Spring 2019: Iron Horse Creative Anthology
“Here’s To New Beginnings”
By:
Iron Horse Literary Magazine
Acknowledgments
Alexander Molini
Sydney Simões
Jessica Amato
Lexi Segall
Taymar Walters
Emmaline Stoddard
Natasha Watts
Gabrielle Fillipini
Samantha Heyrich
Gildato Da-Silva
Isaiah Todman
Marselinny Mawuntu
Thank you to all of the E-Board, club members, and contributors who
made this volume of the Iron Horse Literary and Art Anthology possible. 🖤
Showers Bring Flowers
By: Marselinny Mawuntu
In the midst of storms,
His peaceful wave washes me,
And a flower blooms.
Good Riddance
By: Jessica Amato
We’re no longer in the same area code
You have no means of tormenting me
As I took the other path at the crossroad
So this is my final plea;
Just leave me be
I’m done with you
You’re done with me
Just let me start my life anew
Wildflower
By: Jessica Amato
You tried to create your perfect rose bush
You trimmed the thorns
You planted it in fertile soil
All the bush did was wilt
You decided it didn’t matter anymore
And ceased all care
Years later the soil turned rocky
And in the place where you planted the rose bush
A wildflower now thrives
What Are You Looking For? -A Blues Rendition
By: Sydney Simões
The wind’ll rustle you
Before you can make it through
Then when you get there, you may not find what you’re looking for.
The rain’ll hit you hard
Before you could walk a yard.
Have you found what you’re looking for?
We spend our lives searching
Searching for something true
If it’s not there, what’re you gonna do?
Hard work is what we’re raised for,
But sometimes routine is such a chore
Sometimes it’s about the adventure,
Not the treasure.
But no adventure
Is worth that treasure
If I don’t venture with you.
We spend our whole lives looking for something special
But I found that something special
Right at home with you.
The wind’ll rustle you, and the rain will hit hard.
But I’ll make it through it all
If I can win your heart.
I’ll make it all the way.
Yes, I can make it all the way
If I can come home to you at the end of the day.
Her Story is Not History
By: Marselinny Mawuntu
Fog clothes the forest; silence fills the air
But in the faint, far distance, there is a wood bridge
That stretches where no eye can see,
For miles and miles
And piles and piles of anxious weight
Wait at the start.
She is reluctant to take the first step
With gaps in the bridge
But eyes closed, she stumbles and finds herself
On the first tattered wooden plank.
To her,
The finish is unknown
And as the wind is tossed and blown,
Her story is not history;
No man can tell it otherwise.
Like a book that has no end
Until the end meets a beginning;
When an old chapter closes,
A new one begins.
An Unruly Tide
By: Natasha Watts
The air was heavy with moisture that day in 1855 when Charles Patterson arrived at the harbor. The sun was just rising over the crest of the water. It illuminated the dock and created a golden halo of stray curls around Charles’ head. He stopped to bask in the warm light as the sound of men at work resounded all around. A whaling boat was the site of most of the commotion, and Charles headed towards it. Three masts stretched towards the sky, standing as tall and mighty as the men surrounding them.
Salty air filled his lungs as Charles strolled onto the large vessel. A past full of memories flooded back to him as he heard his boots squelch on the waterlogged wood. Charles was fifteen when he first set sail as a cabin boy. By the time he was twenty-two, he had his very own ship. Charles was loved by his men, and he loved them. But it had been years now since he had set foot on a whaling boat.
The deck of the vessel was full of commotion as men hurried to make last minute preparations. Charles stopped at the edge of the gangway and scanned the crowd for any familiar faces. He quickly found one.
“If it isn’t good ol’ Charlie.” A large man sauntered up to Charles and met him with a tight gripped handshake. The man was at least twice the size of Charles and nearly knocked him over while they shook hands.
“Good to see ya Cook. I see you’ve been taking a beating,” Charles pointed towards a fresh looking wound on the man’s beefy forearms. It was still wet with blood. And yet, while the wound would have consumed Charles’ entire arm, it looked like a mere scratch upon Cook’s muscles.
“A bit of rope burn don’t bother a whaler like me.” Cook clapped Charles between the shoulders and the two men headed towards the starboard rail of the ship where Cook had left a bottle of whiskey. Upon reaching it, Cook took a long swig before offering the bottle to Charles.
“I have to say, I did not expect to see you back on a boat.”
Charles lowered the bottle from his lips and set it down. “Neither did I, but a job is a job, and this is the only one I could get with my experience.”
“With your experience you shouldn’t be slumming it with the rest of the crew. What happened to you being a captain?” Cook questioned his former commander.
Charles took another long dreg from the bottle before answering. “I don’t want to be in charge of anyone else again.”
Cook looked hesitant before speaking, but he said what was on his mind anyway. “What happened to Beckett wasn’t your fault.” His attempt at consolation was met with a brief moment of silence. “What do you need the money for anyway?” he continued. “I thought you went to work in carpentry?”
“Yes, well, not many people can afford to buy houses these days, and so they refuse to pay us to build them.” Charles reached for the whiskey bottle again but Cook stopped his hand. He replaced the cork in the neck of the bottle and stuffed the whole thing in his bag.
Charles turned away from Cook and started to pick at the wooden rail. “No man respects a penniless fool.”
Cook scoffed at that. “You’ve earned plenty of respect up on that helm. Why, your name alone holds all the authority you could ever need.”
“My name is worth dirt if I don’t have the gold to back it up.” Charles flicked a splintered piece of wood into the water below.
“If a man can’t see past your wallet, then who needs his respect?”
Charles turned back around. “I do, if I ever want a chance at marrying his daughter.”
Cook paused for a moment, a little taken aback, before a smile crept across his face. “Charlie, you sly dog, I should have known there was a woman involved. Can’t think of anything else that could get you back on a ship. Who is this lass?”
Charles’ cheeks flushed with color and he turned his gaze towards his fidgeting toes. “Her name is Emma Lacy. Her hair is always in perfect dark ringlets and her eyes are as deep and blue as the sea.” Charles couldn’t keep a smile off of his lips as he described her.
“And how did you two meet?” Cook leaned in closer.
“Her father owns the post office, and my dear Emma organizes the letters behind the counter. I was at the post office often while my sister was expecting her son, for she wrote me almost every day. After several weeks, the lady Emma and I became quite acquainted with each other. All that is left to do is prove to her father that I can support my love financially, and we’ll be married at once.”
“That’s wonderful,” Cook shook his friend by the shoulders in excitement. “And how is that babe of your sister’s?”
“He’s growing beautifully. I dare say he’s the most handsome child I have ever seen. Every time he smiles up at me I grow more impatient to have a babe of my own.” Charles’ merry expression slowly fell. “Of course, Mary wishes that Beckett could’ve seen the boy. It’s not fair that he should grow up without knowing his other uncle.”
Cook placed his robust hand as gently as he could on Charles’ shoulder. “I’m sure you’ll make it up by spoiling the boy for the both of ya.”
Charles brushed off Cook’s hand. “Nothing I do could ever make up for my mistake that day. I never should’ve let my brother aboard my ship.”
Cook opened his mouth to respond but he was interrupted by the sharp call of the captain. “Patterson and Cook, man the mainsail. Smith and Ainsley, man the foresail.” He continued to bark out orders until every man was at his post. The anchor was raised, and the ship was soon heading out to sea.
The sky that day was so blue, it was hard to tell where the heavens stopped, and the ocean began. The sun’s bright rays reflected back at the sailors as sparkles upon the water. The men breathed in air full of fresh possibility and callused their hands with the satisfaction of hard work. Their lips were laced with the songs of their fathers.
When they had been at sail for a short while, and all of the commotion had settled down, Charles leaned in towards Cook to ask him a question. “What do you make of the captain?”
Cook shrugged. “He’s nice enough, but I prefer to work for a man who earned the title of captain and didn’t buy it with his father’s money.” Cook lowered his voice to a whisper, “Ainsley heard a rumor that this is his first time in charge of a vessel without anyone on board to supervise. I just hope he knows what he’s doing.”
* * *
The second day at sea sped by. The work took over the men’s minds and bodies, and the hours passed by like minutes. It was nearly dinner time before Charles had a moment to himself. Cook joined him by the rail and brought out his bottle of whiskey. The two men passed it back and forth as the orange sunset danced upon the waves. The clouds were backlit in a soft coral glow. They seemed like thrones fit for the gods to sit on and admire the sky once more before Apollo drove off in his chariot.
The sun was just beginning to kiss the horizon when Charles spoke, “In times like these I wish I had a miniature portrait of my dear Emma. If it were done by the same artist who painted the sky tonight, then he might be able to capture even a fraction of her beauty. I will have to have one made before our wedding.”
Cook smiled at his friend. “It seems like you have a whole life planned out for yourself with this woman.”
“Yes, well, every man must plan for a more domestic life at some point.”
“Not every man,” Cook replied.
Charles turned to look at Cook. “Don’t you want to get off of this ship one day? There are plenty of girls who would love to settle down with a man like you.”
Cook sighed. “I have come to learn that sometimes a man cannot accomplish everything he dreams of in his lifetime. Just like the tide, the future is always changing. Why should I plan for tomorrow when it may never come?”
The men stood in silence once more as the last light of the day began to fade. Cook corked his bottle and the two men headed below deck for the night.
* * *
On the third day, the wind began to pick up. It whipped the sails around their masts, and broke one free at the corner. Cook called up from the rigging to Charles who was positioned in the shrouds. They were attempting to thread a new rope up to tie the sail down, but Charles was having trouble keeping hold of the sail long enough to tie a new knot in the corner.
Another sailor, Ainsley waved down from the crow’s nest at Charles. “Charlie!” he called. “I need your expert opinion. Take a gander at the horizon and tell me if we should be concerned.” Charles turned his gaze towards where Ainsley was pointing. From his vantage point up amongst the sails, Charles saw something that alarmed him. Black clouds were forming off in the distance. They were miles away, but the ship was headed in their direction.
“There seems to be a storm brewing up ahead,” he called down to Cook and the other men. “Perhaps we should wait it out.” Many of the men nodded and Cook called over the captain to hear Charles’ observations.
“Should we lower the anchor, sir?” Charles asked the captain.
“No, Patterson, keep sailing. A bit of rain won’t slow us down. We’ll be in whale waters soon if we keep our course,” the captain replied.
But an ominous blackness filled the sky above the ship in a matter of minutes. The sun had been extinguished by a wicked gathering of clouds. Charles, still up amongst the shrouds, tried in vain to secure the main sail as the wind whipped his curls around to block his vision. The men on the deck grabbed onto the rails to keep their balance as the choppy waves rocked the boat back and forth.
The heavens opened up and a heavy rain began to pelt the men. The water droplets created a roar of sound as they assaulted the boards of the deck. Shouts were lost in the wind, but the men refused to sit back idly and be tossed around by the sea.
Water slapped the hull of the ship, and the dark abyss rose up and began to pour onto the deck. Cook was now standing knee deep in water and motioned for Charles to stay where he was. Cook attempted to gain a higher position, but he struggled to keep his balance on the ropes long enough to climb. He opted instead to hang on to the thick trunk of the main mast as the water lapped at his thighs.
Ainsley was trying to climb down from the crow’s nest but the boat was shifting violently from side to side. Ainsley’s foot slipped on the rain slicked wood, and he toppled over the edge. Time dragged by slowly as the man’s body fell through the air. Charles clung to the ropes with one hand and reached across the chasm of air between them with the other.
“Beckett!” Charles screamed. He no longer saw the scene before him. In front of his eyes was his brother. The young man was screaming as he fell towards the water, out of Charles’ reach. His brother’s body crumpled as it smacked the surface of the ocean. Charles pushed the image out of his mind and focused on Ainsley.
The man was falling further and further away, but Charles managed to grab his hand as it flew past. Charles screamed as the weight of the man pulled at his shoulder. He struggled to maintain the grip as pain radiated from his dislocated joint. Their fingers were slowly slipping apart, but Ainsley managed to gain footing on the ropes. The wind was strong up by the sails, making it hard to hang on to the boat. Ainsley took a moment to recover from his shock before he made the climb down to the deck.
Charles went to follow him, but his shoulder burned with fiery pain as he tried to put his weight on it. With only one arm, it was too dangerous to attempt the climb down. Charles started to intertwine his legs with the ropes of the shroud in order to secure his spot up near the sails. With no one else around, he wouldn’t be as lucky as Ainsley if he fell from this height.
It was in this moment that a flash of light descended from the heavens. Lightning struck the top of the mast and wood chips flew through the air in a splintering explosion. Flames enveloped the billowing sails despite the rain that was pelting the Earth.
A boom swung free from the mast and smacked the side of Charles’ head with a loud crack. His body dangled limply from the shrouds in which his legs were tangled. The boom swung around again and collided with the ropes, shredding a few. The thick ropes were now unraveling, lowering Charles’ body closer to the ripping waves.
With the ship on fire, the men began to board the small rowboats hanging off of the starboard side. Cook saw Charles dangling from the ropes and tried to get to him, but Charles was hanging too far over the edge to reach. The boat gave one final lurch and Cook was forced to leave Charles for the rowboats if he wanted to escape with his own life.
A large swell rose from the sea and pushed the bow underwater. The weight of the sea was too much for the ship to take. With a large groaning sound, the deck slowly disappeared under the ocean’s surface. As it sank, Charles was dipped head first into the water. The rough waves made quick work of the ropes around his ankles, and he was soon free of them. Crimson blood from Charles’ head wound mingled with the deep blues of the salty ocean water. The blood swirled around on the surface as Charles’ lips submerged underwater.
Charles began to sink slowly into the deep abyss of the ocean. His body was among the debris which fell from the flaming wreck. All was silent in the murky depths. It was a much calmer world compared to the tumult above the surface. Shadows of rowboats passed over Charles’ face. He released the last bit of air from his lungs as death took him into its gentle arms. A final thought passed through his mind before it fell silent. The bright young face of Miss Emma Lacy.
The Leaf
By: Taymar Walters
It was fall and as the tree on top of the hill was almost naked, one leaf stood dangling from one of the branches.
“What a beautiful view!” the leaf said gazing across the lovely field that surrounded the hill.
“I wish this feeling will last forever.” the leaf said again. Suddenly, a gust of wind came by and knocked the leaf off of the branch, having him float all the
way to the ground.
The leaf was with his other leaf brothers but they appeared to be in an endless sleep.
“Oh dear!” the leaf became worried.
Then a snarky deer roamed through the field and stumbled upon the leaf.
“Hello deer!” the leaf greeted him. The deer was hungry and there was no other food around so he just slowly bent down trying to eat the leaf.
“Wait! Don’t eat me!” the deer stopped
“Why? You’re gonna die anyway with all the other leaves.” the deer said to the leaf.
The leaf shed a single tear and while he fought his sadness he said “Well if I’m going to die, it should be alongside with my brothers and the last thing I want to see is this amazing field around us. Please find it in your heart to spare me and grant my dying wish.”
The deer did not say a word. He just slowly walked away and left the lonely little leaf by himself. The leaf continued gazing across the field very happily as it looked even better from the bottom of the hill. He laid there with a big smile and whispered, “What a beautiful view.”
Cold
By: Isaiah Todman
Sarah awoke to find herself covered in snow. She was in the middle of a field of ice. There was nothing but frozen water everywhere. She knew calling out would be pointless; there was absolutely nothing but ice for miles. As the reality of the situation sunk in, Sara began to feel a shiver rush through her body. She couldn't tell if the shiver was from the temperature or the ominous aura in the air. Sara's body grew stiff. Her eyes showed no emotion, as if her soul had been sucked out of her body by the snow that engulfed her. Deep down Sara knew what would happen. She wasn't sure how much longer she had but she knew her time was short. As her body began to freeze over she began to realize how insignificant her life was. Not a single person would know she had died.
The reality was the coldest thing she felt.
Conversation with a Child
By: Gildato Da-Silva
The train ride to downtown Atlanta was drier than a village in the Sahara, each train car filled with empty seats. I had taken the window seat for the journey to visit my mother in law, viewing the sites of barren train tracks and slightly luscious tree forests. I looked at my barely visible reflection in the glass window, taking note of the bags around my brown eyes. I barely got any sleep the night before and was running on five hours of sleep. I had to wake up to catch the 5:30 train, sacrificing time to style my jet black hair into a clean quiff. I looked like an utter mess. However, I was grateful that the train ride was three hours long. The serene settings outside my window and the hum of the wheels gliding along the metal tracks always sent me to a peaceful slumber, giving me enough time to get some more rest. A scent of a lavender lingered in the air and penetrated my senses, bringing me back to the nights where my wife would play Lana Del Rey in the background as we drifted off to sleep together. I was starting to drift away further from the world around me until something plopped itself onto the seat next to me, bringing me back to reality.
I cocked my head towards the general direction of the presence and noticed emptiness in my vicinity. There was emptiness in the seats around me and an emptiness in the air. The noise of the train tracks seemed to become lower in volume. Perhaps the train slowed down or even stopped in its track for the lack of humming to be present. I looked out the window and the train was still in motion, going at the usual 50 miles per hour. Why wasn’t I hearing the hums? The silence was something that could help me get back to sleep, but it was just odd for there to be no sound at all. It was probably just my imagination and I would have gladly dismissed it until I heard an attached voice to this missing presence.
“Down here,” it proclaimed. A boy with pale skin and dark hair sat next to me. His eyes were full with hints of chestnut and hazel. He sat down, but I could still notice that he was a genuine butterball. He wasn’t obese, but there was not a slimness to his body. Just an average looking kid without a guardian.
Wait, where was his guardian? I stood up from my seat and scanned the car I was in. There was no adult around sitting in the seats or trying to find their missing child. Lowering myself back onto my seat, I started questioning the child. “Little boy,” I began. “Where is your mother?”
“She’s in the bathroom right now and she didn’t want to leave me alone in my seat. Is it okay if I sit here until she finishes?”
“Um…” I froze. I can’t just say no. Where else is this kid going to be while his mother uses the restroom. Speaking of his mother, how did I not notice her walking by? I guess I was too entranced by the scenery outside. Still, it’s odd that she left her kid with me without telling me anything. “Sure,” I finally responded. “That will be fine.”
“Thank you, mister. My name is Giovanni. You can call me Gio for short.”
“Nice to meet you, Gio. You can call me Mister Priestly.”
“Mister Priestly,” the boy asked. “Can you tell me a story?” The question took me for a spin, I will admit. I’m not the perfect storyteller, or a storyteller in general.
“Why don’t you wait for your mommy to tell you a story? I’m not that talented to come up with anything.”
“Theresa has the case of diarrhea right now. Bad food poisoning from a Chinese buffet last night. So, she won’t be with me for a while. And you can think of something. It isn’t that hard.” Theresa? Odd for a thirteen-year old to call his mother by her first name, but no questions here.
A story? I guess I can make up some stereotypical garbage that my mother would spout to me when I was a child, trying to go to sleep at night. “Okay,” I began. “Here goes nothing.”
The prince of Scolera was walking through the plains of Asmitar when he heard sounds of distress. On his steed, he rushed towards the source and took note of a peculiar sight. A woman was bound and chained to a boulder while an ogre stood before her, taunting to murder and devour her. She called out for the prince to save her and the prince obliged, slaying the ogre with his mighty sword in one fell swoop. He unchained the woman, who informed him that she was the princess of this land. And for his bravery, she gave him her hand in marriage, which he gladly accepted. Two days later, the prince and princess exchanged their vows during their wedding ceremony and united the kingdoms of Scolera and Asmitar. The two birthed and cared for a baby boy and baby girl, who were to rule the kingdoms in peace and harmony, living happily ever after.
There, I did it! My first story ever told! Perfect!
“That,” Gio began, “That was complete and utter crap.” My mouth was ajar, awe of what just came out of this child’s mouth. No words were able to come out of my mouth as Gio stared blankly into my eyes with a stupid smirk on his face.
“What… what now?”
“Well, your story is trite. It’s basic, cookie cutter garbage. It’s not real. It’s a fictionalized love story that has no depth to it.” Gio kept uttering more useful advice for me and I kept listening. “I’m a child, sure. But that does not mean that you can spout whatever childish babble that you think will appeal to me. Give me a story that I can actually see and think that can occur in our reality. I want substance.”
“I didn’t think you would go in that much on my story. Keep in mind that this was my first story.”
“Oh, I’m sorry. Did you want a reward for that? A golden sticker? A cookie?”
“Jeez, kid. I didn’t think this was a big deal for you?”
“I treat any story I hear with the utmost respect. I want to make sure that every story is perfect. I’m a connoisseur of perfect fiction.”
“Gio,” I began to ask. “How old are you again?”
“I’m thirteen years old, but that is not the problem at hand. Less talking, more creating!”
Who is this kid critiquing my work? I’m a beginner. He can’t expect much of me. If he wants something genuine and meaningful, I guess I have something in mind. And hopefully, it will work to his standards of what a true story is.
It was the age of electronics and love was easily found with the power of swiping with your finger. No more had it been face to face interactions and simply asking for one to go steady with them. Instead, all one had to do is match with a stranger and the relationship would flower from there. David knew that when he signed up for these apps months ago. He already experienced false emotions from the ones he talked to before and the meaningless encounters he took part in with those same ones he made connections with. They were all duds, every last one of them. Boy or girl, they gave no light to David’s life and he had almost given up on the concept of love and affection and emotion. Until he matched with Kevin.
Kevin was a guy David’s age from upstate New York. He lived with his family in a very Catholic household, making it impossible for Kevin to even consider the idea of coming out as gay. Something David was experiencing all too well. Even though David himself was able to give his parents a grandchild and marry a girl like his parents would like him to, they would go ballistic if they knew a blood cell of his liked the company of other men. There was already a common connection between the two and it developed even further.
They texted each other every minute they could, talking about David’s antics in his college classes with his college friends and talking about Kevin’s abusive and adulterous father. They talked about David’s emotional turmoil with the disparity between his own identity and his family’s wrath and talked about how adorable Kevin’s dog, Theo, was. They bonded over television programs like Grey’s Anatomy and their love of New York City. They planned one day to finally meet in person at Grand Central Terminal and finally hold each other’s hands, interlocking their fingers together as tight as they could, and finally lock lips with one another in a moment of true passion and bliss. Then, they would make their way to the Brooklyn Bridge and just look out to the horizon of the East River. Then, David would look at Kevin and tell him that he wants Kevin to be his and that Kevin wants David to be his, making their connection hold an even greater officialness to it.
Their text messages developed into FaceTime calls, allowing each other to look into their eyes and just admire the structure of each other’s faces. Their FaceTime calls kept them up late till two in the morning, even though David knew he would only get three hours of sleep before getting jarred awake by the alarm going off on his phone. It was a bad idea on both of their sides; David, who had to go to school early and had to catch a ride with his mom who left at 6:30 on the dot, and Kevin, who had to wake up a tad later than David and drive half an hour to take care of his Alzheimer-diagnosed grandfather. They knew it was a bad idea for their sleep schedules, but it was worth it at the end of the day.
The two grew to love each other so much from such a long distance. It was highly likely that the relationship was bound to fail due to said distance, but David wanted to make the most of the time he had left with Kevin matter. Every text message or FaceTime call could be the last one and the fact feared him. He didn’t want to miss out on the cuteness that was Theo the dog. He didn’t want to miss out on the antics Kevin and his best friend, Luna, would get into in upstate New York. He didn’t want to lose his first love.
Alas, every story has its dark ending. Kevin’s true identity had been exposed to his family members. His mother and father had snooped through his laptop and discovered the countless FaceTime screenshots of David looking happy as ever. When questioned about who David was, Kevin did his best to lie and deny any affiliation to David. But his attempts were futile. His father took initiative to beat the ever-loving crap out of him while his mother stood in the corner and did nothing, mortified to the discovery of her gay son. Kevin’s dad forced him to call David to destroy the relationship and to say his last goodbyes. A scared Kevin called David around midnight, David not expecting the words that were to come out of his boyfriend’s mouth. Kevin’s voice was cracking the entire time, his offset breathing could be heard through the receiver, and David heard the whisper of his father feeding him the lines he was forced to say. David knew what Kevin was saying wasn’t genuine, but it still hurt. He knew it was bound to happen, yet all the preparing in the world had no effect on saving David’s emotional instability. David said his final goodbye and his final “I love you,” to Kevin, with Kevin replying back with an “I do, too”.
David didn’t hear from Kevin after that. As soon as Kevin hung the phone up, his father started packing up a suitcase for his son and drove him to a facility which specialized in conversion therapy. David spent a majority of his year, being heartbroken and incomplete without his boyfriend. He needed time to mourn the loss and some time to himself. His best friends did their best to console him with ice cream and cookies and many other sugary sweets that would kill a diabetic. But it remained no use. Only when he began his senior year of college was when he finally met Stacey.
Stacey was a girl who became friends with David during junior year, but only got to know him better near the end and the summer right after. She loved his personality and enjoyed spending quality time with him. She never cared about him being bisexual and never read that as him making an excuse to not be gay. She felt affection towards him and was willing to spend her time being his partner in crime. David needed that feeling again. To be wanted and loved. He started dating Stacey during their spring semester of senior year, graduating together as a couple. They rented a cheap apartment together and soon evolved into a family of four. His children go to kindergarten while his wife is an intern for the Goldman-Sachs paralegal business. David is a copyright editor for the Scholastic company, working at home for the majority of his career.
While he does stay home and keeps his focus on his work, he looks back into his old life and reminisces. Of him. His first love. Right now, Kevin is out of conversion therapy and living his best life. A life now covered in lies and a truth hidden and locked away. A life that Kevin didn’t deserve to have.
“How’d you like it now? Better than you expected?”
Gio kept quiet for a minute, contemplating on what to critique. What miniscule detail to diminish and water down to nothing. What single moment throughout my story he can say was utter garbage. The smirk on his face just grew to his ear and he chuckled softly.
“I’ll admit,” he finally spoke. “This was immensely better than your last.”
“Really,” I responded, shock in my voice as it cracked in disbelief. “It was good?”
“Yeah, Mister Priestly. Your story was one of the best. Better than what Theresa usually gives. I actually understand the emotions that your characters were facing. It was true despair on all levels, shadowed by false hope. How life truly is.”
“Gio, I don’t think my story was that deep. It was just two boys that loved each other who had to fall apart. Nothing more and nothing less.”
“No, it’s more than that. David seems lost. Even after he finds true happiness in Stacey, it doesn’t seem like that’s enough for him. Like, Stacey doesn’t satisfy him. She’s just a placeholder for someone who is never going to return to him.”
“Are you saying that David is still not over Kevin? That you know more about my story than its creator?”
“I never said anything about Kevin being that mystery person. Do you think that Stacey is Kevin’s placeholder?”
“No, that’s not the ca-”
“I mean, it does make sense why David is still thinking about Kevin. He is still not over him. He probably doesn’t even love Stacey. It was just a ruse to set his mind at ease, which never came to fruition. He still loves Kevin, and he is not happy without him. That is his true ultimate despair. His fatal flaw.”
“Stop it! You're wrong,” I finally snapped. This child telling me how to feel about my own story. Who does he think he is? “Do you want to know how the story actually ends, Giovanni? Since you know so much wrong information, I’ll tell you what actually happened. The correct facts.”
No, he was happy. He had a loving wife who cared for his safety and well-being and an additional family who approved of him to marry their daughter. There was a baby boy on the way to make his whole life mean something. His parents can finally see him as the man they raised him to be. Sure, his mind may wander back to olden days. But that is what they are, the olden days. He focuses on the new and the present, the life that truly makes him happy. There was nothing to question it. He was happy to be alive and thriving. He knew it and I know it.
I glared at Giovanni after I finished. “I will not let you tell me how my character runs his daily life and how he actually feels. David knows who he is. Kevin doesn’t mean anything to him right now. He can’t care about someone who is gone.”
Giovanni stared, no expression in his face. No fear from my yelling. No regret from his critiques. Nothing was detected on his face. Soon enough, a smile appeared. A solemn smile, one that felt sorry. Not regret. Just sorrow. Giovanni laid his hand on my hand. I had the sudden need to jerk my hand back, but my body was frozen. I couldn’t move.
He began to speak. “Mister Priestly? You can’t run away. It sucks to lose someone important, but you can’t suppress these feelings inside of you. It isn’t fair for you, and it is especially unfair for your Stacey. I need you to wake up and do the right thing. Wake up.”
Giovanni’s words rang out through the now silent train car. I didn’t hear any whooshing winds that would normally rush against the train or the silent hum of the train wheels colliding with the tracks. Just the words “wake up” repeated over and over again. My vision began to darken around me, and I felt light-headed yet heavy. Before I saw blackness, Giovanni waved goodbye to me, mouthing the words, “Do the right thing, Mister Priestly.” Silence around me and nothing to see for several minutes. I was lost and had no idea what was happening.
The next thing I heard was the hum. The oh so familiar hum I grew to love every time I was on a train. Then came the sounds of the air ventilation and the breeze that hit my exposed skin. I opened my eyes, everything bright around me. A white glare that was causing slight agitation to my retinas. After seconds of adjusting, I found myself back in my seat with my head against the window. A few more people were now present in the car around me. There was noise, disturbing the tranquility that was around when I initially entered the train.
I thought about what had transpired in the last hour or so. I scanned the car for any sign of Giovanni’s presence to no avail. Was he real? Was he a figment of my imagination? Who was he? All I can think about were his last words to me. “Wake up”…“do the right thing”. They kept repeating on loop, over and over again. I thought about David, and Kevin, and Stacey. “Wake up”, David, “do the right thing”, Stacey, “wake up”, Kevin, and so on and so forth.
I leaned my head back onto the window and stared outside. Atlanta was in the distance. Its huge buildings marked my destination. “Wake up”. I would soon meet my mother-in-law. “Do the right thing.” I would keep her company for the time being. David. She loved me and I loved her. Stacey. No one else could make me think otherwise. Kevin. In the bustle and noise of the train car, no one heard me shed my tears. No one heard my struggle. No one saw my anguish. No one saw my pain. I never saw my truth until now.
I am More Than (Home)
By: Sydney Simões
I am more than a house; I am a home. Children run through my halls, and play on the stairs when they’re told not to. Mothers’ cook and serve many dinners in my kitchen. Springs pass with picnics in the yard, and winters by the fireplace. Lemonade and hot chocolate both being served on my counters. Thunderstorms that rattle my shutters and the sun’s rays that warm my rooftop.
The train comes by in the afternoons, shaking my structure; I know the children are on there. They come back running to me, and into the arms of their parents after long school days.
•••
Many families have lived here for centuries. I have generations tucked under my foundation. But the children grow up, the parents grow ill, and they all leave someday. I am alone, after many years even the train stopped coming to the station just down the road. My walls would begin to rot and my floors would grow moldy, no one here to maintain me or fix me.
But one day this artist came, he came with an easel and paints. And he kept staring at me from across those train tracks. He stood there for hours on end, and day after day he came back with a new canvas and fresh paints. He’d keep me company, and for those moments, I’d feel loved again like I used to be. Everyday at sunset though, he would pack up and leave. And I would be left alone again.
After the third day, after many redundant paintings, he stopped coming. And there I stood, rotting and alone, never to be visited again. But it was out of place, the way this artist looked at me before he drove away for the last time...he looked sullen to leave, but still a triumphant smile was painted on his face.
•••
Months have gone by, still the train doesn’t come, and neither do any families. It has been a dreary, long winter, but spring begins to blossom. And that is when I see something odd in the distance. What is that, some type of... modified vehicle? Not just a horse pulling a wooden cart? How the years have changed...
It’s...the artist. And a woman is with him. And a child! A whole family! Did they come for me? They park their metal vehicle across the tracks; the woman and her child walking towards me. My shutters even begin to shutter. Wow, a family of my own and the first family to come in almost 80 years. But what will they think of me? I haven’t been cared for in so long...who would want to live in a house like me? Well, they came here for a reason. It can only get better from here. I’m not alone anymore.
•••
It’s not much, I know, but something just drew me to this eerie place in the middle of nowhere. My wife tried to tell me this isn’t a good idea, but I need to prove to her that it is, the peak of my career; the peak of our lives.
Jeremy will make friends; Katy can stay home or go into town. I’ll be doing my painting and writing in my new office. Wow, an office. It’s so...official. We can always spruce up the place. Nothing a little paint and primer can’t fix. It can only get better from here.
We are home. You aren’t alone anymore.
•••
I’m not alone anymore.
Poems by Gabrielle Filippini
Oppie
There once was a rover quite old.
On Mars fifteen years has he rolled.
He doesn’t speak much,
Due to wind, dust, and such,
But maybe he’s just got a cold!
On the Second Law of Thermodynamics
Thermodynamics can stress.
On quizzes and tests, I just guess;
But if entropy
Can mean you and me,
I’ll happ’ly devolve into mess.
Phoenix
By: Emmaline Stoddard
When times are tough and challenging,
I remember how similar I am to a phoenix.
Not physically, of course,
Although it would be marvelous to have
Red feathers and sapphire eyes.
But most importantly I remember that
After a phoenix dies, it is reborn
To live a better life; it is stronger than before.
And so in this way I am like a phoenix:
I only grow stronger from the events that
Seem, at first, like they will defeat me.
“Yeah, I Don’t See It” – A Sonnet
By: Gabrielle Filippini
We struggle against our own stubbornness.
We rage against each other’s fight and way.
We listen, sometimes, only so we may
have our turn to strike back in bitterness.
It seems our different manners are endless,
and we have little time in every day
to simply be and to just simply say,
“I’d give the world for more of your caress”.
It was not ever said that hearts make sense
when they decide to entwine and to care
with feeling so vivid and so intense,
you need it more than you need to breathe air.
But I’ll damn sense, this I’ll avow
If I could have you near me now.
Painted Skies
By: Lexi Segall
Her radiance spewed from her fingertips in a bright, fiery light. She was dazzling, with amber eyes and long golden hair that cascaded down her body. Everyone watched in awe as she painted the skies. Beautiful orange. Baby pink. Deep purple.
They would be awake in the earliest hours and watch as Soleil started on her canvas. Her rays would embrace them, envelope them in her warmth. Jackets were strewn across the grassy hill. Boots were kicked off hastily, as there was no need for them anymore. Some people would close their eyes for a moment, sighing deeply. Soleil liked when they did this. It made her feel powerful, as though it was too intense to stare at her so deeply for so long. Even so, she loved even more when they stayed all day long. As a parting gift, she’d use the most luminous colors and flood their senses before fading off into the night. During the days, she smiled at them proudly, but never spoke a word. When art was so extraordinary, it didn’t need any explanation.
“Look!” a little girl cried one night, pointing to Soleil’s masterpiece. She pulled at her
friend’s tiny hand, and they giggled in delight as the sky was transformed into a bright pink, then a rich purple. Happiness like theirs fueled Soleil, made her inspired to make new creations. Making thousands upon thousands of paintings required an exorbitant amount of creativity, but she never faltered.
Underneath the fading light of another gorgeous creation, a couple sat on the hill with a checkered blanket around their shoulders. The boy reached his hand toward Soleil pointing to her streaks of red.
“Beautiful,” he whispered, and then turned to his girl. “But nowhere near as beautiful as you.”
Resisting an eye-roll, Soliel quickly finished her painting and left them in the dark. Critics weren’t well-received. As the days passed, her crowd on the hill became smaller. She silently wondered where they had gone. But the show must go on... She continued to paint for those who would watch her, for those who would find delight in her elegance.
The next day, something was different. Her minute crowd on the hill was no longer focused on her at all. They held small devices in their hands with bright images. It was nothing compared to her light, but the people didn’t seem to mind. Captivated by the phones in their hands, their heads hung in a downward slope.
She realized they no longer closed their eyes to bask in her beauty. And no one was staying out all day to see her amazing creations. Everyone had those mini-technological devices. Their attention focused solely on them. Now, she was simply a background. She was simply ordinary.
Still, Soleil kept painting the skies, hoping some day people would look up at her once more with that same sense of awe that they had all those years before.
Perspective
By: Emmaline Stoddard
I’ve lost hope.
And don’t try to tell me that
I can start anew.
Crumpling down,
I’m not
Strong through it all.
I know that I’m
Trying to hold on,
But to no avail.
My mind tries to destroy me
From the inside out
I am weak.
I don’t believe that
I can fight the darkness.
I’m fragile and meek.
And don’t try to convince me that
I’m fierce and powerful.
Now read each line from the bottom to the top
Jo’s
By: Amanda Dembowski
Amelia Wilson walked away from her large suitcase. She knew that she had to leave.
With everything that happened to her parents, she couldn’t stay in this damned town for
another day. She hasn’t told her girlfriend yet. She doesn’t know how she will. Maya could
be emotional.
Amelia didn’t want to step outside the house, even though she hated being here. Each
step closer to the door was one step closer to her and Maya breaking up. Maya was great,
amazing even. But Amelia didn’t want to hurt her with the stress of long distance, especially
not with a girl who she would be better off without.
Amelia didn’t think they could make it through long distance. She knew that they would
probably break up today. She looked around her pastel green room, twirling her hair around
her finger and chewing the inside of her cheek. Maya was meeting her at a coffee shop in
twenty minutes. The wind outside blew her sheer green curtains together so they flew away
from the window and tangle together like inseparable lovers.
Amelia didn’t know what would be happening with the house. She assumed her
grandparents would sell it. She didn’t know what she would do without this place. Amelia
stared at the messy vanity against her wall. All of the pictures of her parents were face-down,
glass covering the surrounding surface. The dresser was a mess, the mirror covered in
cracked shards and red lipstick from the night it happened. Carvings covered the veneered
surface and the legs of the used-to-be white wood.
Amelia tried to keep herself busy and made sure, yet again, that she had everything. She twisted the ring on her finger that Maya had given to her. She didn’t know what she was
going to do without her. Amelia jumped when My Girl by the Temptations rang through the room. She pulled her phone out of her pocket and picked up. Her hands shook. “Hey, what’s up?”
“Babe, where are you? I’m at Jo’s.”
Amelia looked at her watch. “Oh crap. Maya, I’m leaving now, I’ll be there in 10
minutes.” The girl ran down the stairs, tripping and practically tumbling down the last few.
She grabbed her denim from the closet and wrapped it around her body, not bothering to pull out her brown locks from beneath it. Once out of the house, Amelia squinted while adjusting to the sunlight that blinded her. She stayed on the sidewalk, keeping her eyes on her light pink Vans and the even sections dividing the eggshell colored pavement. Her blue jeans were rolled up above her ankles, and a plain white t-shirt lies under the green denim jacket around her shoulders. As a breeze passed through the air of late-spring, goosebumps raced across her body, Amelia finally shoved her arms into her jacket and fixed her stick-straight brown hair, letting it fall slightly past her shoulders. The breeze reminded her of nights in the chilled hospital room.
Amelia was curled up in a chair next to her mother. Her father flatlined a few moments
after she got to see him. No one was there with her, she cried into a social worker’s chest as
the loud beeping reverberated through her ears. She swore she could still hear it. Maya
showed up minutes later. They sat in the waiting room holding hands waiting for the okay to
see Amelia’s mother. Amelia laid her head on Maya’s shoulder. Maya rubbed circles into her
exhausted girlfriend’s back. Usually the bright lights would have made in difficult to sleep,
but hearing Maya’s heartbeat lulled Amelia to sleep even if it was only for an hour.
Amelia shuddered against the unwelcome memory. She approached the bustling area near the center of town. People were having conversations while walking in and out of shops and a high school couple sat on a bench near a budding tree. She watched them for a moment, hoping that one day she could have the innocent love they exhibited once again. She walked
past them saw the old-fashioned red brick and cream-colored cement that support the indie
coffee shop. Amelia opened the door to Jo’s, causing the bell at the top to jingle, alerting the
workers, and everyone around, of her presence. Immediately, Amelia saw her. Rays of sunlight creep in through the blinds, highlighting Maya’s mocha skin in light and shadowed bars. Her dark, wild mane sprung out in coils ending just below her shoulders. Amelia walked towards the register, ready to order her usual, until she felt a hand wrap around her wrist.
“I already ordered for you, Lia.”
She jumped, not expecting the abrupt interaction. “Oh, did you remember-”
“Medium dark roast with 3 pumps of caramel, two shots of espresso, four sugars, and a
splash of almond milk.” Maya smiled, her face softening. She guided Amelia to a circular
wooden table. Both girls sat down, Amelia took off her jacket and swung it over the back of
her chair. Maya entwined their hands over the table, “How are you?”
Amelia’s eyes looked into the girl’s hazel ones, “I’m,” she paused, knowing that with
Maya, she didn’t have to lie, “I could be better.” Her chestnut eyes looked down at their
entwined hands. She didn’t know how to break the news to Maya. Maya was the best
girlfriend she has ever had. They pushed each other to do their best. Maya was there every
step of the way through her parents’ time in the hospital. She has this effect of lighting up a
whole room with just her smile and bubbling laughter. That laughter has been completely
absent these past few weeks, replaced with comforting words and silent contemplations on
hospital chairs and Maya’s bed when Amelia couldn’t bear to step foot in her own house.
Tears glazed over Amelia’s eyes.
“My favorite customers, a vanilla latte for the lovely Maya and a caramel coffee with
extra sugar and a double Caffeine Tripp for the beautiful Amelia,” Josephine smiled as she
placed each coffee in front of the girls. She looked to Amelia, “Oh hun, I’m sorry ‘bout your
parents. You’re always welcome here if you need anything. Us small town folks have gotta
stick together.”
“I’m sorry... I know you’ve heard it a million times, and you probably don’t want to hear
it anymore, but I have to say it,” Maya whispered, her body conforming around Amelia’s
while her arm wrapped around her waist on the bed in the middle of Maya’s room. “My mom
said you are welcome here whenever you want to come by. You don’t have to be worried
about overstaying your welcome. Amelia nodded, clenching her eyes shut to try to stop the
tears from escaping.
“I can’t believe they’re gone.” She clutched Maya’s arm closer to her chest with both
hands beginning to sob. “I can’t believe they’re in the ground.”
Amelia glanced up at the owner, “Thank you, Jo. I appreciate that.” With a pitying
smile, the barista turned and returned to her station.
“What did you want to talk about?” Amelia whipped her head up to look at Maya as she
asked. Amelia bit her lip as she looked to the left. Squeezing her hands, Maya persisted,
“Lia, you can tell me. I love you no matter what... you know that.”
Amelia pulled her hands away from Maya’s, unable to ignore how Maya stiffened and
teared up when she pulled away. “I know, and that’s what makes this so hard.” She wrapped
her hands around her coffee mug and took a deep breath, “I’m leaving town tonight.”
Amelia couldn’t bear to look up from her drink. “I can’t stay here anymore, I could barely
sleep last night, or the night before. Stella wants me to move in with her but, she can’t
support me with just her job at the daycare, plus she’s still trying to get her mast-”. Finally,
Amelia looked up at Maya, whose striking eyes dulled with the mist of her tears. Amelia put
her hands on the table, in an attempt to have Maya’s return, but they remained empty.
“Maya,” Amelia pleaded, “please look at me.” Maya returned the gaze of her girlfriend’s
eyes.
The two sat in silence for a series of hopelessly drawn-out moments until Maya let out a
breath, “Why did you wait so long to tell me? I thought you were going stay with your sis- never
mind. It doesn’t matter. We can still do this. It’ll be difficult, yeah, but maybe you could visit on
the weekends. Where are you going to,” Maya took in a deep breath, “Where are you going to be staying?” My grandparents’ house, they are a 3-hour car ride from here. They have some money and don’t want me to stay here. They don’t think it’s safe.” Amelia took a sip of her coffee, not wanting to continue but forcing the words out of her mouth, “I can’t stay, Maya. It’s driving me crazy, being in that house. Every creak I hear, every time a branch slaps the window, I think they might be back. They aren’t coming back.” Amelia’s hands shook as she lifted the coffee to her lips, craving the warm liquid to distract her from the tears forming in her eyes again.
“Then don’t live there. Live with your sister. You can’t run away from this. It’s permanent-”
“Do you think that I don’t know this is permanent? My parents are in the ground. And it
hurts. It hurts so much! I see them all over this town. I see them everywhere I look.” she hissed
through gritted teeth. Tears streamed down her red cheeks and she quickly wiped them away.
She inhaled a grounding breath, “I know this is permanent. But I need to let myself heal, Maya.
This has to be how things are for right now.”
“Why don’t they think it’s safe here? It was an accident.”
“They are paranoid grandparents who just lost their daughter and son-in-law. Plus, it was
a hit and run, police still haven’t found the person who did it. They probably won’t,” Amelia
shrugged, playing with the silver ring Maya had given her for her birthday.
“They’ll find who did it, Lia. Have faith,” Maya’s brown hands covered Amelia’s, “I
understand that you have to heal, but please, let me help you. Just because you are in another
state doesn’t mean you have to push me away.”
“I don’t know if I can do this as a couple. I would love to, but it- it might be too much.
I’m going to end up hurting you in the end.”
“Would you be alright with trying? Lia, I don’t know what you are going through, but I
know you are going to need someone you can lean on. I want to be there for you.”
“I have to think about it, babe... I just, I don’t know. I don’t want to put you through the
pain of seeing me so hurt. I don’t want you to have to deal with a long distance relationship with
someone who can barely function.”
Maya squeezed Amelia’s hands, causing them to lock eyes with each other, “It hurts
more for me to know that you are in pain and not be able to do anything about it.”
They both jumped when the table begins to vibrate, Amelia’s phone traveling across it.
She picked up, “Hi, Grandma. No, I’m not home. Sorry, I lost track of time. I’m at a coffee shop
with Maya.” There’s a pause, Amelia glanced at Maya for a moment then put her hand up to her
ear to block out the other conversations and soft music of the shop, “Alright. I’ll be home in
twenty minutes. I love you too, Grandma. Tell Grandpa I say hi.” She hung up the phone and
slid it into her back pocket. Standing up and looking at Maya she sighed, “That’s my cue.” She
kissed Maya on the cheek.
“I love you, Amelia.”
“I love you too, Maya”
Amelia took her house keys and shoved her jacket over her shoulders. “I’ll talk to you
tonight. We’ll Skype?” Maya nodded and wrapped her arms around Amelia, who practically
melted into the embrace closing her eyes and letting herself feel the warmth surrounding her.
After finally letting go, Amelia pivoted and exhaled, letting go of the anxiety she felt earlier that
day. She walked out, hearing the ring of that damned bell on the top of the door.
Amelia began her path home, but turned around when she hears a familiar jingle.
“Amelia!” She was suddenly greeted with Maya’s soft lips on her chapped ones. Though startled at first, she melted into the kiss, closing her eyes as their lips move in sync, dancing together in a routine that was all too familiar, but this time... more meaningful. Amelia’s hands reached up and buried themselves in Maya’s spring-like curls while Maya’s hands placed themselves on Amelia’s waist, fingers looping through the belt loops and pulling her closer. Finally, after what felt like too long but also definitely too soon, they pull apart.
“You forgot your ring,” Maya pressed the silver piece into the other’s hand, “and your
goodbye kiss.” Amelia stared at Maya, the golden light from the sunset making her look more
stunning that before. “Oh! Also, here’s your hoodie, I forgot to give it back last time we were
together.” Maya unties the sleeves from around her waist and holds it out to Amelia.
Amelia smiled, “Keep it.”
“It’s your favorite...”
“Exactly, it’s a promise that I’ll come back. I can’t be without my favorite hoodie
forever, can I?” she smiled just a little, “I’ll talk to my grandparents, and maybe when I’m ready
I can try to live with Stella in a little while. I’m going to miss you.”
“I’m going to miss you, too.”
“You have a big heart, Maya. Don’t let yourself forget that while I’m gone.” Amelia kissed Maya on the lips once more, but this was a lot swifter, more than a peck but less than their prior display of affection.
Amelia turned around and kept walking down the sidewalk, keeping her eyes straightforward, knowing that if she looked back, she wouldn’t stop herself from running to Maya. Despite this, a small smile graced her tingling lips.
She knew that she would be back soon.
“Here’s to New Beginnings”
By Samantha Heyrich
Note from the Executive Board: May 2019
Thank you so much to everyone involved in bringing this volume of the Iron Horse Anthology together. We hope you will all stick around to keep supporting us and watch this little magazine grow.
Want to join the club or submit your own piece? Please reach out to us at
Check out our instagram @fduironhorse for updates on club meetings and events!
Comments