Illustration Commons^™

Smart Fly, Donald H. Emrich

Manuscripts

SLOWLY and carefully I studied the signature sprawling lazily across the bottom of the page in grandiose style, so typical of Latin penmanship. Brushing aside an inquisitive fly, I reread the note and pondered at length upon its awkward phrasing. "Yes," I said, at last addressing the buzzing marauder, :'Carlos is licking his wounds, all right." It was all between the lines, his strained gaiety, a vain attempt to disguise the frustration, the bitter disappointment that was gnawing at his heart. Of course, the question that persisted in bothering me was whether his simple melancholy was justifiable. From the sidelines …

Flight 501, George Fullen

Manuscripts

THE African sun was excessively brilliant and hot as Jack and I struggled toward the Operations Buildings, carrying his bulging and unwieldy barracks bag between us. We dropped the bag in front of the unlovely red building with a gasp of relief. Jack mopped his face and tugged at the necktie which he was so unaccustomed to wearing. "I'm damned if I don't choose a cool day the next time I leave North Africa," he said. "You're luckier than me," I said. "It'll certainly be a cold day in July when I leave this place."

Schizophrenia, George Fullen

Manuscripts

In a slattern country of pond and paradox,

He is a stem resisting the most violent winds,

But whose dead roots prevent the flow of the sap of life;

He is a sterile reed standing in fertile soil.

Alan Takes A Wife, Marjorie Little

Manuscripts

THE Dobbinses never had seemed to belong to Wayneboro society. Their children had always been my biggest problems in grade school, and scarcely a year went by that I didn't gain a new Dobbins while I still had one to cope with. Some of them could not help being problem children. They should not have come to school at all, for I didn't have either the time or the training to help their slow moving minds. Others seemed bright enough, but they were indifferent to school and left it any time a better occupation offered itself, perhaps to work in …

The Ant-Hill, Joann-Lee Johnson

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No abstract provided.

The Long Journey, James Salee

Manuscripts

THE boy stood near the entrance to the club-car and looked at the people. And the people who stirred in the smoke were like people in a dream...

The Mad Russian, George Fullen

Manuscripts

The Russian composer bravely sings

Mad melodies on ranting strings,

Inspires us to the passionate stage,

And leaves us while we turn the page...

Sonnet 29, Allyn Wood

Manuscripts

THE boy Argus, who is nineteen, with palette colors in the carriers of his fingers, turns back to the house as if to make a last precautionary round before a journey. Instead he has decided to stay. He leaves his belongings in the debris of the hall. A cat from the end of the hall peers and they exchange reserves across silence heavy but for a hum, compoundly powerful and accustomed, like a thousand cats purring, or as a tornado may sound to those it has left behind, with implication eternal, both retrospective and ominous; from the core of which …

The Man With The Loud Voice, Loren Moore

Manuscripts

WAR had been declared about one year, I guess; anyway, the first killed - in - action notice had been received in Cripton, Indiana, and. the news shocked the whole county seat for that Halen boy was a good-natured lad who had married the Foster girl. It was a cold Saturday morning when we first heard of it and hardly anything else was discussed at the dinner table. Father was angry that we had ever got in the war in the first place saying that it was a shame that fine young man like the Halen boy should die for …

Front Matter

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No abstract provided.

Volume 14, Issue 4: Full Issue

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No abstract provided.

The Last Word, The Editor

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No abstract provided.

Memento Of A Region, Joseph D. Hopper

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The car sped down the highway. Many familiar hills and houses appeared on either side. The car gained speed as it headed down the hill. At the bottom, the highway leveled of!' across the bridge spanning the deep ravine. The noise of the automobile took on a new, hollow sound as it rolled upon the bridge. I looked over the valley spreading out to the left. How warm and green the valley was! How blue the sky was! How familiar it all was!

Foot Doctor, King Dunbar

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Not long ago in one of those unbuttoned moods everybody has, giddy from cocoa and crullers, I allowed myself to be cajoled by my mother, a mild hypocondriac, into visiting a osteo-something-or-other-- hereinafter referred to as a foot doctor.

The Return Of The Native, Roger Chittick

Manuscripts

In the opening chapter of the book, the heath assumes its role as protagonist and never releases its hold throughout the novel. The heath assumes a character of vast grandeur and although ever changing at any given moment, it yet stands changeless in the fact of time. The heath was, as Hardy states, "majestic without severity, impressive without showiness, emphatic in its admonitions, grand in its simplicity." Like a Sibelius symphony it presented a hard and cold exterior to the stranger or the uninitiated and yet to him who knew and understood it was a broad, loving and powerful mother. …

Sleep, Howard Michaelsen

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No abstract provided.

Emerald, Jack Wilkins

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No abstract provided.

Third Movement, Russell W. Finch

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Sweat popped from his forehead, coursed down the crevices to the light stubble of his beard, gathered weight, itched its way around the promontory of chin, surged in rivulets down the leathery neck, collected in a pool at the base of his throat, spilled over on the breast, was absorbed by clothing, became a source of future irritation-unnoticed at the moment. His tommy negligently tucked in the crook of his right arm, some hundred and fifty pounds of equipment stowed about his person, weight pressed into the cable-guard, he stood with feet spread wide on the loading ramp of the …

Impasse, Arthur E. Graham

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Turning the frame so that the painting better reflected the meagre light filtering through the window, Carl scrutinized his work. It was a still life, dissimilar only in its crudeness from anyone of the thousands like it hanging in galleries and homes; The reds and yellows had been dulled with too much blue, giving the apples and bananas an over-ripe, indigestible appearance; the green cloth lay in folds that only paint and brush could make it assume; the bowl was as unnaturally distorted as the fruit was artificially symmetrical. Slowly Carl moved in a semi-circle in front of the picture, …

The Frenchman, Byron M. Carmichael

Manuscripts

They spilled out over the German countryside in all directions. They stood bareheaded along the roads gaping pitifully at the invaders, still dumbfounded by their sudden release from the slave labor camp. A few hours before, their guards had fled inland to escape the long steel probing fingers of the allied armies. Like wild animals fleeing a forest fire, the prisoners that could still walk had poured forth (rum the hated camp as soon as their guards disappeared. They had no destination. At that moment they were nothing but starved animals putting all possible space between them and their infamous …