Boys Get Scared Too: Part 1 (Louis Toliver Jr-Austin, TX)

It's was a boys' sleepover. Their boys' sleepover. Jake, Kevin, and Lucas. Three very close high school friends at Kevin's house.

"Who wants to say "Candyman" in the mirror?" Lucas laughed.

"Please. Save the games for kiddies," Kevin began changing. He took of his shirt and jeans, leaving just his plaid boxers on.

"Ugh, boxers are so gross," Jake took off his clothes revealing his black briefs.

Lucas remained in a t-shirt and basketball shorts, "How about no underwear?"

They left Kevin's bedroom and headed to the kitchen of the one story house. Kevin's parents were out of town so the boys walked around freely bantering with each other.

"I don't want to play in that basketball game tomorrow. Coach is such a dick," Lucas poured a bowl of cereal. "I'm probably going to be on the bench cause of.....you know."

"Um, cause you got drunk before the last game and passed out in the showers...right after you jerked off in Bobby's gym locker," Kevin made a protein shake.

"I hate Bobby Garvin. Douche." Lucas chomped on his cereal.

"You gotta crush on the guy or something?" Jake grabbed a beer from the fridge.

"Hey! Watch it! That's my Dad's," Kevin grabbed the beer.

Jake grabbed it back, "He won't know. He's an alcoholic, besides I'll replace whatever I drink."

The phone rang. The land line.

"Aren't you going to get it?" Jake opened the beer and took a swig.

"No, I got a cell. That's house business. My parents can deal with it when they get home," Kevin sat down at the kitchen table, legs, open, his abs flexed. "I'm kinda bored."

The phone rang again.

"Maybe you should answer it," Lucas moved to the table.

"They didn't leave a message. Number is unavailable," Jake checked the phone.

The ringing stopped. No message. The phone rang again.

Comments

Come Hither (Annette Redmond Walters - Lafayette, LA)

I meant it not this way but the tears just flow and my makeup smearing all the more, leaving behind that familiar filthy residue. I may have begun to drive myself away, dragging you down as well. But it's done, I've flipped the switch and now it's dark once more. How painful is the music to my ears, I can't stand to be alone in it, yet here I am again. I pray you fly back and safely and warmly to me, though I fear I've dug the grave too deeply. As the dirt shifts within my soul, I choke on those loving words I'd meant for you. All the fragments of light I see becoming smaller and I wish to be near you in your embrace that might make me feel the warmth I'm missing. And in reality, I doubt I'd breathe another breath without you. So come hither and quickly soothe my dying heart, you are the only cure I know. I cry and cry again, come hither to heal and love me. Come hither and help me dry my tears.

Let That Fucker Burn (John Chenvert - Napoleonville, LA)

Let that fucker burn. Let the fire crackle like the whips once did— like bone meeting leather, like screams swallowed by the trees. Let the white columns crumble to ash. Not as tragedy— but as truth, unearthing itself from beneath generations of silence. Nottoway is not a mansion. It’s a mausoleum. A lie carved in stone to honor the hands that held the whip, not the backs that bore it. They called it the “White Castle.” A place of beauty. A place for weddings, for photo ops, for pretending that horror can be made elegant if the curtains match the guilt. But no paint can cover what happened there. Blood doesn’t wash out with white linens. And pain doesn’t forget just because you renamed it history. I’m not Black. And I won’t pretend to carry that weight. But I also won’t ignore it. My people—the Guanches—were taken too. Our language silenced. Our land stolen. Our names nearly erased. So yes, I know colonization. Yes, I know what it means to be disappeared. But I also know this— my skin ...

Dysfunctional (Taylor Coen - Lafayette, LA)

The flower sits before the tree, it is like an antagonist of nature. The rainbows fall against the clouds: colors burst into a buffet of light. Rain travels down into a puddle of water portraying the sight of an ugly ox. The strength is weak; it collapses to the ground, life flows out like a stream of consciousness. Back to the daisy and the overpowering oak, A lightning bolt strikes both. The war fades over, the mist evaporates, and sunshine gli mmers down upon a hidden valley.

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