“Does Anyone Care”
jf
I look through a window and see the rain that comes splashing
down on the wounds of my desperation and hostility. I seem to
recall that once familiar pain again as I clutch to the walls of my
heart. I ache at the thought of loving another when the love I
thought had died is being rekindled by the soft words of his voice
that pierce through my soul and take captive my heart. I deny
the inner call from deep inside as I shake the pain and wipe the
tears from my cheek. A fire consumes me as his presence enters a
room, and a great warmth flows from my heart out through the
ends of my hair, as my eyes wait for the glance that ¿ould release
this hidden love buried so deep. I feel an excitement grip my
stomach as he swiftly carries himself across the room to my
trembling body where I stand and wait for his cutting words that
could destroy me or his solemn words of hope that could unleash
me from the chains of love. His words flow from his lips like a
piano playing the tune to a romantic love song, in the back of my
mind. I look into his eyes with a yearning, a yearning to unders­
tand the confusion that is hidden in his eyes by a wall that disillu­
sion built. I struggle in the cry for help where help is not ex­
cepted. Disappointment clouds my future as the fire dies and his
eyes grow dark. He turns and walks away, numb to the world
with only a concern of what attacks his being. A silence fills the
air as my heart weeps and my destined love walks out the door
holding my hope for the future in his hand. The door closes me
off to the dream of stability and companionship and reality takes
its place. I strive after the past and struggle to keep the feeling
alive but frown at the pain of knowing it's lost. The weather is
cold and haste encircles itself in the winds that wind around
obstacles in life that are unprotected and need shelter. Now,
when I look through a window and see the plants that die off to
the fall, and dark colors that consume the once green earth; I
smile at the thought of spring, when everything's new; the sun
shines brighter and warmth fills the air... Another love may in­
habit my heart once again.
Kill the wildlife, poison the air
Doesn't somebody, anybody care?>
Tear down mountains, fill in lakes
Destroy originals, create fakes.l
^"Slaughter animals, steal their fur,
How much more can we endure?
Rule the people, live in fear,
For the world I shed a tear.
by Lee Metoxen
by Julia Singer
“H—M—M—M...”
Slowly, ever so slowly, Mary pushed open the door. She peered
down the darkened basement steps. She could hear the steady hum­
ming noise. "H-M-M-M..."
“What is that?" her brain seemed to shout! Her thoughts were so
loud that she was sure that if there was someone in the basement
they would surely hear her.
“H-M-M-M..." She knew the light switch was only inches from her
hand, and yet, she could not make herself move the muscles in her
arm to reach for it. Whatever, or worse, whoever was making those
noises down there might see her hand creeping forward and
miraculously reach up the ten feet from the basement floor to grab
her. In her mind's eye she could see her arm being enclosed within a
huge hand with long dirty fingernails and crooked fingers sprouting
long black hairs. The thought gave her goose-bumps and shivers.
She had heard the humming noise the minute she had entered the
house, "H-M-M-M..." She knew the noises of her little two bedroom
house and that was not one of them. When she and John had left
the house this morning that noise had not been a part of its reper­
toire. The "plop, plop, plop" of the kitchen faucet, the “whur,
thunk, whur" of the furnace; and the "tip, tip, erk" of her favorite
oak tree as it scratched on the south window of the room that
would soon belong to their expected newborn baby. Those were the
noises she expected to hear in the house she and John had occupied
since their marriage, five years ago. All of those noises, but not,
"H-M-M-M..."
At first it had not frightened her. She thought it was John.
Although she usually arrived home before him on weekdays, she
supposed that for some reason or another, he may have come home
early. As a private accountant, with his own little office, he could
leave whenever he wished. "John," she called, "is that you?"
Silence. Only the "H-M-M-M..." answered her greeting. Suddenly,
she felt the hair on the back of her neck begin to reach upward
toward the ceiling as the "H-M-M-M..." was joined by a new sound,
"tick, tick, tick, clink" and then the "H-M-M-M..." again - alone.
Mary turned and reti aced her steps to the front door, opened it
and loudly banged it shut, hoping that the whatever or whoever
it was would think she had left. Outside, she stomped as forceful­
ly as she could across the porch — considering her tiny size of on­
ly about 110 pounds (with her clothes on), and down the steps.
Once on the sidewalk in front of the house she turned and remov­
ing her shoes, tiptoed carefully back inside.
Once back inside the house, she had followed the sound as it
led her out of the cheerful front entry hall, down the corridor
coming off it to the back of the house, and into the spotlessly
clean pink-and-white kitchen. She crept stealthily across the
rose-colored linoleum, following the "H-M-M-M..." all the way to
the basement door.
"H-M-M-M-tick-tick-tick-fromp!" said the sound, and her heart
skipped a beat and fell into her socks. When she recovered her
composure, she reached for the handle of the white door with
the small rose in the center of the porcelain handle.
"Wait! What are you doing?" her mind shouted suddenly,
"Seven months pregnant, alkalone, and you're about to go into
that dark basement?! What are you-going to do if you do happen
to run into something down there? Ask it to come upstairs for
tea?"
"Tea," she thought, "Of course. Why hadn't she thought of it
before?" She let go of the door handle land moved silently across
the kitchen to the cupboard where she stood on her tiptoes to
reach the top shelf of the cabinets. She pulled down a very old
tea box where she kept her small pearl-handled .45. She blew the
dust off the box in disgust. "I should clean up here more often,"
she thought. After taking out the gun and replacing the tea box,
she strode confidently back over to the door, grasped the handle
firmly, and jerked open the door. Now, there was one last pro­
blem. The light was still off.
She stood there for a few moments before she even got up
enough courage to look in the direction of the steps. She slowly
opened her clear blue eyes and peered into the darkness. In the
basement, near the far wall, she could see two beady red eyes
glaring at her through the darkness. No, she suddenly realized, it
was worse. She saw four beady red eyes glaring at her through
the darkness. "H-M-M-M!..." it shouted. Then, in one swift move­
ment, Mary closed her eyes, shot out her hand, and flipped on
the light switch. The creature screamed as the light slapped it in
the face and so did Mary. "Z-Z-Z-Z! H-R-A-A-A-A!" the stairway
filled with thé sounds of terror. She impulsively pulled the trig­
ger. "CLICK!" the gun, obviously, was not loaded. Panic gripped
her as she pulled the trigger three more times "CLICK, CLICK,
CLICK!" tears began to flow helplessly down her cheeks as she
slowly opened her eyes to face her doom.
Mary never told John of her encounter that day. When he came
home that afternoon she had been cheerfully knitting baby booties
in the living room. She giggled slightly as she thanked him for the
wonderful present he had bought her, and to this day, only she and
her new Maytag washer and dryer know of their peculiar meeting.
by Joan Cartales