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The Elixir

The Literature and Arts Magazine of Brenau University

Month

May 2016

Tertio Fascinum

Tertio Fascinum by Shana N. Toney

Their souls drop from the dark vault of heaven

as they fly above the branches

of night like black angels

dancing in the moonlight. Continue reading “Tertio Fascinum”

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Pink

Pink by Rebecca Jarrett

Pink was her favorite color; the very pink that had colored his cheeks in slumber. She despised grey. It reminded her of storm clouds and smog and spoiled meat. Looking at his suit, she revised her complaint. She didn’t merely hate grey; she hated all dark colors. With a new resolve, she turned from his casket and strode out of the church. When she got home, she threw out half of her clothes.

-Originally published in The Elixir’s 2015-16 print edition

-Photo credit to This Creative Girl

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Diaper Rash

Diaper Rash by Kate Rochford-Price

Eleven o’clock:

up and down,

rocking back and forth,

waiting those agonizing moments

for the bottle warmer to do its job,

and a half hour later Continue reading “Diaper Rash”

Rasputin by Samuel Roper

-Originally published in The Elixir’s 2015-16 print edition

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Mouths

Mouths by Dianne Honan   

(3rd place poetry winner)

I’m sorry. I’m deaf.

I hold up my usual response

on my notepad.

The woman at the register raises her eyebrows Continue reading “Mouths”

Family Reunion

Family Reunion by Kate Rochford-Price

Aunt Marian turns toward him, reaching for his cheeks, which, to their credit, are really no longer pinchable, but that does not deter jolly old Aunt Marian; then he finally escapes her re-fingered clutches only to fall victim to Great Grandpa George as he corners him and regales him with racist and homophobic comments, making him acutely uncomfortable, his lips pursing in resistance to a barrage of retorts, but the secret of his black boyfriend keeps him silent; then his mother,visually and physically overjoyed to see him back from Continue reading “Family Reunion”

the rate of death is directly proportional to the rate of life

the rate of death is directly proportional to the rate of life by Tahimi Perez-Borroto

I am 22 years old and

hopefully, wistfully,

60 years from death.

I used to dream about

traveling the globe,

Continue reading “the rate of death is directly proportional to the rate of life”

Steel Resurrection

Steel Resurrection by Abigail Sandifer

Based on Deborah Butterfield’s

Untitled (#3-85), 1985

Horse made of burned and crushed steel and barbed wire

I am the fire horse reincarnate.

I am the fear, the horror, the safety, the beauty.

My flesh is now translated to scorched, twisted steel.

As the gate closed on that last rescue, Continue reading “Steel Resurrection”

Born This Way

Born This Way by Laura Burke   

(2nd place prose winner)

Henry felt the familiar thrill as he opened his makeup cases. He didn’t care that his family no longer spoke to him. He never felt more right, more alive than when he pulled on his bling covered dresses, or slipped on his favorite wig. Tonight was no different. His act was on in little over an hour and a half, and he needed to pt his face on. He loved watching the mirror and seeing how his face and body transformed, Continue reading “Born This Way”

Blind

Blind by Dianne Honan

Somewhere between the thought-provoking story of how you broke your personal golf record and the rousing details of your law firm’s last Christmas party (believe me, I too wanted to relive the moment your intern lost her ginger bread cookies on your boss’s shoes) I spilled my drink, hoping Continue reading “Blind”

Empty House

Empty House by Rebecca Jarrett   

(1st place prose winner)

The house was empty, but the television in the sitting room was on, the glow from some commercial reflecting on the leather love-seat in the center of the room. The footrest was too far from the love-seat for anyone’s legs to possibly reach it while they were sitting there.

Boxes of baby clothes, diapers, and other such trinkets littered the hallway leading to the master bedroom. The door to the bedroom was wide open, a mark behind the door from the knob cracking into the wall. The bed itself was made up, the only objects on it the remote to the TV and a cracked open copy of  Continue reading “Empty House”

The Cliff

The Cliff by Tahimi Perez-Borroto

She sways on the cliff, sea pink flowers wrapped around her fingers, faint traces of tears carved on her cheeks. There’s a storm coming, the foam from the sea below her gurgles in anticipation, pity drops from above. He rode away ten days ago, Continue reading “The Cliff”

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Red Light

Red Light by Tahimi Perez-Borroto

(2nd place poetry winner)

I am trying to understand

what it means to live and to exist,

wondering if the single red light

on this empty road

I’ve been starring at knows the answer. Continue reading “Red Light”

Questions for the Man Who Killed my Mother

Questions for the Man Who Killed my Mother by Tahimi Perez-Borroto

1 . When you loaded your gun for the night, did you think you’d get hot from the fear of getting caught?

2. Did you think you’d get stopped?

3. How did you hide your gun?

4. Did you hide it?

5. Did you step out into the Paris night and look at the Eiffel Tower for good measure?

Continue reading “Questions for the Man Who Killed my Mother”

Albert

Albert by Rebecca Jarrett

The old man sat at the bar, nursing a whisky.

“Take it easy there, Albert. It’s only just half four; you should pace yourself.”

Albert smiled wryly at the grimacing barkeep. “I’m 81 years old and I fought in a war. I’ve served out Queen and this country. I think it’s well within my rights to have a drink or two.”

That barkeep shrugged, then turned back around to finish wiping down the glasses with a musty cloth.

The young man finishes his pint and pushes it toward the barkeep. “Cheers,” he calls over his shoulder- though he doesn’t bother to look back as he walks to the other end of the reception hall.

He is in his uniform, today. She likes a man in uniform, and he knows it. He uses it to his advantage.

“Hello, Matilda. What’s a young lass like yourself doing at such a boring reception?” Continue reading “Albert”

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