"But I’m her lover" by Rae Concha
The first time we met was a coincidence, the second with intent. Hours spent together by blissful ignorance. Hanging out in the afternoons became a Saturday routine, then an everyday thing. Her beauty stood out from the rest, enough to leave me tongue tied and find the rhythm of my heartbeat playing hopscotch.
The first time we met is engraved in my head, simply because she was the only thing occupying my mind after I left. She is the women that I love, and I am her lover, but why does my love not stand out from the others?
At first, she told me her favorite purple, now every time she threatens to leave me, I paint her arms pink and purple. I do not mean to scare her; this is just the way to show that I love her. I admire her lifeless body sometimes, her eyes filled once with love stare back at me. What have I done? This can’t be. I am the man she trusted, the one who held her hair after she has had too much to drink. This is not my fault; I am not guilty, just simply her lover.

 

 

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"IT: More Than a Clown" by Crowley Carter

"It" is 2017 American supernatural horror films directed by Andy Muschietti and written by Chase Palmer, Cary Fukunaga and Gary Dauberman.

The movie "IT" is chilling to the core from scene one, introducing us to Pennywise the Dancing Clown. Our focus quickly shifts to our main protagonists, seven young children trying to uncover the mystery of children going missing in Derry, Maine.

 

The theme of "IT" seems like it would be relatively easy to digest but I think it digs deeper than one might think. The first few times I watched the 2017 film I was certain that it was about overcoming one’s fears, which of course is one of the themes of the movie but not the one that I would argue is the most important. Pennywise not being a clown but being an extraterrestrial entity, shifting it’s form from one terrifying creature to another in order to feast on children can be taken in many different ways. The one that catches my attention is that it is important to pay attention to what a kid has to say and to believe them. I think that too many times in our society we don’t pay attention to our children and it results in a consequence that affects the kid worse than it affects the parent who didn’t listen. Pennywise is more than a clown, more than an alien, Pennywise is a symbol for why kids get hurt, because adults don’t listen.

 

 

 

 

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"A Fatal Love" by Crowley Carter

Standing within the overly crowded halls of my high school, weight shifting from
foot to foot. No, it’s not the overbearing amount of people pushing past my shoulders
from both sides that are driving me crazy today. In fact, it takes off some of the pressure
I have been burdening my back with, brick after brick. The thousands of sweaty,
hormone-infested bodies help me to become invisible. I have always been better at
blending in. It wraps me up like my favorite blanket. The real problem is having people
constantly being in my space.
My attention is caught as I see her, the girl I have been waiting for. She steps out
into the hall, and turned her head slightly, talking to the brunette at her side. “Hey Julie,
my place after school, right?”
Her delicate voice, somehow so sweet yet so demanding draws my attention
from down the hall. Lilith Taylor. My best friend, my dearest darling since, well since a
year ago today. Suddenly her words hit me, piercing through my rib cage with the
sharpest of knives.
“How could you not remember. I thought this day was important to the both of
us.” I know that my voice could not travel to her ears. She has never been as finely
tuned to my tongue as I had been to hers. The sweetest music to ever have blessed my
ears.
I know I have begun to draw attention to myself, a few heads turning as I twist
the fragile bouquet in my hands that I had so carefully plucked myself this morning. I
had been growing these specific flowers for weeks.
I watch as she flips her blonde locks behind her shoulder, easily spotted as the
pink streaks from last month's Halloween costume have yet to fade. And in that second
we lock eyes, are souls twisting and spinning in a complicated dance. I see the love in
her eyes, the same love that I saw only 365 days ago. But the trance is broken entirely
too soon and I see her eyes drift.
A guy dressed entirely in black comes striding towards her, confidence radiating
off of him in every direction. He wraps his arm around her waist and pulls her in close,
whispering what I can only presume to be a sweet nothing into her ear, lips flushed
against her skin. Quickly that look of pure love and adoration from not only a few
moments ago has melted away into terror and I see what she cannot, the handgun
strapped to his side, the side not pressed into Lillith.

I am used to anger but it is nothing like the hot seething red that flashed before
my eyes. Nobody frightens my girl. There is an animalistic hunger surging through my
blood and I rush through the mass, not even thinking about dropping the flowers that
are being crushed by the way my hands have balled up, the extra energy in my body
not knowing where to go. I know that something has truly taken hold of me when I am
colliding with her. Into my best friend, on our one-year anniversary. And I can’t stop
myself until I am forcefully being thrown off, secure hands on my shoulders, grip strong
enough to leave bruises that will be purple by the time the sun rises tomorrow.
As I am holstered up I see a flash of gold, the mystery man's badge. FBI. That’s
when it hits me fully and I knew there was a reason that I lunged at my baby instead of
him. Everything happens for a reason, deep down I knew that she betrayed me. I can’t
help but let my head fall back, a manic chortle tearing its way from my throat, even as
they are tying my hands behind my back, cords so tight that I can already feel my blood
flow begin to falter.
“Billy Brown, you are under arrest for stalking and assault, you have the right to
remain silent,”
I know that the officer's voice continued to drone on and on but all that I could
focus on was her blue eyes because even as I was being shoved into the squad car,
she followed, she had always had the cocky courageousness about her, that was one of
the things that I loved about her the most.
Before they could slam the door shut in my face, the reading of my rights finally
over, I stuck my foot out with a jolt of lighting flowing through my veins. And with the
reminisce of her touch still, on my hands I spoke to her, for the first time in a year. Back
when she asked me for a pen, her smooth hands glided across mine as I handed it
over.
“Ghost orchids, you’re favorite, my love,” I told her, glimpsing down at the flowers
that had been dragged out in the struggle. And as the cops drove me away I knew I
could see the faint smile on her lips as she picked them up. I knew she would always
love me. I am used to anger but it is nothing like the hot seething red that flashed before
my eyes. Nobody frightens my girl. There is an animalistic hunger surging through my
blood and I rush through the mass, not even thinking about dropping the flowers that
are being crushed by the way my hands have balled up, the extra energy in my body
not knowing where to go. I know that something has truly taken hold of me when I am
colliding with her. Into my best friend, on our one-year anniversary. And I can’t stop
myself until I am forcefully being thrown off, secure hands on my shoulders, grip strong
enough to leave bruises that will be purple by the time the sun rises tomorrow.
As I am holstered up I see a flash of gold, the mystery man's badge. FBI. That’s
when it hits me fully and I knew there was a reason that I lunged at my baby instead of
him. Everything happens for a reason, deep down I knew that she betrayed me. I can’t
help but let my head fall back, a manic chortle tearing its way from my throat, even as
they are tying my hands behind my back, cords so tight that I can already feel my blood
flow begin to falter.
“Billy Brown, you are under arrest for stalking and assault, you have the right to
remain silent,”
I know that the officer's voice continued to drone on and on but all that I could
focus on was her blue eyes because even as I was being shoved into the squad car,
she followed, she had always had the cocky courageousness about her, that was one of
the things that I loved about her the most.
Before they could slam the door shut in my face, the reading of my rights finally
over, I stuck my foot out with a jolt of lighting flowing through my veins. And with the
reminisce of her touch still, on my hands I spoke to her, for the first time in a year. Back
when she asked me for a pen, her smooth hands glided across mine as I handed it
over.
“Ghost orchids, you’re favorite, my love,” I told her, glimpsing down at the flowers
that had been dragged out in the struggle. And as the cops drove me away I knew I
could see the faint smile on her lips as she picked them up. I knew she would always.