping around, I felt a bit happy to see him this way. “Come on Miss. Kitty, let’s play.” He started running and I just looked at him. He didn’t look where he was running to. “PUPPY, LOOK OUT.” I had to yell but it came too late. He had run right into the light pole. ‘Oh no’ I thought running up to him. His snout was dripping bits of blood and I began to cry a bit. “Puppy? Puppy, get up. Please get up.” I then fully started to cried. I thought he was dead. I laid my head on his chest. “Oh, please get up.” I cried when I heard a laugh. I looked up to see him looking at me with the biggest eyes of amusement. “I’m ok.” Was all he said. I was upset, of how much he scared me. I got up still half crying. “I HATE YOU, AND THAT WAS CRUEL.” I yelled turning and running away. I felt a cold wind pass me. I came to a sudden stop to see the puppy in front of me. I stopped and he kissed me. Not like before this time it seemed like a real….Pet kiss. He came in close to me. “I’m sorry I didn’t mean to scare you.” I was stunned and unable to speak. “You can stay in my home, if you would like.” Is all I said. He smiled and agreed. After a while I couldn’t believe what I had just said, but then I remembered he is just a lost puppy.

Jennifer Vila

Clandestine Facts Inside Stitches.
By Jennifer Vila
Sure, this girl was gorgeous, your stereotypical beauty pageant queen. She owned this thick auburn-colored mane that downwardly flowed like a cascade and stopped right at the middle of her back. Her eyes always lit with icy blue fire which could smolder you until you had to give in to her splendor. She was full of life and had everything any girl, probably even a few guys, could ever ask for, but to be trapped in such a horrific place seemed incongruous to where she belonged…and yet it fit her. She belonged to a world not known to the mediocre lives surrounding her. She learned quickly and at a young age that not knowing enough is dangerous and that knowing too much is deadly. She was not a vacuous being. On the contrary, she probably had so much in her head that it set her apart. It caused her to have this furtive type of knowledge, and if it were revealed, her life would be in jeopardy…and yet she was light as feather when her graceful silhouette entered a room.
Time loosening its grasp on her was not an option. She had a decision to make and there were only two choices: speak or die. No one knows why she had to speak but everyone was extremely aware of what she had to reveal. She had to expose her endless amount of secrets, the ones she had put an infinite amount of effort in just to make sure humanity would never know.
She found herself running in some sort of forest, an incinerated one. All that could be heard was the faint shuffle of her feet moving rapidly across a clearing. The forest on each side looked untouched. The evergreens were standing perfectly as if no fire has ever touched them. They portrayed this majesty only some can imagine and those who experience it are speechless. The grass surrounding them was this gorgeous green you only see in magnificent paintings. The scene to each side of her was picturesque, yet the clearing she ran through was nothing less of depressing. The grass was dead, all yellowed and a faded brown. The path was rough, full of a dry kind of dirt that every time one of her feet made an impact on the ground dust flew up. She kept running, yet the sound was faded. Her head was pounding and her ears ringing. Through the evergreens, like high velocity winds, the ghosts of her terrors tormented whatever was left of her sanity. They repeated these words over and over, overlapping one another, “Thou shan’t divulge clandestine haven”.
She wanted to scream, she was ready to expose the lies she concealed deep in her being. There was one problem: she couldn’t. She tried but no sound came out. She continued to strive to try to make some sort of noise for what seemed like beyond an eternity, but all she continued to hear was soft shuffle of her feet impacting the ground as she continued to run deeper into the clearing which seemed to have no end. Finally, she trips, landing on her knees.
In front of her was a puddle of murky water. She examined the revulsion that was clearly publicized right before her eyes. Her reflection resembling someone unfamiliar yet someone she knew for years. The horror of her reflection stood out more than her physical features’ drastic alteration. She realized right at that moment why nothing but silence came out of her mouth. The black lines holding her mouth tightly from the top end of her lips to bottom end multiple times.
Her mouth was stitched up. Her eyes dead. He her hair flat. She had always been pale, but now she resembled those in a morgue waiting to be examined. Abruptly, a blade flew past her, barely brushing the side of her right cheek. It scraped and cut the outside of her ear. She yearned to scream, the pain was excruciating. Tragically, she couldn’t. She just let a single tear slide slickly out her left eye, caressing the side of her nose but yet felt like acid.
She picked the blade up and put it at the very edge of her closed lips that resembled a motionless, straight line. She made her choice, she was ready to move that blade across. Then, a dark shadow descends upon her. A bony, ice-cold hand rests upon her shoulder beginning to tighten its grip and it says, “Do it. Go ahead. Your life was a catch-22 from the moment you were conceived…Thou shan’t divulge clandestine haven”.

David Dominguez

Absence

There

Their

They're

Gone,

All.

Paradise will come

Days end in night

When the sleeping dream of other planes

I dream of nothing

Black is all I can remember

Paradise will come!

In the daytime,

People walk about the streets and converse

I stay in my room

Searching for truth and purpose

Paradise will come!

More Writing from Members

Excerpt from "Diary of Ima," by Sonia Duarte

When we arrived on an island, called Hispaniola, the white devils violently pulled us into a cabin to clean us up. Those foul men put us up to look at as a display. We were examine by these people that look just like the white devils. These people disgusted me. My indifference and apathy made them attracted to me somehow. I was sold to a vile man with a lot of money. That man was worse than the devil himself. He was tall muscular with blonde hair and he had these laser green eyes that burnt a hole right through you every time he glared at you. That man would whip or beat me if I stepped wrong. He would glare at me with those vicious green eyes.

He has 5 slaves including myself, Dalji, Edet, Dada, and Rashid.
Edet told me about this place he and his friends took refuge and we can practice our culture. We practice Santeria which is a pre-Christian religion, brought to the Caribbean from Yoruba. We have orishas or gods that we worshipped and gave offerings to.
Later in the night Edet, Rashid, Dalji, Dada and I went to the hideout. It’s in the middle of the forest, as we got nearer I felt the spirits of my elders guiding me, I felt the sound of the drums beating. The rhythm guiding my body, swaying me we peacefully, then everything goes black. I know nothing of what happened next. I came back to my conscious self when Rashid ran his palm on my back. He told me I was possessed by one of the spirits for a moment there, everything is alright. We started dancing around the fire to the rhythm of the beating drums. Then everything fell silent when our babalu stepped out of his hut, we fell to our knees and bowed. That night I felt so alive. We sacrificed a lamb in the honor of the union of 2 souls a man and a woman were united that night.

Fourth Meeting

With Only One Kiss
By: Anthony Squires

You stand out
From everyone I know
Because you gave me something
That no one else can show.

It is something
That I can’t forget
And it all links back
To the day we first met

It was at the mall
You were with your friends
I was really interested in you
And I couldn’t pretend

I built courage
And asked if we could talk
You said sure let me get my stuff
And I said lets go for a walk

I let out my feelings
Everything you had to know
But time flies when you have fun
And it was already time to go.

We exchanged numbers
As we walked back to your friends
If there was anything on my mind
It was that I didn’t want the moment to end

Soon you left
And I walked back to my car
With the satisfaction that
I let my feelings out of my jar

As I drove in my car
And was on my way home
My seat started shaking
It was because of my phone

I looked at the caller I.D
And read your name
I answered with a soft hello
But you sounded like you were in pain

I drove off to the side
And told you to relax
You were crying saying
You hate the way your b.f acts

I was surprised to find out
That you had a man
But to get down because of it
Was not part of my plan

I told you to calm down
And take a deep breathe
But you said that you wanted to see me
And gave me your address

I raced over to your house
And immediately called you down
With intention of getting
Rid of your frown

You rushed downstairs
And out of the door
You gave me a hug
That knocked me down to the floor

You said you were glad to see me
With a smile from ear to ear
And that you felt a lot better
Now that I was there

We sat down on your porch
And we started to talk
You told me you left your b.f
And I was left in shock

You said that
You had done it for me
And that in my arms
Is where you wanted to be

I stood up
Trying to take in what you said
I helped you get up
And kissed you on your forehead

We stayed quiet
As I brought you in close
We looked into each other eyes
And I kissed you on the nose

You took a deep breath
I grabbed you by the hips
You closed your eyes softly
And I kissed you on the lips

We parted from each other
With faces full of delight
I looked deep into your eyes
And said it feels like love at first sight

You looked back at me
And said you felt it too
But and that you got convinced
Right there when I had kissed you.

I smiled and asked
Do you want to go out?
You gave me a smile back
And responded without a doubt

But to make you really mine I asked
Do you want to be my girlfriend?
You wrapped you arms around my neck
And said forever until the end.

Hunter's Moon
by Bayardo Lacayo

Love is a cycle, a rite between two
The werewolf which all must confine, contain.
It only appears with the moon of blue.
And like the beast, love can truly cause pain.
Bullet of silver we pray for and bless
Pray for one to hold against our muzzle.
The one that can finally complete us,
Like a jigsaw piece completes a puzzle
Love is entwined with our soul, our blood.
It is the werewolf's curse, so full of toil.
But when it is true, the tides cause a flood,
And the wolfsbane trait no longer a spoil.
And so the wolf inside contains two sides,
One that brings together, one that divides.

Third Meeting

This is Mario's prologue for his work, The Chamber.

Prologue

"Alright, we're stepping off the craft." The astronaut announced, anxiously."This is a day that will be remembered forever." The commander said."Roger. Over." The astronaut got off the craft. "That's... One small step for man... One giant leap for... Mankind..." He looked at the camera and waved. People all over the globe were watching this. The U.S.S.R. watched in awe as their Sputnik launch was soon to be overshadowed by the Apollo. An English photographer captured the view in Leningrad as people stared at the moon. He noticed Chairman Mao was speaking with the Soviet president. He took a snapshot and then noticed some KGB agents looking at the moon with a telescope."They're there!" He exclaimed in Russian. The English photographer, John Sheridan, took advantage of this momentous occasion to take a picture of the moon. He took several shots of it, walking to different areas to get better lighting conditions.He took one more shot and looked at the developing picture. He put it in his bag after it had developed fully, but took a double-take, suddenly noticing something at the corner of his eye.“What in hell has done this!?” He asked, fearfully, as he looked at it. On television sets everywhere, the signal started to cut off. He looked up at the moon and saw nothing that had been on his picture. He opened his bag and let the other photos fall to the ground, then quickly examined them.His hands shook as he did so, and noticed three KGB agents walking in his direction. “Daspedanya comrades, I have some matters to attend to.” John said to them, trying as hard as possible to remain inconspicuous. He continued examining them closely until the agents were within conversation distance.“What are you doing?” One of them asked. “Are you a spy from the U.K.? Answer me!” He looked at John’s bag and quickly confiscated the pictures. He examined the first few, with Mao Zedong in it, and then some later few, with some of the people of Leningrad.“I have a feeling this man is not to be trusted. May I see your passport?” The second agent said. This agent was much taller than the other three, standing slightly taller than John’s height, and looking as if he had a strong build. Knowing he had to, John took out his passport nervously and showed them.“Uh-huh.” The first agent said. “English photographer? You were just let into Leningrad? Comrades, I think this to be unusual. A bit out of place. So, ‘John,’ what are you acting so strange about?”“This!” John replied, showing them the picture of the moon. The agents looked on in disbelief, until the tall one grabbed it and stared with a fearful expression. One looked up at the moon, then back at the picture.“Lies! These documents are false. How would this ever be possible?” The tall one said. “Who are you really?”“I’m an English photographer, and my name is John Sheridan. I have no business spying, and I won’t. So, if you can kindly just-“ He was interrupted when he realized the agents weren’t going to allow him to leave easily. “On second thought, I hope you have a wonderful Red Army parade, and I’ll see you another time. Goodbye!” John grabbed the picture, turned around, and ran. He didn’t care that the agents had confiscated most of the pictures, but the one picture of the moon was all that was important.“I’m going to be rewarded for this, and hopefully get paid a lot. This baby is my ticket out of this Communist dirt hole!” He muttered, running as guards came after him. “And these Soviet men are never going to catch me!” He jumped off of a hill and rolled down. When he thought he had escaped them, he got up and dusted himself.“Hope I can buy some new glasses for this.” He said. “The John Lennon look isn’t doing it for me.” He looked around his surroundings. The bottom of a hill, grassy, with a small river a few meters away. The only trees in sight were the one next to John on his side of the river, and the small forest on the other side.“I make my escape now.” John ran across the narrow river and into the small forest area. At the top of the hill, a few agents looked on in frustration while two guards climbed down to investigate.John made his way through a few trees, avoiding dense bushes and sliding past narrow tree gaps. He stopped at the parking lot that he had parked his car in. He pulled his keys out of his jacket pocket hurriedly, and walked to the car with small bursts of running movement. He stopped at the car running, inserted the keys, and opened the door.He stepped inside the car, placed the picture in a small compartment, and proceeded to power the car. He turned it on and drove out, trying to look inconspicuous to any guards and pedestrians.On a small notepad in the car, he wrote, using a pen near it, about his discovery. He drove as quickly as possible on the road back to the U.K. He drove along with seemingly no problems, and made his way out, driving for a couple of hours, stopping every now and then at a gas station.While on an interstate road in Germany, he pulled aside to finish writing his report. He opened a box of some food he bought while in Leningrad and began eating, then stepped outside to fill his tank with some gas. He grabbed a tank and began filling it up.He looked up at the moon, and noticed how remarkably normal it was. “Something is going on there, and I’m betting it’ll cause some problems in the future. Well, no use worrying, I’ll send my report and photo to some people in America and let them take care of it. It’s not my problem.” While nobody seemed to be looking, however, a small white flash that looked like lightning, spread around the moon’s orbit, then stopped and faded away. It looked as if there was some other form of life up there, not just Neil Armstrong.“I guess they weren’t the first on the moon.” John remarked in his report. “Something beat them to it.” He remembered what the picture is of, and always will. It's been burned into his very soul.The picture shows the moon. A bright moon, most definitely contrasting with the pure blackness of the sky, space, and beyond. No indication of human life seems to be on the photo, except for one thing. Hovering around the moon, invisible to the naked eye, caught by a poor man's camera, is a black cloud. A black, flashing cloud, with millions of red dots. They seem blurred, as if in motion.On this cloudless night, the first step was taken that could lead to a breakdown in the very thing holding the two together. It's otherworldly, not of our plane of reality.

I Rest for Peace

I look back upon my life, and then come to realize

Things have changed before my ancient eyes

They won't come back, I have no second chance

I should make the most of my time left

Not as a warrior, not as a heroI just want to live as a man

How my life had changed when I walked up that place

What started as a journey, had soon become a race

And though I had failed, I brought myself up again

To fight for their lives, whom I brought to an end

They were my only friends, they cared for me

I continued for them, knowing that they would have wanted it

My journey cut short, as did their lives thereI could not bear it,

I lived in despairI sought to continue, and in that

I realizeI learned what I fought for, and it was never too late

Second MovementI cared deeply so, yet she died to my blade

And to think, my own cause, my path did fade!

I never fully knew what it was like to love

But her final sacrifice turned out for me

She let herself die, to keep me safe

But I destroyed her in turn, and now my heart aches

I can not see, why it was me

And her words still echo, to let it be

I knew not what she meant back then

But I see that I look forward, not back

I sit here, a lonely old man, my youth full of misery

Had I not gone ended them all,

I might not be so mutilated

My journey cut short, as did her life there

I could not bear it,

I lived in despair

I sought to continue, and in that I realize

I learned what I fought for, and she had helped me learn

Final MovementI ended the dark that blocked out the light

Because I was wrong, yet he was not rightHis end lifted me up, but now is that

I seeThat revenge would not brighten my misery

I wandered, searching for the way, searching for my way

And remained lost, no answer, no change in sight

And so I learned the truth, I realized what is

That life is meant for living, not frowning back to his

I help out younger generation, cloaked in a lonely shadow

Now it does not haunt me, does not stop me, no hindrance

I now live to help, as they did so for me

Just help one young warrior, not to repeat my mistakes

They lived their lives not knowing their fate

I live it now the same, and I find that I am late

My schedule keeps me going, to remember what it was

They lived to help, their courage never died

My journey cut short, and so my life thereI could not bear it,

I lived in despairI sought to continue, and in that

I realized

I learned what I fought for, and now

I Rest for Peace

Second Meeting

We had a great meeting with excellent readings from Krystal, Natalie, Karen, David, Mario and Bayardo. All kinds of writing, including prose fiction, poetry and this memoir from Bayardo Lacayo. GREAT WRITING GUYS!!

Concealed Infinity

Solitude. Most people would forget to acknowledge Time and its solace. These moments in which nothing happens. We shrug it off, defining memoirs as a collection of events, and defining events as something that happens – an occurrence. And yet, during these times of solitude, we think. I cannot write of this as any specific “event”, seeing as nothing “happened”. I could write of my eyelids opening and closing, or my chest rising and falling, but it would be irrelevant. Instead, all I can think of is my thinking, appreciating Time and its solitude, but first, despising it.

I rose from my bed, paced back and forth, rearranged my desk supplies, turned off the television, made my bed, and jumped back in. 327 ticks. I remember that clearly. The saying “idle hands are the devil’s tools” comes to mind, but I firmly believe that we are our own devils. With free Time, we are given to opportunity to evaluate ourselves, and at times, we do not like what we see. So we long for anything to do.

Against my better judgment, I decided to think. My original thoughts were to find something to do. Anything. But I failed miserably. “Tick,” whispered the Clock. A little over five and a half minutes had passed, and I felt I had done nothing. The popcorn ceiling began to stare at me, taunting my very existence. It had a single purpose: it kept the elements from breaching into my home. Plenty more than I could say of myself.

Frustrated, I began to think of insignificant details, wondering how many dots there were on the ceiling in my room. “Tick,” murmured the Clock. But then something interesting happened: I began to think on a larger scale. First, the number of dots on the ceiling in my house, followed by the amount of dots in my apartment complex. “Tick,” pleaded the Clock. Eventually, I reached galactic proportions. The number of stars in the universe began to interest me. The number of stars, the number of galaxies, the number of numbers in the world. And still, the only number that truly mattered was the number of ticks that had passed by.

To be honest, all I remember is that my tiny blue Clock kept on ticking; the incessant ticking filling the role of an old man’s beating heart. “Tick”, yelled the Clock. But a part of me realized that I could use Time to learn, not to stagnate like I had been doing. Time was not the enemy. We are our own enemies, not taking advantage of Time’s presence. “Tick,” roared the Clock. The Clock was not mocking me, nor was it attacking me. Instead, it was reminding me of what I could do with Time. It was then and there that I realized that instead of hoping for Time to fly by, I should hope for it to (forgive the pun), “take its sweet time.” And yet, I still think to myself: Will somebody shut up that damn Clock?

David Dominguez

Suffering

It is the thumping in my head

It is the droop in my eyes

It is the ringing in my ears

It is the flare in my nose

It is the distaste in my mouth

It is the stiffness in my neck

It is the throb in my chest