Table
of Contents: Volume
2 Spring 2004
Editor's
Prize
Winners Red Metallic Let Your Sanctity Stain Ready for the House Sunday Drivers Long Island Ice Tea Europa at the Cusp American Humour A Dangerous Reputation Simple Theories
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Jenica Miller Long Island Ice Tea 1 part vodka—SOME say the world will end in fire, some say in ice. SOME say LITs are the drink for lovers; I say it’s an over the counter anesthesia. He called. I got drunk. 1 part tequila—From what I’ve tasted of desire. The somber rooms of this house nestle drunken fools who hours ago pissed over the edges of concrete slabs and years passed. A reunion of missed chances had ensued somewhere between the first drink and the bathroom floor. And so it is. Ice clinks a sort of trepidation in the glass. Oh, how I remember when love fit like a little black dress. I haven’t since peeked at it, tucked away in my closet of faint and disabled hearts. I whispered weakly, “We’re just good friends,” as he persuaded the left side of my bed. I was addicted like a lush to his bagged liquor. 1 part rum—I hold with those who favor fire. Women were always his weakness, they warned me. I never believed them until I saw you, standing there with nonchalance in one hand and gasoline in the other. I touch those scars, now fresh and vulnerable. Never thought I would be the one to slip. I locked myself in the bathroom for days, vomiting tears and fairytales. You got to be the one to walk out first. How could I have been so stupid? I have chunky ankles. I’m too overcritical. I have a cat. It’s inevitable really. I just wish you had picked someone else’s bed. I guess wishes do come true, in the end you did. 1 part gin—But if I had to perish twice... “When you sleep with dogs, you get fleas,” I can hear my roommate say as she scrapped me off the bathroom floor. I never listen to good advice. There’s this moment, you know, when drunken stupor gives way to seconds worth of clarity—I can give in or resist. I know who you are. And what’s even worse is that I don’t care. Let’s be honest, even you would suffice. The final ice chip snaps, slipping to the soul of a tempered glass. I can’t remember when I took my last breath. Beckoned by more so by loneliness than memories, I curl my bruised limbs into his. We both know I’m not a one-drink kind of girl. 1 part triple sec—I think I know enough of hate. Two years had elapsed, and it had so with other lovers, other regrets and maybe even more importantly, other climate controlled spheres. I was no longer secure in this nook of arms and legs. He shifted. I shifted. I glance at the glass—our new founded fate. 1 part sweet and sour mix—To know that for destruction... He’ll call in the morning when he realizes I slipped away. I’ll invite him over to see the new place on his way out of town. It seems only polite. He’s leaving for basic training, so he says. He always needed to prove he could be something. Last resort, I suppose. He hesitates at the door and vomits something generic about being in love. Regret can play tricky games, I mutter inaudible. He tells me everything I want someone else to say. Maybe he always did. 1 splash of coca cola—Ice is also great and would suffice.
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