Rachel Krumholtz: Seagulls

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The seagulls circle the city, swooping over its glistening turrets and boxy edifices. Their wings glitter ominously, coated in a thick, viscous layer of oil. Rising above the murky fumes produced from the steeples below, they instinctively gaze at the water, subconsciously yearning for clear blue waves, for fish.  But the fish were long gone; they had disappeared nearly twenty-five years ago. Submerged beneath years’ worth of tattered clothing, discarded boxes, and unused plastic dumped unceremoniously into the once-transparent waters, the sparkle of their scales began to dim, and one by one their lifeless bodies floated to the surface of the water, limp and vulnerable.  The seagulls continued spiraling, their bright and inquisitive eyes looking, searching for a place to land.

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Phillip Chao: The Blue Bridge in Benford

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was driving to the Blue Bridge in Benford in my 1969 Ford Capri. 

Sunlight in the heartland of the country has always been ample, shedding through the distorted leaves on the olive trees and blinding my sight. A sudden stream of warmth was injected into my body, and I shivered. 

I stopped at the side of the road and pulled out a map marked all over by numerous dots of red and lines of blue. 

All roads here led to Benford. All rivers ran to the Blue Bridge. 

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A Map of the World

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Lights flicker.

It’s time to wake up.

My eyes open. I reach for the button next to my bed. The voice silences. My bed begins to adjust to a seating position.

I look around. The same sight I see every morning greets me. White, unfurnished walls. Soft light filtering through the blinds in the windows. The door in front of me opens, beckoning me outside the safe haven of my room.

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The Man Inside the Box

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The Man in the Box

There is a man, and the man lives inside the box. He is comfortable enough. When he reaches his feet, he can wiggle his toes, and if he curls a little, the man can sleep.

Sheep

At night, the man dreams of a sheep. When he wakes up, he draws the sheep, tracing his finger along the side of the box. He can never get the nose right. It was thinner, no, rounder, no, bigger, or maybe just a different color. Sometimes, he draws it with his pinky finger, but his nail is too thin, so he uses his thumb. Every night, the man dreams of the sheep, and every morning, the nose is wrong.

Noises

Sometimes, the man hears noises from outside the box. The man does not like these noises. He curls into himself, jamming his palms over his ears.

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Box

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You walk into a small room. There are no windows; the walls are black. There is a small wooden table with two chairs, one on each side. You sit down.

A few moments later a doctor comes in. The doctor is wearing a white lab coat and has glasses. The doctor sits down, looks at you, then writes something on a clipboard. Neither of you say anything yet.

Finally the doctor says, “Do you have any questions?” The doctor does not look up.

“Yes,” you say. “What exactly happens in here?”

“This is where we perform the experiment.”

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