Letter to a Rapist

By Alli (Forensic Science major)

Dear Rapist,

You loom like a large, imposing figure in my memories.  Just when I think I’ve escaped your influence, you creep up on me and shock me to my core once again.  I haven’t been able to escape you, but now I’m determined to finally break free.  I have a reason to be rid of you now; a reason that means more to me than just myself.  I will make you powerless.  I will turn you into the worthless scrap of humanity that you truly are.  I will shed the fear and the shame and the hurt and every other bad thing you ever laid upon my heart like a death shroud.  You will crawl back into the deep dark corner of my mind where you belong and you will never come out of it again.  That is a promise.  I am so much more than what you made me, and I believe that again at last.  You have haunted me for two and a half years, but it ends now.  You may have stolen from my body and taken my sense of security, but you can’t take anything more from me.  I’m done with you. 

Sincerely,
No longer your victim

Titled: Collection

"Titled: Collection" (a found poem) by Haley Mathiot (Professional Writing major)

My stories are a collection of five essential elements:

Language called bright and beautiful

Knows how to rivet attention

Characters: my favorite is my master

Memory elegantly burning itself in to its prize

A bleak world and crime form compassion

Beautiful mystery captures the richest culture

Burning bright, it works down other crafts

Hogwarts Acceptance Letter

by Russell C., Alum [ESL for grad school, Spanish/English for undergrad]

We commend you on your courageous slaying of He-Who-Must-Not-Be-Named.  Ah, screw it—he’s only the most horrific teacher of magic Hogwarts has ever seen.  Worst . . . instructor . . . ever.  I have the sudden urge to go grab a rope and wring it around his scrawny little neck until he turns blue and purple and . . . oh—sorry.  Where was I?  Oh, yeah—your acceptance into Hogwarts.  You rock!

You have shown tremendous dedication to your study of the magical arts.  For this, you receive the honor of selecting in which Hogwarts house you will reside—which we usually bestow upon no one.  Use this honor wisely, and do not let the power go to your head.

Because if you do—and we mean this—we will beat you down.  If anyone sees you around our grounds, zapping innocent bunnies and kitties until they squeal and squirm in agony, you will rue the day you learned of Hogwarts.  Trust us—don’t test us on this.

Oh, yeah—this is also a really cool place to be!  Lot of magic, friends, fun, stuff to do . . . as long as you stay on our good side.  But, that won’t be a problem, now, will it?  Good!

Again, congratulations on your acceptance into Hogwarts.  Best wishes in the years to come.

Scorched

By Kyle (English - Professional Writing)

I should have taken a picture… Maybe it’s better that I didn’t. Her face is already emblazoned in my mind and might never leave. I don’t think I’d want to share that visage of pain with anyone else.

But then… if I did… I could show you what sorrow looks like, so that when you think you know sorrow, you can look in a mirror and you’ll know that you’re wrong. 

She was sitting down. The chair, her shirt, her hat, and part of her heart were all stained the same matte black. One was coated with paint, the fabric drowned in ink, and the last burnt with words from a red-faced exhalation of passionate anger. The chair was a tall one, but she seemed small. Her legs were crossed as tightly as two terrified children embracing each other in the face of the best. He hands clasped tightly, grabbing at something for security and finding only each other. Her posture was shriveled with shoulders nearly meeting her ears.

Her black cap was pulled low, a black refuge for her in this moment, but her eyes pierced the blackness as sure as two green stars. For stars they were, orbs of light signifying the fusion of elements and the creation of explosive power. This power, this light, beckoned from a blackened well, for help.

I wish I could have taken a picture, to show you how rage can reduce a grown woman to a blackened, curled mass reaching out with both hands, a child beckoning for her hero to pick her up, hold her, and cure her pain.

BEAUTY by Ashton Binkley

"How dare you think so great of things
That you never truly see
Look at the beauty that surrounds
Your reality
We’re just like the mountains
Or the foam of the sea
We aren’t plastered everywhere
With phony thoughts
""Pretty""

Say that you don’t love me
Show me you don’t care
Smile at the others
Just to gawk and glare
But the moment that we had
The minutes that we shared
Are more beautiful to me
Than all that have
Compared"

My name is Classic Pink

This is a Point of View piece by one of our members, Russell (Alumni [ESL for grad school, Spanish/English for undergrad]).

OK.  I’ve had this song stuck in my head ALL day.  It’s called “December” and it’s by Collective Soul.  You know the one . . . “Turn your head; now, baby, just spit me out”.  The lyrics sound innocent enough at first, and actually kind of catchy, but that happens all too often to our kind.

Sure—we bring your mouth bursts of flavor every time you chew us.  Whether Juicy Fruit, Bubbalicious, or some other brand, we come in all kinds of flavors to suit every mood.  Personally, I’m the classic pink bubble gum, and you really seemed to enjoy me . . . for all fifteen minutes that you were actually chewing.

Then, as abruptly as you started, you pulled me out of your mouth, wadded me up, and stuck me HERE—where absolutely anyone at the university might brush his or her knee against me, shudder in disgust, and then attempt to wipe me off.  After all, these student desks are pretty common places.  Most people aren’t familiar with the underside, where I am, though.

I thought you and I had something special.  I thought I dazzled your taste buds and rocked your sensory world with bubbly flavor.  But now, stuck under this desk for all eternity, I feel like nobody.  Like nothing.  Like the world has evaporated around me.

I’m certainly not worthy for anyone to chew anymore.  But, I’d hoped for more from you, despite the fact that my bubbly taste can’t last forever.  Give me a sign that it won’t end like this, and that you’ll at least give me a proper burial by dropping me in the nearest trash can.  [Sniff]  I’m so lonely already . . .

Thanks Russel!

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