Maria or Too Much Santana

by Leo Levy

THE FOURTH FLOOR

ART AND LITERATURE FROM THE SCIENCE LEADERSHIP ACADEMY

Chief Literary Editor: Anna Sugrue

Chief Art/Design Editor: Leo Levy
Heads of Fundraising: Ella Burrows, Emily Stephens
Senior Editors: Josh Berg, Tobi Hahn, Zack Hersh
Assitant Editors: Zoe Anderson, Sarah Berg, Mitchell
Berven-Stotz, Aaron Block, Xavier Caroll, Bella Mezzaroba,
Sean Morris, Desmond ODonovan, Javier
Peraza, August Polite, Sofia Powers, Michaela Prell, Jack
Sugrue, Rosalie Swana
Layout Team: Kate Kopf, Mark Kriegh, Lyle Seitz
Fundraising Team: Eli Block, Elani Gonzalez-Ortiz
Editorial Illustrator: Nat Hilton
Staff Advisor: Larissa Pahomov
Submit your work to the Fourth Floor at
the4thfloor@scienceleadership.org
and it could be included in the next issue!
On the cover:
Astroman by Lyle Seitz

Rue de Bernay by Anna Sugrue

Literature
1
2
4
7
11
13
15
18
20
24
25
26
28
29
30

Crippling Tale of Despair

by Caitlin Keough
Angry With My Friend by
Noah Caruso
The Chase
by Darius Purnell
Haleiwa
by Stephanie Dyson
Poema by Katia Hadjeb
My Vessel by Ian Fey
The Grind by Ben Simon
Eagles Nation by
Jesse Shuter
Seeing Red by Zack Hersh
Untitled by Jared Trusty
Terror v. Beuty
by Gabrielle Kreidle
Sails of Thy Vessel by
Ava Olsen
Tuesday Night
by Gabriel Geza
A Greater Wonder
by Sydney Rogers
The Presence by
Mitchell Berven-Stotz

Art
1
3
7
7
10
13
14
17
18
20
25
30

Untitled
by Nat Hilton
Barn Owls
by Desmond ODonovan
Skyward
by Pedro Castillo
The Rusting Mailbox
by Siawale Vesslee
Modesty
by Jasmin Gilliam
Poem
by Nat Hilton
Hand
by Rosalie Swana
Sport Man
by Nat Hilton
182
by Tobi Hahn
Nightman
by Kate Kopf
Theater Scene
by August Polite
Island
by Michaela Prell

Copyright 2016, by the authors. All rights reserved.

On the opposite page:

Untitled by Nat Hilton

CRIPPLING TALE OF DESPAIR

BY CAITLIN KEOUGH
Behold, a crippling tale of despair
The girl with pig-tails in her hair
Asked the boy on her right for a pencil to spare
He replied with a blank stare
But his outstretched hand held it in midair
She used the pencil with great care
The point completely free of wear
She filled out her questionnaire,
Looked up to find an empty chair
No longer was he sitting there.

ANGRY WITH MY FRIEND

BY NOAH CARUSO
I was angry with my friend;
We never got to see each other anymore.
My mom said its a part of getting older,
But I really cant be sure.
We used to go to the park
And swing on the swings,
Slide down the slide,
And do other things.
My friend would come for supper
And stay for dessert.
Wed share everything Rooms, toys, even shirts.
Now my friend is all gone,
Leaving but a memory.
And Im angry with my mom,
Who told me my friend was imaginary.

Barn Owls
by Desmond ODonovan

THE CHASE
BY DARIUS PURNELL
Time and time again I was called bad for my reckless acts of
destruction.
I always failed to complete my mission.
I would always try but it wasnt enough.
Each house gave the false warm hug of home, the false fresh smell
of a new beginning.
House after house, I traveled.
House after house, he followed.
He brought the cold shoulder and cold hearts sending chills
down my back.
He brought the rancid smell of my past.
Still at first I didnt want him dead.
I just wanted him gone.
Let me have a home for once.
Time and time again I battled with him getting the upper hand.
I was defeated in the end and yet another house destroyed.
I was carried away into a shelter.
I waited.
Waited.
Waited for someone comes for me
Waited for someone promises me a new home.
When I arrived, I wished for him to be out of my life.
Somehow he always followed.
I stand here, head throbbing, covered in faded bruises from our
encounter.
My grip around his throat strengthens as I sit waiting.
Waiting4
Waiting for the inevitable.

Waiting for him to take control giving him the upper hand once
again.
I keep squeezing waiting for some weird antic.
I hold his throat as I wait.
I can imagine different ways he could get out of my grasp:
An anvil falling on my head
A quick whistle using his last breath calling a huge friend for
assistance
One of his bombs in the form of him.
I keep squeezing waiting for the taste of defeat to meet my
tongue.
I wait for the taste of disappointment on my lips.
Yet nothing happens.
He just stands there
Smirking.
Just laughing at my attempt to do what I feel must be done.
My bruises on my head throb vigorously.
I must have a concussion because it looks as if he is fading.
The more I strangle him, this burden, this pest, he fades.
The more I use my hands as his scarf, growing tighter and tighter
The more I lose the energy to continue, to even breathe.
Im wearing myself out trying to make him suffer.
As I squeeze harder at his throat I feel that my own throat as well
is being strangled.
My air escapes my lungs in shock as I watch his grin grow more
sinister.
He fades completely.
I see now that its too late.
Too late to undo the damage.
Not the damage of killing another, but the damage of killing
myself.
For as my life fades away too, I can see now.

I see now that he was me all along.

That Jerry was Tom, that Tom was Jerry.
That he was me and I was him.
We were one.
All I thought was No more! No more! No more!
I collapsed on the ground as I take my last breathes.
I just wanted my problems to fade away not me.
He was apart of me.
He was my subconscious.
Could all of our past be in my head?
Was I really imagining him?
I see now. I can feel myself going insane as I watch a new life flash
before my eyes.
Every adventure, every tale, every battle, every fight.
He was never there.
It was all me.
Chasing air, crashing into walls
It was nothing.
There was never anything there.
Its too late, but I see now. I wasnt Tom.
I was Tom and Jerry.
As I close my eyes and using my very last breathe, I give out a big
strong laugh.
I then smile as my soul leaves my body.
I finally defeated him but in doing so defeated myself.
In ending him, I ended myself.

Skyward
by Pedro Castillo

The Rusting Mailbox

by Siawali Veslee

HALEIWA
BY STEPHANIE DYSON
Theres a characteristic archipelago of birthmarks and moles,
freckles that start at the base of her neck and find their way into
her armpit,
like God started dozing off in the middle of painting her a shade
darker.
They make unkempt nests in her collarbones, spilling onto her
breast,
Her marks tap dance and pirouette along her hips
They jive around her waist, and topple
over their shoelaces into her belly button.
They dribble down her thighs and synchronize with perfect symmetry
in the crooks of her ankles.
Her husband used to say her back looked like Hawaii.
He called her his paradise,
and they were content without a honeymoon.
He used to connect the dots with the jagged edges of his nail
along her skin,
gently tracing each birthmark and mole,
circumnavigating each speck
as if he was surveying her,
politely proclaiming his arrival,
evangelizing on behalf of his adoration and
every time hed act surprised as if hed never seen her in all of her
dappled glory.

But every conquistador arrives in peace and leaves with chaos,

his words sweet backed with intentions sour.
He comes with despotic promises from princes and princesses
to dethrone the identity of those touched by light.
He comes to blacken skies and inject his grammar into footsteps
all admiration falls to admonishment
every escapade escape
every act of solitude reaches with crippled fingers for solidarity
All politeness met with persecution
Her husband doesnt do anything politely anymore.
He is Cortez to millions of nerves that once saw his hand as a
promise of comfort
Columbus to the countless hairs that line her arms.
Each follicle pulses and trembles at his entrance,
standing on edge, partly in submission, tingling and dancing up
her bones like theyre trying to flee.
He enters comet-like promising only demise but
he fires himself into her atmosphere.
She knows she will be consumed by flame,
and so she doesnt fire back she just watches, water-eyed and
weary
when two raging fires meet together
they do consume the thing that feeds their fury
and shed rather pick herself up in pieces with her hands than
sweep her ashes into a dustpan.
He arrives bombastic, never settled.
Nerves quake under her skin,
she is Atlantis as it tips underwater,
she is Pangea rubbing against herself,
trying to break free
She doesnt look like Hawaii anymore.

She looks like Jupiter. She is now alien and extraterrestrial.

Her skin graying much too early.
So often shes been made stretched rubber-band,
coils losing their elasticity
she is now black hair tied back spewing her insides, white meat
showing
Her back is no longer a hand-picked selection of beauty marks
but a
smattering of reasons why she never leans back on the bus ride
home,
The marks that once reigned on her hips are no longer the highlight of her pelvis,
but a ring of rug burns and peeling scabs.

Modesty by Jasmin Gilliam

10

Hes smeared the archipelago black and blue, sometimes with

shades of green, speckled in orange,
and you would think the combination of so many colors would
create a charming aesthetic,
but when complementary colors are mixed they
just create brown
and so with every battering she feels she is becoming more and
more herself.
He strikes temperamental like lightning,
Always gurgling, volcanic and unprecedented.
Sometimes he comes home with a smile
and her nerves stop, confused
her synapses snap to a crossroads.
He now tells her she looks tired,
god-forsaken,
and on-edge all at the same time.
She pines for an appreciation so sincere
that he looks at her like black sand,
tip-toeing his hands over her body,
scared to leave anything unnoticed or misunderstood.
She was absolutely fortified in his love.
She is now glass,
an island beach consumed by fire, boiling under a sun too close
and she would do absolutely anything
to go back and visit an island for their honeymoon,
because she is sure that he knows nothing of paradise.

11

POEMA
POR KATIA HADJEB
Esta noche voy a dejar mi corazn sangrar hasta morir.
No tengo otra opcin para poner fin a mi amor por ti.
Intent cortar las races de este amor, pero fueran profundas
y no poda contrar donde terminan.
Esta noche voy a dejar mi corazn sangrar hasta morir.
No tengo otra opcin para poner fin a mi amor para ti.
Dije Te amo, el cielo llor, las montaas temblarn, las
olas del mar se levantaron y las rocas se desmoronaran.
Dije Te amo, y todos los corazones me oyeron menos el
tuyo.
La luna me pregunt como estoy.
Respond y dije que esta noche voy a dejar mi corazn sangrar hasta morir.
La muerte es ms fcil que el dolor de un amor sin esperanza.
Estoy harta de esperar, y el fuego del anhelo no extingue.
Estoy harta de esperar respirando bajo el agua, y ahora
sofocando.
Estoy harta de esperar en la prisin de tu amor, yo ahora
quiero la libertad.
Esta noche voy a mirar mi corazn sangrar hasta morir.
El amor no es ni una eleccin ni una decisin, pero no puedo vivir con este dolor.
12

Siempre te amaba, y s que aveces tu tambin me amaste.

Aunque dijiste que no me amabas, pero la mirada de tus
ojos, tu toque, el sonido de tu respiracin y el latido de tu
corazn cuando nuestros cuerpos se prensaron uno contra
otro, y tu silencio cuando estaba entre tus brazos dicen el
contrario de tus palabras.
Tenas miedo, yo s.
Miedo del amor, miedo del dolor.
pero te amaba como nadie te amaba antes, como nadie te ha
amado y como nadie te va a amar.
Te am mucho, al punto que te odio porque nunca te mereciste mi amor.
Esta noche voy a matar mi propio corazn con mis propias
manos.
Esta noche voy a dejar mi corazn sangrar hasta morir,
para no poder amarte jmas.

Poem by Nat Hilton

13

Goodmorning
By Rosalie Swana

MY VESSEL
BY IAN FEY
As we begin our tour of Ian, my humble vessel, we find ourselves
at the heart.

It lives quite comfortably in the chest. The lungs like
supportive parents close behind as they all reside in their ribcage
family home. The house definitely shows its age, but it hasnt
given into ruin just yet. For it has withstood many years of belligerent blizzards, hateful hurricanes, and rainstorms of ridicule.
Some things have gone missing. Things like worry, anxiety, and
self-doubt, but I decided this vessel runs just fine without them.

14


Now lets sail down the ravines of my veins to the islands
I call my hands. Youll notice them to be a very peculiar landscape. The marauding monsoons that lie on their perimeter are
filled with lush forests and meadows. These house the inhabitants
I call friends, family, or anything that My Hands try to hold with
the utmost diligence. The weather can be intense at times, but
thats toward those who threaten the peace, to make sure that
they do not have safe travels here and back.

Finally lets climb up the bony cliff-faces to the brain at
the very top of my vessel. My observatory. It may look different
from most other brains, but I dont mind. Aspergers and ADHD
have slightly different tastes when it comes to interior design.

Some call it divine, others say its diseased, but ADHD
just says not to listen. Here youll see my memories that swim in
my koi pond, the storm cloud that thunders my thoughts into
words, and my garden where I grow trees of wisdom, maturity,
patience, and many others. Some are just sprouting while others
are overgrown. It just shows how far Ive come and where I can
still use some growth.

There is also a telescope. You can use it to see my soul.
Sorry, but Im the only one whos allowed up there. I want at least
one thing here to be a mystery to you. If you want to know whats
up there, you will have to visit a bit more for me to tell you.

15

THE GRIND
BY BEN SIMON
I wake up,
Slowly rise from a restless nights sleep,
My mind clogged with thoughts of school, football, friends.
Its 5:30 a.m.
My parents are still asleep.
I brush my teeth, wash my face, and put on some workout
clothes.
Its 6:00 a.m.
I hop in the car and start driving towards school.
Classes start in two hours, but the janitors let me in.
As a starter on the football team, I am allowed to come to school
this early,
While the others are still sleeping.
I dont normally have time to lift after school,
So I have to do it before classes begin in the morning.
It is a sacrifice I am willing to make.
I want it so bad.
Its 7:15 a.m.
I finish lifting and walk to the track across from the school.
After running a few miles, I head back inside.
Its 7:45 a.m
Time to shower and prepare myself for a day of work
And more stress.

16

Its 8:15 a.m.

School begins.
Classes start.
But my mind cant stay focused.
How can you when you only get 4 hours of sleep?
Its 3:15 p.m.
School ends.
But not for me.
Football practice begins.
I feel reenergized and ready to go.
It seems as if everything goes out the window,
When I get on the field.
But at 6:30 p.m.
My problems and stress all enter my mind.
Again.
When I get home,
My little brother is crying,
My dad is blaring the TV,
And my mom is yelling at all of them.
I run upstairs in my room.
I open up my books and start to study.
Kind of.
Its 11:30 p.m.
I wake up.
And I still have hours of work to do.
A test in math tomorrow,
75 pages of a book for finish for English,
College applications to fill,

17

Sport Man
by Nat Hilton

And dinner to eat.

Its 3:30 a.m.
I finally finish,
And I lay in bed thinking.
Is it really worth it?
Its not like Im going to the league.
Im not going to make a living on it.
I am just trying to play Division 3 football.
Why do I do this?
Arent there better uses of my time?

182
By Tobi Hahn

18

EAGLES NATION
BY JESSE SHUTER
Every year I look forward to football season.
I cant stop, but I have a reason.
Football is my passion, the Eagles are my team.
Watching them win is living the dream.
Theyve never won the big game, the Super Bowl.
Maybe one of these days, the team will get under control.
I cant wait until the day they finally lift that silver trophy
It would certainly make Eagles fans a lot less mopey.
Philadelphia fans, they get a bad reputation.
Thats because no one understands Eagles nation.
So we throw things at Santa, and boo our own guys.
Its only because we care so much, we want that grand prize.
Eagles fans are considered the most depressed in the country.
I embrace that title, I dont think its meant bluntly.
You see, to be depressed, one first has to care.
And no one does that like us, find someone I dare.
When the Eagles do finally win that last game
It will be that much sweeter for us fans who stayed sane.

19

20

Nightman
by Kate Kopf

SEEING RED
BY ZACK HERSH

God, what time is it? Why the hell am I awake?

Oh, thats why. Quick quick quick lets go! Dont wet the bed!

Ah thats better. Much better. Now back to sleep. What
time is it anyway? 2:38 am, Saturday March twenty-second, the
phone says. Well I suppose thats right. The phone is always right
after all. Waitwhatd it say the date was? March twenty-second?
No. No! That cant be right. It just cant beI would have known
if it were the twenty-second. No way I wouldnt have.

Darn it, no! It is! Shoot! Do I have anything I can use?
Cake mix? Roll of cookie dough? Quiet! Dont wake him! He
cannot know that I forgot about his birthday!
Is there anything? Anywhere? Fridge freezer cabinet oven anything? Nothing. Nothing. Nothing! Darn it! Me and my darned
healthy eating, leaves me completely unprepared for situations
like this! And I had to do a birthday treat in the morning every
year, didnt I? Couldnt have been like the normal parents who do
it later in the day, after dinner or lunch or something.

Shoot. This is bad. Really bad. Theres nothing in this
darned house I can use! Come to mention it, when was the last
time we got groceries anyway? Stop. Im getting distracted. Think.
What am I going to do? Theres not enough time to go early and
make something before he gets up, so I have to go now. What
store would be open at this hour?
Think. Think. Think! What am I going to do? I must look ridiculous, standing down here in the kitchen in my pajamas at almost
three in the morning rummaging through the cabinets. Wha

21

Wha What am I going to do? Wait a minute. Thats it. Wawa.

They have cake mix, dont they? Or something I could use for his
birthday. And theyre open twenty-four hours.

What am I waiting for, go! No time to waste! Pajamas will
have to do. Car keys, out the door, now! Nothing to see here, just
a grown man in his nightwear driving frantically to the Wawa to
get cake mix at three oclock in the morning. Keys in the ignition,
start the car, go. And careful out of the parking spot! Dont hit the
neighbors car again!
Okay, Im off. Good. Thisll work out fine. Now calm down, eyes
on the road. Im all wound up. Just because its an ungodly hour
doesnt mean I cant still be a conscientious driver. Hey, nice
vocab word! I like that word, conscientious. Makes me sound
smarter. Good thing I helped Jake study for that vocab test. Who
even has a vocab test with a word like that in fourth grade? They
ought to call me Mr. Dictionwhoa! Almost ran a red light! Pay
attention to the road. Its not that far of a drive.

Good thing I woke up when I did. Otherwise I dont
think I wouldve remembered in time. Is this light ever going to
change? He wouldve been so disappointed. His own father, forgetting his birthday. Its inexcusable, no way around it.

Come on, when is this light going to change? Its been red
for the past two minutes! Lets go, I want to get a move on here.
Come on.

Its still red? Is the other light even green? I cant tell from
this angle. This is ridiculous! Its been red for so long. The light
must be broken. That must be it.

Should I just go? Its three in the morning. Im the only
one out here. There havent been any other cars coming any direction. Nobody would notice. Itd be perfectly safe. I really need
to get going and this light has been red forever. I should just go. I

22

should. But what if right when I went was when a car came from
the other direction? Its too much of a risk itd be better to just
until it changes. Maybe this one just has an unusually long cycle.

Come on, you stupid light! I should honk at it, that
would teach it! Oh, thatd do jack. It would just be obnoxious and
wake people up. I dont want to be disrespectful. Some people are
trying to sleep.

What if I just went? IIve never run a red light before.
Ive never actually violated any traffic law intentionally. But this
light has been red for the past five minutes! I have no choice.
But I really dont want to get a ticket. Thats the last thing I need.
I dont think there are cops around. Why would there be? What
would they be doing hanging around out here so early in the
morning?

Okay, this has gone on too long. Im doing this. Im
going. Im just going. Okay. Its past three oclock and Im the only
one out here. I havent seen another car. The light has refused to
change and is probably broken. I really dont want a ticket and
dont want to run a red light but I have no other choice. Theres
nobody, no cops, nobody would see anything or get hurt. Itll be
okay. Here we go. Im going.

let me just quickly check again nobodys coming.
Okay. Its clear. Here we go. Just go. Go. Go darn it!

Aaaah I did it! Whew, okay! That was scary. Okay, on my
way. Finally.

No. No. No! It cant be. Those are cop lights! Hes pulling
me over!

Go away! Dont come to the window!

Good morning sir. Do you realize you just ran a red
light?

23

UNTITLED
BY JARED TRUSTY
Through the troubles and through the sorrow I will walk
Through the valley I will sing my song
Through the fog I will gaze upon a frog
Through the pain I will talk
Though the death I will sing
Though the killing I will sprout wings.

24

TERROR V. BEAUTY
BY GABRIELLE KREIDLE
My country is filled with obstacles that nature endears.
For every inch is unique from the mountains and rains to the sea
and the horizons.
To others, my country is only filled with terror.
But to me, there is nothing but beauty.

Theater Scene
by August Polite

25

SAILS OF THY VESSEL

BY AVA OLSEN
Wispy clouds come together
under a bridge of sky
Molecules of water
arrange carefully
to form sails
while sunlight peaks
around the corner
Gracefully it turns
hues of ivory to
hues of snow
while light
and dark
play together
and cloudy shadows
are cast upon the glistening water
Waves are highlighted as
the shape takes
its full form
From blur to focus
a configuration is born
Choppy waves set the vessel on its course.

26

TUESDAY NIGHT
BY GABRIEL GEZA
I shut my eyes.
Sexless seraphim descend from the evacuated heavens,
weeping into their wings,
the stars shudder and hide from the city-lights,
streets lay naked across the borderline.
Hopeless sons smoke contemplative cigarettes on the roofs,
youthful fire in their eyes burning away fast.
bearded rabbis f--k in parking garages,
laughing and crying and kissing,
clumsy prayers to adonai,
a pack of prostitutes prowl the back-alleys,
lsd nightmares and
visions of hell etched onto their eyelids,
drunk fathers sleep in the basement
while tired mothers cry into bedsheets.
The prodigal son
passed out on the gutter.
Apocalypse in eden,
the river runs thick with blood!
Eve lies nude among the brambles,
Adam reads kafka and cries,
God is jealous of everything,
and I shut my eyes.

27

A GREATER WONDER
BY SYDNEY ROGERS
I wonder what its like
to be told your presence will be a memory
your presence will be a memory
and no longer an object.
By the end of the year youll be leaving this world
for a greater wonder.
I wonder what its like
to look back on your life
and remember the days you filled your lungs with smoke.
Every time
you pressed a cigarette in between your lips
and intoxicated your body
your heart skipped a beat
and your life
filled with love from family and friends alike.
Days filled with handfuls of blackberries
and the fluttering wings of hummingbirds flying around
your porch that looks onto mountains of trees
where the air is cleaner than a world without pollution
was going to be taken away from you.
I wonder how a life could be ripped away from the world
and how your body could be eaten away oh so quickly by
your own doing.
28

I wonder how much time was taken off of your life

every time you puffed another cloud.
You could have stopped.
Had so much more time.
So many laughs we could have shared, so many stories we
could have heard,
memories we could have made, and love that could have
lasted.
Memories.
You wont have the memories.
The day I walk down the aisle in a big white gown holding a
bouquet of roses. and snow berry.
The day I bring a life into the world.
The day my brother finds a love. The day he becomes a
father.
The day my mom remarries.
The day you know is your last when you and your husband
hold hands on the porch and look at each other with knowing eyes and love-filled hearts.
The day you and your love die old together
and your family and friends remember your chalky voice,
the lasagna you were known for and the bushes of blackberries that surround your home.
I miss you already.
And I bet you wonder what its like.
I know.
That the rest of us
wonder.
29

Island
by Michaela Prell

THE PRESENCE
BY MITCHELL BERVEN-STOTZ

I dont want your money, but I need you to hear my

story. Those words returned, as I stood there, in the musty alleyway, rain pouring down. There was a torrential amount, coming
from every pore the sky could open. Frozen in my steps, unable
to move, I tried to regulate my breathing. I had hoped the chill of
the downpour, the movie quality atmosphere, would be enough
to distract me. Alas, it was still there, that presence in my mind.
It wasnt quite tangible, like a word on the tip of your tongue.
No, it wasnt even that developed. It was the faintest shadow of a
thought. It was merely the prickle on the back of your neck, the
feeling you get when you are being stared at from behind.

30


You must understand, what I am speaking of does not
exist. A shadow of a thought, not enough to manifest an image,
sound, or smell. All you have to sense.... it? Should it even be
counted as a thing? All you have to sense the wisp of it is the
impending feeling of dread that follows it. A grasping fear that
something may or may not be there, something that isnt even
enough to imagine, yet is responsible for the death of those
around you.

This all began not so long ago. I was at a small coffee
shop in Hood River, Oregon. This was a new locale, a place for
me to escape the tourists and pretension of my hometown of
Portland. Just for a day, I wanted to leave it all behind. My checkout counter at Powells, a cheating girlfriend, the crazy, solicitous
homeless that hung around the food trucks. As it turns out, Hood
River wasnt far enough away from the latter. He was wearing a
coffee and sweat stained Star Wars t-shirt and jeans with a hole
uncomfortably close to his crotch. He pulled up a chair, sat directly to my right, and began staring at my face. I glanced awkwardly at him from the corner of my eye.

Um, sir? Could I help you with something? I asked,
knowing from experience that the best way for me to get myself out of these situations is to ask them what they want, then
promptly reject their request. After a few coins or a rejection,
they tend to go on their way.

I dont want your money, but I need you to hear my story. The words burst out with a cloud of foul stench, shoving their
way through the mans thick beard.

A story? This old man wanted me to listen to a story.
Color me confused.

There is a, a thing. A thing that inhabits the minds and
souls of certain people.

A thing? What do you mean thing? What kind of thing?
31
And, why are you tell-


It has no form. Absolutely no form. A whisper, that is
all it is. But whispers can cause death. Secrets, lies, they all cause
pain and suffering. A whisper or a shadow. Shadows, they only
exist where something else does not.

I was thoroughly confused at this point. He was describing not an existence, but a lack of one.

I used to have a family. Oh, he was still talking. Talking
about the threat he couldnt even articulate. I used to have a
family, but they disappeared.

Look, sir, Im sorry for your loss, but I need you to back
off. I am meeting someone today and you are in the way. A lie,
and the man knew it.

You dont understand. The mans expression was escalating in intensity, like he was trying to hold back frustration in
the face of a toddler. The presence, it, it took them! There was
nothing I could do. They were there, watching a movie in the living room. I went to grab a bag of popcorn, and when I returned.
They, they were gone. No sign of a struggle, no sound, the door
hadnt opened. I just felt a prickle on the back of my neck. The
lightest feeling in the pit of my stomach.

At this point, I was standing up and laying down my tip.
As I hurried for the door, the man grabbed my shoulder.

I know you felt it. He whispered into my ear, as I struggled for the door handle.

Dude, let go. I will call the cops The barista had gone
into the back to grab a replacement coffee grinder.

You must keep it in your mind. If you forget what I have
told you, what you felt today, in this town, if you forget any of it...
It will come for you. Keep it in your mind. It feeds on two things.
Peoples fear of it, and peoples existence. When it runs out of
fear...

32


I was several yards away, walking at a much quicker pace
than my usual relaxed self. I could hear the man still.

Flash forward five years, to my current predicament. Oh
the bitter irony. I had forgotten all about the homeless man. Or
maybe I had never forgotten. Not truly forgotten. I had forgotten just enough for the nightmare to remind the world of its
lack of a presence. I had been walking through this sky rending
rain, wallowing in my dull life, one that I still wanted to escape.
As I crossed the street, a car skidded into the stop light ahead of
me. I was taken aback. Yes, the rain was torrential, but I was in
Portland. No one ever crashed in Portland. I looked and saw that
there was no one in the car. The vehicle was completely empty.
The moment I realised this, another car crashed through a shop
window to my left. Again, the people who should have been
inside were gone. I was beginning to feel anxious. Where were
the drivers? Why wasnt anybody rushing out of their homes to
investigate?

The mans words came rushing back to me. That feeling I
had from that time was now becoming a pressure on my temples.
I had to get away from anybody who may have potentially been
in the area. I ran into the nearest alleyway and pulled out my cell
phone. At this point in time, carrying it around had become a
fruitless ritual. I had no one to call, nothing to spice up my habit
filled days of boredom. Who to call, who to call. The fear guided
me to the last thing to give me comfort, my ex girlfriend. She had
dumped me five months ago, after discovering that I had had no
real reason to miss her fathers funeral that day five years ago. She
didnt understand my need to live life just a bit differently, for one
day. Look where that day had gotten me. But nonetheless, she was
the one I called.
I dont want your money, but I need you to hear my story.

33

FALL 2015 PHOTO CONTEST WINNER

Woman by Hannah Layton

34

Im sorry maam. Your loan is denied.

by Leo Levy

On the back cover:

SLA House Logos by (clockwise from top left): Niah Lombo,
Nat Hilton, Kevin Courtney, Wilson Biggs, Cacy Thomas
and Melissa Alvarez.