For a webzine like this, you might think we are only going to focus on bands and music, but that’s not true! Art comes in a lot of forms and people like you and me are often artists in our own ways. This is our first edition of Art Attack! but we’d love to keep doing it, so message us on myspace and send your art to us!
Just title the message Art Attack!
Credit: Charlene Jean
What are your plans for the story: Probably finish it. Haha. Then I’d like to publish it… but we will have to wait and see where it goes…
Why did you decide to start writing? Well, since I was four, my mom read me this poem, Pnuemonal Woman by Maya Angelou. I thought the poem was soo deep, and so… amazing, I dedicated myself to writing. I have that poem memorized now.
How did you come up with the idea? I read this really amazing murder mystery, and I have a secret: I love the Goosebumps series. Usually my stories have kinda the same feel: Middle school or high school girl, peer pressure, and of course the usual : boys. This story is a little different. I never wrote about homosexuality, and I never wrote about how it feels to almost “see ahead of time” I believe this book will be an invigorating challenge!
Where can people read the rest? Defiantly on my myspace blog: www.myspace.com/mcrlover320 (You’ll find my blog somewhere) Hopefully, you will soon find my story in bookstores =]
I was exasperated. My black Honda broke down a week ago so I had to walk everywhere. That meant walking almost two miles to get to the “local” grocery store, which smelled like rotten diapers. Just inside the door, I stood looking around in disgust. It still amazes me that a store could be this dirty. Realizing I was blocking the aisle, I stepped aside to let a very young looking lady with bags under her eyes pass by. She was wearing a dark green tee shirt with black jeans that looked like they were painted on. I was concerned that she was going to drop her little girl. She carried her as if she was a sack of potatoes, with her toddler over her shoulder, only holding the crying child with one hand. I watched her walk down the aisle, stepping over a little boy having a tantrum on the floor, until she disappeared around the corner of a shelf. Even though the door was open, the grocery store was about 20 degrees hotter than outside, and 3 times smellier than I remember it being.
I exhaled, not realizing until now that I had even been holding my breath, and took a rusty cart. We needed a lot, my roommate Crystal and I, so I grabbed almost everything that was in the store: Mushy fruits, a half gallon of fat free soymilk that didn’t smell all that good, rotting vegetables, and stale tortilla chips with spicy salsa that lost it’s spice. I scanned the rest of the store to see if they had anything more. They didn’t; it seemed they had been out of stock for a while. Sighing, I piled all my food on the worn black counter. My stomach began to revolt, and I was trying hard not to look too hard at the counter or at the floor because I figured that would almost certainly make it worse. While the cashier was scanning and placing my food in yellow plastic bags, I glanced at the price: $30.79 for 14 bags. Figures.
With such nasty, over-expired food like this, they had better not overprice the “food” here. I pulled out a fake leather wallet and looked for cash. Seeing that I had none, I handed the boy a check and then pushed my black sunglasses with silver stripes to the bridge of my nose, gripped all 14 bags with two hands and winced.
“Oh! Lemme help you with that.” The only cashier said, grabbing 7 bags for me. I looked up and smiled nervously, looking into his eyes. They were big, round, brown eyes. He was a Latino boy, he looked about my age, and he had a very heavy accent. He had shiny jet black hair that was slicked back and the ends of his hair were semi-curly. He wore a white polo with dark blue stripes on the bottom and baggy jeans. He had a mustache, which I think would be extremely disgusting on anyone else; but, on him, it was actually quite flattering. He walked me out of the store, and I handed him 5 dollars for gratitude.
“Y-You don’t need to tip me. I did it for help. Just gimme your name, and that will be enough for me.” He pronounced “just” like “yust”, which I thought was really adorable. I turned around, and put my bags behind me. While still bending over, I looked at him out of the corner of my eyes. He was checking out my ass and he was licking his lips. I gently shook my head to myself. He’s just like everyone else.
Quickly picking up my bags, I brushed past him and murmured, “My name is Kaitlyn, and you’re a complete ass…” I was in a very pissy mood today. While walking away from the perverted cashier, I thought of my day and how horrible it was. I was failing my major course, had to walk back to my college, and since the Virginia Tech Massacre, the security means being frisked and scanned before you go inside. Great. I’m going to be thoroughly frisked for weapons I don’t carry and touched in places I’d rather not be touched. I shook out the negative ideas and focused on ignoring the horny men whistling at me and not tripping on whatever was on the floor.
I stopped at the edge of the neighborhood to see how much further I needed to go. I was only about half a mile away from the parking lot, so I readjusted the bags in an effort to get a better grip, rolled my shoulders back, and picked up my pace. The Hillsborough Performing Arts College was probably the biggest building in the county. Standing under its shadow, I leaned on the sign that read ‘No loitering’, closing my eyes for just a second. I was so tired and I really wanted a place to sit down. I looked around and, seeing an empty wooden bench that, incidentally, had a thick cover of bird poop on it, I quickly walked over and sat down. I could care less about the feces. I sighed in relief, took off my bright red teeny tiny flip-flops, threw my head back and closed my eyes. I listened to the sound of laughter probably from some stupid joke and listened deeper. I heard birds singing a sweet song of serenity. I smiled faintly, and listened closer. Behind me I heard a cricket mating.
I slowly drifted away… and the horror began. I lay in bed, in my favorite white nightgown, where in that dream, I was dreaming. I was startled and woke up quickly. I had to pee. I looked around and saw the walls closing in. I crossed my legs, trying to hold it in. I really had to pee. I looked around and found three different colors flashing in my face: black, then it brightened and change to white, and then it darkened and turn to hunter-green. I hid my face as I heard evil snickering in the background.
“Don’t believe in them… it’s not real…” I told myself in a shaking voice. Chills went up and down my spine as I heard a low growl. I hoped that was just my stomach… I jumped and screamed as I felt a cold tap touch my left shoulder. I ran to the bathroom; I couldn’t wait. I turned on the light and covered my face when the bright, clear, light blinded me for a split second. I blinked, waiting for my eyes to adjust. I shifted my feet from side to side so they could get used to the cold beige tile floor.
Nervously, I walked over to the mirror to splash cold water on my face, and looked down when I felt my thighs rub together along the way. Around the middle of my white nightgown was a big wet yellow stain. I had had another accident. Grimacing, I took off the nightgown and my wet underwear and stuffed them into the maroon colored bin with the other dirty clothing. I grabbed a dark green washcloth, wet it until it was a greenish version of black and started to bathe myself. My pale thighs were pink so the washcloth was way too rough. I bent over and splashed my face with cool water, and wiped off the black eyeliner I was wearing. I grabbed the rough, wet, dark green washcloth again and wrung it out. I wiped my face, then looked up at the mirror to criticize myself about this acne problem I have going on. At first I gasped, then started to hyperventilate, trying to find some air. Then I screamed.
There was a face in the mirror that I knew wasn’t mine. I knew my face didn’t look like that. I dropped the washcloth and stared into the mirror, leaning in as I saw a pretty girl with a gentle face, her eyes pitch black, her pupils white. Flat-chested—lucky bitch—and wearing a light purple dress. I felt my eyes being drawn down, almost against my will, to the bottom of the mirror and I screamed, beginning to cry hysterically. There, in the middle of her chest, was a steak knife, right where her heart was. Her purple dress was darkening to a black dress, and she lay in a casket. The knife stared at me, intimidating me. In the mirror, another version of me slowly crept over to her, calling words I couldn’t hear… I suppose that was her name. I squinted as I tried to read her lips to see what she was saying. I couldn’t make it out, so I looked back up. My lips were quivering, while her face seemed to get paler by the second. Suddenly I was screaming again as I realized her closed eyes had opened. My reflection in the mirror and I stared into her white pupils and saw her pupils changed into a white candle.
The wax stick was almost burning out and the candle was short and stubby. I listened to a gentle echo in the background. The candle light was the only light in the otherwise pitch black room. When did the light go out, I wonder? I didn’t have long to ponder that question before the candle, too, burned out. Darkness. I saw nothing but darkness. I listened quietly as I tried to make out a faint murmur.
It was sounding louder, clearer, and a feminine voice, I think that was the dead girl’s voice, began to sing: “You could’ve… saved me… You didn’t…. help me… Kaitlyn… WHY DIDN’T YOU CARE!?…. I’M GOING TO FIND YOU… HELP ME!… help…. GET ME…. OUT!” I forced my eyes open, hyperventilating again and woke up sweating. I was lying down on the bench, so I sat up and looked around, hoping no one heard me scream. I sat perfectly still, listening closely, but the voice was long gone. The sounds of laughter were gone too, along with the singing birds and the mating crickets. I grabbed my bags and ran inside.
After being searched and having my bags looked through, I ran to the elevator. I didn’t want to be alone right now… I was scared. Walking to my white door, which had shiny golden number 753 over the knocker, I dropped my bags and, with a shaky hand, grasped the doorknob. I tried to put the smooth, silver key through the key hole. I got more frustrated as I missed. I finally pushed the key through and tried to turn it. No luck. I twisted the key knob several times. The door wouldn’t budge.
”Dammit,” I cursed. “Not right now.” I banged my head against the raggedy door and waited. Grunting, I yanked the stubborn key out of the keyhole. I heard nothing, so I knocked on the door. “Crystal? Are you there? Open up for me, I don’t want to be alone.” I looked around nervously while shouting. When I heard a stifled giggle, I knocked on the door. I heard her quickly stop. She didn’t even go to the door to taunt me. I sighed in fury, and knocked harder.
“Don’t even fuck with me right now. I’m not in the mood, I have a bag of melted ice cream and it’s staining the floor.” I said, peering into the vanilla ice cream. It was getting really sticky. I lifted up my flip-flops, hearing a sound almost like Velcro, as they came unstuck from the floor. The vanilla ice cream was almost the same exact color as the dead girl’s eyes… I tried and tried to shake the memory of her from my mind, but I couldn’t get over her eyes.
They were just two colors, but I stared into them too long. They were hypnotizing me. I couldn’t forget them. In an effort to forget about the disturbing flash of thoughts, I pictured myself, comfy, on the couch sitting with Crystal. We were munching on kettle corn and gossiping about some boy’s butt or whatever. (Us girls tend to do stuff like that.) I knocked on the door one last time. My hands were really starting to hurt. I paused and heard lame techno music start up. I laid a hand on the door and felt the high pitched vocals buzz through my nails. I clenched my teeth together and balled up my fists as I heard the electronic pianos. Electric pianos! There wasn’t even a guitar solo, no crazy drums going off, no screams. Just singing in a nasally voice. Pitiful.
Ah, Stupid! I forgot about something! I unbuttoned the first button off my blouse, and went inside my bra, desperately hoping for an extra key. Bingo. I opened the door, angrily, with 14 bags held tightly to my chest. I jumped when I heard Crystal squeal, “Food!”, punctuated by her grabbing 5 bags in each hand and dumping them on the counter. She pulled out a bag of tortilla chips, and didn’t so much as even acknowledging my existence, never mind saying ‘thank you.’
She plopped on the couch and flipped through Seventeen. I stood there, my mouth open, in awe. Apparently, Crystal had no idea how dip-shitty she was acting. She flicked her blonde hair to the back of her shoulder saying lustfully, “Take a picture.” “I’d rather not.” I said, coming to life. I grabbed a clear plastic bag, took a few handfuls of chips and plopped next to her. Crystal stood up.
“C’mon, we’re meeting up with Andrew and his boyfriend Richard.” “Okay, hold on. Let me re-freshen my eyeliner.” I replied. After emphasizing my grey eyes, I did a last minute glance at my self. Black hair, pink edges. A lot of black eyeliner. Black cami with a black leather miniskirt and pink leggings….Slut. …
The cafeteria is the best and worst room in the entire college building. When you walk in, an aroma of sweet fruits and vegetables fills your nose, and the air is gentle and filled with people you know and love. Well, a good majority of them are known and loved. Crystal and I walked through the cafeteria, my head held high. I was trying to get as much of the fresh scent as possible, despite how ridiculous I looked. They only had one little problem with the cafeteria…. I stood in the middle of the cafe where you buy your lunch and, gripping the sticky red tray, I pinched a piece of faded yellow “celery” off the top of my vegetarian pizza.
“Is this… edible?” I began to ask no one in particular, rubbing the globby mush-like thing between my thumb and index finger. The crust was really tough, so tough that when I tried to take a bite out of it, my mouth refused to soften it. I rotated the pizza to get a better look at it. The tomato topping was more faded and rusty looking then actually red. It reeked of onions. I pushed it aside.
“Honey, I wouldn’t eat that if I were you. The lunch ladies are so disgusting. They don’t wear hairnets, or even wear gloves for that matter! Must get a health inspector,” My friend Andrew pulled at one of his shorter lime green spikes.
“Here,” he continued, reaching over me and pulling out a sub from the refrigerator, then picking out the meat for me. He rewrapped it in foil, and placed it on his tray. “I’ll pay for ya.” He said, under his breath. I looked up at him to smile. See, Andrew is your average “scene kid.” [I hear people call him that a lot. But, hey, who am I to judge, miss leather skirt.] He has lime green hair, spiked in a faux mohawk, and wears eyeliner, more eyeliner than I wear, so that’s a lot. I don’t think I’ve ever seen him out of this huge, chunky, obnoxious black choker with silver “spikes” all on it. I dunno why people usually pick on him. I like his style. I like his clothing. He’s usually in skinny jeans that look kinda girlish, usually paired with anything plaid. It’s unique. I quickly examined my sandwich to make sure no pieces of meat got stuck in there. Crystal, Andrew, and I found a semi-sticky table in the corner, where we wouldn’t have to face the wrath of the jocks. They like to pick on us for no good reason.
Mid-chew, I saw it. Well, him, to be exact. (Don’t think you know where this story is going…) Hazel eyes, covered by beautiful streaks of light brown hair. He dressed the same way as Andrew: snake bites under his mouth, piercings up and down his ear, and he also wore a bright colored shirt. A few sprinkles of freckles on his slightly tan face, and snow white teeth. He had rainbow gaugers in both earlobes, not too big, just a 12. I sucked in a big load of air as he smiled at me and started to walk to our table. My eyes teared up, and I started to cough, viciously. Apparently, I sucked in so much air that a bit of lettuce went down the wrong tube.
Crystal quickly started to pat my back, and I relaxed. “Hey, honey,” He said, quickly pecking Andrew on the cheek. “Crystal,” he continued- “Soooo scenic.” Crystal giggled, placing her chin on my shoulder, her long, blonde hair falling on my chest.
”Now, let’s get a move on. You’re gorgeous without the makeup.” She continued, pulling out her bright pink-sequined tiny clutch from under my pitch black humungous makeup bag. I smiled at her reflection. She had a tannish face with no freckles, light blue almond-shaped eyes, and a button nose.
“Why can’t I look like her?” I thought to myself. I looked at my face. I was probably the palest Italian in the world, and I had beautiful freckles that were hidden behind heinous acne. I had two big, grey eyes that were usually emphasized with black or silver eyeliner. I had a weird mouth: a very tiny upper lip, and a big, full, luscious lower lip. It looks like I got punched in the face. I winced then pulled a twenty out of my bag and shoved it in my “booty pocket.” I let Crystal get her keys this time. He kissed Andrew?! He did. I looked away quickly when I saw Andrew smile.
”Crystal,” he continued. He fixed his glance at me, and I felt so small when he did. His eyes were so intense… ”And you are….?” He questioned, raising an eyebrow in confusion. My tongue was dry, and I tried to find some saliva to moisten my mouth, but it wouldn’t come to my rescue. I opened my mouth, and then closed it as I saw his eyebrow go back to its normal perfect place, his mouth curling up into a perfect smile, his perfect dimples flashing at me. “Haha. You always fall for that.”
I smiled nervously in reply. I tried to find enough spit to moisten my mouth as he leaned in and gently poked the bridge of my nose. ”You’re so gullible.” I opened my mouth again, and then quickly shut it again, my lips pressed together, while my head was bouncing around like a bobble head in agreement. I sucked in more air as he cocked his head and smiled.
“Look, that’s my man!” Andrew said, his nasally voice butting in. Ugh. He made his “gay man—macho guy face” and began to crack up, all by himself. I broke my stare, glanced at Andrew, and started my LT again (lettuce and tomato). Out of the corner of my eye, I looked at Crystal, and dodged her eyes glancing at me. She started to tap the table impatiently. ”Would you guys make some conversation? Geez, as soon as Mr. Too-Sexy-To-Be-Gay comes here, you guys act dead.”
I smiled to myself. Seems Crystal hasn’t gotten lost in Richard’s eyes yet…. yet is the word. Richard made a sudden grimace, and I saw a wrinkle over Crystal’s nose form. I just covered my nose as a smell of cheap tangerine-smelling perfume danced wildly in the air. The scent was getting stronger, and my head was starting to spin. She was getting closer. I exhaled and turned around and had to face the smell right up and personal. It really bites that the owner of that tacky, awful smell was my best friend, Amber.
(edit: I put in the paragraphs, because it was all lumped together when I put it in here..so sorry if they don’t seem right at parts! Hope you enjoyed the story though!!)