Poetry

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Jessi Miller
Creative Writing

“Murderous Mary”
The following story is based on true events that occurred in Erwin, Tennessee, on September 13, 1916. It was a cold and foggy day; perhaps the weather was reflecting the mood of the little Tennessee town. The majority of Erwin’s children had gone to the railroad to see what all the commotion was about. Perhaps the children, in their play clothes, jostled and squabbled for a better view. Their excited whispers would have turned into a hushed breath of anticipation.

Mary was a circus performer, and had been a long-time crowd favorite. She had wowed audiences as she traveled from town to town with Sparks World Famous Shows, and I believe she even stole some attention away from the legendary Barnum and Bailey Circus. But on September 13, 1916, Mary was the center of attention in a much different way.

The children inhaled as Mary was brought in to view, clutching her loved ones tightly for the last time. I think some of the children started to applaud, but were quickly silenced by their sad mothers. Eyes widened as Mary’s leg was tied to the railroad tracks, and maybe it was then that the owner of Sparks Show, with a deep sadness in his voice, read off Mary’s crime: the murder of Red Eldridge in a most abominable manner.

Young girls would have cried out pleadingly as the chains were fastened around Mary’s neck, and the railroad’s derrick was utilized in a way that it had not been intended for. Mary would have resisted as her heavy body was lifted off the ground, and maybe a boy gagged as he heard the bones and tendons tearing in Mary’s leg – they had forgotten to release her leg from the cold railroad. Mary would have struggled violently, protesting her fate, and suddenly she fell with a resounding thud. I can hear the wild screams of mothers and children, running terrified, thinking that Mary would murder once again; but the elephant was defeated and silently bore the pain of her broken hip.

Once again, the elephant would have felt the cold of another chain around her neck, this time a much thicker one. I think that the Asian accepted her fate, because this time she did not struggle. I wonder if she was scared or merely ready to leave this world. Through the fog, the crowd saw Mary’s body go limp, and perhaps the owner of the show buried his head in his hands. I believe that the children in the crowd realized their own mortality that day – after all, if a colossal animal three inches taller than Jumbo could be killed, it would surely be easy for Death to extinguish the light in their eyes.

Cassondra Rippe
Famous Story

Snow White
Oh that wretched woman, trapping her stepdaughter, me, in a frozen body for all eternity. I can see, and I can think; however, I can neither move nor speak. She tricked me. I never thought she would be able to outsmart me, but she did. My trusting nature got the best of me. Now I cannot do anything except think about my past and what I did to get here.

I know this may sound strange, but my mother died before I was born. She wanted a daughter, a beautiful daughter. As the queen, she dreamed of having the most gorgeous daughter in the kingdom. A daughter with skin the color of snow, hair as black as ebony, and lips as red as blood – this is what my mother wanted. Maybe it was because I was born on a snowy day, amidst my mother’s blood and the Ceylon ebony forest – maybe it was all her wishing. When the doctors showed me to my father, he was in shock. Already, fresh from the womb, I was gorgeous: pale as snow, with ebony hair, and blood-red lips.

I was pampered and spoiled for the first few years of my life, being the only female in the castle other than my maids. And they wondered, they were shocked when I rebelled against his marriage! What fools! You think you can just bring in some other woman and expect me to like it? I hated my stepmother! Suddenly, all the attention turned to her. My father hardly looked at me. My stepmother despised me. My maids always had to help her. I felt abandoned, so I turned to the forest, and to the creatures within.

It was there that I met some of the people from the village. They came mostly at night to talk with their spirits, but they brought their children with them, some of whom were my age. After my stepmother came into the picture, I would venture out and join the villagers and their children. I suppose you could say I grew up with these children, and the practices of their parents also became our practices. When we were able to travel farther into the forest by ourselves, my peers and I would explore the spirits within, let them guide us.

This disturbed my stepmother. She started to spread lies about us. My pagan beliefs were evil, as were the villagers and I. She used her own witchcraft for evil, causing disturbances she blamed on us. Didn’t my father know someone who looked as I did upon birth would be nothing but evil? Surely, she said, that he could see my skin, hair, and lips resembled some evil creature. Her jealousy over my beauty drove her mad, and my beliefs countered her own. Surely she had to do something.

It did not surprise me when she finally tried to kill me. Of course, she did not do it herself. She sent her manservant after me. He was to take me into the forest, and cut out my heart for her. Silly woman! The man would have had better luck if he did it in the castle! The forest was my territory, and I knew the places to hide. I knew the paths well, but apparently, so did he. As much as I tried to dodge him, he was always right behind me. I eventually ended up farther into the forest than I had ever ventured, and slid down a steep hill, into a clustero of thorn bushes.

When I came to, the first thing I saw was a quaint little cottage. My first thought was to go in and find help, but nobody was home. Hungry, I helped myself to their food and water. Later in the day, I was confronted by seven men, the inhabitants of the house. I explained my situation, and they voted to let me stay. All was good until that wretched woman found me, knowing that I would kindly help out an old woman by buying an apple.

That leaves me here, in the casket. The men put me here so they could continue to look upon my beauty. I suppose I will stay here forever, trapped in my mind, listening to the voices that surround me. To them, I don’t even have a name. “Poor Snow White.”

Susan J Koch
Creative Writing

End of an Era
It starts out as a day like most others. The sun is shining, the mud pits are bubbling merrily, the giant lizards are tending to their young, and great winged beasts with neither feathers nor fur fly overhead. This is the great age of the dinosaurs.

Yet -- something is very wrong. It is in the sky, dim at first but glowing brighter and bigger with every heartbeat. A great orange fireball now joins the winged beasts in the sky as it grows to dominate the sky. The shock wave goes around and around the world, shaking the earth as the fireball crashes into an all-too-close sea. A mushroom of steam then ash then fire boils into the sky. Out of this mushroom bloom great clouds that rain hot ash over the landscape choking plants and animals alike.

The sky grows dark and a cluster of young are crying out for their mother. There is no response. One by one, the young dinosaurs succumb to the smothering ash. Before long, not a single cry can be heard. All that remains is a thick blanket of ash over every once-living thing.

Half a world away young cower and mewl in terror as the earth shakes and the massive clouds advance to cover the sky. Their cries are answered by soothing nudges from their mothers. Still, the earth shakes and the tremors grow in strength as the sun is blotted out and the deadly snowfall of ash begins.

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