tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-86836451392216589982024-02-18T22:52:11.104-08:00THE SOUTHWESTERN REVIEW BLOGULL's Creative VoiceThe Southwestern Reviewhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/17173430974840634510noreply@blogger.comBlogger101125tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8683645139221658998.post-19389479870283732852012-04-27T08:01:00.003-07:002012-04-27T08:01:47.868-07:00A Thank You from the Southwestern Review Editors<br />
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We are greatly appreciative for everyone that contributed the The Southwestern Review 2012: Phoenix Edition. You all made this a special year for UL's Creative journal. </div>
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When we initially come up with the idea, our overall goal was to inspire those who have voices and want to use them to use them. We had workshops, the blog, KRVS, and wonderful support from the UL community. Do not let this be the end; like the phoenix, see this as new beginning. </div>
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Thank you all that have shared yourselves this year. May the spirit of the "phoenix" be with you all.</div>
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With much gratitude and respect, </div>
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The Southwestern Review 2012 Editors</div>
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Amber J. Lucik</div>
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Louis Toliver Jr.</div>The Southwestern Reviewhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/17173430974840634510noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8683645139221658998.post-55903082589101780872012-04-25T05:05:00.001-07:002012-04-25T05:05:21.414-07:00“Writes of Spring” Contest of The Acadiana Writing Project<br />
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<b><i><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: white; font-size: x-large;">A light exists in spring</span></i></b></div>
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<i><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: white; font-size: large;">Winning Poems, Fiction, Nonfiction & </span></i></div>
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<i><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: white; font-size: large;">Drama of the 2011</span></i></div>
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<i><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: white; font-size: large;">“Writes of Spring” Contest of </span></i></div>
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<i><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: white; font-size: large;">The Acadiana Writing Project</span></i></div>
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<b><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: white; font-size: large;">CONTENTS</span></b></div>
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<span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: white; font-size: large;">9<span style="font: 7.9px 'Bookman Old Style';">th </span>and 10<span style="font: 7.9px 'Bookman Old Style';">th </span>Grade</span></div>
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<u><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: white; font-size: large;">Poetry</span></u></div>
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<span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: white; font-size: large;">How Can I Become a Dancer? by Marissa Eskine</span></div>
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<u><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: white; font-size: large;">Fiction </span></u></div>
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<span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: white; font-size: large;">I Never Thought I Would Eat Leaves by Olivia Spallino</span></div>
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<span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: white; font-size: large;">11<span style="font: 7.9px 'Bookman Old Style';">th </span>and 12<span style="font: 7.9px 'Bookman Old Style';">th </span>Grade</span></div>
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<u><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: white; font-size: large;">Poetry</span></u></div>
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<span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: white; font-size: large;">In Chronological Order by Hannah Moreau</span></div>
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<u><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: white; font-size: large;">Fiction</span></u></div>
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<span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: white; font-size: large;">Division of Hearts and Land by Jasmine Latolais</span></div>
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<u><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: white; font-size: large;">Nonfiction </span></u></div>
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<span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: white; font-size: large;">Where Dreams Become Reality by Madeline Hurst</span></div>
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<u><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: white; font-size: large;">Drama</span></u></div>
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<span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: white; font-size: large;">Le Mannequin by Allister Bandoin</span></div>
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<b><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: white; font-size: large;">How Can I Become a Dancer?</span></b></div>
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<span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: white; font-size: large;">Based upon <span style="font: 12.0px 'Times New Roman';">―</span>”How Can I Become a Poet?” By Eve Merriam</span></div>
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<span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: white; font-size: large;">Take the stem of a dandelion </span></div>
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<span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: white; font-size: large;">Outline it with your fingertips </span></div>
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<span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: white; font-size: large;">The outside texture and inner posture</span></div>
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<span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: white; font-size: large;">Notice how it blows in the wind</span></div>
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<span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: white; font-size: large;">How they are rare in December </span></div>
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<span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: white; font-size: large;">How they are scattered about in April</span></div>
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<span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: white; font-size: large;">By early May </span></div>
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<span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: white; font-size: large;">Blow the petals off </span></div>
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<span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: white; font-size: large;">So they can dance freely in the air</span></div>
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<span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: white; font-size: large;">Wish on it </span></div>
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<span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: white; font-size: large;">Listen to its breeze</span></div>
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<span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: white; font-size: large;">Watch it move ever so gracefully </span></div>
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<span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: white; font-size: large;">Then in summer- </span></div>
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<span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: white; font-size: large;">When they expand in fields </span></div>
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<span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: white; font-size: large;">Pick one</span></div>
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<i><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: white; font-size: large;">Marisa Eskine First place 9-10 poetry O. Comeaux High, Lafayette</span></i></div>
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<b><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: white; font-size: large;">I Never Thought I Would Eat Leaves</span></b></div>
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<span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: white; font-size: large;"> I was your typical seven-year-old girl who did not try new things. There was no good reason to. I figured the things I said, wanted, wore, and even ate, were the best of the best. Trying something new seemed completely unnecessary. But all that changed one night when I was at my friend Alex's house.</span></div>
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<span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: white; font-size: large;"> Alex and I went to school together, and I liked being with him. He was energetic, creative, funny, and in the second grade, which was outstanding at the time. I was in the first grade, so having a second grader as a friend was incredible. Our friendship gave me dibs on the swing set that was on the "big kid's" side of the playground. With Alex by my side, I was all- powerful; I was in with the second grade crowd.</span></div>
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<span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: white;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: large;"> Do not get me wrong, though, I was not just Alex's friend because he was a second grader. No, that was just a bonus. I was his friend because we had fun together. I was never bored when Alex was around. We kept busy waving sticks for sword fights or racing our hot wheels through the dirt. On rainy days we played "Don't Break the Ice" in the gym until our fingers were sore. Sometimes I brought my ant farm to school, and we plucked the big black ants off the old oak tree that was out by the lunch tables. Trust me, Alex and I always had a blast</span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: large;">.</span></span></div>
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<span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: white; font-size: large;"> One time I went home with Alex to have dinner with his family. I expected the usual: pot roast, steak and potatoes, hamburgers. But when I got to his house, I found out we were not having anything "usual."</span></div>
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<span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: white; font-size: large;"> "Dinner!" his mother shouted.</span></div>
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<span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: white; font-size: large;"> Dropping our hands of cards, Alex and I hopped off his playroom's floor. We were playing "Go-fish," and he was winning. I hated the very thought of losing, so when his mother announced dinner, I jumped at the chance to throw the game.</span></div>
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<span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: white; font-size: large;"> "What are we having?" I questioned, my stomach rumbling at the thought.</span></div>
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<span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: white; font-size: large;"> "A few things," he began thoughtfully. "I think Mom said there will be tabouli, kibbe, and grape leaves."</span></div>
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<span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: white; font-size: large;"> "Grape leaves?" I gasped. "Your family eats leaves?" I questioned in disbelief. "Leaves?" I was sure he had to be kidding.</span></div>
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<span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: white; font-size: large;"> "Yeah," he replied, confused by my disapproval.</span></div>
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<span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: white; font-size: large;"> "That is icky!" I exclaimed. "Leaves are for caterpillars to eat, not people!" I laughed. "What? Was your family raised in a barn?" I joked a little harshly. Lucky for me, Alex was not bothered by my impoliteness.</span></div>
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<span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: white; font-size: large;"> "No, not in a barn, in Lebanon. And it is much different then a barn there," he justified the best way he knew how.</span></div>
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<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: 'Bookman Old Style';"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: white; font-size: large;"> "I do not think it would be much different than a barn if they eat leaves," I declared.</span></span></div>
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<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: 'Bookman Old Style';"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: white; font-size: large;"><br /></span></span></div>
<div style="font: 12.0px 'Bookman Old Style'; margin: 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px;">
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: white; font-size: large;"> "Come on!" he droned, pulling me by the arm out of the playroom. He yanked me through the doorway and into the kitchen. Our dinner was waiting on the table. "Just try it," he uttered.</span></div>
<div style="font: 12.0px 'Bookman Old Style'; margin: 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px;">
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: white; font-size: large;"><br /></span></div>
<div style="font: 12.0px 'Bookman Old Style'; margin: 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px;">
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: white; font-size: large;"> The kitchen was filled with unfamiliar aromas. It smelled like a field of grass and a little like garlic. It also smelled like lemons and onions. Despite all the strange odors, overall the kitchen smelled quite good.</span></div>
<div style="font: 12.0px 'Bookman Old Style'; margin: 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px;">
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: white; font-size: large;">I did not say anything, but looked at Alex as if he were crazy. He knew as well as I did that I was not going to be eating any leaves if I could help it.</span></div>
<div style="font: 12.0px 'Bookman Old Style'; margin: 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px;">
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: white; font-size: large;"><br /></span></div>
<div style="font: 12.0px 'Bookman Old Style'; margin: 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px;">
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: white; font-size: large;"> "Fine then!" he said in a whisper so that his parents would not hear I was hesitant to try their food. "Do not try it." He eyed his parents already sitting at the table. "I do not care if you are rude..."</span></div>
<div style="font: 12.0px 'Bookman Old Style'; margin: 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px;">
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: white; font-size: large;"><br /></span></div>
<div style="font: 12.0px 'Bookman Old Style'; margin: 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px;">
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: white; font-size: large;"> I shrugged, coming to terms with the fact that I had no choice but to eat the leaves.</span></div>
<div style="font: 12.0px 'Bookman Old Style'; margin: 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px;">
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: white; font-size: large;"><br /></span></div>
<div style="font: 12.0px 'Bookman Old Style'; margin: 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px;">
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: white; font-size: large;"> Alex squeezed into one of the two chairs between his parents. I was reluctant to sit down, because I knew once I sat, I would have to try the bizarre food. I might even have to pretend I liked it.</span></div>
<div style="font: 10.8px Calibri; margin: 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px; min-height: 13.0px;">
<span class="Apple-tab-span" style="white-space: pre;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: white; font-size: large;"> </span></span></div>
<div style="font: 10.8px Calibri; margin: 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px;">
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: white; font-size: large;"> <span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: 'Bookman Old Style';">As I slid into my seat, I gazed at the steaming plate of strange cuisine that lay on the table before me. I sat blankly staring at my plate while Alex immediately began to stuff his face with the gross-looking, exotic dinner. He looked like he had not eaten in weeks. Not even bothering to use his fork, he ate busily with his hands. As I watched him chow-down, I asked what was on my plate.</span></span></div>
<div style="font: 10.8px Calibri; margin: 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px;">
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: 'Bookman Old Style';"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: white; font-size: large;"><br /></span></span></div>
<div style="font: 12.0px 'Bookman Old Style'; margin: 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px;">
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: white; font-size: large;"> "Grape leaves," he said, pointing to three dreadful sausage-shaped things wrapped in leaves. "Tabouli." He pointed to what looked like dark lettuce that had been hacked to bits covered in onions and tomatoes. It smelled funny too, just like our lawn after Dad cuts it. "And this is kibbe," he reported while taking a bite out of what looked like a French fry in the shape of a football.</span></div>
<div style="font: 12.0px 'Bookman Old Style'; margin: 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px;">
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: white; font-size: large;"><br /></span></div>
<div style="font: 12.0px 'Bookman Old Style'; margin: 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px;">
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: white; font-size: large;"> "Eat," his mother suggested as she started to munch on her tabouli.</span></div>
<div style="font: 12.0px 'Bookman Old Style'; margin: 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px;">
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: white; font-size: large;"><br /></span></div>
<div style="font: 12.0px 'Bookman Old Style'; margin: 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px;">
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: white; font-size: large;"> I looked back and forth between Alex and my plate until I eventually gained the confidence to take one bite. I reached down, took a grape leaf into my hand, inhaled a deep breath, and sunk my teeth into it. To my surprise, the grape leaf did not taste half as bad as I thought it would.</span></div>
<div style="font: 12.0px 'Bookman Old Style'; margin: 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px;">
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: white; font-size: large;"><br /></span></div>
<div style="font: 12.0px 'Bookman Old Style'; margin: 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px;">
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: white; font-size: large;"> "That is good!" I shrieked in amazement once I had swallowed. "That is really good!" I took another bite. Then another. I could not believe it. How could something so ugly and weird taste so good? I kept eating. I did not stop to take a breath.</span></div>
<div style="font: 12.0px 'Bookman Old Style'; margin: 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px;">
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: white; font-size: large;"><br /></span></div>
<div style="font: 12.0px 'Bookman Old Style'; margin: 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px;">
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: white; font-size: large;"> "Hey," Alex said with a laugh. "You are eating those <i>leaves </i>like a crazy person." He smirked. "What? Were you raised in a barn?"</span></div>
<div style="font: 12.0px 'Bookman Old Style'; margin: 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px;">
<i><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: white; font-size: large;"><br /></span></i></div>
<div style="font: 12.0px 'Bookman Old Style'; margin: 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px;">
<i><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: white; font-size: large;"><br /></span></i></div>
<div style="font: 12.0px 'Bookman Old Style'; margin: 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px;">
<i><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: white; font-size: large;">Olivia Spallino First place 9-10 fiction Home school</span></i></div>
<div style="font: 10.8px Calibri; margin: 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px; min-height: 13.0px;">
<span class="Apple-tab-span" style="white-space: pre;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: white; font-size: large;"> </span></span></div>
<div style="font: 10.8px Calibri; margin: 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px;">
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: white; font-size: large;"> </span></div>
<div style="font: 12.0px 'Bookman Old Style'; margin: 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px;">
<b><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: white; font-size: large;">in chronological order</span></b></div>
<div style="font: 12.0px 'Bookman Old Style'; margin: 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px;">
<b><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: white; font-size: large;"><br /></span></b></div>
<div style="font: 12.0px 'Bookman Old Style'; margin: 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px;">
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: white; font-size: large;">I.</span></div>
<div style="font: 12.0px 'Bookman Old Style'; margin: 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px;">
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: white; font-size: large;">the wind ripped the door wide open </span></div>
<div style="font: 12.0px 'Bookman Old Style'; margin: 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px;">
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: white; font-size: large;">and the storm violently swirled in</span></div>
<div style="font: 12.0px 'Bookman Old Style'; margin: 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px;">
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: white; font-size: large;"><br /></span></div>
<div style="font: 12.0px 'Bookman Old Style'; margin: 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px;">
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: white; font-size: large;">i tapped you frantically and whispered </span></div>
<div style="font: 12.0px 'Bookman Old Style'; margin: 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px;">
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: white; font-size: large;">your name begging you to wake up half- </span></div>
<div style="font: 12.0px 'Bookman Old Style'; margin: 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px;">
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: white; font-size: large;">asleep you shut and locked the door </span></div>
<div style="font: 12.0px 'Bookman Old Style'; margin: 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px;">
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: white; font-size: large;">and sluggishly slid back into bed</span></div>
<div style="font: 12.0px 'Bookman Old Style'; margin: 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px;">
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: white; font-size: large;"><br /></span></div>
<div style="font: 12.0px 'Bookman Old Style'; margin: 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px;">
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: white; font-size: large;">i shook, sick to my stomach as you </span></div>
<div style="font: 12.0px 'Bookman Old Style'; margin: 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px;">
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: white; font-size: large;">rolled over, turning your back to me i </span></div>
<div style="font: 12.0px 'Bookman Old Style'; margin: 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px;">
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: white; font-size: large;">was too young to change my mind </span></div>
<div style="font: 12.0px 'Bookman Old Style'; margin: 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px;">
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: white; font-size: large;">but i was too old to not understand i </span></div>
<div style="font: 12.0px 'Bookman Old Style'; margin: 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px;">
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: white; font-size: large;">was drowning in the tide and you </span></div>
<div style="font: 12.0px 'Bookman Old Style'; margin: 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px;">
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: white; font-size: large;">were seventeen years old and still </span></div>
<div style="font: 12.0px 'Bookman Old Style'; margin: 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px;">
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: white; font-size: large;">didn't even know how to swim</span></div>
<div style="font: 12.0px 'Bookman Old Style'; margin: 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px;">
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: white; font-size: large;"><br /></span></div>
<div style="font: 12.0px 'Bookman Old Style'; margin: 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px;">
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: white; font-size: large;">you snored quietly beside me while </span></div>
<div style="font: 12.0px 'Bookman Old Style'; margin: 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px;">
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: white; font-size: large;">i brokenly cried myself to sleep</span></div>
<div style="font: 12.0px 'Bookman Old Style'; margin: 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px;">
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: white; font-size: large;"><br /></span></div>
<div style="font: 12.0px 'Bookman Old Style'; margin: 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px;">
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: white; font-size: large;">i fell asleep next to you </span></div>
<div style="font: 12.0px 'Bookman Old Style'; margin: 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px;">
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: white; font-size: large;">and i woke up alone</span></div>
<div style="font: 12.0px 'Bookman Old Style'; margin: 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px;">
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: white; font-size: large;"><br /></span></div>
<div style="font: 12.0px 'Bookman Old Style'; margin: 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px;">
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: white; font-size: large;">II. </span></div>
<div style="font: 12.0px 'Bookman Old Style'; margin: 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px;">
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: white; font-size: large;">you were a sun god even at midnight </span></div>
<div style="font: 12.0px 'Bookman Old Style'; margin: 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px;">
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: white; font-size: large;">radiant even in the dark under the covers </span></div>
<div style="font: 12.0px 'Bookman Old Style'; margin: 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px;">
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: white; font-size: large;">you smiled shyly in your sleep and i</span></div>
<div style="font: 12.0px 'Bookman Old Style'; margin: 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px;">
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: white; font-size: large;"><br /></span></div>
<div style="font: 12.0px 'Bookman Old Style'; margin: 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px;">
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: white; font-size: large;">ran my fingers through your thick hair </span></div>
<div style="font: 12.0px 'Bookman Old Style'; margin: 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px;">
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: white; font-size: large;">it was one of the rare nights that you dreamed </span></div>
<div style="font: 12.0px 'Bookman Old Style'; margin: 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px;">
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: white; font-size: large;">peacefully and i sat upright</span></div>
<div style="font: 10.8px Calibri; margin: 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px; min-height: 13.0px;">
<span class="Apple-tab-span" style="white-space: pre;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: white; font-size: large;"> </span></span></div>
<div style="font: 10.8px Calibri; margin: 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px;">
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: white; font-size: large;"> </span></div>
<div style="font: 12.0px 'Bookman Old Style'; margin: 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px;">
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: white; font-size: large;">with only my dark thoughts for company i </span></div>
<div style="font: 12.0px 'Bookman Old Style'; margin: 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px;">
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: white; font-size: large;">kissed every inch of your skin and prayed </span></div>
<div style="font: 12.0px 'Bookman Old Style'; margin: 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px;">
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: white; font-size: large;">that i could grow up overnight</span></div>
<div style="font: 12.0px 'Bookman Old Style'; margin: 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px;">
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: white; font-size: large;"><br /></span></div>
<div style="font: 12.0px 'Bookman Old Style'; margin: 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px;">
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: white; font-size: large;">and i could love you the way you deserved </span></div>
<div style="font: 12.0px 'Bookman Old Style'; margin: 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px;">
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: white; font-size: large;">to be loved but no one listened and i </span></div>
<div style="font: 12.0px 'Bookman Old Style'; margin: 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px;">
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: white; font-size: large;">broke my own heart that night but i </span></div>
<div style="font: 12.0px 'Bookman Old Style'; margin: 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px;">
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: white; font-size: large;">think you knew how hard i tried but</span></div>
<div style="font: 12.0px 'Bookman Old Style'; margin: 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px;">
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: white; font-size: large;">that didn't change very much</span></div>
<div style="font: 12.0px 'Bookman Old Style'; margin: 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px;">
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: white; font-size: large;"><br /></span></div>
<div style="font: 12.0px 'Bookman Old Style'; margin: 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px;">
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: white; font-size: large;">you were folded around me but i </span></div>
<div style="font: 12.0px 'Bookman Old Style'; margin: 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px;">
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: white; font-size: large;">was millions of miles away</span></div>
<div style="font: 12.0px 'Bookman Old Style'; margin: 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px;">
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: white; font-size: large;"><br /></span></div>
<div style="font: 12.0px 'Bookman Old Style'; margin: 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px;">
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: white; font-size: large;">i fell asleep next to you </span></div>
<div style="font: 12.0px 'Bookman Old Style'; margin: 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px;">
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: white; font-size: large;">and i woke up alone</span></div>
<div style="font: 12.0px 'Bookman Old Style'; margin: 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px;">
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: white; font-size: large;"><br /></span></div>
<div style="font: 12.0px 'Bookman Old Style'; margin: 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px;">
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: white; font-size: large;">III. </span></div>
<div style="font: 12.0px 'Bookman Old Style'; margin: 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px;">
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: white; font-size: large;">snow danced outside of the window</span></div>
<div style="font: 12.0px 'Bookman Old Style'; margin: 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px;">
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: white; font-size: large;"><br /></span></div>
<div style="font: 12.0px 'Bookman Old Style'; margin: 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px;">
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: white; font-size: large;">the first and only time i was in your arms </span></div>
<div style="font: 12.0px 'Bookman Old Style'; margin: 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px;">
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: white; font-size: large;">there was no light but the stars and you were </span></div>
<div style="font: 12.0px 'Bookman Old Style'; margin: 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px;">
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: white; font-size: large;">the only thing keeping me from freezing</span></div>
<div style="font: 12.0px 'Bookman Old Style'; margin: 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px;">
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: white; font-size: large;"><br /></span></div>
<div style="font: 12.0px 'Bookman Old Style'; margin: 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px;">
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: white; font-size: large;">you said that we were split from the same soul </span></div>
<div style="font: 12.0px 'Bookman Old Style'; margin: 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px;">
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: white; font-size: large;">my lips grazed across the stubble on your face </span></div>
<div style="font: 12.0px 'Bookman Old Style'; margin: 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px;">
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: white; font-size: large;">and the scar on your thumb and your chest </span></div>
<div style="font: 12.0px 'Bookman Old Style'; margin: 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px;">
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: white; font-size: large;">that vibrated with your static heartbeat</span></div>
<div style="font: 12.0px 'Bookman Old Style'; margin: 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px;">
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: white; font-size: large;"><br /></span></div>
<div style="font: 12.0px 'Bookman Old Style'; margin: 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px;">
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: white; font-size: large;">you kissed my hair and my cheeks and </span></div>
<div style="font: 12.0px 'Bookman Old Style'; margin: 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px;">
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: white; font-size: large;">murmured echoes of ocean breeze</span></div>
<div style="font: 12.0px 'Bookman Old Style'; margin: 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px;">
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: white; font-size: large;"><br /></span></div>
<div style="font: 12.0px 'Bookman Old Style'; margin: 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px;">
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: white; font-size: large;">we slept with our fingers twisted together </span></div>
<div style="font: 12.0px 'Bookman Old Style'; margin: 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px;">
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: white; font-size: large;">i woke with a bad taste in my mouth</span></div>
<div style="font: 10.8px Calibri; margin: 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px; min-height: 13.0px;">
<span class="Apple-tab-span" style="white-space: pre;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: white; font-size: large;"> </span></span></div>
<div style="font: 10.8px Calibri; margin: 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px;">
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: white; font-size: large;"> </span></div>
<div style="font: 12.0px 'Bookman Old Style'; margin: 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px;">
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: white; font-size: large;">i watched you sleep for a while and </span></div>
<div style="font: 12.0px 'Bookman Old Style'; margin: 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px;">
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: white; font-size: large;">realized that you were no more than </span></div>
<div style="font: 12.0px 'Bookman Old Style'; margin: 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px;">
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: white; font-size: large;">a child in the body of a growing man</span></div>
<div style="font: 12.0px 'Bookman Old Style'; margin: 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px;">
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: white; font-size: large;"><br /></span></div>
<div style="font: 12.0px 'Bookman Old Style'; margin: 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px;">
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: white; font-size: large;">i slipped from out of your arms and </span></div>
<div style="font: 12.0px 'Bookman Old Style'; margin: 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px;">
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: white; font-size: large;">you didn't even stir</span></div>
<div style="font: 12.0px 'Bookman Old Style'; margin: 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px;">
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: white; font-size: large;"><br /></span></div>
<div style="font: 12.0px 'Bookman Old Style'; margin: 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px;">
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: white; font-size: large;">i fell asleep next to you </span></div>
<div style="font: 12.0px 'Bookman Old Style'; margin: 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px;">
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: white; font-size: large;">and i woke up alone</span></div>
<div style="font: 12.0px 'Bookman Old Style'; margin: 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px;">
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: white; font-size: large;"><br /></span></div>
<div style="font: 12.0px 'Bookman Old Style'; margin: 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px;">
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: white; font-size: large;">IV. </span></div>
<div style="font: 12.0px 'Bookman Old Style'; margin: 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px;">
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: white; font-size: large;">we fell asleep on the dry sea your </span></div>
<div style="font: 12.0px 'Bookman Old Style'; margin: 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px;">
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: white; font-size: large;">breath was soft like a child's and </span></div>
<div style="font: 12.0px 'Bookman Old Style'; margin: 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px;">
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: white; font-size: large;">mine was caught in my chest i </span></div>
<div style="font: 12.0px 'Bookman Old Style'; margin: 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px;">
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: white; font-size: large;">found my shorts and your shirt </span></div>
<div style="font: 12.0px 'Bookman Old Style'; margin: 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px;">
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: white; font-size: large;">passionately tangled on the floor </span></div>
<div style="font: 12.0px 'Bookman Old Style'; margin: 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px;">
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: white; font-size: large;">i gently brushed my cold fingertips </span></div>
<div style="font: 12.0px 'Bookman Old Style'; margin: 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px;">
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: white; font-size: large;">your sleep-warmed cheeks </span></div>
<div style="font: 12.0px 'Bookman Old Style'; margin: 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px;">
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: white; font-size: large;">wishing that i could read your mind you </span></div>
<div style="font: 12.0px 'Bookman Old Style'; margin: 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px;">
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: white; font-size: large;">mumbled a groggy "good morning" </span></div>
<div style="font: 12.0px 'Bookman Old Style'; margin: 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px;">
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: white; font-size: large;">and dragged me over across the blankets </span></div>
<div style="font: 12.0px 'Bookman Old Style'; margin: 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px;">
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: white; font-size: large;">and kissed me deeply and asked for </span></div>
<div style="font: 12.0px 'Bookman Old Style'; margin: 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px;">
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: white; font-size: large;">the time and whereabouts of our clothes </span></div>
<div style="font: 12.0px 'Bookman Old Style'; margin: 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px;">
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: white; font-size: large;">and traced circles around my bare hips i </span></div>
<div style="font: 12.0px 'Bookman Old Style'; margin: 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px;">
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: white; font-size: large;">ran my tongue across my swollen lips </span></div>
<div style="font: 12.0px 'Bookman Old Style'; margin: 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px;">
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: white; font-size: large;">and tasted stale alcohol and sour regret i </span></div>
<div style="font: 12.0px 'Bookman Old Style'; margin: 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px;">
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: white; font-size: large;">lay counting specks on the ceiling while </span></div>
<div style="font: 12.0px 'Bookman Old Style'; margin: 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px;">
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: white; font-size: large;">you slept almost angelically </span></div>
<div style="font: 12.0px 'Bookman Old Style'; margin: 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px;">
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: white; font-size: large;">with your arms around my waist </span></div>
<div style="font: 12.0px 'Bookman Old Style'; margin: 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px;">
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: white; font-size: large;">i fell asleep next to you and </span></div>
<div style="font: 12.0px 'Bookman Old Style'; margin: 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px;">
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: white; font-size: large;">i woke up alone</span></div>
<div style="font: 12.0px 'Bookman Old Style'; margin: 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px;">
<i><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: white; font-size: large;"><br /></span></i></div>
<div style="font: 12.0px 'Bookman Old Style'; margin: 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px;">
<i><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: white; font-size: large;"><br /></span></i></div>
<div style="font: 12.0px 'Bookman Old Style'; margin: 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px;">
<i><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: white; font-size: large;">Hannah Moreau First place 11-12 poetry Opelousas High, Opelousas</span></i></div>
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<span class="Apple-tab-span" style="white-space: pre;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: white; font-size: large;"> </span></span></div>
<div style="font: 10.8px Calibri; margin: 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px;">
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: white; font-size: large;"> </span></div>
<div style="font: 12.0px 'Bookman Old Style'; margin: 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px;">
<b><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: white; font-size: large;">Division of Hearts and Land</span></b></div>
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<b><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: white; font-size: large;"><br /></span></b></div>
<div style="font: 12.0px 'Bookman Old Style'; margin: 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px;">
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: white; font-size: large;"> 1948.</span></div>
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<span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: white; font-size: large;"><br /></span></div>
<div style="font: 12.0px 'Bookman Old Style'; margin: 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px;">
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: white; font-size: large;"> A hardened man stared at his reflection. The light cast shadows while he searched in his eyes for the answer. Wrinkles filled with stories of countless murders crisscrossed on his face, shunning each other.</span></div>
<div style="font: 12.0px 'Bookman Old Style'; margin: 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px;">
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: white; font-size: large;"> A situation hovered before him. He had no solution. No way of avoidance.</span></div>
<div style="font: 12.0px 'Bookman Old Style'; margin: 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px;">
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: white; font-size: large;"> A knock, A soldier entered. He saluted. With a nod from the man, the soldier's arm fell.</span></div>
<div style="font: 12.0px 'Bookman Old Style'; margin: 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px;">
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: white; font-size: large;"> "Sir, they are awaiting your decision." Silence.</span></div>
<div style="font: 12.0px 'Bookman Old Style'; margin: 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px;">
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: white; font-size: large;"> The soldier continued to stand there unmoving. The man continued to stare into his own eyes.</span></div>
<div style="font: 12.0px 'Bookman Old Style'; margin: 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px;">
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: white; font-size: large;"> Then, another salute. The soldier's hoots clicked on the floor. It echoed the ticking clock.</span></div>
<div style="font: 12.0px 'Bookman Old Style'; margin: 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px;">
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: white; font-size: large;"> The soldier left.</span></div>
<div style="font: 12.0px 'Bookman Old Style'; margin: 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px;">
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: white; font-size: large;"> A dusty light fanned over him as he sat down in his leather chair. He knew what the world thought of him.</span></div>
<div style="font: 12.0px 'Bookman Old Style'; margin: 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px;">
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: white; font-size: large;"> Devil. Scoundrel. Enemy. Powerful,</span></div>
<div style="font: 12.0px 'Bookman Old Style'; margin: 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px;">
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: white; font-size: large;"> Omnipotent. Savior. Leader. God. Tick. tick. tick.</span></div>
<div style="font: 12.0px 'Bookman Old Style'; margin: 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px;">
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: white; font-size: large;"> He knew the sacrifice. He knew the possible disaster. He could hear the screaming. The men crying. The children's pain. <span style="font: 10.8px Calibri;"><span class="Apple-tab-span" style="white-space: pre;"> </span></span></span></div>
<div style="font: 10.8px Calibri; margin: 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px;">
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: white; font-size: large;"> <span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: 'Bookman Old Style';">He'd seen the blood. Felt it. Tasted it.</span></span></div>
<div style="font: 12.0px 'Bookman Old Style'; margin: 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px;">
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: white; font-size: large;"> He wasn't what people thought. Or he didn't think he was what people thought. He wasn't without feelings.</span></div>
<div style="font: 12.0px 'Bookman Old Style'; margin: 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px;">
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: white; font-size: large;"> Heartlessness was savage. He wasn't savage. Tick. tick. tick. He wasn't without eyes. He saw what they did.</span></div>
<div style="font: 12.0px 'Bookman Old Style'; margin: 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px;">
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: white; font-size: large;">He had witnessed their lack of sympathy. Potsdam Conference. July 16. 1945. They</span></div>
<div style="font: 12.0px 'Bookman Old Style'; margin: 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px;">
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: white; font-size: large;">betrayed him. </span></div>
<div style="font: 12.0px 'Bookman Old Style'; margin: 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px;">
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: white; font-size: large;"> The Far East. Damn the Far East. His country</span></div>
<div style="font: 12.0px 'Bookman Old Style'; margin: 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px;">
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: white; font-size: large;">was in shambles. </span></div>
<div style="font: 12.0px 'Bookman Old Style'; margin: 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px;">
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: white; font-size: large;"> Devastated. His people were starving. Split up</span></div>
<div style="font: 12.0px 'Bookman Old Style'; margin: 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px;">
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: white; font-size: large;">Germany? </span></div>
<div style="font: 12.0px 'Bookman Old Style'; margin: 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px;">
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: white; font-size: large;"> Roosevelt. He didn't need it. Churchill. He</span></div>
<div style="font: 12.0px 'Bookman Old Style'; margin: 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px;">
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: white; font-size: large;">didn't need it. </span></div>
<div style="font: 12.0px 'Bookman Old Style'; margin: 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px;">
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: white; font-size: large;"> Just a mass of land. Useless to them. Iron</span></div>
<div style="font: 12.0px 'Bookman Old Style'; margin: 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px;">
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: white; font-size: large;">Curtain. He chuckled. Then stopped. They didn't</span></div>
<div style="font: 12.0px 'Bookman Old Style'; margin: 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px;">
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: white; font-size: large;">understand. So much power was just thrust into his hands.</span></div>
<div style="font: 12.0px 'Bookman Old Style'; margin: 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px;">
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: white; font-size: large;"> He was victorious. He is victorious.</span></div>
<div style="font: 12.0px 'Bookman Old Style'; margin: 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px;">
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: white; font-size: large;"> The world bows down to him. Shines his shoes with their tears.</span></div>
<div style="font: 12.0px 'Bookman Old Style'; margin: 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px;">
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: white; font-size: large;">He had feelings, though most of them were frozen. They were hardened chunks of tears and blood.</span></div>
<div style="font: 10.8px Calibri; margin: 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px; min-height: 13.0px;">
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: white; font-size: large;"><span class="Apple-tab-span" style="white-space: pre;"> </span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: 'Bookman Old Style';">Children's lifeless bodies frozen. Bodies thrown and scattered. A head here. A leg there. Did he step on a rock? No, it's a finger. A thumb. A tooth. He'd seen the battles.</span></span></div>
<div style="font: 12.0px 'Bookman Old Style'; margin: 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px;">
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: white; font-size: large;"> He chose who lived. Everyone begged. Cried. Sobbed.</span></div>
<div style="font: 12.0px 'Bookman Old Style'; margin: 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px;">
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: white; font-size: large;"> His country <i>would </i>be victorious. The decision. Tick, tick, lick. Millions would suffer. Torture. Massacres.</span></div>
<div style="font: 12.0px 'Bookman Old Style'; margin: 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px;">
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: white; font-size: large;">Deaths.</span></div>
<div style="font: 12.0px 'Bookman Old Style'; margin: 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px;">
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: white; font-size: large;"> "Oh well," he whispered to himself. Sacrifice</span></div>
<div style="font: 12.0px 'Bookman Old Style'; margin: 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px;">
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: white; font-size: large;">was necessary. Always had been. Always will be. </span></div>
<div style="font: 12.0px 'Bookman Old Style'; margin: 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px;">
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: white; font-size: large;"> Damn life. Damn emotion. Weapon of</span></div>
<div style="font: 12.0px 'Bookman Old Style'; margin: 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px;">
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: white; font-size: large;">awesome power. That's what Roosevelt said. No details. No explanation.</span></div>
<div style="font: 12.0px 'Bookman Old Style'; margin: 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px;">
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: white; font-size: large;"> A bluff. </span></div>
<div style="font: 12.0px 'Bookman Old Style'; margin: 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px;">
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: white; font-size: large;"> He had soldiers everywhere. Damn peace. Damn Roosevelt. Damn Churchill. Damn the</span></div>
<div style="font: 12.0px 'Bookman Old Style'; margin: 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px;">
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: white; font-size: large;">weapon of awesome power. Damn precautions. Damn safety. Damn Berlin.</span></div>
<div style="font: 12.0px 'Bookman Old Style'; margin: 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px;">
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: white; font-size: large;"><br /></span></div>
<div style="font: 12.0px 'Bookman Old Style'; margin: 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px;">
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: white; font-size: large;"> A knock. A soldier entered.</span></div>
<div style="font: 12.0px 'Bookman Old Style'; margin: 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px;">
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: white; font-size: large;"> "Build the damn blockade. I want East Berlin. I want it," he muttered. A click. The soldier left.</span></div>
<div style="font: 12.0px 'Bookman Old Style'; margin: 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px;">
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: white; font-size: large;"> He heard a boy scream outside. Boots shuffled. Guns were clicked. The scream died. The boy died.</span></div>
<div style="font: 12.0px 'Bookman Old Style'; margin: 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px;">
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: white; font-size: large;"> Silence.</span></div>
<div style="font: 10.8px Calibri; margin: 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px; min-height: 13.0px;">
<span class="Apple-tab-span" style="white-space: pre;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: white; font-size: large;"> </span></span></div>
<div style="font: 12.0px 'Bookman Old Style'; margin: 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px;">
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: white; font-size: large;"> A tear. A shake of the head. He wiped his face.</span></div>
<div style="font: 12.0px 'Bookman Old Style'; margin: 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px;">
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: white; font-size: large;"> Stalin muttered to himself, "Damn."</span></div>
<div style="font: 12.0px 'Bookman Old Style'; margin: 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px;">
<i><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: white; font-size: large;"><br /></span></i></div>
<div style="font: 12.0px 'Bookman Old Style'; margin: 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px;">
<i><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: white; font-size: large;"><br /></span></i></div>
<div style="font: 12.0px 'Bookman Old Style'; margin: 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px;">
<i><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: white; font-size: large;">Jasmine Latioloais First place 11-12 Fiction Acadiana High, Lafayette</span></i></div>
<div style="font: 10.8px Calibri; margin: 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px; min-height: 13.0px;">
<span class="Apple-tab-span" style="white-space: pre;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: white; font-size: large;"> </span></span></div>
<div style="font: 10.8px Calibri; margin: 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px;">
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: white; font-size: large;"> </span></div>
<div style="font: 12.0px 'Bookman Old Style'; margin: 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px;">
<b><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: white; font-size: large;">The Land Where Dreams Become Reality</span></b></div>
<div style="font: 12.0px 'Bookman Old Style'; margin: 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px;">
<b><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: white; font-size: large;"><br /></span></b></div>
<div style="font: 12.0px 'Bookman Old Style'; margin: 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px;">
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: white; font-size: large;"> At my eighth grade "graduation," I squirmed uncomfortably in my robes; the heat inside of the stuffy church was starting to get to me, and the fact that I was squished between two people I disliked didn't make me feel any better. My classmates" names were being called for awards, and I stared off into space; mine hadn't been called, and 1 was pretty sure that it wasn't going to be, either. These awards were for the people with straight A's and the kids who were good at math and science. Me? I was interested in reading, writing, and drawing. Unfortunately, there wasn't a Breezed-Through-Middle-School- Without-Blinking-and-Day-Dreaming-Most-of- the-Time Award, which was undoubtedly the one I would have gotten had it existed. My ears perked up as I heard another award being announced— The Pam Pothier Writing Award. I scanned the few students around me who I knew were writers; it had to be that girl, my mind told me fervently, her paper was chosen for the opening speech to the ceremony. Despite that thought, a bubble of hope formed in my chest. My name was called, and I jumped; the bubble of hope exploded into a firework show that would make New Year's Eve look like a warm-up. I looked around at the encouraging faces that beamed back at me, and 1 stood up, breathless. Walking up to the podium in somewhat of a daze, and couldn't help but laugh as my friends made stupid faces at me and pointedly ignored the girl who was glaring at me as though her gaze would make me spontaneously combust. I took the small plaque in my hands; cool to the touch. I marveled at my name engraved onto its blue material. It was only wood and plastic, sure. But to me, it couldn't have been better if it was made of pure gold.</span></div>
<div style="font: 12.0px 'Bookman Old Style'; margin: 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px;">
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: white; font-size: large;"> As I entered high school, my mind was overloaded. I played volleyball and 1 hated it. If there was anything that I knew about myself, it was that I didn't work for anything unless I really wanted it; I wasn't sleeping, eating, or studying nearly enough as I should have been. My grades and overall GPA dropped significantly. There was one grade, however, that didn't lose its shine: English. This wasn't surprising: I was a natural in the subject. Grammar came so easily, and reading large books at an early age had expanded my vocabulary immensely. I had already given up the childhood dream of becoming a nurse, but I hadn't yet decided what would truly interest me as an adult.</span></div>
<div style="font: 10.8px Calibri; margin: 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px; min-height: 13.0px;">
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: white; font-size: large;"><span class="Apple-tab-span" style="white-space: pre;"> </span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: 'Bookman Old Style';">It started becoming clear not too far into that very school year, when my English teacher brought me outside of the classroom after the bell rang. She grabbed my hands and placed them in her own, looking me straight in the eyes and staring intently into them (although, at the time, I thought it may have been my soul she was looking into). I could see my friends entering the classroom next door, slowing to a stop to laugh at me because they immediately thought what came to my mind: naturally, as a student, my first thought had been, "Oh gee what did I do now?" My heart lifted as she began to talk in a soothing tone. She explained to me that she had read my paper, and she was more than impressed. The words that came next were what really hit home.</span></span></div>
<div style="font: 12.0px 'Bookman Old Style'; margin: 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px;">
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: white; font-size: large;"> "You should definitely be a writer when you grow up."</span></div>
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<span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: white; font-size: large;"> I had played around with the idea in my youth, and this woman had just replanted it in my head. From then on, I realized writing was what I was excellent at, and what luck—I actually enjoyed doing it. The more I began to think about it, the more I could see myself doing it for a living. As sophomore year flew by, I was introduced to something called fanfiction. It's an internet sensation for nerds like myself who are obsessed with comics, movies, books, and pretty much anything with characters in it. As a fanfiction writer, one writes stories with pre- existing characters for no profit whatsoever; I was spending hours on end in front of the computer, completely glued to this addicting pastime (and if you want to know the truth, I still do). Midway through the year, my calling slapped me in the face—screenwriting. I absolutely adore movies: not overrated summer blockbusters, although some are fantastic. I'm talking about the movies that, indie or big- budget, will leave your jaw on the floor and your head reeling. As my movie collection expanded, it became clear to me that directors, screenwriters, and actors are together a team that works hard for something that they all believe in: making the unreal become reality. It is a belief that I share and a team that I want to be a part of; I want to leave an audience quiet out of shock after they have been muttering quiet profanities out of suspense for two and a half hours.</span></div>
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<span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: white; font-size: large;"> At sixteen, I sit in my car and scroll through CD's to find the indie-reggae band that I'm hoping to listen to. My hair is frizzy from the insanity that is Louisiana humidity, and my bright yellow nail polish is chipped because I'm too lazy to repaint it. I find that CD I'm looking for, shove it into the CD player. As I drive home, I smile at a simple revelation that crosses my mind. I'm lazy, but I work hard for what I love. I'm one of the few teenagers in America who hasn't had a "love" in high school, and don't think it's important that I haven't. I know who I am, and I know where I'm going. I'll move to California, I'll be a screenwriter, a dream-writer, and a real-life writer. I'll combine reality and the land of dreams, and show it to anyone who is willing to watch. I am a writer, hear me roar.</span></div>
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<i><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: white; font-size: large;">Madeline Hurst First place 11-12 nonfiction St. Thomas More Catholic High, Lafayette</span></i></div>
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<b><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: white; font-size: large;">Le Mannequin</span></b></div>
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<span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: white; font-size: large;">Scene One:</span></div>
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<span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: white; font-size: large;">The scene opens with a dark stage and a single light on a nude mannequin standing at center.</span></div>
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<span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: white; font-size: large;">Lights Out. And after five seconds the set is illuminated.</span></div>
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<span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: white; font-size: large;">The mannequin now has a large sheet of glass in front of it and is placed at stage right. The other set pieces are: a simple flowing fountain at the center, a flower pot at stage left with a single red chrysanthemum, and a watering can placed beside the flower pot</span></div>
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<span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: white; font-size: large;">A man enters from stage left with battered and fringed clothes. He walks with a limp and one shoulder significantly raised higher than the other. His patchwork coat does not match his pants and he sports shoes that are of different pairs. His cap bobbles in sync with his head. As he struts past the flowerpot he double takes and then turns back lifting the watering can. After this, he walks over to the fountain to fill it up. When walking back toward the flower pot, he sloshes and pours water onto the ground in a sly dramatic way, making it a clear point to get as much water out of the can and onto the ground. Once reaching the flower, he drizzles what water is left into the pot and with a sigh of satisfaction he continues to stage right. (This character's name is Lenny.)</span></div>
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<span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: white; font-size: large;">Constantly looking to his left and to his right, he digs deeply into his pockets searching for something. After searching all but one pocket, he remembers the object inside his coat and removes a crumpled dollar. He then kisses the dollar and "casually" places it on the ground still looking to see if the coast is clear. Then as if he notices something in the distance, he walks quickly backward and acts as though he is wandering by.</span></div>
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<span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: white; font-size: large;">Another man enters from stage right. He is well dressed with a much more appealing suit and a black bowler hat. His hat isn't obnoxiously rounded or set strangely on his head. The hat isn't a statement of humor, but rather is fitting to the attire. (I make this a point because he is set up to be the main character, a kind of "Everyman" in this play. In fact his name, although never referred to as the same with Lenny, is Everest.) He walks with purpose not leisurely strolling, but in a brisk stride. His head remains down and he passes the crumpled dollar. Lenny looks with a disappointed face, then quickly composes himself and stops the man.</span></div>
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<span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: white; font-size: large;">Lenny: (Picking up the dollar while reaching at Everest's back pocket.) Um, excuse me sir. I believe you've dropped this.</span></div>
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<span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: white; font-size: large;">Everest: (Turning around interrupting Lenny's prime objective.) Oh no. I'm sorry, but that isn't mine.</span></div>
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<span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: white; font-size: large;">Lenny: Yes it is. Everest: No I...</span></div>
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<span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: white; font-size: large;">Lenny: How could you ever be sure? Well you saw it just lying there did you not?</span></div>
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<span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: white; font-size: large;">Everest: (Trying to continue his walk.) Yes, but...</span></div>
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<span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: white; font-size: large;">Lenny: But what man would see a dollar on the street and refrain from picking it up? A misplaced dollar is fair game for any man who calls it their own.</span></div>
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<span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: white; font-size: large;">Everest: Well, I figured that maybe the wind might grab it and place it into the hand of someone who is in need.</span></div>
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<span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: white; font-size: large;">Lenny: Ha! Relying on the wind is a very uncertain way to get anything anywhere. Everest: I know of plenty sailboats that use....</span></div>
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<span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: white; font-size: large;">Lenny: (Cutting off Everest) And besides today is as breezy as a politician is honest. Ha ha. Oh, and by the way, where did you get such a dazzling suit?</span></div>
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<span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: white; font-size: large;">Everest: Oh this? 1 got it at... umm... the... hmm. Ha. You know I can't quite remember. Isn't that funny? It's as if I trudged out of the womb with it fixed to my bottom. (Laughs a while)</span></div>
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<span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: white; font-size: large;">Lenny: Furthermore it is a fine piece of garment no matter how you obtained it. Fine indeed. (Pacing around Everest) But no means to offend, it does seem a little out of place on such a smoldering day as it is. Its fabric, although pristinely gorgeous, is way too thick and not fit for such warm conditions.</span></div>
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<span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: white; font-size: large;">Everest: I suppose so.</span></div>
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<span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: white; font-size: large;">Lenny: May I remove it from you. (Clears his throat.) You know, help you take it off. (Begins to touch Everest's coat.)</span></div>
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<span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: white; font-size: large;">Everest: Oh no thank you, I actually find it quite chilly today.</span></div>
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<span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: white; font-size: large;">Lenny: Well by no means would we want you to get sick. No means at all.</span></div>
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<span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: white; font-size: large;">Everest: That's awfully kind of you. You know, looking out for another man's wellbeing. You seem like a very caring fellow. If I may ask, what are you doing here on the street?</span></div>
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<span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: white; font-size: large;">Lenny: Business. Ummm I am a shoe shiner. Look, my station is right there in front of Ol' Berthas. (Everest looks at the mannequin in the window, but doesn't spot the station anywhere in sight.) Hmm, Shame isn't it. (Motioning toward Bertha's dress shop.)</span></div>
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<span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: white; font-size: large;">Everest: Yeah, pretty rundown joint. Lenny: No, I mean the mannequin.</span></div>
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<span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: white; font-size: large;">Everest: I know what you mean; it does seem a little... bare.</span></div>
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<span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: white; font-size: large;">Lenny: A little bare? The whole mannequin is as nude as a newborn. If you only knew all the fuss that's floating around because of that mannequin.</span></div>
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<span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: white; font-size: large;">Everest: Yes?</span></div>
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<span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: white; font-size: large;">Lenny: Oh! (Then realizing Everest wants to know.) Well you see people are really upset by the mannequin. People say it's too revealing. I mean children pass by here for Christ sake. You know I always wondered what kind of mastermind stole the dress right off of it. He must have been a real brain. It doesn't look it and I'm not sayin' I've checked, but that place is sealed up tighter than a slot machine.</span></div>
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<span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: white; font-size: large;">Everest: So you think someone stole it? The glass isn't broken.</span></div>
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<span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: white; font-size: large;">Lenny: That is true, but I don't see any other reason why that mannequin is left all exposed. However who knows why Ol' Bertha hasn't slapped a dress on it by now. I don't see why anyone would want to steal any of her dresses any way. She used to display the most hideous things.. .So are you gonna get your shoes shined or what?</span></div>
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<span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: white; font-size: large;">Everest: Well I really must be going.. .to the...ummm... sure why not.</span></div>
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<span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: white; font-size: large;">(Lenny leaves, walks toward the steps of the dress shop, and Everest sits on the step extending his feet while Lenny is talking.)</span></div>
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<span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: white; font-size: large;">Lenny: For years, her and her husband ran that store. It's a surprise it didn't go out of business any sooner than it did. It seems like more people show up at this door today to complain about the mannequin then they ever did when it was open. (Looking down at Everest's feet) Oh, um that's not how I do it here. You have to take off your shoes first.</span></div>
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<span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: white; font-size: large;">Everest: Excuse me.</span></div>
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<span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: white; font-size: large;">Lenny: Well I wouldn't want to risk a kick to the face, now would I? (Everest complies v, uh a questionable glare, but then unties his shoes while Lenny continues.) Yep, people go up to the door, knock a little while, and then leave a note. <span style="font: 10.8px Calibri;"><span class="Apple-tab-span" style="white-space: pre;"> </span></span></span></div>
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<span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: white; font-size: large;">The old couple never conies out of the living quarters of that store except for at night. It is said Ol' Berthas husband gets food. But that's just the word on the street.</span></div>
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<span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: white; font-size: large;">Everest: Maybe they keep it naked for just that. (Handing Lenny the shoes.)</span></div>
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<span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: white; font-size: large;">Lenny: For just what?</span></div>
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<span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: white; font-size: large;">Everest: So that no one will want to steal any of their dresses.</span></div>
<div style="font: 12.0px 'Bookman Old Style'; margin: 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px;">
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: white; font-size: large;"><br /></span></div>
<div style="font: 12.0px 'Bookman Old Style'; margin: 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px;">
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: white; font-size: large;">Lenny: Hmm. Maybe. (He stands up and ponders for a little while, as if day dreaming.</span></div>
<div style="font: 12.0px 'Bookman Old Style'; margin: 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px;">
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: white; font-size: large;"><br /></span></div>
<div style="font: 12.0px 'Bookman Old Style'; margin: 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px;">
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: white; font-size: large;">Everest: Uh, sir.</span></div>
<div style="font: 12.0px 'Bookman Old Style'; margin: 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px;">
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: white; font-size: large;"><br /></span></div>
<div style="font: 12.0px 'Bookman Old Style'; margin: 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px;">
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: white; font-size: large;">Lenny: Oh yes. Thank you. (At this he salutes Everest and sprints to stage left running with shoes in hand.)</span></div>
<div style="font: 12.0px 'Bookman Old Style'; margin: 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px;">
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: white; font-size: large;"><br /></span></div>
<div style="font: 12.0px 'Bookman Old Style'; margin: 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px;">
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: white; font-size: large;">Everest runs after Lenny when he realizes exactly what's taking place, but slips in the puddle Lenny made at the beginning of the scene. The lights go out.</span></div>
<div style="font: 12.0px 'Bookman Old Style'; margin: 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px;">
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: white; font-size: large;"><br /></span></div>
<div style="font: 12.0px 'Bookman Old Style'; margin: 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px;">
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: white; font-size: large;"><br /></span></div>
<div style="font: 12.0px 'Bookman Old Style'; margin: 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px;">
<i><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: white; font-size: large;">Allister Baudoin First place drama St. Thomas More Catholic High, Lafayette</span></i></div>The Southwestern Reviewhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/17173430974840634510noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8683645139221658998.post-52633346192452010482012-04-23T10:21:00.001-07:002012-04-23T10:21:07.654-07:00SWR RELEASE PARTY TOMORROW!<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjv1bvBMmYFCUhrTMNWG3eK0kN5hH9sa9yyvETS3AY9NFE9LWixGU8bPdshcnSMT8C-XtnTaql_avFxopVSTGikl5PUf4XhLPBhY5UDmyiq6izzpUBX4ccsA3SMLJPJ_yfJC3Y3nrIxhea_/s1600/SWR+-+right+date.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjv1bvBMmYFCUhrTMNWG3eK0kN5hH9sa9yyvETS3AY9NFE9LWixGU8bPdshcnSMT8C-XtnTaql_avFxopVSTGikl5PUf4XhLPBhY5UDmyiq6izzpUBX4ccsA3SMLJPJ_yfJC3Y3nrIxhea_/s320/SWR+-+right+date.jpg" width="247" /></a></div>
<br />The Southwestern Reviewhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/17173430974840634510noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8683645139221658998.post-16330881351664913692012-04-20T08:04:00.004-07:002012-04-20T08:04:42.321-07:00Taylor Coen's Emotional Appeal<style>
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<span style="font-family: "Monotype Corsiva"; font-size: 14.0pt;"><span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span></span><span style="font-family: Cambria; font-size: 14.0pt; mso-ascii-theme-font: major-latin; mso-bidi-font-family: "Times New Roman"; mso-hansi-theme-font: major-latin;"> </span></div>
<div align="center" class="MsoNormal" style="color: white; line-height: 200%; margin-bottom: 0.0001pt; text-align: center;">
<span style="font-family: "Monotype Corsiva"; font-size: 16.0pt; line-height: 200%;">Sadness;</span></div>
<div align="center" class="MsoNormal" style="color: white; line-height: 200%; margin-bottom: 0.0001pt; text-align: center;">
<span style="font-family: "Monotype Corsiva"; font-size: 16.0pt; line-height: 200%;">Emptiness;</span></div>
<div align="center" class="MsoNormal" style="color: white; line-height: 200%; margin-bottom: 0.0001pt; text-align: center;">
<span style="font-family: "Monotype Corsiva"; font-size: 16.0pt; line-height: 200%;">A path of destruction.</span></div>
<div align="center" class="MsoNormal" style="color: white; line-height: 200%; margin-bottom: 0.0001pt; text-align: center;">
<span style="font-family: "Monotype Corsiva"; font-size: 16.0pt; line-height: 200%;">Tiredness;</span></div>
<div align="center" class="MsoNormal" style="color: white; line-height: 200%; margin-bottom: 0.0001pt; text-align: center;">
<span style="font-family: "Monotype Corsiva"; font-size: 16.0pt; line-height: 200%;">Sickness;</span></div>
<div align="center" class="MsoNormal" style="color: white; line-height: 200%; margin-bottom: 0.0001pt; text-align: center;">
<span style="font-family: "Monotype Corsiva"; font-size: 16.0pt; line-height: 200%;">A cloud of delusion.</span></div>
<div align="center" class="MsoNormal" style="color: white; line-height: 200%; margin-bottom: 0.0001pt; text-align: center;">
<span style="font-family: "Monotype Corsiva"; font-size: 16.0pt; line-height: 200%;">Ignorance;</span></div>
<div align="center" class="MsoNormal" style="color: white; line-height: 200%; margin-bottom: 0.0001pt; text-align: center;">
<span style="font-family: "Monotype Corsiva"; font-size: 16.0pt; line-height: 200%;">Laughter;</span></div>
<div align="center" class="MsoNormal" style="color: white; line-height: 200%; margin-bottom: 0.0001pt; text-align: center;">
<span style="font-family: "Monotype Corsiva"; font-size: 16.0pt; line-height: 200%;">Patching up the whole.<br />
Happiness;</span></div>
<div align="center" class="MsoNormal" style="color: white; line-height: 200%; margin-bottom: 0.0001pt; text-align: center;">
<span style="font-family: "Monotype Corsiva"; font-size: 16.0pt; line-height: 200%;">Joy;</span></div>
<div align="center" class="MsoNormal" style="color: white; line-height: 200%; margin-bottom: 0.0001pt; text-align: center;">
<span style="font-family: "Monotype Corsiva"; font-size: 16.0pt; line-height: 200%;">The strength of every goal.</span></div>The Southwestern Reviewhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/17173430974840634510noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8683645139221658998.post-52649598255889899802012-04-19T06:37:00.001-07:002012-04-19T06:37:14.271-07:00The Last TRNS<div style="color: white;">
This is it, folks, the last TNRS of Spring 2012. There will never be
another Spring 2012 TNRS (ever!), so if you've been thinking to
yourself, "hey, I should go to a TNRS this spring" (and you really
should), you've lucked out, because there is one more!<br />
<br />
7:30pm in the Gaines Center, TNRS and the Creative Writing program are
proud to present Louis Toliver and Willy Vlautin! Read on for why you
will be super sad to miss these readers (and you really will be).<br />
<br />
Louis Toliver has nothing in common with Seth Johnson. To make sure you
remember that...come to the TRNS this Thursday. Louis has a surprise for
you. It will be a memorable end to the semester.<br />
<br />
Born and raised in Reno, Nevada, Vlautin started playing guitar and
writing songs as a teenager and quickly became immersed in music. It was
a Paul Kelly song, based on Raymond Carver’s “Too Much Water So Close
to Home,” that inspired him to start writing stories. Vlautin has
published three novels, THE MOTEL LIFE (2007), NORTHLINE (2008), and
LEAN ON PETE (2010). LEAN ON PETE earned Vlautin the Ken Kesey Award for
Fiction. The film version of THE MOTEL LIFE is slated for a 2012
release and stars Dakota Fanning, Emile Hirsh, Stephen Dorff, and Kris
Kristofferson. Willy Vlautin is also singer-songwriter for the band
Richmond Fontaine.<br />
<br />
See you then!<br />
Emily & Kristen</div>The Southwestern Reviewhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/17173430974840634510noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8683645139221658998.post-36319306989200620792012-04-18T08:21:00.002-07:002012-04-18T08:21:36.482-07:00Katherine Watson's Shout out to Mystery<style>
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<div class="MsoNormal" style="color: white; margin-bottom: 0.0001pt;">
<span style="font-family: Arial; font-size: 13pt;">Shout Out to
Mystery</span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="color: white; margin-bottom: 0.0001pt;">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="color: white; margin-bottom: 0.0001pt;">
<span style="font-family: Arial; font-size: 13pt;">Here's to
the mystery man sitting in the corner</span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="color: white; margin-bottom: 0.0001pt;">
<span style="font-family: Arial; font-size: 13pt;">I saw him
looking blindly</span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="color: white; margin-bottom: 0.0001pt;">
<span style="font-family: Arial; font-size: 13pt;">Not knowing
I was staring from the opposite direction</span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="color: white; margin-bottom: 0.0001pt;">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="color: white; margin-bottom: 0.0001pt;">
<span style="font-family: Arial; font-size: 13pt;">He couldn't
notice me</span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="color: white; margin-bottom: 0.0001pt;">
<span style="font-family: Arial; font-size: 13pt;">I was bound
by the bar stool under the bleak light</span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="color: white; margin-bottom: 0.0001pt;">
<span style="font-family: Arial; font-size: 13pt;">No attention
was on me except for the swirling smoke</span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="color: white; margin-bottom: 0.0001pt;">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="color: white; margin-bottom: 0.0001pt;">
<span style="font-family: Arial; font-size: 13pt;">Here's to
the booth and the barstool</span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="color: white; margin-bottom: 0.0001pt;">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="color: white; margin-bottom: 0.0001pt;">
<span style="font-family: Arial; font-size: 13pt;">Here's to
the mystery of our relationship</span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="color: white; margin-bottom: 0.0001pt;">
<span style="font-family: Arial; font-size: 13pt;">Starting off
as oglers</span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="color: white; margin-bottom: 0.0001pt;">
<span style="font-family: Arial; font-size: 13pt;">then to
friends</span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="color: white; margin-bottom: 0.0001pt;">
<span style="font-family: Arial; font-size: 13pt;">then to
committed contestants in the game of barflying</span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="color: white; margin-bottom: 0.0001pt;">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="color: white; margin-bottom: 0.0001pt;">
<span style="font-family: Arial; font-size: 13pt;">Here's to
the booth and the barstool</span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="color: white; margin-bottom: 0.0001pt;">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="color: white; margin-bottom: 0.0001pt;">
<span style="font-family: Arial; font-size: 13pt;">Here's to
the mystery of The Bulldog</span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="color: white; margin-bottom: 0.0001pt;">
<span style="font-family: Arial; font-size: 13pt;">How I found
my husband there</span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="color: white; margin-bottom: 0.0001pt;">
<span style="font-family: Arial; font-size: 13pt;">Well, that's
a miracle</span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="color: white; margin-bottom: 0.0001pt;">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="color: white; margin-bottom: 0.0001pt;">
<span style="font-family: Arial; font-size: 13pt;">Here's to
the mystery of love and commitment</span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="color: white; margin-bottom: 0.0001pt;">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="color: white; margin-bottom: 0.0001pt;">
<span style="font-family: Arial; font-size: 13pt;">Here's to
the booth and the bar stool</span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="color: white;">
<span style="font-family: Arial; font-size: 13pt;">Where roaming eyes became a mysterious matrimony and a
solved case of love.</span></div>The Southwestern Reviewhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/17173430974840634510noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8683645139221658998.post-65076451904269449192012-04-17T15:34:00.000-07:002012-04-17T15:35:20.976-07:00Seeking Actors and Supporters<br />
<div style="border-collapse: collapse; font-family: 'lucida console', sans-serif; font-size: 19px;">
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: white;"><i><b>The Rehearsa</b><b>l</b>, </i>a 17th century play (satire comedy) written by the 2nd Duke of Buckingham (rake and wit extraordinaire) is being performed the last 2 weekends of this July at Cité des Arts (downtown Lafayette).</span></div>
<div style="border-collapse: collapse; font-family: 'lucida console', sans-serif; font-size: 19px;">
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: white;"><br /></span></div>
<div style="border-collapse: collapse; font-family: 'lucida console', sans-serif; font-size: 19px;">
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: white;">We are <i><b>seeking actors</b></i><b> and </b><i><b>supporters</b> </i>to keep the ball rolling. Actors can show up for auditions May 9, 10 (7-9 pm) and 12 (Sat. 12 noon - 3pm) at Cité des Art. Sense of comedy (dark), preferably.</span></div>
<div style="border-collapse: collapse; font-family: 'lucida console', sans-serif; font-size: 19px;">
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: white;"><br /></span></div>
<div style="border-collapse: collapse; font-family: 'lucida console', sans-serif; font-size: 19px;">
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: white;"><b>Supporters are desperately needed</b> and can pledge partial ownership of show online at <b>Kickstarter.com</b> (then enter "The Rehearsal") Your sponsorship is most appreciated, as funding for the fabulous original costumes for silly men in wigs, tights and lace hankies are tantamount to the show's posturing and general goofiness is unique and costs $. </span></div>
<div style="border-collapse: collapse; font-family: 'lucida console', sans-serif; font-size: 19px;">
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: white;"><br /></span></div>
<div style="border-collapse: collapse; font-family: 'lucida console', sans-serif; font-size: 19px;">
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: white;">Please help us launch this one-of-a-kind play (no prior performances of 17th century plays, nor Morris Dancers, Hobby Horses, Kings and Pretty Men frolicking about).</span></div>
<div style="border-collapse: collapse; font-family: 'lucida console', sans-serif; font-size: 19px;">
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: white;"><br /></span></div>
<div style="border-collapse: collapse; font-family: 'lucida console', sans-serif; font-size: 19px;">
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: white;"><b>Spread the word</b>. Every little bit does count. Joint pledges work well, too. </span></div>
<div style="border-collapse: collapse; font-family: 'lucida console', sans-serif; font-size: 19px;">
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: white;"><br /></span></div>
<div style="border-collapse: collapse; font-family: 'lucida console', sans-serif; font-size: 19px;">
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: white;">Also, one Assistant Director position is open. No previous theatre experience, just organization skills.</span></div>
<div style="border-collapse: collapse; font-family: 'lucida console', sans-serif; font-size: 19px;">
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: white;"><br /></span></div>
<div style="border-collapse: collapse; font-family: 'lucida console', sans-serif; font-size: 19px;">
<b><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: white;">Thank you!</span></b></div>
<div style="border-collapse: collapse; font-family: 'lucida console', sans-serif; font-size: 19px;">
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: white;">Lauren Greene Whyte (I would really like to show Lafayette something NEW in theatre!)</span></div>
<div style="border-collapse: collapse; font-family: 'lucida console', sans-serif; font-size: 19px;">
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: white;">M.A. Student</span></div>
<div style="border-collapse: collapse; font-family: 'lucida console', sans-serif; font-size: 19px;">
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: white;">English Literature</span></div>The Southwestern Reviewhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/17173430974840634510noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8683645139221658998.post-49146148262221582222012-04-17T15:02:00.002-07:002012-04-17T15:02:28.531-07:00Flash Fiction Workshop<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: 'lucida grande', tahoma, verdana, arial, sans-serif; font-size: 13px; line-height: 18px;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: white;">Flash Fiction workshop this Wednesday (the 18th) with Marie Hendry in the Griffin Hall Writing Center! Everyone should make it!</span></span><br />
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: 'lucida grande', tahoma, verdana, arial, sans-serif; font-size: 13px; line-height: 18px;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: white;"><br /></span></span><br />
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: 'lucida grande', tahoma, verdana, arial, sans-serif; font-size: 13px; line-height: 18px;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: white;">-from Zack Dufour (Writer's Block President)</span></span>The Southwestern Reviewhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/17173430974840634510noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8683645139221658998.post-29658177202734034742012-04-17T13:26:00.001-07:002012-04-17T13:27:39.161-07:00A Special by Willy Vlautin w/ SWR co-editor Louis Toliver<span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: white;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="border-collapse: collapse; font-family: arial, sans-serif; font-size: 13px;">The Gaines Center and UL Creative Writing Program Present:</span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="border-collapse: collapse; font-family: arial, sans-serif; font-size: 13px;"><br /></span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="border-collapse: collapse; font-family: arial, sans-serif; font-size: 13px;"><br /></span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="border-collapse: collapse; font-family: arial, sans-serif; font-size: 13px;">This Thursday the AMAZING novelist and musician WILLY VLAUTIN will read at</span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="border-collapse: collapse; font-family: arial, sans-serif; font-size: 13px;"><br /></span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="border-collapse: collapse; font-family: arial, sans-serif; font-size: 13px;">the Gaines Center at 7:30pm, along with TNRS' Louis Toliver. A reception</span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="border-collapse: collapse; font-family: arial, sans-serif; font-size: 13px;"><br /></span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="border-collapse: collapse; font-family: arial, sans-serif; font-size: 13px;">from 5:30- 7:00pm at the Gaines' House precedes the event.</span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="border-collapse: collapse; font-family: arial, sans-serif; font-size: 13px;"><br /></span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="border-collapse: collapse; font-family: arial, sans-serif; font-size: 13px;"><br /></span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="border-collapse: collapse; font-family: arial, sans-serif; font-size: 13px;">Born and raised in Reno, Nevada, Vlautin started playing guitar and</span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="border-collapse: collapse; font-family: arial, sans-serif; font-size: 13px;"><br /></span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="border-collapse: collapse; font-family: arial, sans-serif; font-size: 13px;">writing songs as a teenager and quickly became immersed in music. It was a</span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="border-collapse: collapse; font-family: arial, sans-serif; font-size: 13px;"><br /></span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="border-collapse: collapse; font-family: arial, sans-serif; font-size: 13px;">Paul Kelly song, based on Raymond Carver's "Too Much Water So Close to</span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="border-collapse: collapse; font-family: arial, sans-serif; font-size: 13px;"><br /></span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="border-collapse: collapse; font-family: arial, sans-serif; font-size: 13px;">Home," that inspired him to start writing stories. Vlautin has published</span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="border-collapse: collapse; font-family: arial, sans-serif; font-size: 13px;"><br /></span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="border-collapse: collapse; font-family: arial, sans-serif; font-size: 13px;">three novels, THE MOTEL LIFE (2007), NORTHLINE (2008), and LEAN ON PETE</span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="border-collapse: collapse; font-family: arial, sans-serif; font-size: 13px;"><br /></span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="border-collapse: collapse; font-family: arial, sans-serif; font-size: 13px;">(2010). LEAN ON PETE earned Vlautin the Ken Kesey Award for Fiction. The</span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="border-collapse: collapse; font-family: arial, sans-serif; font-size: 13px;"><br /></span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="border-collapse: collapse; font-family: arial, sans-serif; font-size: 13px;">film version of THE MOTEL LIFE is slated for a 2012 release and stars</span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="border-collapse: collapse; font-family: arial, sans-serif; font-size: 13px;"><br /></span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="border-collapse: collapse; font-family: arial, sans-serif; font-size: 13px;">Dakota Fanning, Emile Hirsh, Stephen Dorff, and Kris Kristofferson. Willy</span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="border-collapse: collapse; font-family: arial, sans-serif; font-size: 13px;"><br /></span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="border-collapse: collapse; font-family: arial, sans-serif; font-size: 13px;">Vlautin is also singer-songwriter for the band RICHMOND FONTAINE:</span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="border-collapse: collapse; font-family: arial, sans-serif; font-size: 13px;"><br /></span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="border-collapse: collapse; font-family: arial, sans-serif; font-size: 13px;"><a href="http://richmondfontaine.com/" target="_blank">http://richmondfontaine.com/</a></span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="border-collapse: collapse; font-family: arial, sans-serif; font-size: 13px;"><br /></span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="border-collapse: collapse; font-family: arial, sans-serif; font-size: 13px;"><br /></span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="border-collapse: collapse; font-family: arial, sans-serif; font-size: 13px;">LEAN ON PETE has been short-listed for the prestigious International IMPAC</span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="border-collapse: collapse; font-family: arial, sans-serif; font-size: 13px;"><br /></span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="border-collapse: collapse; font-family: arial, sans-serif; font-size: 13px;">Dublin Literary Award. The IMPAC award is the largest and most</span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="border-collapse: collapse; font-family: arial, sans-serif; font-size: 13px;"><br /></span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="border-collapse: collapse; font-family: arial, sans-serif; font-size: 13px;">international prize of its kind with nominations submitted by libraries</span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="border-collapse: collapse; font-family: arial, sans-serif; font-size: 13px;"><br /></span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="border-collapse: collapse; font-family: arial, sans-serif; font-size: 13px;">all over the world for books in any language. Lean on Pete has also been</span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="border-collapse: collapse; font-family: arial, sans-serif; font-size: 13px;"><br /></span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="border-collapse: collapse; font-family: arial, sans-serif; font-size: 13px;">translated into French, and Vlautin is just off a big tour in Europe with</span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="border-collapse: collapse; font-family: arial, sans-serif; font-size: 13px;"><br /></span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="border-collapse: collapse; font-family: arial, sans-serif; font-size: 13px;">his band, Richmond Fontaine,opening forThe Jayhawks, and doing a couple of</span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="border-collapse: collapse; font-family: arial, sans-serif; font-size: 13px;"><br /></span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="border-collapse: collapse; font-family: arial, sans-serif; font-size: 13px;">weeks doing appearances in France for the publication of his Lean on Pete</span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="border-collapse: collapse; font-family: arial, sans-serif; font-size: 13px;"><br /></span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="border-collapse: collapse; font-family: arial, sans-serif; font-size: 13px;">there. The French publisher, 13e Note Editions, is well known for</span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="border-collapse: collapse; font-family: arial, sans-serif; font-size: 13px;"><br /></span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="border-collapse: collapse; font-family: arial, sans-serif; font-size: 13px;">publishing such great authors as Nelson Algren, Barry Gifford, Charles</span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="border-collapse: collapse; font-family: arial, sans-serif; font-size: 13px;"><br /></span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="border-collapse: collapse; font-family: arial, sans-serif; font-size: 13px;">Bukowski, and William S. Burroughs Jr.</span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="border-collapse: collapse; font-family: arial, sans-serif; font-size: 13px;"><br /></span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="border-collapse: collapse; font-family: arial, sans-serif; font-size: 13px;"><br /></span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="border-collapse: collapse; font-family: arial, sans-serif; font-size: 13px;">In addition to being short-listed for IMPAC Dublin Literary Award, LEAN ON</span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="border-collapse: collapse; font-family: arial, sans-serif; font-size: 13px;"><br /></span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="border-collapse: collapse; font-family: arial, sans-serif; font-size: 13px;">PETE received the 2010 Ken Kesey Award for Fiction and Literary Arts/The</span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="border-collapse: collapse; font-family: arial, sans-serif; font-size: 13px;"><br /></span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="border-collapse: collapse; font-family: arial, sans-serif; font-size: 13px;">Oregonian Peoples' Choice Award, was placed at #3 on The Independent's "50</span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="border-collapse: collapse; font-family: arial, sans-serif; font-size: 13px;"><br /></span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="border-collapse: collapse; font-family: arial, sans-serif; font-size: 13px;">Best Winter Reads", is one of Roddy Doyle's four favorite books of the</span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="border-collapse: collapse; font-family: arial, sans-serif; font-size: 13px;"><br /></span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="border-collapse: collapse; font-family: arial, sans-serif; font-size: 13px;">year, made Uncut's Top Ten Books of 2010 and the Oregonian's and Chicago</span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="border-collapse: collapse; font-family: arial, sans-serif; font-size: 13px;"><br /></span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="border-collapse: collapse; font-family: arial, sans-serif; font-size: 13px;">Sun Times' Best Books of 2010, and was Hot Press #1 Book of the Year.</span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="border-collapse: collapse; font-family: arial, sans-serif; font-size: 13px;"><br /></span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="border-collapse: collapse; font-family: arial, sans-serif; font-size: 13px;"><br /></span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="border-collapse: collapse; font-family: arial, sans-serif; font-size: 13px;">If you want to find out more about this amazing writer, you can visit his</span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="border-collapse: collapse; font-family: arial, sans-serif; font-size: 13px;"><br /></span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="border-collapse: collapse; font-family: arial, sans-serif; font-size: 13px;">website:</span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="border-collapse: collapse; font-family: arial, sans-serif; font-size: 13px;"> </span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="border-collapse: collapse; font-family: arial, sans-serif; font-size: 13px;"><a href="http://www.willyvlautin.com/" target="_blank">http://www.willyvlautin.com/</a></span></span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="border-collapse: collapse; color: #222222; font-family: arial, sans-serif; font-size: 13px;"><br /></span>The Southwestern Reviewhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/17173430974840634510noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8683645139221658998.post-71527262979596541222012-04-16T10:12:00.002-07:002012-04-16T10:12:47.587-07:00Emotion Disruption by Taylor Coen<style>
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.</span><a href="" name="_GoBack"></a></span></div>The Southwestern Reviewhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/17173430974840634510noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8683645139221658998.post-31313802381234124132012-04-13T11:52:00.001-07:002012-04-13T11:55:21.941-07:00SWR BLOG "ANYTHING GOES" FINAL WEEK!As a build up to our release party, any creative art that hasn't been posted yet and those who still would like to post will will have no limits! What does that mean? If it's 20 or 100 pieces of art, we will post more than one artist (or more than one piece by an artist) Monday (April 16th)- Friday (April 20th). You can be as sassy as you wish, but keep it classy! So hurry up! Next week will be the final week of the SWR Blog in its current form. southwesternreview@gmail.comThe Southwestern Reviewhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/17173430974840634510noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8683645139221658998.post-36962084209632812702012-04-10T06:41:00.001-07:002012-04-10T06:42:18.828-07:00Spring Break!!!!!We will be back next week!The Southwestern Reviewhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/17173430974840634510noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8683645139221658998.post-13400922433051437562012-04-07T06:11:00.002-07:002012-04-07T06:11:55.009-07:00KRVS SWR Interview!<div class="statusUnit">
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Hey Ya'll Please listen to <a data-hovercard="/ajax/hovercard/user.php?id=522112363" href="http://www.facebook.com/profile.php?id=522112363">Amber J Lucik</a> and Louis's KRVS interview for the release of ULL's The Southwestern Review Journal. Thank You!<br /> <br /> <a href="http://stream.publicbroadcasting.net/production/mp3/krvs/local-krvs-1008837.mp3" rel="nofollow nofollow" target="_blank"><span>http://</span><wbr></wbr><span class="word_break"></span><span>stream.publicbroadcasting.net/</span><wbr></wbr><span class="word_break"></span><span>production/mp3/krvs/</span><wbr></wbr><span class="word_break"></span>local-krvs-1008837.mp3</a></div>
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PARTY!</span></i></b></div>
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<u><span style="font-family: 'Handwriting - Dakota'; font-size: x-large;">The SOUTHWESTERN REVIEW 2012</span></u></div>
<span style="color: #e36c0a; font-family: 'Handwriting - Dakota'; font-size: 20pt;">_________________________________</span><span style="font-size: 20pt;"><o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<b style="mso-bidi-font-weight: normal;"><i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;"><span style="color: #e36c0a; font-family: 'Handwriting - Dakota';"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: x-large;">Who’s Invited? Y’all!!!</span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: 16pt;"><o:p></o:p></span></span></i></b></div>
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<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: large;"><span style="font-family: 'Handwriting - Dakota';">Selected artists from </span><b style="mso-bidi-font-weight: normal;"><i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;"><span style="color: #e36c0a; font-family: 'Handwriting - Dakota';">The
Southwestern Review: Phoenix Edition</span></i></b><span style="color: #e36c0a; font-family: 'Handwriting - Dakota';"> </span></span><span style="font-family: 'Handwriting - Dakota';"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: large;">plus
artists from our <i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;"><span style="color: #e36c0a;">SWR Blog</span></i> will be giving special readings of
selected works. There will music from UL artists, art, snacks, and a many
surprises. We <b style="mso-bidi-font-weight: normal;"><span style="color: #548dd4;">HOPE</span></b>
you will come out and support <i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;">The
Southwestern Review</i> and the UL Community.</span><o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="color: #e36c0a; font-family: 'Handwriting - Dakota'; font-size: 20pt;">_________________________________</span><span style="font-family: 'Handwriting - Dakota'; font-size: 20pt;"><o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="color: #e36c0a; font-family: 'Handwriting - Dakota';"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: x-large;">What is The Southwestern Review?</span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: 16pt;"><o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
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<i style="font-size: x-large;"><span style="font-family: 'Handwriting - Dakota';">The Southwestern Review</span></i><span style="font-family: 'Handwriting - Dakota'; font-size: large;"> is UL-Lafayette’s in-house literary journal edited by graduate
and/or undergraduate students in Creative Writing. It features poetry, short
fiction, non-fiction, painting, photography, and drama by faculty, graduate
students, and undergraduates. </span><span style="font-family: 'Handwriting - Dakota';"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: large;">You
can follow us @: </span><span style="color: #e36c0a; font-size: large;">THE SWR BLOG </span><u><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: #e69138; font-size: x-large;">southwesternreview.blogspot.com</span><span style="color: blue; font-size: large;"> </span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: large;">or e-mail us at </span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: #e69138; font-size: x-large;">southwesternreview@gmail.com</span></u><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: large;"><o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
<div align="center" class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: center;">
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: x-large;"><span style="color: #e36c0a; font-family: 'Handwriting - Dakota';"> ___________________________ _</span></span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: #e36c0a; font-family: 'Handwriting - Dakota'; font-size: x-large;">__</span></div>
<div align="center" class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: center;">
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: x-large;"><span style="font-family: 'Handwriting - Dakota';">When?
<span style="color: #e36c0a;">Tuesday, April 24th, 2012 </span>Where? <u><span style="color: #e36c0a;">FreeTown </span></u><span style="color: #e36c0a;">Studios-</span></span><span style="color: #e36c0a; font-family: 'Handwriting - Dakota';">421 E. Convent St.</span><span style="color: #e36c0a; font-family: 'Handwriting - Dakota';"> </span></span><span style="font-family: 'Handwriting - Dakota';"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: x-large;">Time? <span style="color: #e36c0a;">7:30PM </span>How
Much?</span><span style="color: #e36c0a;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: x-large;"> Free to UL Community</span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: 16pt;"><o:p></o:p></span></span></span></div>The Southwestern Reviewhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/17173430974840634510noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8683645139221658998.post-91500210420621371262012-04-04T09:37:00.002-07:002012-04-04T09:37:12.024-07:00The Southwestern Review Release Party and the Special KRVS Interview<h3 class="post-title entry-title" itemprop="name">
<a href="http://southwesternreview.blogspot.com/2012/04/southwestern-review-release-party-and.html">The Southwestern Review Release Party and the Special KRVS Interview</a>
</h3>
<div class="post-header" style="color: #ffd966;">
</div>
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: #ffd966; font-family: Arial,Tahoma,Helvetica,FreeSans,sans-serif; font-size: 15px; line-height: 20px;">SWR
editors, Amber Lucik and Louis Toliver, will be on KRVS Wednesday April
4th @ 3pm with a SPECIAL sneak peek of this year's Phoenix Edition with
guest readers Zack Dufour, Craig Biddy, and Felicia Brown. You do not
want to miss this, because we will also be announcing the official date
of the release party for the SWR. We are so excited and we want to thank
all of you that have participated in the journal and on the blog.
Nearly, 3000 hits!!!!!!! Submissions from many departments all over the
campus. Thank you for your faith in us! The broadcast, of course, can be
found in repeat on KRVS.org</span><br style="color: #ffd966;" />
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: #ffd966; font-family: Arial,Tahoma,Helvetica,FreeSans,sans-serif;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: 15px; line-height: 20px;">Thank UL Community and Followers. You have have lifted out spirits! </span></span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: #ffd966; font-family: Arial,Tahoma,Helvetica,FreeSans,sans-serif; font-size: 15px; line-height: 20px;">Sincerely,<br />Amber and Louis</span>The Southwestern Reviewhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/17173430974840634510noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8683645139221658998.post-64785499390621916922012-04-03T16:07:00.001-07:002012-04-03T16:18:25.903-07:00English Week!<span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: #cfe2f3;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="border-collapse: collapse; font-family: arial, sans-serif; font-size: 13px;">It's English Week at ULL, and you know what that means! Bring your students, bring your friends, bring yourselves to this week of amazing events designed to spread awareness of Sigma Tau Delta and its goals in promoting English in our community. All activities will take place in HLG 315, unless otherwise noted. </span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="border-collapse: collapse; font-family: arial, sans-serif; font-size: 13px;"><br /></span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="border-collapse: collapse; font-family: arial, sans-serif; font-size: 13px;"><br /></span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="border-collapse: collapse; font-family: arial, sans-serif; font-size: 13px;">TUESDAY, 4/3</span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="border-collapse: collapse; font-family: arial, sans-serif; font-size: 13px;"><br /></span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="border-collapse: collapse; font-family: arial, sans-serif; font-size: 13px;"><br /></span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="border-collapse: collapse; font-family: arial, sans-serif; font-size: 13px;">11:00-12:15 Resume and Cover Letter Workshop: An outstanding resume and cover letter can make a job candidate stand out from the crowd. Learn how to format a resume, learn what to include, and learn what to exclude in order to make a great first impression. A great presentation for freshman and sophomore students or anyone entering the job market.</span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="border-collapse: collapse; font-family: arial, sans-serif; font-size: 13px;"><br /></span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="border-collapse: collapse; font-family: arial, sans-serif; font-size: 13px;"><br /></span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="border-collapse: collapse; font-family: arial, sans-serif; font-size: 13px;">12:30-1:45 Southpark and Terrorism: In this session, we will explore how South Park, in its episodes "Cartoon Wars" Parts One and Two, examines and comments on contemporary issues surrounding terrorism and freedom of speech. Spoofing the Danish Jyllands-Posten newspaper controversy involving the depiction of Muslim prophet Muhammad with a bomb for a turban, these episodes bring up questions about where the line on what can be said is drawn and at what price we can say them.</span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="border-collapse: collapse; font-family: arial, sans-serif; font-size: 13px;"><br /></span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="border-collapse: collapse; font-family: arial, sans-serif; font-size: 13px;"><br /></span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="border-collapse: collapse; font-family: arial, sans-serif; font-size: 13px;">3:30-4:45 The Poetry of Dr. Seuss: Dr. Clai Rice and Kristen Bradley team up for a presentation on Dr. Seuss. Snacks will be provided. </span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="border-collapse: collapse; font-family: arial, sans-serif; font-size: 13px;"><br /></span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="border-collapse: collapse; font-family: arial, sans-serif; font-size: 13px;"><br /></span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="border-collapse: collapse; font-family: arial, sans-serif; font-size: 13px;">WEDNESDAY, 4/4</span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="border-collapse: collapse; font-family: arial, sans-serif; font-size: 13px;"><br /></span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="border-collapse: collapse; font-family: arial, sans-serif; font-size: 13px;"><br /></span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="border-collapse: collapse; font-family: arial, sans-serif; font-size: 13px;">9:00-9:50 Encore Resume and Cover Letter Workshop</span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="border-collapse: collapse; font-family: arial, sans-serif; font-size: 13px;"><br /></span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="border-collapse: collapse; font-family: arial, sans-serif; font-size: 13px;"><br /></span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="border-collapse: collapse; font-family: arial, sans-serif; font-size: 13px;">11:00-11:50 ZOMBIES in Film and Literature: This presentation will focus on the presence of the zombie as a cultural icon in literature and film. The chilling presentation is a sure brain teaser.</span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="border-collapse: collapse; font-family: arial, sans-serif; font-size: 13px;"><br /></span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="border-collapse: collapse; font-family: arial, sans-serif; font-size: 13px;"><br /></span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="border-collapse: collapse; font-family: arial, sans-serif; font-size: 13px;">12:00-12:50 Thesis Workshop: The most challenging part of the essay is the thesis statement, which will be explored, examined, and exposed in this presentation. A useful workshop for English students at all levels of education.</span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="border-collapse: collapse; font-family: arial, sans-serif; font-size: 13px;"><br /></span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="border-collapse: collapse; font-family: arial, sans-serif; font-size: 13px;"><br /></span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="border-collapse: collapse; font-family: arial, sans-serif; font-size: 13px;">1:00-2:15 Powerpoint Demonstration: Powerpoint presentations are an invaluable tool to master but tricky in execution. How many pictures of bears and sharks riding unicorns do you show? When is it appropriate to play a Vanilla Ice song? This presentation will be geared towards narrowing down the tips and tricks to a well-balanced powerpoint presentation, with a specific focus on how to incorporate different types of media into the presentation. *** In Room 318</span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="border-collapse: collapse; font-family: arial, sans-serif; font-size: 13px;"><br /></span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="border-collapse: collapse; font-family: arial, sans-serif; font-size: 13px;"><br /></span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="border-collapse: collapse; font-family: arial, sans-serif; font-size: 13px;">2:30-3:45 Encore Powerpoint Demonstration *** In Room 318</span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="border-collapse: collapse; font-family: arial, sans-serif; font-size: 13px;"><br /></span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="border-collapse: collapse; font-family: arial, sans-serif; font-size: 13px;"><br /></span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="border-collapse: collapse; font-family: arial, sans-serif; font-size: 13px;">THURSDAY, 4/5</span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="border-collapse: collapse; font-family: arial, sans-serif; font-size: 13px;"><br /></span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="border-collapse: collapse; font-family: arial, sans-serif; font-size: 13px;"><br /></span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="border-collapse: collapse; font-family: arial, sans-serif; font-size: 13px;">12:00-1:00 Potluck Lunch/ Costume Party: Anyone in a literary costume will eat for free. All others are invited to bring a dish to the event. Some food will be provided by Sigma Tau Delta, but we welcome contributions! Vote for the best literary costume!</span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="border-collapse: collapse; font-family: arial, sans-serif; font-size: 13px;"><br /></span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="border-collapse: collapse; font-family: arial, sans-serif; font-size: 13px;"><br /></span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="border-collapse: collapse; font-family: arial, sans-serif; font-size: 13px;">2:00-3:15 Alternate Histories in Science Fiction: What is an alternate history? How does it impact the genre of Science Fiction? Explore these topics and more in a teaser to May Stone's Fall 2012 ENGL 210 course.</span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="border-collapse: collapse; font-family: arial, sans-serif; font-size: 13px;"><br /></span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="border-collapse: collapse; font-family: arial, sans-serif; font-size: 13px;"><br /></span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="border-collapse: collapse; font-family: arial, sans-serif; font-size: 13px;">7:00-8:00 TNRS with Josh Gremillion and Erin Holden</span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="border-collapse: collapse; font-family: arial, sans-serif; font-size: 13px;"><br /></span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="border-collapse: collapse; font-family: arial, sans-serif; font-size: 13px;"><br /></span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="border-collapse: collapse; font-family: arial, sans-serif; font-size: 13px;">Thank you for your support, and we hope to see you throughout this week! </span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="border-collapse: collapse; font-family: arial, sans-serif; font-size: 13px;"><br /></span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="border-collapse: collapse; font-family: arial, sans-serif; font-size: 13px;"><br /></span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="border-collapse: collapse; font-family: arial, sans-serif; font-size: 13px;">Sincerely,</span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="border-collapse: collapse; font-family: arial, sans-serif; font-size: 13px;"><br /></span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="border-collapse: collapse; font-family: arial, sans-serif; font-size: 13px;"><br /></span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="border-collapse: collapse; font-family: arial, sans-serif; font-size: 13px;">The Officers</span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="border-collapse: collapse; font-family: arial, sans-serif; font-size: 13px;"><br /></span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="border-collapse: collapse; font-family: arial, sans-serif; font-size: 13px;">Sigma Tau Delta</span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="border-collapse: collapse; font-family: arial, sans-serif; font-size: 13px;"><br /></span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="border-collapse: collapse; font-family: arial, sans-serif; font-size: 13px;"><br /></span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="border-collapse: collapse; font-family: arial, sans-serif; font-size: 13px;">"No live organism can continue for long to exist sanely under the conditions of absolute reality." The Haunting of Hill House, Shirley Jackson</span></span>The Southwestern Reviewhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/17173430974840634510noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8683645139221658998.post-10547996232740086882012-04-03T14:57:00.000-07:002012-04-03T14:58:32.078-07:00The Southwestern Review Release Party and the Special KRVS Interview<span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: #cccccc; font-family: Arial, Tahoma, Helvetica, FreeSans, sans-serif; font-size: 15px; line-height: 20px;">SWR editors, Amber Lucik and Louis Toliver, will be on KRVS Wednesday April 4th @ 3pm with a SPECIAL sneak peek of this year's Phoenix Edition with guest readers Zack Dufour, Craig Biddy, and Felicia Brown. You do not want to miss this, because we will also be announcing the official date of the release party for the SWR. We are so excited and we want to thank all of you that have participated in the journal and on the blog. Nearly, 3000 hits!!!!!!! Submissions from many departments all over the campus. Thank you for your faith in us! The broadcast, of course, can be found in repeat on KRVS.org</span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: #cccccc; font-family: Arial, Tahoma, Helvetica, FreeSans, sans-serif; font-size: 15px; line-height: 20px;"><br /></span><br />
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: #cccccc; font-family: Arial, Tahoma, Helvetica, FreeSans, sans-serif;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: 15px; line-height: 20px;">Thank UL Community and Followers. You have have lifted out spirits! </span></span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: #cccccc; font-family: Arial, Tahoma, Helvetica, FreeSans, sans-serif; font-size: 15px; line-height: 20px;">Sincerely,</span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: #cccccc; font-family: Arial, Tahoma, Helvetica, FreeSans, sans-serif; font-size: 15px; line-height: 20px;"><br /></span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: #cccccc; font-family: Arial, Tahoma, Helvetica, FreeSans, sans-serif; font-size: 15px; line-height: 20px;">Amber and Louis</span>The Southwestern Reviewhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/17173430974840634510noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8683645139221658998.post-68533500391805878942012-04-02T22:43:00.002-07:002012-04-02T22:43:29.615-07:00Seth Johnson's "Neighborhood Watch"<br />
<h3 class="post-title entry-title" style="color: #cccccc; font-family: Arial, Tahoma, Helvetica, FreeSans, sans-serif; font: normal normal normal 18px/normal Georgia, Utopia, 'Palatino Linotype', Palatino, serif; margin-bottom: 0px; margin-left: 0px; margin-right: 0px; margin-top: 0px; position: relative;">
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: 14px; line-height: 18px;">In case you missed this gem.......read it again! Louisiana-bred talent!</span></h3>
<h3 class="post-title entry-title" style="color: #cccccc; font-family: Arial, Tahoma, Helvetica, FreeSans, sans-serif; font: normal normal normal 18px/normal Georgia, Utopia, 'Palatino Linotype', Palatino, serif; margin-bottom: 0px; margin-left: 0px; margin-right: 0px; margin-top: 0px; position: relative;">
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: 15px; line-height: 21px;">So looking to read a cool innovative story that's funny, creepy, and unique.....you may even shed a tear.</span></h3>
<div class="post-body entry-content" id="post-body-8288815692918287857" style="color: #cccccc; font-family: Arial, Tahoma, Helvetica, FreeSans, sans-serif; font-size: 15px; line-height: 1.4; position: relative; width: 538px;">
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Check this out. We're fans!</div>
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Infective Ink</div>
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infectiveink.com</div>
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InfectiveINk.com is a prompt-driven flash and short fiction journal currently accepting submissions for our theme based publication.</div>
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</a></div>
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</div>The Southwestern Reviewhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/17173430974840634510noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8683645139221658998.post-35854080898439475462012-03-30T07:44:00.001-07:002012-03-30T07:44:55.571-07:00The Louisiana Conference (This Weekend)!<span class="Apple-style-span" style="border-collapse: collapse; color: #e06666; font-family: 'times new roman', 'new york', times, serif; font-size: 15px;">Hello All,</span><br />
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<span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: #e06666;">Below is information on the upcoming Louisiana Conference on Literature, Language and Culture, including event locations, parking, and registration. If you'd like to see a preview of our program and just can't wait until registration starts on Thursday, you can check out the panel schedule here: </span></div>
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<a href="http://english.louisiana.edu/laconference/LA%20Conference%20Tentative%20Program.pdf" target="_blank"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: #e06666;">http://english.louisiana.edu/<wbr></wbr>laconference/LA%20Conference%<wbr></wbr>20Tentative%20Program.pdf</span></a></div>
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<span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: #e06666;">If you have any questions, please don't hesitate to contact me off-list.</span></div>
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<span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: #e06666;"><br /></span></div>
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<span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: #e06666;">J. Page</span></div>
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<span style="color: #e06666;">Schedule of Events</span></div>
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<span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: #e06666;"><span style="font-weight: bold;">Thursday, March 29</span></span></div>
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<span style="color: #e06666;">Preregistration </span></div>
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<span style="color: #e06666;">11:00 AM - 2:00 PM </span></div>
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<span style="color: #e06666;">Griffin Hall</span></div>
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<span style="color: #e06666;">Preregistration takes place on the second floor of Griffin Hall in front of the English Department Office. You can sign in, pick up your program and bag, and ask volunteers about upcoming events.</span></div>
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<span style="color: #e06666;">Registration <wbr></wbr> </span></div>
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<span style="color: #e06666;">3:00 PM - 7:00 PM </span></div>
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<span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: #e06666;">Ernest J. Gaines Center, 3rd floor of Dupre Library</span></div>
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<span style="color: #e06666;">The best parking places for this event are the pay lot located on Girard Park Circle Drive and the parking garage, located on Taft Street. If you have a UL parking permit and don't mind a short walk, Lot 13 on E. Lewis St. will be available.</span></div>
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<span style="color: #e06666;">Opening Remarks </span></div>
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<span style="color: #e06666;">7:15 PM - 7:30 PM </span></div>
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<span style="color: #e06666;">Gaines Center</span></div>
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<span style="color: #e06666;">Conference events officially begin with welcoming remarks from Dr. James McDonald. </span></div>
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<span style="color: #e06666;">Keynote Speech </span></div>
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<span style="color: #e06666;">7:30 PM - 8:30 PM </span></div>
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<span style="color: #e06666;">Gaines Center</span></div>
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<span style="color: #e06666;">Del Jacobs, documentarian and film professor at State College of Florida--Manatee Sarasota, is the keynote speaker for the 2012 Louisiana Conference. After the keynote speech, there will be a question and answer session followed by coffee and dessert. </span></div>
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<span style="color: #e06666; font-weight: bold;">Friday, March 30</span></div>
<div style="font-family: 'times new roman', 'new york', times, serif;">
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: #e06666;">Registration</span></div>
<div style="font-family: 'times new roman', 'new york', times, serif;">
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: #e06666;">7:30-11:30 a.m.</span></div>
<div style="font-family: 'times new roman', 'new york', times, serif;">
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: #e06666;">Hilton Garden Inn</span></div>
<div style="font-family: 'times new roman', 'new york', times, serif;">
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: #e06666;"><br /></span></div>
<div style="font-family: 'times new roman', 'new york', times, serif;">
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: #e06666;">The following morning events will take place at the <span style="font-weight: bold;">LITE Center</span>. You may park at the LITE Center or across CajunDome Blvd. at the Hilton Garden Inn.</span></div>
<div style="font-family: 'times new roman', 'new york', times, serif;">
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: #e06666;">8:00-9:00 a.m.: Continental Breakfast </span></div>
<div style="font-family: 'times new roman', 'new york', times, serif;">
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: #e06666;">9:15-10:45 a.m.: Plenary Panel: Media, Technology and Pedagogy</span></div>
<div style="font-family: 'times new roman', 'new york', times, serif;">
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: #e06666;">11:00-11:45 a.m.: Film screening: <span style="font-style: italic;">Louisiana Story: The Reverse Angle</span></span></div>
<div style="font-family: 'times new roman', 'new york', times, serif;">
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: #e06666;"><br /></span></div>
<div style="font-family: 'times new roman', 'new york', times, serif;">
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: #e06666;">Awards Luncheon</span></div>
<div style="font-family: 'times new roman', 'new york', times, serif;">
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: #e06666;">12:00-1:45 p.m.</span></div>
<div style="font-family: 'times new roman', 'new york', times, serif;">
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: #e06666;">Cafe Vermilionville (map here: <a href="http://www.cafev.com/contact.html" target="_blank">http://www.cafev.com/contact.<wbr></wbr>html</a>)</span></div>
<div style="font-family: 'times new roman', 'new york', times, serif;">
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: #e06666;">The Darrell Bourque Award and Barbara J. Cicardo Graduate Student Travel Scholarship will be announced at this luncheon. This event will also include a Cajun musical performance: "Allons, Leger." Attendees may choose to pay for this optional event through Friday morning ($15 covers your three-course meal).</span></div>
<div style="font-family: 'times new roman', 'new york', times, serif;">
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: #e06666;"><br /></span></div>
<div style="font-family: 'times new roman', 'new york', times, serif;">
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: #e06666;">Registration</span></div>
<div style="font-family: 'times new roman', 'new york', times, serif;">
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: #e06666;">1:30-6:00 p.m.</span></div>
<div style="font-family: 'times new roman', 'new york', times, serif;">
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: #e06666;">Oliver Hall</span></div>
<div style="font-family: 'times new roman', 'new york', times, serif;">
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: #e06666;">Oliver Hall is the new Computer Science building on UL campus, located between Griffin Hall and the pay parking lot. For events in Oliver Hall, please park in the pay parking lot at the corner of Girard Park Circle and St. Mary Blvd. or in Lot 13, across from Park Hall on E. Lewis St.</span></div>
<div style="font-family: 'times new roman', 'new york', times, serif;">
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: #e06666;"><br /></span></div>
<div style="font-family: 'times new roman', 'new york', times, serif;">
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: #e06666;">Assorted Panels</span></div>
<div style="font-family: 'times new roman', 'new york', times, serif;">
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: #e06666;">2:00-6:15 p.m.</span></div>
<div style="font-family: 'times new roman', 'new york', times, serif;">
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: #e06666;">Oliver Hall</span></div>
<div style="font-family: 'times new roman', 'new york', times, serif;">
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: #e06666;">See panel schedule in first paragraph for more detailed information on presentations. For events in Oliver Hall, please park in the pay parking lot at the corner of Girard Park Circle and St. Mary Blvd. or in Lot 13, across from Park Hall on E. Lewis St.</span></div>
<div style="font-family: 'times new roman', 'new york', times, serif;">
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: #e06666;"><br /></span></div>
<div style="font-family: 'times new roman', 'new york', times, serif;">
<span style="color: #e06666; font-weight: bold;">Saturday, March 31</span></div>
<div style="font-family: 'times new roman', 'new york', times, serif;">
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: #e06666;">The following Saturday events will take place in <span style="font-weight: bold;">Oliver Hall</span>. For events in Oliver Hall, please park in the pay parking lot at the corner of Girard Park Circle and St. Mary Blvd. or in Lot 13, across from Park Hall on E. Lewis St.</span></div>
<div style="font-family: 'times new roman', 'new york', times, serif;">
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: #e06666;">8:00 a.m.- 3:00 p.m.: Registration </span></div>
<div style="font-family: 'times new roman', 'new york', times, serif;">
<span style="color: #e06666;">8:00-9:00 a.m.: Continental Breakfast</span></div>
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: #e06666;"><span style="font-family: 'times new roman', 'new york', times, serif;">9:00-11:45 a.m.: Assorted Panels. See panel schedule in first paragraph for more detailed information on presentations.</span></span><br />
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: #e06666;"><span style="font-family: 'times new roman', 'new york', times, serif;">11:45 a.m.-1:00 p.m.:</span><span style="font-family: 'times new roman', 'new york', times, serif;"> Lunch on your Own</span><span style="font-family: 'times new roman', 'new york', times, serif;"></span></span><br />
<div style="font-family: 'times new roman', 'new york', times, serif;">
<span style="color: #e06666;">1:00-3:45 p.m.: Assorted Panels.</span></div>
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: #e06666;"><br style="font-family: 'times new roman', 'new york', times, serif;" /></span><br />
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: #e06666;"><span style="font-family: 'times new roman', 'new york', times, serif;">Closing Events</span></span><br />
<div style="font-family: 'times new roman', 'new york', times, serif;">
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: #e06666;">4:15-6:00 p.m.</span></div>
<div style="font-family: 'times new roman', 'new york', times, serif;">
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: #e06666;">Alumni Center</span></div>
<div style="font-family: 'times new roman', 'new york', times, serif;">
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: #e06666;">Conference closing events will feature a special reading by Mike Arnzen, four-time winner of the Bram Stoke Award for horror writing and professor at Seton Hill U. For events in the Alumni Center, you may park at the Alumni Center on St. Mary Blvd., at the parking garage on Taft St., or in the pay parking lot at the corner of Girard Park Circle and St. Mary Blvd.</span></div>
<div style="font-family: 'times new roman', 'new york', times, serif;">
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: #e06666;"><br /></span></div>
<div style="font-family: 'times new roman', 'new york', times, serif;">
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: #e06666;">Crawfish Boil</span></div>
<div style="font-family: 'times new roman', 'new york', times, serif;">
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: #e06666;">6:00-?</span></div>
<div style="font-family: 'times new roman', 'new york', times, serif;">
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: #e06666;">Amanda LaRoche's home at 222 Brookside Dr. in the Saints Streets (Please park on Brookside Drive. Map here:<a href="http://g.co/maps/qku6f" target="_blank">http://g.co/maps/qku6f</a>)</span></div>
<div style="font-family: 'times new roman', 'new york', times, serif;">
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: #e06666;">Attendees may choose to pay for this optional event through Friday afternoon. The $15 charge covers your dinner of boiled crawfish, vegetables, and drinks.</span></div>
</div>
</div>
</div>
</div>
</div>The Southwestern Reviewhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/17173430974840634510noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8683645139221658998.post-53691578760586282792012-03-30T06:43:00.001-07:002012-03-30T06:44:18.982-07:00A Martian Folk Tale By Chris S. Hayes<br />
<div class="MsoNormalCxSpFirst" style="line-height: 200%; text-indent: .5in;">
<span style="font-family: 'Courier New'; font-size: 12pt; line-height: 200%;">It all started with Danny-Boy Mackenzie, on weekdays just the
youngest of his clone-brothers, on weekends the best damned jazz orchestra
conductor in existence. Of course, since this story takes place about fourteen
years after everybody on the planet Earth managed to blow themselves to kingdom
come, that’s not saying a whole hell of a lot.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormalCxSpMiddle" style="line-height: 200%; text-indent: .5in;">
<span style="font-family: 'Courier New'; font-size: 12pt; line-height: 200%;">Breeding females were in short supply back then on Mars. What with terraforming being such a
dangerous occupation, all the really smart girls had stayed back home on Earth
until the job got done right. Unfortunately for everybody, before the job was
quite done the boys with the toys back home decided to get hostile with each
other, so Danny-Boy grew up in a place where the men outnumbered the women ten
to one. Fortunately, it didn’t take long after the big blow-up for the bio-wizards
back at Grissom City to start cranking out the next best thing. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormalCxSpMiddle" style="line-height: 200%; text-indent: .5in;">
<span style="font-family: 'Courier New'; font-size: 12pt; line-height: 200%;">Reverse gender clones, they called them. They weren’t any help
with the population problem since their genes were still XY, but something
those scientists did to the poor things in-utero made them into little girls
with all the trimmings. Danny-Boy
never understood the mechanics of it, but he sure enjoyed the results — in
particular, one by the name of Dorinda who lived next door at the kweesh mill
with her daddy, old Barney Klump, the smartest man in town. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormalCxSpMiddle" style="line-height: 200%; text-indent: .5in;">
<span style="font-family: 'Courier New'; font-size: 12pt; line-height: 200%;">The Mackenzies were kweesh farmers. In fact, practically
everyone in Ozyk had something to do with the weed. In Ozyk it was all about
the kweesh — kweesh lumber for building, kweesh fiber for clothes, and most
importantly kweesh leaves - dried and smoked, powdered and snorted, chewed like
tobacco, baked up in brownies and cakes and eaten. There wasn’t much else to do
in those parts that could make a man feel so good.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormalCxSpMiddle" style="line-height: 200%; text-indent: .5in;">
<span style="font-family: 'Courier New'; font-size: 12pt; line-height: 200%;">One Saturday Danny was in his room conducting to a recording of
Cab Calloway and his orchestra. He was in front of a full length mirror with
his white tailcoat on and was just really gettin’ down with the hi-de-ho’s when
he got a text from Dorinda. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormalCxSpMiddle" style="line-height: 200%; text-indent: .5in;">
<span style="font-family: 'Courier New'; font-size: 12pt; line-height: 200%;">“CM OVR NEED U”<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormalCxSpMiddle" style="line-height: 200%; text-indent: .5in;">
<span style="font-family: 'Courier New'; font-size: 12pt; line-height: 200%;">Naturally, he dropped everything and ran right over.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormalCxSpMiddle" style="line-height: 200%; text-indent: .5in;">
<span style="font-family: 'Courier New'; font-size: 12pt; line-height: 200%;">He found Dorinda at the water wheel looking a mite distressed. It
took him a second to figure out why, but he eventually noticed that the canal
was bone dry.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormalCxSpMiddle" style="line-height: 200%; text-indent: .5in;">
<span style="font-family: 'Courier New'; font-size: 12pt; line-height: 200%;">“Where’d all the water go?” <o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormalCxSpMiddle" style="line-height: 200%; text-indent: .5in;">
<span style="font-family: 'Courier New'; font-size: 12pt; line-height: 200%;">Dorinda shot him one of her looks. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormalCxSpMiddle" style="line-height: 200%; text-indent: .5in;">
<span style="font-family: 'Courier New'; font-size: 12pt; line-height: 200%;">“Daddy took the truck up to the dam yesterday. He thinks there’s
a problem up there with those Grissom City suits and their damned computer
diverting our water. He was supposed to be back this morning at dawn.”<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormalCxSpMiddle" style="line-height: 200%; text-indent: .5in;">
<span style="font-family: 'Courier New'; font-size: 12pt; line-height: 200%;">“But it’s noon!”<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormalCxSpMiddle" style="line-height: 200%; text-indent: .5in;">
<span style="font-family: 'Courier New'; font-size: 12pt; line-height: 200%;">“Exactly.”<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormalCxSpMiddle" style="line-height: 200%; text-indent: .5in;">
<span style="font-family: 'Courier New'; font-size: 12pt; line-height: 200%;">“We could call my da. He’d know what to do.”<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormalCxSpMiddle" style="line-height: 200%; text-indent: .5in;">
<span style="font-family: 'Courier New'; font-size: 12pt; line-height: 200%;">“Or we could borrow transportation and head up there to find out
what’s going on ourselves and not bother your father,” Dorinda countered. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormalCxSpMiddle" style="line-height: 200%; text-indent: .5in;">
<span style="font-family: 'Courier New'; font-size: 12pt; line-height: 200%;">Danny stared at her and scratched his head. Although it was true
that his da would probably be pissed if they bothered him in the middle of an
irrigation crisis, neither of them was old enough to drive. He’d just opened
his mouth to point that out when Dorinda gave him his marching orders.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormalCxSpMiddle" style="line-height: 200%; text-indent: .5in;">
<span style="font-family: 'Courier New'; font-size: 12pt; line-height: 200%;">“Go get Colin’s ID. I’ll make us lunch and meet you at the
tether tower.” <o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormalCxSpMiddle" style="line-height: 200%; text-indent: .5in;">
<span style="font-family: 'Courier New'; font-size: 12pt; line-height: 200%;">His brother Colin was 18, which happened to be the legal flying
age for personal airships. Dorinda didn’t hang around long enough for him to
argue with her, so he went home to get Colin’s ID.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div align="center" class="MsoNormalCxSpMiddle" style="line-height: 200%; text-align: center; text-indent: .5in;">
<span style="font-family: 'Courier New'; font-size: 12pt; line-height: 200%;">#<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormalCxSpMiddle" style="line-height: 200%; text-indent: .5in;">
<span style="font-family: 'Courier New'; font-size: 12pt; line-height: 200%;">“They took him?
Took him where?” Danny’s confusion was typical of his recent behavior. Dorinda
had finally been forced to take the controls from him while he rummaged through
the glove box and under all the seats looking for kweesh.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormalCxSpMiddle" style="line-height: 200%; text-indent: .5in;">
<span style="font-family: 'Courier New'; font-size: 12pt; line-height: 200%;">“He’s been taken to corporate headquarters in Grissom City,”
replied the dam’s security guard in a disapproving tone of voice. “He was
caught trying to sabotage the diversion system.” Dorinda gave the guy one of
her looks. Then she turned to Danny.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormalCxSpMiddle" style="line-height: 200%; text-indent: .5in;">
<span style="font-family: 'Courier New'; font-size: 12pt; line-height: 200%;">“Let’s go. We’re going to Grissom City.” <o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormalCxSpMiddle" style="line-height: 200%; text-indent: .5in;">
<span style="font-family: 'Courier New'; font-size: 12pt; line-height: 200%;">Back at the airship Danny fumbled with the controls a few times
before she shouldered him aside and did it herself. Once she got them aloft again
and figured out how to set the autopilot for the Grissom City aerodrome she sat
back and looked him up and down. He didn’t look so good.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormalCxSpMiddle" style="line-height: 200%; text-indent: .5in;">
<span style="font-family: 'Courier New'; font-size: 12pt; line-height: 200%;">“You sick, Danny?” He looked half-stoned, even though she knew he
hadn’t had any kweesh all day. “How much kweesh are you doing?” she
probed. Dorinda herself rarely
indulged. Kweesh fogged the brain and interfered with clear thinking. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormalCxSpMiddle" style="line-height: 200%; text-indent: .5in;">
<span style="font-family: 'Courier New'; font-size: 12pt; line-height: 200%;">Danny considered her question with great seriousness. “Not more’n
five or six joints a day. Is that a lot?” In reward for his great mental effort
he got another one of Dorinda’s looks. She turned back to the controls, shaking
her head.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div align="center" class="MsoNormalCxSpMiddle" style="line-height: 200%; text-align: center;">
<span style="font-family: 'Courier New'; font-size: 12pt; line-height: 200%;">#<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormalCxSpMiddle" style="line-height: 200%;">
<span style="font-family: 'Courier New'; font-size: 12pt; line-height: 200%;"> By the time they got to
the aerodrome Danny was totally out of his head. The authorities didn’t
question his ID. He looked just exactly like his brother, even had the same
DNA, so Colin Mackenzie got admitted into the Grissom City Medical Center for
kweesh withdrawal. Dorinda left Danny to his IV’s and jello and headed off all
by herself. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormalCxSpMiddle" style="line-height: 200%;">
<span style="font-family: 'Courier New'; font-size: 12pt; line-height: 200%;"> The Western Mountain
Terraforming Corporation’s headquarters was a huge red brick monstrosity in the
center of town. Dorinda just marched right in like she owned the place. The plaque next to the elevator had
about two dozen names on it. Right
at the top was the name she was looking for. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormalCxSpMiddle" style="line-height: 200%; text-indent: .5in;">
<span style="font-family: 'Courier New'; font-size: 12pt; line-height: 200%;">“Joseph Wainwright the Fourth, President and CEO,” Dorinda read.
She took a deep breath for courage and turned around. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormalCxSpMiddle" style="line-height: 200%; text-indent: .5in;">
<span style="font-family: 'Courier New'; font-size: 12pt; line-height: 200%;">There was an honest-to-God girl at the reception desk. She had
two inch long zebra striped fingernails, bright purple hair, and a lovely
natural tan. “I’d like to see Mr. Wainwright, please,” Dorinda told the girl
with a friendly smile. The purple-haired one just popped her gum and checked
her computer screen.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormalCxSpMiddle" style="line-height: 200%; text-indent: .5in;">
<span style="font-family: 'Courier New'; font-size: 12pt; line-height: 200%;">“Do you have an appointment?” she asked in a bored voice.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormalCxSpMiddle" style="line-height: 200%; text-indent: .5in;">
<span style="font-family: 'Courier New'; font-size: 12pt; line-height: 200%;">“No,” Dorinda admitted. “But it’s very important that I see him
right away.” Miss Zebra Nails
didn’t look impressed. Dorinda stared her down until the girl broke eye contact
to look in the direction of the elevators. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormalCxSpMiddle" style="line-height: 200%; text-indent: .5in;">
<span style="font-family: 'Courier New'; font-size: 12pt; line-height: 200%;">Dorinda turned around just in time to see a grey-haired man in
an expensive silk suit step into the elevator. On a hunch she shouted, “Mister Wainwright!”
and began running toward the elevator. The older man’s head came up in obvious
recognition of his name before the elevator doors shut. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormalCxSpMiddle" style="line-height: 200%; text-indent: .5in;">
<span style="font-family: 'Courier New'; font-size: 12pt; line-height: 200%;">So Dorinda took the stairs.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div align="center" class="MsoNormalCxSpMiddle" style="line-height: 200%; text-align: center; text-indent: .5in;">
<span style="font-family: 'Courier New'; font-size: 12pt; line-height: 200%;">#<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormalCxSpMiddle" style="line-height: 200%; text-indent: .5in;">
<span style="font-family: 'Courier New'; font-size: 12pt; line-height: 200%;">It would make a nice story to say that when Danny woke up in the
hospital his first thought was of Dorinda, but he was a fourteen year old boy
who hadn’t had any solid food in a day and a half, so mainly he just woke up
hungry. His eyes went to the clock on the wall and he did a mental countdown.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormalCxSpMiddle" style="line-height: 200%; text-indent: .5in;">
<span style="font-family: 'Courier New'; font-size: 12pt; line-height: 200%;">“Shit,” he muttered, and rolled out of bed. Somebody from home
would be here soon. He was going to be in big trouble. He pulled the IV
catheter from his arm and rooted in the bedside cabinet for the bag containing
his clothing. Once dressed, he ducked out of his room and down the hallway in
the opposite direction, doing his best to look like somebody who knew exactly
where he was going. It worked until
he got to the lobby. That’s when he noticed the hand plate of the DNA scanner
at the doorway. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormalCxSpMiddle" style="line-height: 200%; text-indent: .5in;">
<span style="font-family: 'Courier New'; font-size: 12pt; line-height: 200%;">Danny walked up to the help desk and gave the guy sitting there
a friendly smile. His name tag said “Tom”. The boy batted long lashes and gave
Danny a slow, shy smile in return.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormalCxSpMiddle" style="line-height: 200%; text-indent: .5in;">
<span style="font-family: 'Courier New'; font-size: 12pt; line-height: 200%;">“Listen, Tom,” he confided. “I was just upstairs with my brother Colin. I’m pretty sure
there was a mix up when we came in. See… we’re clones, and I think the scanner
confused my ID with his.” Danny brought out his own ID and showed it to Tom. The
pretty boy scanned the ID and handed it back to Danny. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormalCxSpMiddle" style="line-height: 200%; text-indent: .5in;">
<span style="font-family: 'Courier New'; font-size: 12pt; line-height: 200%;">“There ya go. You’ll be able to leave now without setting off
any alarms,” he replied, as perky as you please. His eyes went back to the
screen. “And your sister left a message that she’ll meet you at the airship
when she’s done,” he added. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormalCxSpMiddle" style="line-height: 200%; text-indent: .5in;">
<span style="font-family: 'Courier New'; font-size: 12pt; line-height: 200%;">Danny laughed. “Dorinda’s not my sister, but thanks for the
message.” <o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormalCxSpMiddle" style="line-height: 200%; text-indent: .5in;">
<span style="font-family: 'Courier New'; font-size: 12pt; line-height: 200%;">“Well, I sure never saw two people with identical DNA scans who
weren’t brother and sister, but if you say she’s not, then I guess she’s not,”
said Tom, pouting. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormalCxSpMiddle" style="line-height: 200%; text-indent: .5in;">
<span style="font-family: 'Courier New'; font-size: 12pt; line-height: 200%;">Danny studied the fellow. “What did you say?”<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormalCxSpMiddle" style="line-height: 200%; text-indent: .5in;">
<span style="font-family: 'Courier New'; font-size: 12pt; line-height: 200%;"> Tom’s eyes grew
wide. He reached out and placed a hand on Danny’s arm. “Sweetie, the only
difference between the two of you… besides the obvious… is a tweak for eye and hair
color. Otherwise both of you have
got to be clones from the same donor,” Tom said, his voice dripping sympathy.
“Didn’t you know?” <o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormalCxSpMiddle" style="line-height: 200%; text-indent: .5in;">
<span style="font-family: 'Courier New'; font-size: 12pt; line-height: 200%;">Danny just stood there with his mouth open. A second or two later
he shut it, gave Tom an absent nod of thanks and walked out.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div align="center" class="MsoNormalCxSpMiddle" style="line-height: 200%; text-align: center; text-indent: .5in;">
<span style="font-family: 'Courier New'; font-size: 12pt; line-height: 200%;">#<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormalCxSpMiddle" style="line-height: 200%; text-indent: .5in;">
<span style="font-family: 'Courier New'; font-size: 12pt; line-height: 200%;">Dorinda slipped out of the stairwell and onto the fourteenth
floor. It was deserted. She’d managed to knock three times on the irreplaceable
actual oak door at the end of the hallway by the time the security guard caught
up with her and pinned both elbows behind her back. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormalCxSpMiddle" style="line-height: 200%; text-indent: .5in;">
<span style="font-family: 'Courier New'; font-size: 12pt; line-height: 200%;">“Let me go! I just want to talk to him!” she cried, and stomped
as hard as she could on his instep. Her rubber soled shoes didn’t faze him.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormalCxSpMiddle" style="line-height: 200%; text-indent: .5in;">
<span style="font-family: 'Courier New'; font-size: 12pt; line-height: 200%;">“Let her go, Hudson,” said an authoritative voice. Dorinda looked up; the door was open.
Standing in the doorway was the same old guy that she’d seen getting on the
elevator. The building security officer took one look at the old man’s
expression, dropped Dorinda’s elbows, and stepped back. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormalCxSpMiddle" style="line-height: 200%; text-indent: .5in;">
<span style="font-family: 'Courier New'; font-size: 12pt; line-height: 200%;">“But sir, what if she’s…”<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormalCxSpMiddle" style="line-height: 200%; text-indent: .5in;">
<span style="font-family: 'Courier New'; font-size: 12pt; line-height: 200%;">“Just look at her, son,” interrupted Wainwright in a tone that
Dorinda found a little insulting. “Does she look like an assassin to you?” The
security guard’s face turned red. He didn’t answer, but he didn’t object when
Wainwright ushered Dorinda into his office and shut the door.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div align="center" class="MsoNormalCxSpMiddle" style="line-height: 200%; text-align: center; text-indent: .5in;">
<span style="font-family: 'Courier New'; font-size: 12pt; line-height: 200%;">#<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormalCxSpMiddle" style="line-height: 200%; text-indent: .5in;">
<span style="font-family: 'Courier New'; font-size: 12pt; line-height: 200%;">Danny hesitated outside the imposing brick building, but it
wasn’t the fifteen stories in front of him that made him stop to think. He was
going in there to find Dorinda — his sister<i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;">.</i> The concept gave him a headache and
made him want to go find some kweesh. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormalCxSpMiddle" style="line-height: 200%; text-indent: .5in;">
<span style="font-family: 'Courier New'; font-size: 12pt; line-height: 200%;">There was a desk in the lobby, behind which sat a vision of
exotic loveliness. Danny stopped and stared. He wondered whether the hair color
was a “tweak” or a dye. No matter; purple was an awesome color for hair to be. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormalCxSpMiddle" style="line-height: 200%; text-indent: .5in;">
<span style="font-family: 'Courier New'; font-size: 12pt; line-height: 200%;">“May I help you?” she asked with a smile. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div align="center" class="MsoNormalCxSpMiddle" style="line-height: 200%; text-align: center;">
<span style="font-family: 'Courier New'; font-size: 12pt; line-height: 200%;">#<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormalCxSpMiddle" style="line-height: 200%; text-indent: .5in;">
<span style="font-family: 'Courier New'; font-size: 12pt; line-height: 200%;">Joe Wainwright hadn’t gotten rich by ignoring good advice, and
this little girl was making a lot of sense.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormalCxSpMiddle" style="line-height: 200%; text-indent: .5in;">
<span style="font-family: 'Courier New'; font-size: 12pt; line-height: 200%;">“Sir, this is political. They want to shut us down just because
of a few idiots who overindulge, but if you take away our water, you’ll have
all of us on the dole. Kweesh isn’t just a luxury item where I’m from. It’s how
we make our living. My dad knows that. Do you know how many lives your
company’s irrigation strategy will destroy?”<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormalCxSpMiddle" style="line-height: 200%; text-indent: .5in;">
<span style="font-family: 'Courier New'; font-size: 12pt; line-height: 200%;">Joe looked at the girl, impressed by her eloquence. Then he
picked up his phone. “Sam? Yeah. Joe here. Let the Klump guy go, Sam. I’m not
pressing charges.” <o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div align="center" class="MsoNormalCxSpMiddle" style="line-height: 200%; text-align: center; text-indent: .5in;">
<span style="font-family: 'Courier New'; font-size: 12pt; line-height: 200%;">#<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormalCxSpMiddle" style="line-height: 200%; text-indent: .5in;">
<span style="font-family: 'Courier New'; font-size: 12pt; line-height: 200%;">And that was pretty much it as far as the adventuring went. Old Barney had a conference with Joe
Wainwright and his economic advisors. Minds were opened, asses were kicked,
computers were reprogrammed, and Ozyk got its water back. Mackenzie Senior was
so impressed with Danny’s initiative - and his intelligence compared to the
rest of his brothers once he got off the kweesh - that he sent him away to
school in Grissom City. He and Ariel Wainwright hit it off, and Danny ended up
a corporate vice president for Western Mountain Terraforming Corporation. Ariel,
being one of the few fertile females in her generation, eventually did her part
for the balance of the sexes by providing Danny with eight daughters and three
sons.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormalCxSpMiddle" style="line-height: 200%; text-indent: .5in;">
<span style="font-family: 'Courier New'; font-size: 12pt; line-height: 200%;">Old Barney died of a heart condition about four years after his
grand adventure, the same condition that had made him a poor cloning candidate
to begin with. Turns out he’d asked his buddy Mackenzie to donate some DNA to
the cause instead. Neither of the men had apparently given any thought to the
likely consequences of raising a little girl right next door to an entire
houseful of boys without telling any of them that she was their sister, but
things turned out pretty good anyway. Dorinda took over both the kweesh mill
and Barney’s machine repair business. It wasn’t long before she had a
reputation for being even more of a tech-wizard than her daddy had ever been. Over
the years she took it upon herself to teach each of her brothers’ children, cloned
and natural-born, male and female, purple-haired and otherwise, how to
disassemble and then reassemble a household appliance. Most times it even
worked afterwards.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div align="center" class="MsoNormalCxSpMiddle" style="line-height: 200%; text-align: center; text-indent: .5in;">
<span style="font-family: 'Courier New'; font-size: 12pt; line-height: 200%;">END<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormalCxSpMiddle" style="line-height: 200%; text-indent: .5in;">
<br /></div>The Southwestern Reviewhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/17173430974840634510noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8683645139221658998.post-34599062701058709492012-03-29T16:15:00.003-07:002012-03-29T16:15:36.918-07:00Friday's ArtistChris Hayes will have a piece posted this Friday!The Southwestern Reviewhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/17173430974840634510noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8683645139221658998.post-42364967867263793622012-03-29T09:12:00.001-07:002012-03-29T09:13:21.655-07:00"24 Years" By Albert Falgout III<style>
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</span><br />
<div align="center" class="MsoNormal" style="color: #3d85c6; text-align: center;"><span style="font-size: large;"><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman"; line-height: 115%;">Would you give your soul</span></span></div><div align="center" class="MsoNormal" style="color: #3d85c6; text-align: center;"><span style="font-size: large;"><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman"; line-height: 115%;">For all the knowledge in the world</span></span></div><div align="center" class="MsoNormal" style="color: #3d85c6; text-align: center;"><span style="font-size: large;"><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman"; line-height: 115%;">And in twenty four years, you'd be dragged do<a href="http://www.blogger.com/post-edit.g?blogID=8683645139221658998&postID=4236496786726379362&from=pencil" name="_GoBack"></a>wn</span></span></div><div align="center" class="MsoNormal" style="color: #3d85c6; text-align: center;"><span style="font-size: large;"><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman"; line-height: 115%;">With the killers and the thieves</span></span></div><div align="center" class="MsoNormal" style="color: #3d85c6; text-align: center;"><span style="font-size: large;"><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman"; line-height: 115%;"> -Mephistopheles</span></span></div><div align="center" class="MsoNormal" style="color: #3d85c6; text-align: center;"><span style="font-size: large;"><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman"; line-height: 115%;">Give me the power that i need</span></span></div><div align="center" class="MsoNormal" style="color: #3d85c6; text-align: center;"><span style="font-size: large;"><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman"; line-height: 115%;">Daedalus</span></span></div><div align="center" class="MsoNormal" style="color: #3d85c6; text-align: center;"><span style="font-size: large;"><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman"; line-height: 115%;">Bring me the feathers and the wax</span></span></div><div align="center" class="MsoNormal" style="color: #3d85c6; text-align: center;"><span style="font-size: large;"><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman"; line-height: 115%;">Because the sun can't burn brighter than hell does- </span></span></div><div align="center" class="MsoNormal" style="color: #3d85c6; text-align: center;"><span style="font-size: large;"><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman"; line-height: 115%;">Theology means nothing to me</span></span></div><div align="center" class="MsoNormal" style="color: #3d85c6; text-align: center;"><span style="font-size: large;"><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman"; line-height: 115%;">I’ll try my mind to become a deity</span></span></div><div align="center" class="MsoNormal" style="color: #3d85c6; text-align: center;"><span style="font-size: large;"><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman"; line-height: 115%;">And I know my arrogance will</span></span></div><div align="center" class="MsoNormal" style="color: #3d85c6; text-align: center;"><span style="font-size: large;"><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman"; line-height: 115%;">Consume my pride</span></span></div><div align="center" class="MsoNormal" style="color: #3d85c6; text-align: center;"><span style="font-size: large;"><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman"; line-height: 115%;">But we all die everlasting deaths</span></span></div><div align="center" class="MsoNormal" style="color: #3d85c6; text-align: center;"><span style="font-size: large;"><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman"; line-height: 115%;">For pleasant fruits and princely delicates</span></span></div><div align="center" class="MsoNormal" style="color: #3d85c6; text-align: center;"><span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman"; line-height: 115%;"><br />
</span></span></div><div align="center" class="MsoNormal" style="color: #3d85c6; text-align: center;"><span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman"; line-height: 115%;"><b>Bio By Albert:</b> </span>My name's Albert Falgout III, I'm twenty years old and currently attending the University of Louisiana at Lafayette.I'm a Sophomore, but next semester I'll be a Junior. I'm an English major, studying with the aspiration to become a professor (literary studies specialization). I am a member of the honors frat Sigma Alpha Lambda. I'm a thespian, and through high school performed in many plays, my biggest role being Atticus Finch. This ties into the fact that I would like to teach speech as well, as I learned that proper articulation is crucial in more places than just the stage. I do a lot of writing for my classes and for myself, but I have been interested in getting work published for awhile now. I just haven't found the medium for it yet. My English professor suggested that I submit my poem to the SWR Blog , and I thought that would be a good idea.</span></div><div align="center" class="MsoNormal" style="color: #3d85c6; text-align: center;"><br />
</div>The Southwestern Reviewhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/17173430974840634510noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8683645139221658998.post-21707523865801157922012-03-28T07:28:00.001-07:002012-03-28T07:29:45.733-07:00SPECIAL NEWS FROM THE SWR EDITORS!SWR editors, Amber Lucik and Louis Toliver, will be on KRVS Wednesday April 4th with a SPECIAL sneak peek of this year's Phoenix Edition with guest readers Zack Dufour, Craig Biddy, and Felicia Brown. You do not want to miss this, because we will also be announcing the official date of the release party for the SWR. We are so excited and we want to thank all of you that have participated in the journal and on the blog. Nearly, 3000 hits!!!!!!! Submissions from many departments all over the campus. Thank you for your faith in us!<br />
<br />
We love you UL!<br />
<br />
Sincerely,<br />
Amber and LouisThe Southwestern Reviewhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/17173430974840634510noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8683645139221658998.post-10792664490714092622012-03-28T07:19:00.003-07:002012-03-28T07:21:59.083-07:00Introducing "For I Will Be There Too" by Jered Gaspard<div align="center" class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; text-align: center;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Calibri;"><br />
</span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 150%;"><span style="font-family: Calibri;"> The speakers and banquet tables had been set up, along with the video screens and projectors, and so the wait began which, for any other event, would have been the routine smoking of cigarettes outside, the periodic checking in on the room to be sure there wasn’t a feedback loop breaking mirrors and that the projectors were working, and the interminable waiting for tear-down. I was stuck, though, unable to make myself leave the large ballroom, its too-bright chandelier ricocheting its beams from the mirrors that accented the poorly-painted eggshell walls. The room was expectant and sober but happy, with lots of smiles and politely hushed conversations over plates of catered finger-foods and I wondered, then chided myself for it, whether the caterers had been paid in advance. <o:p></o:p></span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 150%;"><span style="font-family: Calibri;"> At three o’clock, everyone had finally trickled down from the back of the room where the buffet tables were set up and had taken seats at the long rows of tables facing the stage. I watched from behind the sound console next to the stage as a medium-height, medium-build man in a tweed suit introduced himself as Reverend Tommy Abshire and, wiping sweat from his brow with an embroidered handkerchief and a nervous smile, began what he hoped was a sermon fitting to be his last.<o:p></o:p></span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 150%;"><span style="font-family: Calibri;"> “My beloved friends,” he said, the voice surprisingly warm and clear, the dark eyebrows raised benevolently, the palms turned upward, “here and now, what a glorious place to be.”<o:p></o:p></span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 150%;"><span style="font-family: Calibri;"> The crowd responded with thunderous applause, and the projector flashed the words “here and now” in large, curled script behind the sweating man. An image of the Lafayette Freedom Church’s façade followed it, dwarfing him and drawing forth another round of cheers and whistles. <o:p></o:p></span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 150%;"><span style="font-family: Calibri;"> Finally, as the crowd settled, Abshire continued: “we all know why we’ve gathered here. We are the lucky ones. We have been chosen by our God as witnesses to his tremendous glory and power, to be here in the final hours of this Earth, and to be drawn up into heaven, as one, together, to be with him forever and ever.” More applause, this time quieter but more solid, more steady. The claps were louder and faster, and every pair of hands in the room was clapping—including mine. I stopped as I noticed, but smiled at myself.<o:p></o:p></span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 150%;"><span style="font-family: Calibri;"> “I know most of you, and I know you’re ready.” He frowned in the silent pause. “Those of you I don’t know, those who were brought here by one of my friends or who have come in response to our newspaper ads or our billboards or our radio broadcasts, if you didn’t come ready, that’s OK. You’ll be ready when the time comes.” There was no applause, but there were smiles, and I could see many in the crowd joining hands and gripping one another tightly. “How many of you,” he said more softly than before, “came here tonight because you have not been saved in the blood of Jesus Christ.”<o:p></o:p></span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 150%;"><span style="font-family: Calibri;"> In the nervous silence, several hands went up. The faces beneath them were pale, and one woman with her hand raised was in tears. They were smiling though; wide, jubilant smiles of relief, smiles that said it was going to be all right, that salvation had found them just in the nick of time, and that, for a single afternoon’s attention and devotion, they would be awarded the same salvation as those who had devoted their entire lives.<o:p></o:p></span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 150%;"><span style="font-family: Calibri;"> The reverend looked at the upraised hands and, unsurprised, said softly “good, good.” The voice echoed slightly, and a tiny high-pitched whine threatened to roll over the room. I reached down and made an adjustment on the audio board and it vanished. “We’re gonna have you come up here in a little while and we’re gonna baptize you in the spirit of Jesus, okay?” It was rhetorical but they all nodded their heads. “That’s right, everybody, tonight’s the night, and not a one of you will be left behind. Now, what I wanna do first is I wanna all bow our heads and pray, and thank God for bringing us together here tonight on this glorious occasion, okay?”<br />
Every head in the crowd showed its crown to the reverend, and he began a solemn prayer in the name of Jesus to his Heavenly Father, asking him to make his presence known in the hearts and minds of all in attendance. He asked him to lift up those hearts in his glory, and to let his love shine from their lives. He asked his blessing as they rejoiced in the light of his heavenly presence at this, the moment they’d waited their entire lives for, when they would meet him face to face. He asked this in the name of his beloved son Jesus, Amen.<o:p></o:p></span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 150%;"><span style="font-family: Calibri;"> The reverend called to the stage an old friend, who he introduced as someone whose life, like those of many here, had not always been lived according to the word of God. As the gray-haired man, thinner and taller than he, in a black shirt and blue jeans that fit not nearly as well as did the sharp tweed, stood looking at the ground with his hands behind his back, the reverend explained that his was a story of a terrible journey to redemption, then handed over the microphone. Alcoholism, drug abuse, and jail time for a drunk driving accident that had killed a young girl had been the mile markers of a journey through every knowable abomination of the spirit. “I was lost,” the voice cracked in its thick Midwestern accent. “I had nothing left, no one to turn to, no purpose in my life whatsoever. Then, a man came up to me one day on the street and said, ‘do you want to be saved’?” There were murmurs in the crowd and nodded heads. “I asked him what he was talking about, and he said, ‘Jesus, man. I’m asking you if you want to know Jesus’.” There was clapping now, and the murmurs grew louder. The energy was a tangible thing, and this otherwise unremarkable man was manipulating it like the conductor of an orchestra. “’Jesus?’ I asked him. ‘Get outta here,’ I said, and kept walking.” There were sighs and the energy fell. “Then there was a voice inside me, inside my heart that said ‘Gary Winnaker, this is it. This is your chance.’ You know what it was?” The chatter grew so loud it was like applause. “It was the spirit of the lord taking hold within me. I turned around to that man and I said ‘sir, I do. I do want Jesus in my life.” He looked at me and he took my hand and we went inside the church and he baptized me in the blood of the lamb and people, when I tell you I was healed, I mean the power of the Lord was in me and it ran through me and it turned my upside-down life right-side up!” <o:p></o:p></span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 150%;"><span style="font-family: Calibri;"> Now the room exploded with applause from every chair. Again, my own hands responded reflexively and again I put them down when I noticed. Music was playing from a CD player remotely controlled by the reverend, and Gary was clapping and dancing on the stage, making waving motions with his hands and successfully inciting the audience to dance and sing. It was an upbeat song with a jangly guitar and a rock and roll drum beat that said:<o:p></o:p></span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 150%;"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 150%; margin-left: 1.0in;"><i><span style="font-family: Calibri;">Washed in the blood,<o:p></o:p></span></i></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 150%; margin-left: 1.0in;"><i><span style="font-family: Calibri;">Washed in the blood,<o:p></o:p></span></i></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 150%; margin-left: 1.0in;"><i><span style="font-family: Calibri;">Washed in the blood of Jesus<o:p></o:p></span></i></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 150%; margin-left: 1.0in;"><i><span style="font-family: Calibri;">A steady path I know<o:p></o:p></span></i></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 150%; margin-left: 1.0in;"><i><span style="font-family: Calibri;">And no longer will I roam<o:p></o:p></span></i></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 150%; margin-left: 1.0in;"><i><span style="font-family: Calibri;">I’m washed in the blood of Jesus<o:p></o:p></span></i></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 150%;"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 150%;"><span style="font-family: Calibri;"> When the song had ended, Gary looked over the audience with a wide smile as he waited for them to calm down. “Friends,” he said once the noise had subsided sufficiently for him to continue, “I got to know a peace in Jesus unlike anything I could ever have known in my days of sin, of alcohol and drugs, of iniquity. It wasn’t until I’d put away those things and given my life to the Lord that the bounty of a life in Christ was revealed to me. I went to college and became a teacher, then a principal of a middle school in Wisconsin. I ran for the school board and won, then became superintendent, and served in that post for twelve wonderful years and helped so many young people. I saved and invested and, by the time I retired, I had over a million dollars to my name.”<o:p></o:p></span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 150%;"><span style="font-family: Calibri;"> Scattered voices around the room whispered “praise Jesus” as he went on.<o:p></o:p></span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 150%;"><span style="font-family: Calibri;"> “Even as the Lord opened this world to me, when I retired, I was restless. I wanted more—I wanted the opportunity to do more of what my god had called me to do.” Gary paused here, and looked around the room in a wide circle, finally resting on Reverend Abshire’s face in the stage wings. “That’s when I heard the radio announcement from the Freedom Church. I called them right away and asked them how I could help to spread the word of the Lord, to do what I could to help God’s children find their way home and be ready for this—for today, the day that he comes to us with open arms. I wanted to help people, like some of you here tonight, who haven’t yet found Jesus in their hearts, to know the peace of God’s eternal glory.”<o:p></o:p></span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 150%;"><span style="font-family: Calibri;"> Again, the “praise Jesus” came from around the room.<o:p></o:p></span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 150%;"><span style="font-family: Calibri;"> “I signed up for the ad sponsorship program, and had billboards put up, ads taken out in newspapers around the country. I even bought some TV airtime and aired commercials during some high-profile sporting events. Ladies and gentlemen, that ad campaign brought thousands through the doors of the Freedom Church to find their salvation, and it was worth every penny!” Applause roared from the crowd. When it finally died down, he continued: “Three months ago, I sold my home and my property, and used what I had left to buy an RV. Since then, I’ve been going from church to church across the country, spreading the joyous word of what’s to come today to thousands upon thousands of people, young and old, and my journey has ended here, tonight, with you.” There was clapping. “Last week, I sold that RV and spent the money I made from it, the last of what I’ve got, on that billboard you see through that window there—“ he pointed out one of the windows of the second-story ballroom to a large, full-color billboard that read: “In him we have redemption through his blood, the forgiveness of our trespasses, according to the riches of his grace. Ephesians 1:7.” Next to the text was a picture of Reverend Abshire, all smiling and bright-faced, in his tweed suit holding a bible. There was an address and a phone number at the bottom of the billboard, inviting anyone to call or visit. “Your salvation is here,” the church’s motto read just below.<o:p></o:p></span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 150%;"><span style="font-family: Calibri;"> There was more cheering, but modest this time, and it quieted quickly. “I am here, with you, with nothing to my name but my heart filled with the love of Jesus Christ, to offer myself into the Lord’s grace and mercy.” Music faded in, soft and slow, and Gary’s words grew louder so that they would be heard just over the cresting strings and voices of the recording. “Rejoice, my friends. Rejoice in the glory of the lord, for he has taken our tears away and healed our wounds, and he will give us everlasting life!”<o:p></o:p></span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 150%;"><span style="font-family: Calibri;"> There was no applause now, but the words of the song came solemnly from the lips of all present, as the song’s words scrolled over the projector screen behind the stage. The Reverend came from the wing, and raised his arms as he sang along:<o:p></o:p></span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 150%;"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 150%; margin-left: 1.0in;"><i><span style="font-family: Calibri;">Glory, glory to the Lord my god<o:p></o:p></span></i></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 150%; margin-left: 1.0in;"><i><span style="font-family: Calibri;">His love fills my cup, I am in his glory<o:p></o:p></span></i></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 150%; margin-left: 1.0in;"><i><span style="font-family: Calibri;">Let us magnify the Lord<o:p></o:p></span></i></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 150%; margin-left: 1.0in;"><i><span style="font-family: Calibri;">For he is worthy of our praise<o:p></o:p></span></i></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 150%; margin-left: 1.0in;"><i><span style="font-family: Calibri;">Hallelujah, Lord, Hosanna in the highest<o:p></o:p></span></i></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 150%; margin-left: 1.0in;"><i><span style="font-family: Calibri;">He is worthy of our praise<o:p></o:p></span></i></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 150%;"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 150%;"><span style="font-family: Calibri;"> Reverend Abshire was on stage alone again, and was leading the congregation in another prayer, thanking the Lord for bringing Gary Winnaker into our midst. He thanked the Lord for the blessings he’d bestowed upon Gary in bringing him into the glory of Jesus Christ, and for moving within him so that he might do the good work for his fellow man through the Freedom Church. Then he thanked the Lord for Reverend Farthing and his prophecy of salvation, for speaking through him to all God’s children, for sending his glorious message so that men may be healed and come into his holy presence with a pure heart, to live for ever and ever at his side in heaven. Amen.<o:p></o:p></span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 150%;"><span style="font-family: Calibri;"> There was more music, then another guest speaker, a local man, whose wife had been diagnosed with cancer that was now in remission because of the healing power of Jesus Christ. There had been chemotherapy too. There were more whispers of praise during his story, and scattered applause as he finished and the Reverend began yet another song and prayer. I looked several times over at the faces of some of the “un-saved” who had identified themselves earlier in the evening, and saw that the smiles had faded from their faces, and they now wore a worried, slightly impatient look. It was four-thirty; those few were anxious to be saved before the moment arrived. My heart was in my throat as I put myself in their place. I’d been saved when I was a kid, having been raised in the church, in the easy and loving tradition of the Assembly of God where there were no communion dresses and no baptismal certificates, and I had found myself here not as a believer, not even as a skeptic, but for a separate purpose altogether, not intending even to engage the thought of whether what was to happen here would happen at all. Now my heart felt heavy in my chest as I looked at their faces, and then at those of the others in the room, seeing the look of relinquishment I’d known those years ago in Marshall, of setting a place in my heart for the way things would be, had to be, could not but be, and deconstructing that world I’d known into so many tiny pieces that they could no longer hold any meaning of their own except as shards of something broken and not worth saving. Gone, said the faces of the redeemed, gone and done and good riddance, for salvation awaits, and for the other few, the clock devoured what remained of a life to which they clung in unholy desperation. I knew that fear, and as Reverend Abshire called them to the stage and in the hot spotlight each closed their eyes and prayed furiously, sweating their iniquity away in tiny glittering beads of white fire, it burned away, leaving only the same quiet lucidity that was spread over the other faces in the crowd like foam upon a calm sound after a storm.<o:p></o:p></span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 150%;"><span style="font-family: Calibri;"> “Forgiveness,” the reverend said when a tall, thin-haired man with bulging eyes and an impatient limp had finished the final iteration of the repeated prayer, “is the Lord’s gift to you. Let us pray and give thanks. Gary?” <o:p></o:p></span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 150%;"><span style="font-family: Calibri;"> Gary Winnaker came to the stage from the wing opposite where I sat, and the reverend turned over the microphone and came over to me. “Is the laptop ready to go?” he asked as Gary began another solemn prayer, the smile gone, the face all business.<o:p></o:p></span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 150%;"><span style="font-family: Calibri;"> “Yes, sir,” I waved a hand at the low table next to the audio console where a notebook computer had been connected, per his specific instructions, to the hotel’s wireless network and one of the projector’s inputs. There was a video feed coming in of an event similar to the one around us but much, much larger. <o:p></o:p></span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 150%;"><span style="font-family: Calibri;"> “Perfect,” he said, the smile returning partially. “As soon as he’s done, switch the projector over to that, okay?”<o:p></o:p></span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 150%;"><span style="font-family: Calibri;"> “Sure thing,” I said.<o:p></o:p></span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 150%;"><span style="font-family: Calibri;"> As he mounted the first of the steps leading on to the stage, he snapped a finger, jogged over to my table again, and asked me “son, have you been saved?”<br />
I stared stupidly at the diamond-studded gold tie pin he wore with the Freedom Church’s logo on it, then stammered, “y—yes, I—I th—Yes. I was raised in the church. Yes sir, I have.”<o:p></o:p></span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 150%;"><span style="font-family: Calibri;"> “Good,” he said loudly, as if addressing someone behind me, “good. It’s a good day to know the Lord, isn’t it?” He turned back to the steps with a springing gait, not waiting for an answer. The expensive pants swooshed around his short legs as he mounted the stage again, his palms upraised and eyes closed—partially closed, likely to avoid injury—and stood next to Gary with one hand on the shorter man’s back as the two concluded the prayer. <o:p></o:p></span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 150%;"><span style="font-family: Calibri;"> “….as we join our brother and your son Reverend Howard Farthing in his ministry to the good people of Davenport, Iowa, we thank you, Lord, for bringing us together for this most holy and blessed event. Lord, we live through your glory and we ask that you lay your holy hands upon all present here, in Iowa, and everywhere so that your children may, this very night, enter into your holy presence. In Jesus name,” and the crowd all said: “Amen.”<o:p></o:p></span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 150%;"><span style="font-family: Calibri;"> I switched the projector to the video feed from the laptop and, in a grainy, heavily compressed video image being transmitted a thousand miles over the internet, the high cheekbones and perfect, radiant teeth of a man who belonged on camera filled the fifteen-foot-wide screen behind the stage. The shadows of Gary Winnaker and Reverend Abshire floated off the left side of the stage opposite me and, in the dark room, the changing of light to dark to light from the screen threw itself mercilessly across the room. <o:p></o:p></span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 150%;"><span style="font-family: Calibri;"> His voice was perfectly unaccented, as if generated by a computer. “My children,” he began, “today is a most joyous day.” He paused for the applause of his congregation, which was echoed lightly by hands in the darkness of the ballroom where I sat. “The Holy Spirit has brought us together today so that we may enter into his holy presence hand-in-hand, my people. Hand-in-hand, as we have prayed for our sick, cried for our departed, sung his praises—hand-in-hand now we enter into the Kingdom of Heaven, redeemed by our Lord Jesus Christ who reigns for ever and ever, for ever and ever, for ever and ever.”<o:p></o:p></span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 150%;"><span style="font-family: Calibri;"> The clock on the wall of the ballroom was digital, a simple black box with illuminated red digits that read, unapologetically, six o’clock. I lost my breath for a moment, and my stomach felt light and queasy, and I heard the gasps behind me indicating I wasn’t the only one who had seen it. There was music coming through the loudspeakers, thin and choppy through the compressed internet feed, and there were some in the crowd singing weakly with the song as the words scrolled across the bottom of the screen.<o:p></o:p></span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 150%;"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 150%; margin-left: 1.0in;"><i><span style="font-family: Calibri;">The risen Lord is my shepherd, and nothing shall I fear<o:p></o:p></span></i></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 150%; margin-left: 1.0in;"><i><span style="font-family: Calibri;">For he, my God, my everything, who took away my tears<o:p></o:p></span></i></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 150%; margin-left: 1.0in;"><i><span style="font-family: Calibri;">Will lead me now and evermore beside the waters still<o:p></o:p></span></i></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 150%; margin-left: 1.0in;"><i><span style="font-family: Calibri;">And I will live forever in his glo-ry<o:p></o:p></span></i></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 150%;"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 150%;"><span style="font-family: Calibri;"> When the song had ended, I looked across the stage at the Reverend and Gary, and their faces were cold and still, and I looked out at the people in the crowd and their faces were the same, and there was not joy nor anticipation any longer, only a mirthless fixation on the face now painted in light in the front of the darkened room. The clock read 6:03, in numbers that seemed larger than the clock, larger than anything at all, and the face of the man was small and distant, and there was shuffling of feet and clearing of throats as he began speaking. “My children,” he said, his voice having lost the grandiosity and depth it had before, as if he’d sung with everything he had and now his breath was thin, “our Lord has delivered to us his gift, his <i>spiritual</i> judgment.” His emphasis on the word was subtle, but it was there, and it cast ripples through the faces in the room. Again, there was stirring. “We are in the midst of the great tribulation, my people, an end to the wickedness and the iniquity of men who refuse to open their lives and hearts to Jesus Christ.” Farthing paused, but there were no murmurs of praise nor applause. There was silence—damp leaden silence, and the clock read 6:05. <o:p></o:p></span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 150%;"><span style="font-family: Calibri;"> There was a world in which we now stood—all of us, both within and without that darkened ballroom, with all its tension and white noise and air-conditioned cheap eggshell walls—that everyone in that room, with very few exceptions, had at once relinquished, placed in a past that was forgotten. Hopeful, heavily, a hundred worlds sealed within a hundred hearts held a million breaths and prayed to their little gods, lamenting a doom pronounced from between blurred lips even as hope threatened from beneath shuffling soles. In the delicate nether between what was known—that with whose severance peace had been made—and the unknown, which had been—easily for some, begrudgingly for others—accepted and assimilated into what was real and what was present, a single word loomed above the fragile stillness like a hammer above a looking-glass, and fell with an appalling whisper.<o:p></o:p></span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 150%;"><span style="font-family: Calibri;"> “<i>Tomorrow</i> will begin the trials of the Lord’s children,” the voice rang from the speakers, and the whole universe seemed to exhale. At the back of the room, even as the disembodied countenance finished its sentence, prompted by the single word still ringing through the arches of the high ceiling against the cheap beads of the large chandelier, spears of light impaled the room as the light shuffling became footsteps that tap-tap-tapped through the opened door and down the marble hallways, hushed finally by the carpet of the staircase that led to the mezzanine where the exit opened into the warm Louisiana night. “The end has begun,” the face continued, as the footsteps splintered into hundreds of footsteps, leaving the room a sparse set of silhouettes against the wide-open double doors at the back of the ballroom. I couldn’t see the faces of those shadows but, across the stage, I caught a glimpse of Gary Winnaker. His hands were clasped upon his chest and there were tears in his eyes, and Reverend Abshire was standing dejectedly beside him, looking at the floor with his hands behind his back, his lips pursed and his cheeks low and sallow. The sermon continued from the speakers, but it was as if Farthing spoke into a vacuum. The remaining bodies in the room were the limbs of a dead thing, the numbness fading only slowly as the feed ended with a short prayer and the lights faded back on. <o:p></o:p></span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 150%;"><span style="font-family: Calibri;"> Abshire returned to the stage and stood before the few that remained and addressed their desperation, looking down with his eyes but with a voice that came forth as if from below. “My friends,” he said, “the work of the Lord is beyond our ability to know. He moves in ways within us and around us, and it is sometimes difficult to understand how and why.” His voice trembled. “We can know, though—we <i>do</i> know—that his work is our redemption. It is our salvation. Let us pray.”<o:p></o:p></span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 150%;"><span style="font-family: Calibri;"> With this last, Gary Whittaker, along with the few remaining parishioners that had remained filed slowly out of the room with slow, unsteady steps and not a word among them. As they left, the reverend said his prayer, and it was he and I alone who shared it.<br />
“Dear heavenly father, we thank you for this day. We thank you for the opportunity to know your blessings through this experience. Although we may not understand your plan, Lord, and though we may find it difficult to reconcile what we have seen this night with our understanding of your word, we know that it is not for men to understand your glorious and blessed work. We are your disciples, Lord, and our lives are for your glory. Please watch over all these, your children, even those who have gone from here to carry on with their lives, and please bestow upon them your guiding love and your boundless mercy. We ask this in the name of Christ Jesus, your son and our savior—“<o:p></o:p></span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 150%;"><span style="font-family: Calibri;"> I had been silent and still for some time and, as I took a breath, it was labored and shallow, and I felt cold. I had not come as a believer, and I would not leave as one, but I had been a part of what happened here, and I felt it was right that only I and the Reverend Tommy Abshire remained in that room after what had happened. “Amen,” we said together, and I stood in silence, recognizing that those people, every one of them, had made up in their own mind that it was over—that whatever they were still holding on to was just an illusion, and that the truth of things was to be revealed to them this very night. Each was returning home and would now pick up the pieces that had been cast aside, would wonder what happened, and would build walls against any such words or prayers, against the threat of blind faith and against promises that might sound too good to be true. It would harden their hearts.<o:p></o:p></span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 150%;"><span style="font-family: Calibri;"> Abshire said nothing when the prayer had ended. He walked down the steps on the right-hand side of the stage where I sat and put a hand on my shoulder, eyes downcast, his face a lazy grimace. He was no longer sweating, and his skin was not so tanned and fine as before but now seemed old and spotted. He turned and left the room quietly, letting the door close behind him with a gentle click.<o:p></o:p></span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 150%;"><span style="font-family: Calibri;"> I finished my job as I would have any other, packing the speakers and stands in their cases and loading them tenderly into the old minivan at the loading dock out back, careful not to let the tommy lift take the rear bumper off. I made the final “dummy check” to be sure I hadn’t left anything in the ballroom, then returned to the van, locked the rear door, and drew a cigarette from my pack. The first drag was warm and filling, and I felt the tingling thirst for the tobacco that had built up for the past five hours unnoticed, as I’d been transfixed by the events in the ballroom. Over the side of the van, past the garbage compactor beside the hotel’s loading dock and just beyond the Vermilion River bridge, where it cast only a partial reflection across the dirty and shallow water, the Freedom Church billboard still offered its promise of redemption as warmly and as openly as ever it had. I finished my cigarette, threw the butt in the ever-present pool of standing garbage water at the bottom of the dock’s incline and stepped into the driver’s seat of the van, pausing for a moment to feel the aching in my bones. I’d stood for nearly the entire time, and could feel it in my knees and ankles. I’m getting old, I thought to myself, knowing it wasn’t age but laziness and fatigue. I wondered then how it might have been, would it all have been true, if the expectations of all those hundred something people would have been spot-on. Would we all be standing in line waiting on St. Peter to sort through the mess? Would we be sitting on a golden curb before the pearly gates waiting on our number to be called? The song came to mind and I laughed to myself as I started the van and headed out for the shop:<o:p></o:p></span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 150%;"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 150%; margin-left: 1.0in;"><i><span style="font-family: Calibri;">Tell St. Peter at the golden gate<o:p></o:p></span></i></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 150%; margin-left: 1.0in;"><i><span style="font-family: Calibri;">That you hate to make him wait<o:p></o:p></span></i></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 150%; margin-left: 1.0in;"><i><span style="font-family: Calibri;">But you’ve gotta have another cigarette.</span></i><br />
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<span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: #6aa84f;"><i><span style="font-family: Calibri;">Bio By Jered Gaspard: </span></i><span class="Apple-style-span" style="border-collapse: collapse; font-family: arial, sans-serif; line-height: normal;"><b style="font-family: 'Times New Roman';"><span style="font-family: Calibri; font-weight: normal; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;">My name is Jered Gaspard, and I am an IT Professional in Lafayette, Louisiana. I am an undergraduate at the University of Louisiana at Lafayette, and I reside in Lafayette, Louisiana with my wife Monica and my son Grayson. I am 33 years old, and have been writing for most of my life, only seriously since 2008.</span></b></span></span><br />
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="border-collapse: collapse; color: #222222; font-family: arial, sans-serif; font-size: 13px; line-height: normal;"><b style="font-family: 'Times New Roman'; font-size: medium;"><br />
</b></span></div>The Southwestern Reviewhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/17173430974840634510noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8683645139221658998.post-56225028299595783022012-03-27T12:18:00.002-07:002012-03-27T12:19:09.503-07:00Lonely Despair by Taylor Coen<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: 19px; line-height: 38px;"> </span><br />
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%; margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0in; text-indent: .5in;"><span style="color: #6fa8dc; font-size: 12pt; line-height: 200%;">A ponderous man sits upon a chair: a vast underworld seeking escape. A recall of memories sets the mind in motion.<o:p></o:p></span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%; margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0in; text-indent: .5in;"><span style="color: #6fa8dc; font-size: 12pt; line-height: 200%;">A day at the beach portrays a gentle scene. The wind sways lightly through the ocean. A tall, black-haired woman, wearing a red bathing suit, sits upon a chair dug into the sand. A green and blue striped umbrella hangs above her, shadowing her from the bright sun. She watches the kids play in the shallow waves as seagulls fly overhead, completely unaware of the people below. Their minds are elsewhere as ominous clouds hover above the suddenly silent wasteland. The woman’s face is as white as a sheet. The winds pick up and the waves shake violently. The children rush out of the water as screams and hollers fill the air. <o:p></o:p></span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%; margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0in; text-indent: .5in;"><span style="color: #6fa8dc; font-size: 12pt; line-height: 200%;">“Veronica!” An average, brown short-haired man calls out to his lover.<o:p></o:p></span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%; margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0in; text-indent: .5in;"><span style="color: #6fa8dc; font-size: 12pt; line-height: 200%;">“John!” An average name for an average guy.<o:p></o:p></span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%; margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0in; text-indent: .5in;"><span style="color: #6fa8dc; font-size: 12pt; line-height: 200%;">The man’s unattractive umbrella shoots over Veronica’s head, drifting away in the destructive current, following two cups of lemonade that had been stolen from the gentleman’s hands by the malevolent winds. Veronica leaps up from the decaying chair in a state of horror only to be buried alive by debris. She drifts slowly down a hill of sand. <o:p></o:p></span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%; margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0in; text-indent: .5in;"><span style="color: #6fa8dc; font-size: 12pt; line-height: 200%;">“No!” cries the tattered man. Being unable to reach his love through the wall of the storm’s fury, the bellowing ocean engulfs her frigid body. The broken chair floats into the water, drifting down to the bottom. A piece of red cloth is found along the leg.<o:p></o:p></span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%; margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0in; text-indent: .5in;"><span style="color: #6fa8dc; font-size: 12pt; line-height: 200%;">Sadness flows across his face. Tears rise to the surface of a watery grave. <o:p></o:p></span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%; margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0in; text-indent: .5in;"><span style="color: #6fa8dc; font-size: 12pt; line-height: 200%;">A pool sits in the middle of a house. A chair sits in the middle of the pool. A man sits in the middle of the chair. An elaborate rope ties the gentleman’s hands and legs to the chair. A piece of red cloth escapes the binding of the rope and floats to the surface.<o:p></o:p></span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%; margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0in; text-indent: .5in;"><span style="color: #6fa8dc; font-size: 12pt; line-height: 200%;">A ponderous man sits upon a chair: a vast underworld seeking escape. A recall of memories sets the mind in motion. <o:p></o:p></span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%; margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0in; text-indent: .5in;"><span style="font-size: 12pt; line-height: 200%;"><span style="color: #6fa8dc;"> </span><o:p></o:p></span></div>The Southwestern Reviewhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/17173430974840634510noreply@blogger.com0