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    ©

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     This is a non-commercial e-mag azi ne.

     This publi cation, Indie Affa ir© - its nam e and design are theexclusive property of S.P, Jessica Vieira and Gabriel Acosta. Thepublication may be non-commercially, copied and distributedfor classroom use, so long as the name of the contributors,creators, a copyright notice, a license notice, a disclaimer noticeand link to the material are provided. Other uses will depen d onthe permission of the authors themselves.

    By submitting their pieces of writing authors agreed on the

    following terms:*The contents (i.e. articles -poems, stories, artwork, etc-) areproperty of the authors who keep the copyright of their work.*Authors are NOT paid for the pieces of writing that theysubmit.*Authors allow the e-magazine to publish their pieces of writingonce only, without any sort of financial compensation as thisis a non-prof it work done by volunteers.*The formatting of every piece of writing -unless otherwiserequested- will be adjusted by the editorial team according tothe needs of the design for better reading.

     The author is inv ite d to menti on “Indie Affa ir” as a source whenever the aut hor lat er republi shes the artic le on oth erplatforms. Altering the content of the publication in any way isprohibited. No material may be reproduced without permission

    in writing from the e-mag azine founders and/or the authors.

    © S.P., J.Vieira, G. Acosta - 2016 - All Rights Reserved.

    Indie Affair

    Copyright and Disclaimer Notice:

    Editorial Team

    From the Editor in Chief 

    About Jessica Vieira:

    Bitten at a young age to pursuecreative pathways in various artistic

    forms, which led to an event filledexistence, while dealing with thestruggles presented within ourexistence, gaining an understandingand appreciation for life and allof its organic beauty. Writing hasbeen a calling to her soul and withher through the years albeit, thelast few she has been writing hertake on Ancient Alien theory with

    mythology and modern man.

    Dear Reader,

    I have had the fortune to meet manyincredible souls through Instagram.Finding a wealth of support for myselfand the community to which I now belong.Being moved and my heart captured by the words read, once an opportunity presenteditself to assist writers in gaining furtherexposure, I jumped at the chance. A quickglance at this issue shows you our continuedcommitment and resolve to publish a journalof the highest standards devoted exclusively

    to the circulation of indie artwork.

    Our purpose is to showcase any artist,no matter the background, reaching anew audience, moving each individual, bytouching their heart as we have been. Afterall, sharing is caring, right? Support in theartist community as I have found, is tightknit and welcoming of new talent. In lifethere are struggles, the way we choose toutilize those experiences makes a difference.Helping ourselves or another by sharing the

    hard times and lessons learned is therapeuticand freeing of our souls from the burdens we ca rry.

     We cordially invite all artists, of any medium andskill level in contributing to this publication.Enjoy the beauty each participant shares with us through the blood ink penned inpoetic, fiction, or any other manner of each wondrous composers exper ience. Show yoursupport for these sou lful artist by followingthem on Instagram.

     Jess ica

    Indie Affair© is a non-commercial publication dedicated to publishingmeaningful work (articles, stories, poetry, etc.) as well as disseminatingand promoting the work of emerging and established authors andartists through digital innovation.

    Indie Affair© publishes poetry, fiction, flash fiction, art/photography,and cross-genre works from contributors around the world. We also

    publish reviews of new/old books from the major publishers andsmall presses, and articles about aspects of poetry and prose writing. We wel come submi ss ions from all ar tis ts ded ica ted to producingexciting, innovative prose/poetr y.

    If you would like to submit your work, please feel free to contact anyof our editors via mail to:

    Editor in Chief Jessica Vieira

    Proof Reading & EditingKawaihoano Lahui

    Layout Design & GraphicsGabriel Acosta

    FoundersS.P.

    Jessica VieiraGabriel Acosta

    [email protected]

     www.scrib d.com/us er/ 309033 918 /Indie-Affair

    https://www.facebook.com/indieaffairmagazine

    I

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    CONTENTSIssue 1 - February 15th - 2016

    I

    P.01 - A Childhood Tale

    P.02 - Labyrinth

    P.03 - Another’s Pain

    P.04 - Home

    P.05 - Requiem’s Kiss

    P.05 - So Grab That Pill And Take It...

    P.06 - When Your Eyes Met Mine

    P.06 - Shattered Glass

    P.07 - Letters To You

    P.09 - Tranquility

    P.10 - The Light Of His Heart

    P.12 - Faith

    P.12 - Arithmetic

    P.13 - Unashamed

    P.15 - One More Time

    P.18 - Crimson Tendrils of Thought

    P.19 - Internal Dilemmas UnderKnowing Eyes

    P.18 - The raven blue ink ...

    P.19 - Haunted Journal

    P.20 - Wasted Love

    P.20 - Goddess of Death

    Indie Affair Issue 1

    P.21 - Featured Author

    P.22 - Artpiece

    P.23 - Shrouded Heart

    P.23 - My Veil Now Lifted...

    P.24 - Let Me Stay Here

    P.25 - Beautiful Revenge”

    P.28 - Mary-Jane

    P.29 - Voyage

    P.30 - Colors Of My Soul

    P.31 - Foot of the Cross

    P.32 - Good Catholics

    P.37 - Let Them Doubt Me

    P.38 - Dread (Father Part V)

    P.39 - Forgive

    P.40 - The Loudest Sunset

    P.42 - Fate

    P.42 - Fallen Wings”

    P.43 - Course

    P.43 - Shhhhh...

    P.44 - Soft Grunge and The Cult of Pain”

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     A Childhood Tale

    G razing my hands over thedining table I’ve eaten dinnerat almost every night of my life. The table that has accompan ied atleast one hundred hungry peopleand left five still hungry andunsatisfied.

    Not once has the wood bitten meand left me with a splinter. It has

    always been too kind to be likethat. Fixated by the knots in thepolished red gum, I am remindedof a birthmark you had on yourelbow. One you told me you wereself-conscious of, but I thought it was beauti fu l. I st il l be lieve that itis beautiful.

    I let my eyes trail past a thick driedsappy bit of varnish and settle ona dent, four separate holes each

    horizontal in a perfectly straightline, and I remember just exactlyhow it got there. On the last nightof autumn, not too long ago, whenanger and frustration exploded likestars, and you told me I should notdo that. The only thing I should letexplode are the galaxies beneathmy skin, but last night I let thatswirl down the drain. If I told youthat, you would probably explode.

    I let my heart leap enthusiasticallyfrom my chest, up through mythroat, and out through my mouth.

    By Emma Charlton

    pe.c.poetry_

    Bio: Emma, a student andpoet, spends most of herspare time exploring thetherapeutic qualities whichpoetry provides. She has beenwriting creatively ever sinceshe could read and one daywishes to have a novel with

    her name on it.

    Like water did that time I was inthe hospital for three days with asevere case of dehydration thaalmost got me and I let it plummeitself into a fast descent towardthe polished red gum table. When itlanded, the table became a richerthan-ever shade of crimson, nevehave I seen you so shocked. Noteven when I said a word I’ve only

    recently been taught not to say.I play with it, pushing it around with my blunt knife and buckledfork, the same way I do when thereis a single pea drowning in thegravy on my plate and never do Itry to save it because I don’t careMaybe I should, but I alr eady took what I wanted .

     Anyway, it was at that moment you

    told me to stop playing with myfood, I did not at all have the gutto tell you, maybe, you shouldn’tplay with my feelings when I putthem on the table.

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    open_journal

    Bio: I began writing as a wayto escape my reality and inturn, discovered I didn’t haveto escape. I could bleed myreality onto pages and releasethe pain. All while connectingwith many beautiful soulswhom share the same passion.Co-Authoring a collaborationof poetry, “The Rising” nowavailable on Amazon. Workingon my first solo book of poetryand prose. Also sharing bitsand pieces of my soul, daily,

    through the writing communityof Instagram. I wish for nothingmore than to finish m y journeyin this world without feelingsof a moment being in vain.

    Each bend another dead end,falling upon shards of myself,glimmers of hope dim in vain.

     Your distor ted maze, tw is t, turns,my heart pains yet, I sustain.

    Compromising myself, I must abstain,nary faith in the map you have lain,

    you, as my reward I shall obtain.

    Beast and beauties,

    talking tongues and riddles spun,deceit disclaim, feign.My heart’s sincerity rang,the world to gain, if only 

    I remain sane.Gazing from your tower,

     The beat ing in your chest -Quite the bane as I began

    to leave a stain.Love your weakness, you fell,

    the monster slain.

    I am the Queen, and I shall reign. Th is labyrinth you’ve created,your domain, looking around

     with such disda in . Where you once were King 

    no power remains.

    -In honor of the Great David Bowie who shallalways remain the Goblin King.

    Labyrinth

    By KLP

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     just____sayin

    By A.T.G

    Bio: I love writing and playingwith words, their timing andaesthetics. I love twisting andsqueezing them to see whatthey can become. I try to writein as many different ways asI can. Mixing horror, comedy,love and tragedy. I write formyself mainly, but if just oneother person reads me and

    enjoys it, then I’m made up. Ialso really enjoy reading other

    people’s works.

     Thei r words wi l l g et lost in my dark , thought lessness.S ix feet , g one now, and wi l l a lways be missed; With sympath ies vo iced and wishes unwished.

     Ye t , my heavy soul marches a lone.

     They say she ’d be proud, and you’r e be ing so s t rong,but behind these dry eyes , i t ’ s a l l go ing wrong.

    My corpse i s s t i l l breath ing , and my hear t i s beat ing on. Alas, i t beats now wi th a more hol low tone.

    I ’m not the youngest for th is gr ief to have torn ,there ’s another , f ive years af ter me she was born.

    I s t rug g le to imagine how she s t i l l so ld iers on,her hear t must be a shade of color unknown.

    So you cry, i f i t he lps you to fee l through my pa in ,

    but for me, a l l the tears in the wor ld can’ t conta insuch a burden of wonder , and soul -crushing b lameof an ange l , that somewhere has f lown.

     Another’s Pain

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     thmx girl

    By thxtm_girl

    Bio: My name is Iqra, I live ina small town in Pakistan. Last

     year, I began whe n I mad e anInstagram account for writing,earlier then that I hadn’t any

    interest.

    I am currently completing mystudies and my only aim inlife is to become something

    in which I can be proud.Believing we are all findingescapes from our daily life, asif rebelliousness is our nature.Turns out my escape is writing.

    Home

    I passed by that roads ide

    yesterday. The roots of t reeshave outgrown their f lowerbeds. The place looked sosmal l , or maybe I had justgrown. The wal l s of that housest i l l had that smel l , the smel lof those de l ic ious d ishes mymother cooked. The huge f rontcourtyard and the cha i r in thecorner were s t i l l there . But thepeople , the happiness had longgon e. I couldn’t res ist my urge

    to cry out loud. I screamed inagony, of how l i fe was s impleand what has i t become now.How my l i t t le footsteps wereunable to go outs ide a loneand how quickly those hands vanished into obl iv ion who were my l ight . I

      was lef t a lone to s t rugglethrough the crossroads of l i fe . Al l my l i fe I ran , ran , and ranto f ind th is inner peace andtoday I f ind i t here in th is o ldbroken home of mine . Thememorie s , the sent iments, thisis of which I was made. Money,att i tude, luxury, recreat ion,nothing - absolutely , nothing was comparable to the fee l ingI felt today.

    I stood there with my eyes

    closed ; the voices echoe d in myhead running down my spinecarry ing each bi t of happinessI gathered from this place.I wanted to stay, for t imeto s tand s t i l l , I w ished for at ime e lapse so that I could bestuck here for inf in i ty . A l l ofmy chi ldhood memories weredancing in f ront of me, andI le t myse l f drown in them, wishing to s tay there forever.

    Unti l somebody clutched myarm, “Mom, i t ’s gett ing late .Let’s go home.”

    I couldn’t help, but smile . Asmuch I wanted him to knowthis was my home, as much as Iloved th is p lace and the people who l ived here, I knew that I was h is home and his love. Iknew that h e had a home wh ichhe wanted to go back to, justl ike I fe l t . We were in the same

    place ; we had the same hear tHe was l iv ing my pa st , and I washis present . Sometimes, suddenreal izat ion gives you a sneakpeek int o real i t y, and my real i ty was s tanding r ight in f ront ofme, hold ing my ar m and pushingme towards home, our home.

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    thornheart

    Bio: Visit his IG toknow more about him.

    I t s tar ted innocent ly enough wi th a smi le , the smi lethat ’s forever ingra ined upon my mind. The ghost ofyour voice s t i l l r ings melancholy tones in my ears ,your sof t l ips haunt ing mine , the thought of yourfeminine hands sharply pul l ing my ha i r as your tongueseeks rou gh dominan ce over my own. Whatever wordsres i s tance I had caught in the back of my throat asI mel t into your embrace . Emera ld eyes a l ive wi thf i re and s in , damning my soul , branding i t w i th yourear thy scent that s t i l l l ing ers upon my coat , haunt ingand bewit ching my sens es even now, hours lat er . Myemboldened hear t s t i l l aches wi th the g r ievous woundyour absence dea l t i t , the nature of our las t embrace

    mis judged as you whispered your goodbye and ourlas t shared words “There are no happy endings foryou or I.”

     A piece inspi red by my f i rs t one n ight s tand , had Iknown i t was that . . .wel l , maybe I wouldn’t be sucha fool . As much as I could drone on, I ’m a 22-year-o ld Sa l fordian , who probably dr inks too much andhas my emotions wir ed to my nerve end ings. Writ ingisn’t as much as a therapeutic hobby to me as i t is ashot in the dark , expect ing a r icochet f rom someone who can re la te to me.

    b0xxhead

    Bio: United Streets Of AmericaThese words are my ownBoxhead, Mobocracy, TrapRat,

    10110

    By maskedpoet

    I fee l l ike I ’m not gonna make i t , “So grab thatp i l l and take i t ,” That smi le? I faked i t ! Many ing redients to the

    rec ipe of whatthey ca l l inner sadness , having to dea l w i th

    drowning madness .I fee l the c laws s ink into my bra in l ike br icks in

    the ocean.Looking at h im and th inking , why d id I put th is

    into mot ion? The g r ip th is has on me seem l ike the t ightest .

     You can’t g ive up in the s l ightest ; you g ot ta

    keep f ight ing -I got ta keep wr i t ing . . . Because , i f I don’ t , w i l l Ilose i t ?

    By Richard

    Requiem’s Kiss

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    Forastronomersandmuses

    Bio: Adrianna Osho wrote herfirst novel at 10. Now in her20’s, she pines over that vividimaginati on and 5th grade workethic. When she isn’t pining,Adrianna writes poetry, shortstories, and screenplays. Shealso Googles cats in sweaters.

     The novels say Saturn loses i t s r ings and Venus cr ies for joy 

    Mars ascends a Roman char iot , whi le Neptune wages cold wars

    Mercury sends love le t ters ,Uranus looks on,and dear o ld Jupi ter makes you i t s b iggestpawn

     When your eyes met mine- no such th inghappened

     The Ear th just kept sp inning ,qui te s table on i t s ax is

    petitepoems

    Bio: Mallory Rowe is a poetfrom Alabama. She is currentlyworking on her second book ofhaiku. Her work centers aroundspirituality, the cosmos, and

    philosophy.

    By Mallory Rowe

    Shat tered g lass and woodSmashed by hands longing to hold

    More than a photo

    By Adri O

     When Your Eyes Met Mine

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    kayssiecaprice

    Bio: I live to shift not exist.I refuse to leave a place andleave no impact, no matterhow small. I am a 30 year oldwith a 17 year old’s body, so,forgive me for my occasionalimmaturity. Singer // Writer //

    Editor // Fashion-Lover

    www.athousandl ightyears .wordpress.com

    Indie Affair Page 7

    Dear Future Daughter , You’re amazing.

    Understand, that no one wi l l ever say i t enough. So,medi ta te on that every morning and every n ight . This wor ld wi l l constant ly t r y to rob you of your se lf -es teemby te l l ing you, you’ re too conce i ted or s imply a fa i lure .I want you to remember how amazing you are , everyt ime you fai l because that ’s what love real ly feels l ike;It ’s l ike burning, but knowing you won’t turn to ash;Love is acknowledging your fa i lures , but knowing youare greatness .

    Live!Baby, smile . Smi le when yo u don’t feel l i ke i t , tha t ’s howtrue s t rength i s for med.

     When you fee l l ike the chaos won’t g o wi thout a f ight ,and you have no more f ight le f t in you, baby smi le . Smi leeven harder when they sp i t in your face . Smi le i f theykick you when you’re down. Your enemies wi l l hate tosee you smi le and re jo ice a t your tears .

    So, crush them with your smi le .

    Sweetheart , know I am not your enemy. Know yourenemies. There’s a difference between someone beingaga inst your ideas and someone be ing aga inst yourexis tence .

     And your ex is tence i s ear th shat ter ing !Be comfor table wi th re ject ion, on ly then are you t r u ly fear less.When nobecomes your mother tongue, that ’s when you’ l l speak wi th braver y.

    Beaut i fu l , don’ t l e t anyone te l l you someone i s not worthbeing loved. Spread love l ike i t ’s your favor i te g l i t ter !Sugar , l augh. T imes wi l l get so tough, somet imes so muchthat you won’t see a way out .

    However , the key to acknowledging the changing of t imeand how i t never seems to s tay the same. This i s jus t atemporary he l l , so , re jo ice a t ever y b lossoming bud youlay your eyes upon. Whi le your enemies want to k i l lyour joy, the devi l your hope and the world you, re joiceat every dodged bul le t , because eventua l ly one of them

     wi l l succeed.

    Letters To You

    By kayssiecaprice

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    Remember that l i fe is a r igged g ame of who can las t thelongest , never forever . So don’ t go t ry ing to surv ive i t ,but enjoy i t . Love .

     Angel , know that l i fe happens. There ’s so much more tostress over than that wal let you lost . Honey, smile and

    thrive. Never survive, you’re better than that . Don’trob yourse l f of a rad iant future , you’ l l only be cheat ingyourse l f .

    Laugh, my Cupcake , fa l l in love as many t imes as you canbefore you lose yourse l f . You’ l l create the most t imelessar t , you’ l l l earn the voice of your hear t , and not jus t yourmind.

    Princess , remember, we are a l l humans, with insecuri t ies ,dreams and emotions. Remember we are a l l just l ike you. We are v ic t ims just l ike you. We have fee l ings l ike you

    do, so, don’t be quick to point a f inger . When you wantto point , point i t a t yourse l f f i r s t . Chal lenge yourse l f torecognize your se l f i shness and fau l ts . I t i s eas ier to b lameanother person than to accept your fau l ts .

    Beaut i fu l , there are only ever two types of people , the goodand the bad. No pigment nor re l ig ion wi l l ever inf luencethat .

    Pumpkin , th is wor ld i s fu l l of b i t terness . Let your sweettongue leave a s t icky mark .

    Cont inue to Smi le . Sunshine , every t ime they speak overyou, speak louder , but k inder ! They ’ l l te l l you not to ta lkso loud, not to be so b lunt , not to speak to people youhaven’ t known as i f you’ve known them your whole l i fe . When they te l l you to drop that purple and pa int the horsebrown, don’t ! That ’s the world trying to minimize yourcreat iv i ty . The wor ld i s constant ly t ry ing to s tea l your voice. Don’t l e t i t . Baby g i r l , no dream is too b ig. Set t lefor what you want , not what the world t e l ls you, you wan t.No one can sto p you, but you. You’re only as powerful asyou bel ieve you a re. However, when you fol low your h eart

    remember to br ing your mind on the jour ney.

    Sweet ie , i f I ever s tand on your voice , don’ t s top t ry ing tomake a sound. I f I ever make you fee l int imidated to thepoint you can’t share the p leasures of your hear t anymoreor even smi le bes ide me. I f I put you in a pos i t ion whereyou have no choice but to face the wor ld a lone , te l l meI ’m becoming her . I ’ l l s immer down.

    I love you.

     Yo ur Future Mommy,

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    I fee l the breeze f low on my face ,I can smel l t he f resh a i r as I watch

    the drops of ra in run down the window, as i f they were in a race.

    I st ick my tongue out and taste the wetness of the ra in water. I look for

    a window to peek out at the stree t ,but the ra in i s coming down hard,

    and i t covers my view l ike a bedsheet .

     The sky l ights up from a b las t o fl ightning cracking the c louds intopieces , d isappearing as quickly asi t came. Lett ing the c louds ret urn

    together l ike a puzzle .

    Everyth ing become s ca lm, the suncomes back to r ec la im i ts p lace , the water dr ies up so qu ick ly, and thepeaceful set t ing bring s a smi le to

    my face .

     Tranquil i tyBy Amanda

     abhoppes

    Bio: Writing has been mypassion since the age of 7… myinspiration to keep going withmy writing has always come frommy mother. Even though shepassed away when I was 18, it isnow driven by her memory. Myname is Amanda Hoppes, bornand raised in Waterloo, Iowa. My

    writing is my every step, everymove, every breath I take; It’s myvibrant smile, my saddest frown,my every single mistake; It’s myheart on fire, my soul so deep, mymind always free; It’s my life line,my past, present, and future. My

    writing is ME.

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    T he hear t of innocence nurtured in dece i tknows no l ies unt i l upon his own eyestruth i s revea led .

    “Mommy, I picked you f lowers for Mother’sDay. They’re pretty just l ike you.”

    “These are my favori te , baby. I love them.”She sa id wi th a smi le and a l ight in her eyesthat warmed his hear t . In that moment , hemade a promise to never forget her favor i tef lower.

    Joey never saw that l ight in her eyes aga in ,though he t r ied to make her smi le , she was

    always cry ing. His father was a lways yel l ingand hurt ing her . Never was the house a safeplace to play. Joey spent most days out inthe yard. Eve n on rainy day s, he found waysto have fun outs ide .

    One day whi le k ick ing the ba l l out the doorinto the yard he gasped at the s ight of l i t t l eye l low f lowers f i l l ing the dusty ground.Leaving h is ba l l as ide he walked around eachcluster making sure not to s tep on them.F inding a vacant spot he sat , looked aroundand devised a p lan . He f igured he could br inghis mother f resh f lowers every day unt i l thel ight re turned to her eyes . He found an o ld

    rusty can and watered the f lowers , tak ingpr ide in h is ef for ts . This was a l abor oflove . His hear t swel led a t the thought of

    see ing h is mother smi le aga in .“Tomorrow they’ l l be ta l l enough to pick.”He sa id and was cer ta in of i t .

     Anxious for t he n ext day to c ome, h e went t obed ear l y, even said a p rayer for th e f lowersto grow. Running outside before breakfast , Joey came to an abr upt s top at the s ight ofhis f lowers.“What happened?” he ye l led .

     Al l of the ye l low f lowers had turned whi te

    and f luffy . When he bent down to touchone, i t broke, and the White blew away.Discouraged, he ran around the yard ,breaking a l l the whi te f lowers by k ick ingthem. Angry , he sat on the f ront s teps unsureof what to do. Giv ing up, he went ins ide ; nodi f ference now between outs ide and ins ide- everyth ing was broken.

     Towards the end of the day Joey went backouts ide and to h is surpr i sed de l ight , a l l ofthe ye l low f lowers were back . Squeez ing h iseyes and opening them aga in to make surehe hadn’t imagine d i t , he bent d own to touchone. Sure enough, they d idn’ t break . St i l l

     The Light Of His Hear tBy pvt421

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    they were too shor t to p ick . Day af ter dayth is cyc le cont inued. Near the end of thesummer, some kid s came over to play bal l . When they ran into the yard , Joey screamed“Stop! Get off the f lowers !” Laughing asthey k icked up c lumps of them, they sa id :

    “These are weeds Joey, not f lowers.” Joeystar ted swinging h is f i s t a t them, punchingunti l they ran away. He bloodied up theirfaces fo r what the y’d done to his mot her’sf lowers.

    Short ly after the incident , Joey’s familymoved. Again. This t ime to the inner c i ty , wi th an a lcohol ic, abus ive fa ther, anda trembling, submissive mother, insidebecame a house of pa in and shame. Joeytook to the streets , made connect ions,and spent most n ights w i th the homeless .Everywhere he turned he saw v io lence ,corrupt ion, addict ion, neg lect and abuse .I t consumed him.

     As soon as he turned e ighteen he got a job working for a l andscaping company. Onhis f i r s t job s i te , i t was expla ined to Joey what the d i f ferent types of weeds were andhow to remove them. He learned about howinvasive certa in weeds could be and how

    they could take over cer ta in areas i f notmainta ined or removed. He learned abouthis prec ious dandel ions be ing cons idered weeds. “Don’t they have a purpose?” Heasked. “Aren’t they mo re than just weeds ?” The super v isor expla ined another aspectof the weed/f lower. Joey learned thathundreds of years ago they were used toloosen hard packed soi l and aerate the ear th .Dandel ions were a l so capable of pul l ingnutr ients such as ca lc ium from deep in thesoi l through their tap roots .

    Even so, the landscapers were paid byhomeowners who preferred lush greenlawns f ree of weeds . As Joey removed weeds day in and day out ,he couldn’ t he lp but th ink of h is mother .He saw her and the dandel ions most ly asdiscarded beaut ies . Much l ike he pluckedthem out of the so i l , h i s fa ther p luckedthe l i fe out of h is mother and destroyedher . Hatred boi led in Joey . Thinking ofhis mother , Joey got an idea . He col lectedthe whi te f luffy seed heads of the f lowershis mother loved. As he walked home

    each day, he dropped seeds a long the way.He dropped them every day , a l l a long thes idewalk and around the house where shel ived. Sure enough, in t ime, his mother’sfavor i te f lowers were b looming abundant lyeverywhere .

     The l as t t ime Joey had seen h is mother beforeshe d ied , she was s tanding in the doorwaylooking out a t the walkway l ined wi th ye l lowdandel ions . A smi le graced her face as thel ight re turned to her eyes . His hear t swel ledfor the f irst t ime s ince that Mother’s Dayso long ago. For a moment, the only tearsfal l in g weren’t from his mother, but th e ones Joey wiped from h is own eyes.

     Then darkness covered the ear th . Neveraga in d id Joey see the sun. The only l ighthe had was tucked safely away, deep in thecenter of h is hear t where no one could everr ip i t out .

    Indie Affair Page 11

    pvt421

    Bio: A passionate soul feelingmy way through life. Rivers oftears spilling on pages, echoesof laughter, melodies of loveall painting colors written inpoetic rhymes and prose. I am

    the art you read.

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    Darius_Demetriou

    Bio: Darius Demetriou hereAKA The Word Wizard. I shan’tsay too much as he likes to beelusive. However, I can tell

     you the voi ces info rm me tha tI’m 29 and reside in London. Igo by many different personas,but ultimately each one is inexistence to spread joy to thelives I touch and to ensurethat no lost soul ever feels

    like they battle their tormentalone. I bleed ink to healothers and myself. When westand together the darkness

    can’t win!

    Indie Affair Page 12

     jl_dod_poetry_and_such

    Bio: I have only recentlyrediscovered my passion forwriting after a nine-yearbreak. Stumbling on thevibrant writing communityon Instagram inspired me topick up my pen again. It issuch a privilege to read andshare work with a talentedand worldwide community. Ithas really boosted my self-confidence. I currently livein Dublin Ireland with my

    husband two kids and twocats. 

    By Jl Dod

     We merged a l l our par ts, And sea led off our endings.

     A decade fe l l sof t ly between us.

    But you are the numbers , And I am the words,

     And two plus denia l does not equa l resolve.

    So, we s i t and s ip our wine ,through unlatched l ips .

    Ca lcula t ing who wi l l be the oneto lay sunder to i t a l l .

     When you’re fee l ing desperate and a l l a lone.Know, I too h ear the voi ces and their wi ckedtone . I ’ve shed tears on so many unforg iv ing

    nights . My mind i s tormented by t ru lydespicable s ights . I ’ve lost my soul more t imesthan I care to remember. Liv ing in a n ightmare ,

     Januar y through to December. Waking up to spend yet , another tor turous day

    bel iev ing I ’m worthless and yearning to d ie .I ’ve spent count less hours t ry ing to answer

    the imposs ib le poss ib i l i t i es , of the , how, and

    the why. So many dest i tute hours wasted,scrambl ing for that path back out of my head. Wishing wi th ever y essence of my hear t to be

    swal lowed whole by my empty bed.But I ’m def in i te ly l iv ing proof that the demonscan’t and won’t win. Remember thi s , wheneveryou feel l ike you’re l iv ing in s in, together wesha l l bat t le and not le t the darkness conq uer

    our very be ing . Keep fa i th , remain s t rong, andone day a beaut i fu l l i fe we’ l l be l iv ing 

    By Darius_Demetriou

    Faith

     Arithmetic

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    Darl ing , I know. I know the fee l ing of your soul be ing in anexcruc ia t ing pa in of lone l iness , but you know what , I a l so knowabout be ing set f ree f rom i t a l l . I know about overcoming addict ion,

    hea l f rom past pa in and l ive a s table l i fe , f ree f rom medicat ion.

    I know about surv iv ing 200 s leeping p i l l s in a miraculous way nodoctor can expla in . I know now that I wasn’t in any pos i t ion to takea l i fe that was g iven to me for a reason. Stor ms wi l l eventua l ly pass .It might take hours, days or years even, but they wi l l pass . I know,now. Hardship s are there t o teach l i fe le ssons. I know that in or derto move on from a l l the hurt , I needed to le t go of i t . I needed toforgive others and myself .

    I came to learn that the hear t only hea ls by b less ing those who hurtme, ra ther than to hate them. I t was one of the hardest th ings todo, yet i t was the only way to s top sur v iv ing and s tar t l iv ing . I a l soknow how important i t i s to s top looking at the past in fear and tostop looking down in shame and instead, s tar t looking up at the skyand ask for guidance. I know, now. About acceptance and al lowingLove to save me. I a lso know that neither you were made to l ive inlonel iness and pa in and one can only hope that I have inspi red youto le t g o and a l low Love to hea l you, too.

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    mypoeticsoulny

    Bio: A writer and poet bypassion, she is a full timemother of two and a DigitalMarketing Pro by day. Bornin St. Petersburg Russia,Marina now lives in NewJersey. She enjoys an eclecticarray of music, movies, books

    and savors deep intellectualdiscussions on a vast array of

    topics.

    Indie Affair Page 15

    S he walked along the beach,not a soul in s ight . She fe l tat peace among nature, water

    lapping at her feet. In the distanceshe cou ld see the roof of hercondo, the sun sett ing behindi t . She ref lected on her fee l ings which of ten lef t her confused,but at that very moment sheknew sh e was happ y, and so she walked on through the sand,skipping over corals .

     A movement to her lef t caught

    her a t tent ion, s topping shepeered into the br ush expect ingto see a wi ld animal , a Coat ior an Iguana, which was nat iveto Mexico. As she came closer ,two human eyes stared backat her , s tar t led she s tumbledfa l l ing back into the sand asthe creature wi th human eyescrawled out . It took her amoment to understand that thecreature was no animal but a

    chi ld . I t lunged at her pushingher complete ly down unto herback. The chi ld s tanding on herchest on a l l fours s tared intoher eye s. She couldn’t make outthe face as i t s long , d i r ty ha i rc lung to i t . I t growled at herand just as suddenly as i t came,i t was g one.

    He came from work as usualaround s ix . She met h im in thekitchen, as a lways prepping hisd inner even though she knew he wouldn’t have i t . Wa lk ing up tothe f r idge he took out a bot t leof chi l l ed beer , casua l ly openingi t he brought the bot t le to h isfu l l l ips expos ing h is throat .She remembered the las t t imeshe kissed him there, the feelof h is sk in aga inst her l ips , shesmi led . He turned on the TV

    and plopped down on the leathersect iona l . The sun was a lmostgon e from the sky, and the room

     was in mere dusk . She obser vedhim as he sat s tar ing out the b igpicture window which spannedover twi l ight waters , he neverdid pay atten t ion to what was onthe te lev is ion. Put t ing d inneraside she came over to thecouch and sat carefu l ly next tohim, reaching out her hand she

    brushed his ha i r . He c losed h ieyes tak ing in a deep breath ; atear escaped the corner of h ieye. She pul led back quicklyslowly gett ing up, her smilegone. S

    he hated see ing h im upset Tu rning back to d inner she wiped at her own tears, herhear t hur t . She knew she shouldleave but she couldn’t . She left

    d inner ha l f made and went foanother s t ro l l .

    One More Time

    by mypoeticsoulny

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    Indie Affair Page 16

    It was dark now, the sun, g one from th e sky, but the moon cast a war mglow unto the water i l luminat ing her path . She thought of the chi ldshe ’d seen ear l ier that day in the brush; she ’d never seen i t before . She wondered i f i t had come there recent ly and from where. She fe l t sor r y

    for i t , be ing out here a l l on i t s own and wondered i f i t was lone ly.Looking out a t the water she saw the fami l iar rowboat ; she ’d seen i tmany t imes before a long wi th i t s occupants , a honeymoon couple ,hugging and caress ing a long the moonl ight .

     Their k i sses pass ionate and s t i l l fu l l of love and hope. She wavedto them though they never waived back, too involved in themselves.She walked on, her feet in the water , her sk i r t f lowing in the windalong wi th her ha i r , long waves down her s t ra ight back . Her mood wasdi f ferent now, no longer happy she fe l t lone ly, d i sconnected. She hadalways hoped, each day, but each evening would always end the same.She urged herse l f to keep walk ing but her hear t longed to see h im, i fjus t one more t ime, she turned back.

    Coming in quiet ly so as not to wake h im, she t iptoed into the bedroom.She saw him on the bed in jus t h is pa jama bottoms as he a lways wore,h is naked back fac ing her , h i s musc les s t i l l def ined f rom a l l the spor tshe p layed whi le she cheered h im on. S he longed for the i r sk in to touchonce more , but she dared not touch him aga in . Something ins ide her woke and made her yearn for h is l ips, h i s ar ms as she never d id before.She walked around the bed, want ing to se e h is face . He lay s leeping ,c lutching her n ightgown to h is chest . She wasn’ t surpr i sed by thes ight ; i t was the same night af ter n ight . She thought she was he lp ing

    by s tay ing but suddenly she understood that she was hur t ing h im moreso. She came out on the ba lcony, the ocean b reeze mix ing up her ha i ronce more.

     Ta king a deep breath in , tears r unning down her porce la in face, sheknew this was the t ime. Down by the water , she saw the couple fromthe rowboat walk ing down the shore , the chi ld f rom the brush b etweenthem, before them a br ight l ight . In unison they tur ned waving to her ,urg ing her to jo in them. She smi led as she descended to them, nolonger fee l ing a lone .

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    Poetry gave me a voice when Iwas too shy to express myselfaround others. I’ve been writingsince I could bury myself inthe adventure of reading. Asa mother of three, a full timeteacher, with a supportiveand loving husband, I feel thatthe written word and creative

    expression feeds the soul.

    w w w . w a t t p a d . c o m / u s e r /CDougherty83

     A Few Enticing Words To

    Stimulate Contemplation:

    Elysian: beautiful or creative;

    divinely inspired; peaceful and

    perfect

    Orphic: mysterious and

    entrancing; beyond ordinary

    understanding

    Latibule: a hiding place; a place

    of safety and comfort

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    Crimson Tendri ls of

     Thought

    by devouring_maw

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    hidden_essence

    Bio: Izabella started writingpoetry a little over a year ago,January of 2015. She getsher inspiration from all otherforms of art. She writes aboutlove, passion and heartache,channeling her personalexperiences in an attemptto voice the thoughts ofothers in her pieces. Izabella

    is from Hungary, but lives inNew York. She is passionateabout family, food, health and

    fitness.

    Late n ight . . . s i t t ing and wai t ing. . .I t ’s your word that I ’m craving.Say something , love ! Anything . . .

     Your s i l ence i s deafening. . . Yo u lef t me but kept me open just in

    case , And ever y n ight I was wander ing in a

    scat tered haze .But tonight i s d i f ferent , and I can fee l

     Things changing and my hear t w i l l hea l .I ’m outs ide aga in , a l l a lone .

     Yo u can’t hear my s igh , my moan. When you come back, i t ’ l l be too la te. You cr ue l ly wasted our love and our

    fate .

    I f on ly myths were rea lI f on ly I were the Goddess of Dea th

    I would then po ssess the power to a l ter thefuture

    I would have redone h is fa teEven i f i t costs me my so-ca l led immorta l i ty  

    I would never th ink twice to le t h im l ivea l i t t l e longer

    I would defer h is impending demise And g rant h im a l i t t l e more t ime to s tay

    longerHere on ear thHere wi th us

    by hidden_essence

    mmmmma_ra

    Bio: My name is Mara, a MoonChild Filipina who startedwriting - silly love poems -in high school. And for a longtime, I thought writing wasmy medium to getaway butwhen I found myself floatingaimlessly in the realm of AIand slowly becoming a tech-slave, there I truly realizedthat writing is “not” just myescape. Writing is actually mycomfort zone. So I abandonedmy day job and journeyed back

    home.

    By mmmmma_ra

     Wa sted Love

    Goddess o f Death

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    Indie Affair Page 21

     When p ut t ing t ogether t he f ina l t ouches o n m y f i rs t o ff ic ia l p oetr y c ol lect ion,B leeding on the Page : My Soul Exposed, I d idn’ t s t rug g le wi th the poetry ,I d idn’ t s t rugg le wi th creat ive express ion; no, I s t rugg led wi th descr ib ingmyse l f to the genera l populace . I had s igni f icant i ssues wi th wr i t ing the“About the Author” sect ion at the end of the book. How was I supposedto wr i te about myse l f , descr ibe and d iscuss myse l f , in the th i rd person? Iquest ioned my wr i t ing group and asked for ass i s tance and advice , of course ,I text , messaged, and Dm’d unt i l I fe l t conf ident that I had wr i t ten i t thebest I could . That same group of wonderfu l women were a t the top of myl ist when I wanted blurbs for the back cover.

     They humbled my hear t w i th the i r k ind words and deta i led , descr ipt iveopinions of my work, my words . This i s what l i es next to me as I wr i tean introduct ion for my book once more . Thei r words he lp c lear the fog inmy mind. I am proud of my smal l f i sh in the ocean of l i tera ture and l i fe . This book i s a p iece of my soul exposed , g athered f rom my own personalexper iences , observat ions , conversat ions , and confess ions of the soul . I t ryto put voice , images , rhyme, and lyr ica l l ines to the dreams, fears , anxiet ies ,and pass ion of the women in my l i fe . One of my s t rongest idea ls i s for a l l women to embrace the i r inner g oddess, that spec ia l spark of d iv in i ty wi th in .Li fe i s not a l l ra inbows and unicor ns ; i t i s dark and pa infu l . Yet , f rom that war, f rom a l l those bat t les, the l ight can g row st ronger.

      My book i s a journey into the eye of not one but severa l bat t les , whichI be l ieve many readers wi l l connect . I hope to reach wi th in the darknessand pul l for th l ight . You are not a lone . You are worth a smi le , a hug , anduncondi t iona l love . Everyone has doubts , fears , anger , and pa in . I t i s notthe end of the road; i t i s mere ly another bat t le that needs to be fought and won. Dive into the depths of anxiety, anger, fear and more.

    My book i s on Amazon or fo l low me on

    Facebook:www.facebook.com/PoetryGoddess88

    Featured Author “C. Doughtery”

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    artbyjoeltesch

    I find the craft of painting to be both humbling andinspiring...relaxing and invigorating. When I get anidea in my head and the runway of time to test it out,the hours can disappear into the canvas. http://www.

     joe lte sch.c om/ joel-te sch-stu dio-h ome .ht ml

    Indie Affair Page 22

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    nayanika_niks

    beauties_derivitive

    Bio: I’m Nayanika Dey fromIndia. Sensual Ink is mypseudonym on Twitter &Instagram. I’m pursuingActuarial Science from IAI. - Iwas lost in the middle of theocean, I then found poetry tohelp me toss the waves of life.I’m living my life, chasing my

    dreams.

    Bio: My name is Erica Harris. Ihave found that within my 35

     yea rs of existence, three things tetherme to life: my children, my

    family, and writing.

    Somet imes I col lectthe sand at the shore

    a long wi th some rays

    of spr ing sun l i ght,

    to make my own hourg lass

    and cou nt t ime.

    In separat ion between

    me and my tempora l

    despa i r and despondency of my hear t , that i s covered

    in shroud so br ight .

     A g rave led depictor,

    Ode; a sa int ly inscr iber ,

    Gathered upon force winds ,

     Which haunted my sor t .

     With in seemingly caught

    Chant n ight s of was te ,

    I der ived th is v i le ,

     Yea cornered h is host !

    For i f a prey I ’m to seem,

     Then a joke i s made in accord.

    My ve i l now l i f ted ,

    I am of n igh h i s cour t s .

    by Nayanika Dey

    by EKH

    Shrouded Heart

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    wordsofsunset

    Bio: The wordsofsunset hassomething to my love forsunset. As in sunset, I findthe beauty of embracing whathas gone and embracing whatmay come. It is also a symbolof darkness that alwaysawaits me to come home. Ihave started writing poetryas the way for me to spill outmy sadness over brokenness.I find the beauty in beingbroken through spilling theminto poetry.I have been stayingin different countries for halfof my age, but my heart has

    always been in Indonesia.

     You would see the sun r i ses ever y morning , and a l l I would see i s a pa infu l reminder of another day. HowI wished I wouldn’t have to wake up after I shed thelast tear drop on t he pi l low. How I wishe d I wouldn’thave to l i s ten to a la r m r ing that t ick les my ears in animpol i te way. How I wis hed my wind ows don’t have toembrace the sunl ight that comes through the curta ins .Let me stay here ; I wished not to move. It is notcomfortable , the dark i s not very comfor t ing , ne i therthe si lenc e. But in both, s omehow, I f ind the m couldunderstand me. They s eem to understand the t ra ff ic

    that i s go ing on in my head; they seem to understandthe cracks ins ide my broken heart .

    How fool i sh I am, t rust ing darkness and s i lence , asthey are just watching me r unning around in a c i rc leof dying. But don’t judge me, the human being s too,just watching me running around in the c i rc le ofdying. I could understand that s i lence would only bes i lent , tha t darkness would only l i t up i t s dark . But ,I couldn’t understand that th e beings who could ta lk ,

     who could be an enl ightenment , a l l they could do i sjust be s i l ent and swi tching off the l ights ins ide me.

    Let me pray one more t ime, once again, to not seesunl ight tomorrow, or the day after , or ever.

    by Lavender Writes

    “Let Me Stay Here”

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    hyperashley

    Bio: I’m Ashley, readingand writing are my biggestpassions in life. I spend mostof my days curled up on mycouch with a good book in myhands and my dachshund atmy feet. I am working hard onwriting my first novel whilealso reviewing books for myblog. I also dabble in writingshort stories in my free time.

    I don’t know how I got here or who this person is ,but that d oesn’t stop me from wat ching him. Si lent ly ,I s tand there watching th is s t ranger as he s leeps . In abed, that i s a l so unfami l ia r to me. Leav ing crosses mymind br ie f ly but something i s hold ing me in p lace .I was drawn to this house. I was walking in the darkof n ight , a long the empty st ree ts and th is p lace ca l ledto me. I t was easy for me to s l ip into the dark , s i l enthouse. Not even a creak was made as I crept up thesta i rs . The only s ounds heard throughout the house

     was the soft snores from the man in front of me and

    a dripping sound.

    Drip, drip, drip i t was a constant noise , and i t wasc lose . I t was in the same room as the s leeping manand myse l f . The man st i r red g ent ly in h is s leep ro l l ingover to his back reveal ing his face to the cold nighta ir and me.

    His face shocks m e. I ’ve seen i t before in the ter r iblel ight ing of a bar . He was charming as he was s lowlygett ing me drunk the prior night . He wouldn’t stopte l l ing me I was beautiful and stroking my face .

     Through my dr unken eyes and ears, i t was sweet . I fonly my mind had not been corrupted wi th a lcohol ,i f only I had stayed home. I may st i l l be a l ive .

    Instead, I stand before he covered in mud and myown blood. My once whi te dress now a d ingy brown

     with red t ra i l ing down the f ront and down my legs ;unt i l i t was col lec t ing on the f loor a t my muddy fee t .My once gorgeous dress was now torn in the frontrevea l ing most of my torso and the hem was beg inningto fray. My shoes are in front of the bathroom where

    he must have left them when he carr ied my l i fe lessbody down the sta i rs and into h is basement . The lastroom I would ever see .

    by Ashley Tomlinson

    “Beautiful Revenge”

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    Indie Affair PaPage 26

    I now real ize that the dripping is comingfrom me. I t ’s a mixture of d i r t , b lood, andwater f rom his spr ink ler sys tem fa l l ingfrom my body adding to the puddle at myfeet . I s tand there looking a t the man thatki l led me. The man that is responsible forki l l ing many other women that were a l l inthe wrong pla ce at the wrong t i me, just asI was.

    A smile crosses h is face in h is s lumber.Probably thinking back to the previousnight he had. When he brought me backto his place and proceeded to bring meup the sta irs . In my mind, I was in for an ight of regre tfu l fun unt i l he suddenly

    changed. He shoved me against the wal lbefore he began to st rang le me. I t r ied tof ight back but wi th the amount of a lcoholin my syste m it was usel ess.

    It a l l tur ned dark for a wh i le . Then I wokeup t ied down to a bed, not this bed buta cold meta l bed. I st i l l wore my whitedress, and i t was careful ly tucked beneathme as i f he cared about my comfort . Therewas something t ied around my mouth sot ight ly i t was d igg ing into the s ides of my

    face. Tears came to my eyes as I rea l izedI was going to die here , in this house, bythis guy that was charming.

    Stepping out of the shadows was the manthat was about to ki l l me. There were aple thora of surg ica l tools on a t ray in h ishands. “Sorry about this beautiful ,” wasal l he sa id befor e he took out a sca lpel andbegan cutt ing into my abdomen. I wish Icould say my death was instant . I wish thisman would be able to rot behind bars forthe rest of h is l i fe , but he won’t ge t thatchance.

    Anger boi l s ins ide of me a t the s ight ofh im s leeping as i f he d idn’t just s t r ip meof my l i fe . He took me from parents thatwould never know what happened to thei rtwenty-seven-year-old l i t t le g ir l . My bodywas bur ied in a sha l low g rave in the middleof the woods behind h is house . Wi l l anyoneever f ind me or the others buried back

    there? Onl y t ime would te l l , but the po l icewould f ind one body tonight , h i s.

    Something happened to me when I was wish ing for my own death; when I wasbegging anyone or anything to save me.Something answered me, and they just

     wa i ted unt i l I was a l ready dead to answermy prayers. I was g iven an optio n, and I ’mnot sur e I chose co rrec t ly. Two men stoodbefore me af ter I d ied , one dressed in a l l

     white and one in a l l b lack .

     The man in whi te told me to go with h imfor everlast ing peace. The man in blacksa id to go wi th h im i f I wanted revenge fornot only my death but for a l l of the womenthat he ki l led before me. At that moment,I was so f i l l ed wi th pa in and anger that

    revenge was a l l that consumed my mind.Even in death , I was ang ry .

    I now know what I chose was the wrongchoice , but there is no go ing back now. So,I s tep out of the b lack puddle and s i lent lystep to the s ide of the bed. St i l l watchinghim with an intense g lare . The c loser Iget to him the more I know what I mustdo. The last step I make is the f irst t imeI make a sound; i t ’s a smal l creak, but i t ’senough to awaken mister charming.

    His eyes g row big when he recogn izes me,and he t r ies to jump out of bed, but thatdoesn’t happen. I ’m too fast for his s lowmorta l body ; I ’m a lso too strong . I p inhis body down to the bed using only my

     weight . My mouth beg ins to water a t the ver y thought of what I ’m about to do.“Please , do n’t hurt me,” he begs and t earsstart to come from his eyes.

    “You mean the way that you hurt me?” I whisper in h is ear.My tee th star t to protr ude out of my mouth,and they are so sharp that they cut my l ipon the i r way out . A g rowl erupts f rom mythroat as I b i te down on h is de l ica te throat .His scream turns into a gurg le before nosounds com e from him at a l l . I have str ippedhim of h is l i fe just as he has s t r ipped notonly mine but so many others before me.

    His blood drips from my chin and down

    my body unt i l i t runs down his chest . Abloody smile plays at my l ips as I look

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    at his l i fe less body. Though I know, I have tospend an e tern i ty in he l l for the dec is ion I made

    it ’s rewarding to know he wi l l never again ki l lagain.

    “You’ve done wel l ,” came a voice from behindme. The man dressed a l l in bl ack holds his handout to me urging me to take i t . There is nolonger a choice for me because I gave i t up

     when I chose revenge. I ’ve made my peace wi ththat . “L et ’s go; I h ave much for you to do.”

    I take his hand , and we make our way down thesta i rcase . A tra i l of b lood fo l lows me throughoutthe house and out the door. When we emergeoutside, there are pol ice cars everywhere, butthey a l l run r ight by us as i f we ’re not eventhere . There i s shout ing and ne ighbors in t he i rpajamas a l l lookin g towards the charming hous e.I turn back and watch as they storm into thehouse wi th f lash l ights and guns ra i sed . I smi leknowing what they are about to f ind .

     The demon bes ide me smiles as we cont inueour walk unsee n down the stre et . “I bel ie ve you

     wi l l make the news for ki l l ing the son of themayor of this f in e c i ty. It ’s too bad they wi l lnever know of the dark th ings he has done andnow they never wi l l . Sometimes revenge isn’ tthe answer because now people wi l l mourn thedeath of a ser ia l k i l l e r . Worst of a l l , they wi l lnever f ind the bodies of any of the young g i r l sthat he has k i l l ed , and there are hundreds ofthem.”

    I grow cold knowin g that because I made a rashdecision , I have ruined ever ything. True, he wi l l

    no longer ki l l , but now no one wi l l ever knowthat he ki l led in th e f irst place . “And don’t worr ybeautifu l , you won’t be cold for much lo nger.”

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    Indie Affair Page 28

    LOTTIDUSOIR

    Lul lab ies of b lurred t ruthsdanced a long the night breeze

    into the wa i t ing souls of na ive loverscatching f iref l ies in the backyard.

    Northern l ights sh in ing br ight f rombehind h is hazel eyes.

     The edge of the universe wrapped upin his whiskey l ips, as he f ired the

    f i rs t shots of d ismissa l into the cracks

    of my broken heart .

     Time, an enemy of hear ts l iv ing l i feon the mer ry-go-round.

    Candy his excuse for a l l the nightshe went astray.

    Mary-Jane h is usua l drug of choice When i t came to b locking i t a l l out

     Ta ke your a im, f i re away.

    Hel l , I ’m used to your l i t t le games.I can take th is shame.

    by Lotti du Soir

    “Mary-Jane”

    Bio: I’m a whiskey drinking,country music listening girl,who has a cat called Memphis.Damn my parents have got to

    be proud...

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    Indie Affair Page 29

    aeing_writings

    Pass ing through the seas of pa in

    I f ind myse l f s i t t ing on frag i le boatknown as hop e. The ragin g wavesswaying to & f ro, but the hear tt rusts the soul of boat & whom

    it belongs.Haven’t left a l l on i t ,

    never once , I s top t r y ing .Cont inue to row, putt ing efforts in

    & to sa i l through i t . The moon may be in ec l ipse,

    the t ides seem to be aga inst me,but the shatter ing boat hasn’t g iven

     Ye t , i t moves on & on, not le t t ing me-stop and give up.Sai l ing. . . Sa i l ing. . .

    Shatter ing. . . Shatter ing. . .Distance by d is tance . . .

    Piece by piece . . . The boat , f a l l ing apar t

     A sea of pain ca l l ing to take over. . .Only a p lank , moves on. . . moves on. . .

     The raging s tor m, ca lming down. . .& down. . .

    I sa i l through to the land of b l i ss - my home.

    by Ankita Upadhyay.

    “Voyage”

    Bio: Assistant professor byprofession. But, a personwho lives in dreams. Andthese dreams lend me wingsof imagination to soar upon.I write because it providesa platform for my dreams& visual creations to wordsso, I may share them. Aeingis actually the a GoddessMantra of knowledge, words

    & creativity, Maa Saraswati.

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     This pa int ing i s ver y spec ia l to me because i t i s the f i rs t onethat I made some years back . This pa int ing shows d i f ferentaspects of my soul . Bas ica l ly, th is i s a representa t ion of myinner emotions and feel ings. It showcases the various colorsconta ined wi th in my soul . Each color represents my strengthand weakness a t the same t ime , which i s the beauty of thehuman soul . The colors do not b lend into one another andare imperfect ly painted which represent my imperfect ions. I

    am not perfec t .

    Red is most prominent as i t shows my passion, energy,deter minat ion and ang er. Yel low shows my optimism, in te l lect ,and impat ience . Green means sp i r i tua l i ty wi th in my soul ; i ta lso means posses siveness I have towards my loved ones. Bluerepresents f r iendly ye t , ser ious , down-to-earth soul . Thiscolor a l so represents a love for mater ia l th ings . Purple i sthe color of my crea t iv i ty and somewhat immatur i ty. S i lvershows feminine energy ; i t i s myster ious and sensi t ive . Goldrepresents e legance and beauty of the soul . I t i s a l so showingmy luxurious nature and extravagance. Black represents my

    secre ts and the th ings I keep bott led up ins ide , h idden fromthe world .

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    labeeda.the.artist

    by Labeeda Farid

    “CoLors Of My Sou l”

    Bio: I write. I draw. I paint.Self taught artist.. Original

    work.. MBA.. 22 yrs old..

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    Indie Affair Page 31

    by Billiza Unique Johnson

    “Foot of the Cross”

    I am a 19-year-o ld col lege student t r y ing to make adifference with every encounter I have with others,

     whether i t ’s through music, poetr y, dance or myphotography. I am majoring in photojournal ism andminoring in business, hoping to later have my ownbusiness and travel the world.

    I l ike to capture moments before they are gone ,leav ing thousands of words on a page wi th just onec l ick . I s ta r ted photography a t age 13 , but a r t hasbeen my whole l i fe . I dance, draw, play instrumentsand wr ite p oetr y.

    b_younique_tm

    Bio: y name is Billiza UniqueJohnson; I am a child of God! Iam from Southeast Arkansas,the Mallard duck capital of

    the world.

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    Indie Affair Page 32

    @LynneViti

    by Lynne Viti

    “Good Catholics”

    Bio: Lynne Viti teaches in theWriting Program at WellesleyCollege in Massachusetts,where her courses focus onlaw, media and bioethics.Her fiction has appearedmost recently in RightHand Pointing, CulturedVultures, Drunk Monkeys, and

    Connections Magazine.

    She blogs at: stillinschool.wordpress.com

    I real ized my father wouldnever a l low me to go on abl ind date wi th one of Bet ts ’footbal l fr iends. I could justhear him saying, --You’re onlyfourteen. What do I know aboutthis boy? You haven’t even m ethim. You’re too young to go

    out wi th a s ixteen-year-o ld . Soin the end, I backed out of myfr iend Betts ’ scheme to f ix meup wi th a second s t r ing fu l lbackfrom St I gnat iu s .

     When I to ld her the b l inddate was off , I fe l t strangelyrel ieved , as though I h adn’t hadthe s l ightest b i t of interest inthe f i r s t p lace , and preferred tostay home whi le everyone e l se was twis t ing the n ight away— that i s , i f we had been a l lowedto do the Twist at Our Lady

    of Good Counse l . I was s tuckon the s idel ines, watching thepre-dance f renzy take p laceeverywhere—on the c i ty busto or from school , beforehomeroom, in the cafeter iaeven in those br ief ly scr ibblednotes gir ls wrote on smal lcorners of paper, torn out ofhis tory or Engl i sh notes fas t whi le the nun’s back was turnedand passed across the a i s le What wi l l you wear? What sor

    of jewelry? What color shoes? Where d id you buy your dress?Is you mother making yourdress? Is i t a Vogue pattern ora Simpl ic i ty?

    I found myse l f tuning out whenever I could , opening thea lgebra book in the morningsbefore the homeroom bel l andpretending to be absorbed in working out a proof, or eat ing

    lunch quickly and showing upear ly for c lass in the emptyc lassroom, reading a magaz ineor rev iewing my ho mework.

      I never expected Kate to takeup the project , which I hadbegun to think of , but neverment ion to anyone out loud, aMaryAlice’s First Date. Katehatched a plan. She had somecousin s, the McKees, f ive b oysOne was our age, and one wastwo years older . Mike, had hisdriver ’s l icense. Patr ick andKate had been playmates s incethey were babies . It was theperfect so lut ion, sa id Kate .  - - I t ’ l l be great , she to ldme one day at lunch. She wascarefu l ly unwrapping a peanutbutter and je l l y sandwich, thesame th ing she brought every

    day. I pul led my frugal lunchout of the brown paper sacktwo hard boi led eg gs and a bagof ce lery and carrot s t icks .

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    –Mike can drive us. Your father wi l l l ikethem; they’re real ly nice guys.

    I nodded. I f igured my father wouldn’tmind my going out wi th Kate and her cous ins .–Do they dance? I asked her.

    Kate looked at me skepti cal ly . –What doyou mean? Of course , they dance , she sa id .Do you th ink, they ’ re f rom Mars?

    - -I meant , are they good dancers , I sa id .--Sure, she said. –They ’re f ine. And they’re

    real ly funny. You’ l l l ike them, especia l lyMike.

    By that Friday, Mike had phoned me toformal ly acce pt my invi ta t ion to the dance ,which K ate had conveyed to h im. He had apleasant ly deep voice , and an easy laugh. Id idn’t fee l a t a l l nervous about the date , thedance , or what I ant ic ipated would be my

    father ’s awkward and br ief interrogat ion ofMike when he ca me to pick me up. My fatherdidn’t object to the p lan because he had metKate ’s parents and thought they were g oodCathol ics . Kate and I went dress shopping.We coordinated our outf i t s, mak ing surethat we weren’t going to lo ok l ike twins. Shechose a p ink sat in , w i th a fu l l gathered sk i r t .I t made her wais t look t iny as i f she werea l i t t l e dol l . I se t t led on a b lue ve lveteensui t -dress . I loved the round Chanel col lar ,which looked l ike something I had seen in a

    fashio n magazi ne. The skir t was narrow, thel ines s t ra ight and c lean. When I put i t on,I fe l t as though I were a sophis t icated NewYo rker.

    On the af ternoon of the dance, I f i l ed andpol i shed my na i l s , d id some homework, tooka long bath , and then carefu l ly l a id out myclothes on the bed. My k id s i s ter came in andchat tered away as I arranged everyth ing— underpants , gar ter be l t , brand new ny lonstockings s t i l l in the i r fancy cardboard box,bra , s l ip , imi ta t ion pear l s , shoes . The two-piece ve lveteen su i t was hanging in thedepartment s tore bag in the c loset . I hadc l ipped off the pr ice tags but had otherwisenot touched i t , fear ing i t might b e bad luckto do so unti l n ow.

    - -Can I touch i t ? Nancy asked.—My handsare c lean, See? She he ld them out , pa lms up,for my inspect ion.

    - -Sure . But go wi th the gra in , l ike th is .

    I demonstrated . The mater ia l fe l t sof t andthick .- - I t ’s beaut i fu l , Nancy sa id . - -Hurry up,

    put i t on. You are g oing to look just l ike aprincess.

    I shooed her out of the room and s lowlybegan to g et dressed. When I had put on a l lbut the dress , I did my makeup—just l ip st ickand a l i t t l e powder—and then s tepped intothe sk i r t . I loved the fee l of the s i lky l in ingas i t brushed aga inst my ankles . I pul led i tup unt i l the wais tband sat where i t should ,and but toned and z ipped the sk i r t c losed. I tfe l t jus t r ight , even bet ter than the day I hadtr ied i t on in th e store. Next cam e the top, asort of j acket , but one that needed no blouseunderneath i t . I fas tened each imi ta t ion pear lbutton s lowly, then stood back and lookedin the mirror . I t only revea led the top ha l fof me, but a l l the same, I thought I lookedpretty good.

    Mike arr ived at a quar ter to e ight on thedot, just as he had told me he would. Myfather ans wered the front do or, then the twoof them came up and sat in the l iv ing room whi le I pretended I wasn’t yet ready, eventhough I had been fu l ly dressed for a t l eas t anhour. I heard th em clear l y, two men speak ingin deep voices. My father asked Mike abouthis school , and Mike responded wi th longanswers as i f they had known each otherforever . It was t ime to make my entrance.

     Al l I l acked was a s ta ircase to f loat down,but s ince th is was an apar tment, tha t wasn’tpossible . Oh, wel l , I thought, that ’s just onte lev is ion.

      Mike was ta l l , red-ha i red and freckledal l over—at least , hi s face, neck, and hand s, which was a l l I could see of h is sk in . Hehad blue eyes and stra ight teeth. He wasn’treal ly han dsome, but he wasn’t bad –looki ng.I smiled and then didn’t know what to donext.

    My father sa id , Mike here te l l s me he p layslacrosse.

    --Yes s ir , in the spring, Mike said. He was s i t t ing on the sofa , one ar m across theback of i t . His long legs were extended andcrossed at the ankle . I not iced h is sh iny b lackshoes.

    - -That was an Indian sport , my fa thersa id . –The Indians taught i t to whi te men  --Yes, s ir , they did, Mike said.

    My father abr upt ly sa id . – Have MaryAl icehome by no la ter than e leven –thi r ty.  --Yes s ir , Mike said. And we were off ,

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    down the sta irs and out the front door. Abeat up s ta t ion wagon was s i t t ing in f rontof the house. I t r ied not to make a face.

    --It ’s not as bad on the inside, Mike said.He opened the f ront passeng er door for me. Is l id into the seat , happy that the weather was

    chi l l y enough that I had to wear a coat . Theins ide of the car smel led l ike s ta le c igaret tesmoke, and I did n’t want to get anythi ng onmy new dress , which had cost more than anys ing le garment I had had in my l i fe up t i l lthen.

    Kate and her younger cous in were s i t t ingin the back seat , l aughing . She introducedme to h im, and they resumed the i r pr ivateconversat ion. I fe l t nervous , not knowing

    how to make conversat ion. Mike must havefe l t the same because he swi tched on theradio. He kept t ime to the musi c by tappinghis f ingers on the s teer ing wheel . The r ideto Our Lady wasn’t long, so we were spa redtoo many long, awkward s i lences.

    I wasn’t prepared fo r the way the cafete r iahad been t ransfor med. I t looked l ike a rea ldance f loor , w i th an e levated p la t form acrossone long wal l for the band, and s t reamershanging in tw is ted r ibbons f rom the ce i l ings .

    The ever yday f luorescent l ights in the ce i l ingwere t urned o ff , a nd t he o nly l ight c ame f romstanding lamps in the corners and a long thewal l s. Some tables had been moved out , andthe res t were pushed up aga inst the wal l s . Thetables were covered wi th paper tablec lothsand decorated wi th smal l vases of f lowers .

    --Wow, Kate said. –Pret ty cool , Mike sa id . S ince we were

    ear ly , we got a choice pl ace not fa r from thebandstand. The sound system was p lay ingrecords as the band set up. Mi l l ing aroundthe bandstand were four teenaged boys , threewi th gui tar cases and one who was set t ing upa drum ki t . A f i f th boy was lugg ing a l argeampl i f ier . He set i t down in the corner of thewooden p la t for m, then seemed to be tak ingdirect ion f rom one of the gui tar p layers .

     The room began to f i l l up, as though a bushad pul led up in the park ing lot to d isgorgetwenty or thirty couples . A few mothers ,

    and one fa ther , chaperones , s tood near thecafeter ia k i tchen door , pay ing no at tent ionto us, chatt ing among themselves.

     They were set t ing up a long table wi th punchbowls , paper cups , and bowls of pretze ls andpotato chips. Mike patted his jacket pocketand drew out a pack of c igaret tes .

    - -Not ins ide , dear , one of the mothers

    s tanding near us sa id . She pointed to theExit s ign. Mike rol led his eyes.

     –You smoke? He asked me. I shook myhead.

    - -I ’m dy ing for one , he sa id . I ’ l l jus t s tepoutsid e. Want to c ome with me ?

    Kate interr upted, –MaryAl ice and I haveto go to the lad ies ’ room, she sa id , g iv inghim a stern look. We’ l l meet you guys backhere in f ive mi nutes. Pat volunteer ed to save

    our seats. Things were not get t ing off to a g ood

    star t . Kate and I s tood s ide by s ide in theg i r l s ’ room, checking our ha i r and l ipst ick .She to ld me th ings would be f ine once themusic started. –Mike’s a great dancer , shesaid.

    She was r ight about that . I would ra therhave danced to records , but the band seemedto know enough new songs , and they p layed

    loud and fas t most of the t ime, w i th a s lowdance thrown in now and then. Mike wasenerg et ic , a showoff . People near him seeme dto lose t rack of what they were doing andstare a t h im as he twis ted , turned, jumped, wig g led , a l l in t ime to the beat , and wi thathlet ic energy. Al l I had to do was imitatehis s teps and t ry to keep up wi th h im. Thes low dances were more of a problem. Hestar ted out wi th h is r ight ar m around my wais tand his left c lasping my r ight hand pol i te ly , wi th a few inches between our chests, but asthe song wore on, he pul led me c loser andpushed our c lasped hands over h is hear t . I ’dseen couples do th is , but they were the ones who’d been going s teady for a long t ime. Ipul led away a l i t t l e , and t r ied to ta lk aboutthe music , but i t was so loud Mike couldn’thear what I was say ing , or e l se he pretendedhe couldn’t .

    By the end of the evening , I wanted onlyto go home. Mike had lef t the dance three

    t imes for smoke breaks , and I found the smel lof c igaret te smoke s ickening. Kate had to behome ear l ier than me, so she and Pat asked

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    to be dropped off f i r s t .

    Mike and I rode in s i l ence . This t ime, hedidn’t even turn on the radio. Four blocksfrom school , he turned lef t , onto a roadthat passed through the publ ic gol f course .

    --This isn’ t the r ight way, I told him.

    --I know, he said. I just thought we’d stophere for a b it and ta l k, you know. He pul ledoff the road into a smal l wooded area , turnedoff the igni t ion swi tch and the headl ights .There was no moon. He s l id h is ar m a longthe seat behind me and pul led me towardhim.

    I didn’t know what to do. I turned tosay something to h im, and he came in fora kiss . I remember thinking, a kiss is okay,i t ’s about t ime I was kissed. But then I fe l th is tongue pushing between my l ips and hisarm drawing me towards h im. With one ar mhe was pressing me towards him, and withthe other he was moving h is hand betweenthe s ides of my open coat , down the f rontof my dress and into the top of my bra.

    Stop i t ! I sa id . Stop i t . I pushed his handaway from my chest . - -Take me home. Now.

    --M.A. come on, he said. Don’t be l ike

    that .

    I fo lded my arms t ight ly and shi f ted awayfrom him and c loser to the passeng er door .

    --Take me home now or I wi l l scream, Isa id . Not that there was anyone around tohear me in that empty gol f course .

    My face fel t hot . I bi t my l ip so I wouldn’ts tar t cry ing , the las t th ing in the wor ld Iwanted to do.

    Mike removed his arm from the back ofthe seat and sat back behind the wheel . Hefe l t for h is c igaret tes and turned the key inthe igni t ion, then l i t h i s c igaret te f rom thecar’s l ighter.

    --Have i t your way, he said in a strange,gr uff voice . He inha led and blew out a longpuff of smoke. Then he backed the car upquick ly and pul led onto the gol f course d i r troad, then onto the parkway that led to my

    neighborhood.

      When we reached my house, I sa id, --Don’tbother to turn off the car . I j erked openthe door , jumped out , and s lammed the cardoor as hard as I could.

    Mike leaned over and would down thepassenger s ide window. –You think you’re

    so cool , don’t you? He cal led -- Stuck up. That ’s what you are. Stuck up and fr ig id !

      I didn’t turn around. My heart was pounding.I just hoped my father wasn’t wait ing upfor me. The f ront door was unlocked justas Dad had to ld me i t would be . I openedi t , s l ipped ins ide , and leaned aga inst i t w i tha l l my weight to shut i t t ight . I turned thedouble lock and heard i t c l i ck into p lace .Mike ’s car s tar ted , then the engine noisefaded as he sped off .

    I s tayed leaning aga inst the heavy f rontdoor , l i s tening for any sounds f rom ourapartment upstairs . Nothing. I c l icked onthe l ight , made my way up the sta irs , thencarefu l ly opened the door a t the top. I shutoff the l ight over the s ta i rcase . I could seea night l ight on in the hal l , l ike a lways. Is l ipped off my high hee ls and carr ied them,t iptoed to my bedroom, and undressed inthe dark , l eav ing my underwear in a p i le near

    the foot of the bed. I l a id my dress acrossthe s t ra ight-backed cha i r in the corner .My nightgown was where I had lef t i t thatmorning , neat ly fo lded and tucked under mypi l low, so I fe l t fo r i t in the dar k and pul ledit over my head.

    Nancy was in deep s lee p, cur led up wi thher teddy bear next to her . She was hold ingi t by the leg , and most of i t was drapedover the edge of the bed. I pushed i t backgent ly, and she s t i r red s l ight ly , then turned

    over onto her s tomach, her face bur ied inthe pi l low.

      I was about to c l imb into bed when Iremembered that I hadn’t br ushed my teeth .I thought aga in of Mike ’s tongue pushinginto my mouth, and quick ly shut out thatthought . I brushed my teeth quiet ly , us ingas l i t t l e water as I could , so as not to wakeup my father . I splashed water on my face,pat ted i t w i th the hand towel , and t iptoed

    back to my room.

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      I s lipped into bed, pul led the qui l t up snugunder my chin and turn ed towards the wal l .I could never te l l a soul what had happened.I couldn’t even imagine te l l ing my mother,in my secret imagined conversat ions wi thher, let a lone my father or Aunt Sal ly . As

    of that moment , I d idn’t care i f I ever wentout aga in . I t r ied to th ink about how wel leveryth ing had begun-- Kate ’ s p lan , her w ishto include me, her sweet generosity . That was on one s ide of the ledger, and on theother , there was her wolf of a cous in , Mike ,obnoxious , forward, and unrepentant .

    S leep would not come quick ly th is n ight , Iknew. I l is te ned to Nan cy’s quiet breat hing. Ishut my eyes and saw necklaces of shapes , a tf i r s t in b lack and whi te , then as my breath ings lowed down, a t l as t , the beads began tobe saturated wi th color , p ink at f i r s t , thenrose and purple . I l ay there , l i s tening to thefami l iar n ight t ime noises , the creak of wood,the sound of a car , the man up the s t reet who worked nights, perhaps, or someone dr iv ingon Harford Road. For a very long t ime, Iresist ed s leep, watching imag es that weren’tquite dreams, but weren’t real , e i ther .

      Tomorr ow was Sunday, ear ly Mass, and

    afterwar d, we’d stop for sweet rol ls from thebakery. I fe l t l ike a junior g rade Sa int Mar iaGoret t i though that seemed far - fe tched. Ididn’t have fourteen stab wound s, includinga fa ta l one to the hear t , only hurt pr ide andannoyance . I d idn’ t par t icu lar ly fee l thatI had s taved off morta l s in , anything l ikethat . I d idn’t fee l happy about pushing Mikeaway, but he asked for i t . He had tr ied togo from zero mi les an hour to a hundred inone evening , w i thout rea l ly knowing who I was, or car ing to know.

      I was real ly looking forwardto the sweet ro l l s .

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    Let them t hink me weak.Let them see the scars and bru isesand wish me no wi l l to proceed.

    Let them watch me struggle .

    Gasping for a ir ,l ike I ’m f ighting for my last breath,

    tempt th em to pul l t he plug.Let them hand me sh ovels.

    Let me d ig the holethey wish me bur ied in

    as they watch me fr om above.

    Let them turn down the volume of my voice.Let them th ink they ’ve s i l enced me.

     Just because they don’t want to hear my wordsit doesn’t mean that I ’ l l stop speaking.

    Let them doubt me.

    Let them despise a l l tha t I cont inue to be The i r hatred for me consumes only them

    I refuse to let them stop me.

    Indie Affair Page 37

     j_o_u_r_n_e_e

    by Nicole K

    “Let Them Doubt Me”

    Bio: Excuse me while Icontinue to break what youhave broken to reveal thebeautiful that hides beneath.

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    I l i s ten to you, ye t aga in And I g row wear y 

    It ’s a lmost a lways the same words The same thoughts

    Repeated over and overIn your buzzed sta te

    Or your drunken stuporI have grown so accustomed

     That I cannot dec ipher Which is which anymore

    I used to be that g i r l Who brag ged about her dad

    How handsome he was And how young he looked

    How hardworking and strong he was That he used to bui ld br idges, l i te ra l ly 

    Now I am that woman Who dodges most of your phone ca l l s

     And dreads the ones I do answer Tr y ing to f ind any excuse

     To get off the l ine You used to be my hero

    But you ended up f la t zero Yeah, the bott le wi l l do that .

    Indie Affair Page 38

     jos ameys .words

    by JD

    Dread (Father Part V)

    Bio: Accountant by day.Mother of 3 & soccer coachof 17 by night. Writer/poetin between. That’s my life.NEVER pass up the chance to

    say “I love you”Janine G on Lettrs, or

    Josamey44 on Twitter.

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    It ’s t ime.Unless th is i s done

    there ’s no moving on,no hea l ing , no growing ,

    no uni f ica t ion, no peace .

    I don’t have to l ista l l the many t ime

    you’ve b led my heart ,d i sregarded my needs ,

    to sa t i sfy another instead

     The memories are deepb i t te r r ive rs o f reg re tcarv ing dark canyons,

    beaut i fu l and dangerous ,a l ready explored in depth

    count less t imes

    Deep breath in ,deep breath out .

    I . Forgive. You. The words r ing wi th t r uth,

    eyes meet ing minec lear and fu l l of wonder,

    forgive and forgiven!Renewed and Rejuvenated,

    I turn away from the mir ror .

    Indie Affair Page 39

    eyv_ening_magic

    by Eyv Plum

    “Forgive”

    Bio: A unique eye forphotography and a poetic

    soul. Search #eppoetry

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    Indie Affair Page 40

    carousel.musings

    Bio: “Jane” Torres. Ink on paperhappened when I was pushedoutside of the barrier of my

    comfort zone.

    Eyes closed and hands res t ing on my la p; I re lax myshoulders . The exhaust ion from e ar l ier in the day s lowly

    diss ipates . I t ransverse outs ide mysel f and l i s ten to thesunset . The chirps of the birds s lowly unwind. They arecal l ing i t a day.

     The sound of rush hour t raff ic f i l l s the a i r. Fathers,mothers , daughters , and sons a re making th ei r way home totheir beloved. Or are they? An equal share of them are notprepared to say g oodbye to the day just yet . I smi le at that

    thought .

    I feel the foundat ion behind me s l ight ly shud der . The hi l l Is i t on was once a p laced cal led ho me. I hear fa int whispers

    and feel a gh ost ly touch. I was told a lad y once roamedthe area. Was this her home once? Was she ang ry? Afraid?

    Happy? Upset at my intrus ion?

     A faraway whist le blows. It lures me away from mymusings . I s lowly open my eyes and take in the s ight before

    me.

     The sun is hidden in the west . The last of i t s l ight castsan alpenglow across th e val ley as the r ush hour t raff ic

    becomes an echo in the dis tance. Seconds later , ar t i f ic ia ll ights i l luminate across the ci t ies in no synchronizat ion.

    I c lose my eyes and welcome the night .

    I wrote a let ter to my young er sel f , today. In thebackground, the phonog raph played the song of a man

     want ing to r ule the wor ld. His words resonated as Idragg ed my pen across the blank pag e before me. I was

    unsure of what to wr i te next .

    I nest led the pen between the pag es . I wrote of the daysahead: of sel f -doubt , lovers and fami ly , f r iends and foes ,

    hard work and the s t rug gle . . . Perhaps , I should have wr i tten of the days she would have to endure. Days ofdenying the day terrors , of vagabonds paint ing intr icate

     words on the wal l s of a broken down ci ty, and ofunrequi ted t ime.

     A long journey awai ts her. The people she wi l l meet andthe words they wi l l whisper . Words l ike v iolence wi l l dr iveher to take a s tep. Few wi l l bel ieve her , an d many wi l l wish

    to see her fa i l . She wi l l learn. As the song ended, I picked up my pen and closed my

    let ter wi th two s imple yet powerful words : fa i th and hope.

    by carousel.musings

    “The Loudest Sunset”

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     A l i t t le inspirat ion . . .

    “ Great spir i t s have often encoun tered v iolent opposi t ion from mediocre

    minds.”-Albert Einstein

    “Wri t ing i s the paint of the voice.”-Voltaire

    “Quiet people have the lo udest minds .”-Steven King 

    “All you have to do is write one truesentence. Wri te the t ru est sentence you

    know.”-Ernest Hemingway 

    “You don’t write because you want tosay something, you wr i te because you

    have something to say.”-F. Scott Fi tzgerald

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