One O'Clock

boarded it up, not even both- ering to take the old furni- ture. Time and dirt were ex- tracting their price from all that was left, fading it, rot- ting it.

She reached the old clock and the head of the stair- case. She began to descend the steps.

' At. the foot of the stair was a small hall that once led to the rest of the house. Two

by Margaret McLellan

The old grand- father clock at the end of the hall ticked slowly, mark- ing the passing of the sec- onds as it neared one o’clock. As it struck, the low chime echoed in the empty hallway and down the stairs.

Her slippered feet made no sound as_ she. slowly walked through the hall. The floor was cold but she did

BILLY

I saw him die. The car came down the street, went up on the side- walk, and hit -him. The car just kept right on going. I saw him-die be- cause I was standing next to him.

There was a lady driv- ing. I don’t know if she was drunk, or stoned, or just plain crazy, cuz she looked right at us, and kept on go- ing. She SAW us, dammit.

Billy was my friend. He didn’t have that many. He was the type of guy who could blend into a_ crowd, but still never be part of it. Like, he was a loner because he didn’t want to join the crowd - he liked to do his own thing. The guys that I hung around with didn’t like him, but I did. Something about the guy really intrigued me. Billy had a good head on his shoulders. He had such a stupid laugh - I always teased ‘him about it...you know, I hate having to talk about him in the past... he’s really gone.

Tomorrow is his funeral. Gonna be put in the ground, six feet down. Ashes to ashes and dust to dust. Goin’

e

SPARKY 1S UNA

Pa

7 ie ez

ARE, HOWEVER, OF WALLY'S ABSOLUTE! TOLERANCE aes

to see St. Peter and the boys. Damn. Everybody from school will be there, but only a handful of us knew him. I mean REALLY knew him, not the ‘I-borrowed-a- pen-from-him-once’ type of thing. The principal will

make a speech about how he

was so popular, and how he was such an all-around, neat- o kind of guy. Hypocriti- cal bastard. He didn’t know Billy... bet he never even met him...

It all happened too fast, or maybe not fast enough. I can still see it, like in slow motion or something. We walked out of the 7-Eleven store. We went to the side- walk. The car came down the street, went up onto the side- walk, and hit him. She looked at us, then left.

‘Did you know he died in my arms? Yeah. He didn’t say anything, he just looked at me. Then he smiled. God- dammit, he looked ‘at me, and smiled. Then he just up and died in my arms.

God. It coulda been me. Four more feet to the right, and it woulda been me. God help me, I want him back.

—Brian Cormier.

ELY MINISCULE ;

not feel

it. A layer of dust covered the faded car- pet, yet the dragging hem of —

her gown did not stir it.

She slowly, almost lan- guidly, approached the door to the first chamber. delicate hand reached for the knob and tried to turn it. Locked. Dreamlike, she

turned and continued to the next door, and the next, and

the next. All locked.

Her

No one lived here any-

more - not in this wing of the house.

They had left,

huge white doors the entrance. nailed from the other side.

Sighing she turned from the door and climbed back up the stairs.

blocked _Boarded and

She pressed her cheek against the door crack. He was near. The one who would set her free. Soon. freed from this task she had been compelled to perform for over two hundred year. Soon. But not this night. .

She could tell.

But not this night. Soon, she would be

softly,

You talk to me of inhibi- tions

of how you think and feel,

me who you are inside.

I stand at your outskirts

yearning to be in your -

midst, your empty

eyes desperately

for they have not seen you or me.

We share a similar sense of sight,

for mine have held the same

aching wisdom;

a soul in the seclusion of the beings body,

a place in which

to live and to hide,

a manifestation of my self

which is curiously unre-

but rarely do you show .

lated to.

who'l am.

Yet, it is what you see and perhaps all you will know

of me

the rest of me

is hidden. within.

I cannot be seen.

I offer you

my body

hoping you will

give me yours

then,in sharing these, may we remove them and see who we are. Everything let go, praying all is not gone. your soul without its body . , takes a step toward mine, my being reaches to you and we,in passing, are passion.

For I know |

we will return

to our bodies

and once again

live from there.

I watch

as you walk away, perhaps to save ourselves from a Rises that is not

where we are,

where we are not who we are here.

Love seems so far away yet,it asks for all .

of who we are.

And that is why it hurts,

for it seems we do not know

who we are inside.

And so,

I talk to you of inhibi- tions

of how I think and feel, but rarely do I show you who I am inside.

—Margo SPaners

i

Thursda February 18th. 1988 = 4