Literary Supplement Part 1
Author: David Poilievre
“Kathryn would love it here,” I said, staring misty-eyed at the sun peaking over the horizon. With a shiver, I zipped up my hoody, blocking my sweat-dampened shirt from the morning chill. The comforting scent of fresh dirt and wet grass permeated my clothing. Dropping the shovel next to the hole I’d dug, I took a deep breath of the autumn air and basked in the view. I stood alone atop a grassy hill overlooking an expansive wheat field that, as the wind blew across it, rippled and waved like a golden yellow lake.
“This place seems familiar,” he said.
“It should,” I replied. “We grew up here, or… somewhere like it anyway.” The hill was at the edge of a pasture and I could hear cows grazing through the grass behind me. “Do you remember grandpa’s farm? The fresh air? How peaceful it was?”
“I remember the adventures. The trees we climbed and all the places to explore,” he replied. “And the go-kart in the barn! We never did get to drive it.”
I laughed, “That is what you’d remember, isn’t it?” Still, I stared into the distance. The prairie sky had assembled into the most beautiful natural painting.
“How was the wedding?” he asked. “Sorry I couldn’t make it, man. Just not really a place for me, ya know?”
“Beautiful,” I sighed, turning my back to the horizon. “And so was Kathryn.” I paused. In this place, nostalgia covered me like a safety blanket, but I forced back the memories and cleared my head. “You would have liked it. Open Bar,” I chuckled.
“She is good for you, ya know. I always liked her.”
“Ha! I would hope so, otherwise we probably wouldn’t be here,” I laughed.
The wind picked up, red and orange leaves swirled around me. It was time. I bent down and grasped the shovel. I stuck it into the pile of loose dirt and paused.
“What if I need you?” I asked, suddenly unsure. “What if I’m just not ready?”
“You are,” he responded. “Besides you’re keeping a bit of me right? That’s part of the reason she loves you.” He tossed me his ragged John Deere cap.
Catching it, I nodded, wiping a tear from my eye. I envied him; he had always been so confident. “Thank you, for everything.” I slid the hat onto my head. Perfect fit.
Without another word, I began shoveling – filling the dark hole. The dirt collected on the young boy’s glasses and piled on top of his Star Wars t-shirt. He didn’t mind, though, not anymore. He lay still as stone, the life gone from his dark familiar eyes. Soon, all that could be seen were the tips of his skateboard shoes, then nothing at all.
Once I had finished, the sun was high and things began to warm. The morning light cast a peaceful glow on the prairie landscape and as I left this special place. I knew he had been right. I was ready.
The House Furthest Back
Author: Tea Gerbeza
The house furthest back is where it all happens. Children scream, adults laugh, and then you hear the wicked snicker. When the snicker comes, all noises around the house come to a halt.
Leaves begin to swirl, the air gets colder, and then he appears dressed in full black and a giant sneer.
“Hello my children, are you ready for the grave?”
The little blonde boy raises his small, ghostly hand.
“Father, I am the sacrifice.”
The man smiles, “Ah, my dear boy, you are the one who needs comfort. You are not the one who is to be sent to the netherworld, but instead you are to be my servant for eternity.”
The boy’s ghostly arm drops as he smiles a small, yellow grin. He looks around at all the other children, knowing that he is the one who gets to choose the child of sacrifice.
It is the girl with the long yellow hair and icy eyes. She is the one to die. He and the girl once quarreled and quarrelling was not allowed, not at the house furthest back.
“My dear boy, who will the sacrifice be?” the man snickers.
The little boy points, “The one with the icy eyes, sir.”
Screaming ensues. The girl had only been at the house for a couple weeks and did not know the customs. Between the screaming, laughter erupts throughout the room and then the chanting begins:
“Goodbye, goodbye, fairest Amelia, goodbye. Have fun in the fires. Have fun in the red. Goodbye Amelia.”
Sudden blackness engulfs the room as Amelia’s screams boom throughout the house. The fire is lit, and that’s the last of icy eyed Amelia. As the fire fades, the house grows quiet; not a soul heard in the house furthest back.
However, be careful. The house may light up again, and you could be the one seeing the man’s sneer. The house furthest down the lane is where it all happens. Children scream, adults laugh, so when that snicker is heard, run.
Author: Hannah Grover
This wasn’t like the movies. There was no laughter and jeering, aside from the chuckles of confused boys. Naturally, it would be third period: Gym. Three girls had been absent, and the girl to boy ratio was two to eight. Me against Marlene. It was when I felt the moisture running down my legs that I knew.
My mom had warned me about it for nine years. At fifteen, I was already way past my expiration date. The other girls in my grade were well-developed and flowing. Why here? Why beside Marlene? This cunt rag had been giving me the stink eye ever since first period, as if she knew, as if she had cursed me. I clenched my legs and bit my lower lip until it bled. Maybe if I ignored it, the flow would stop.
On cue, a bomb burst, and waves of pain invaded my abdomen. I struggled to maintain my composure. My moans seemed to go unnoticed by my balding teacher and most of the kids, who were too preoccupied with the ratty ropes they were climbing on. As I approached the front of my line to grasp the knot, I felt a lump break through my walls, splattering my legs.
“RED!” A male cackle echoed within the room.
All the kids stared at his finger, then at my shorts. The red below paralleled my face as tears melted down my fat cheeks.
Suddenly, Marlene grasped my arm, steering me away. She whispered, “Ignore them,” as she shot all the boys a glare. Smiling at me, she said, “It’s cool. I got mine on my boyfriends’ white couch. That was fun.”
Author: Myles Mazet
In memory of A.F.S.
I wasn’t going to be some eunuch, prancing
around olive groves, taking it in the ass from legionnaires.
I was William fucking Wallace;
Gainsay, who dare!
I wanted an almost white squaw,
An iron jaw,
and an unforgiving temper that put life beyond decision.
I wanted stacks of cash thicker than blood,
food and Ferraris;
strippers that suck and
fuck, till they can’t stand up,
then forget about it.
Jared’s dad owned the cineplex between the two malls;
we saw everything before it opened, always drunk,
usually high on something cooked;
pot was so junior high.
“Jared’s APC hit a mine;
pushed my balls so far up I was sneezing semen for a week,
before I coughed them out,”
“You wanna see my shit purse,”
it’s the least that fucking place can do for me now,”
the night before his mother found him in the shower.