End

I awoke. My eyes opened onto a grim palate of smoky gray and deep, opaque darkness blended into a looming shadow of despair. Flat on my back, I rest upon an endless dim and empty plain of dead grass and sharp rock, silently watched by that solemn, final sky above. I, the lone and supine body lying between the infinitely distant horizons. Nothing, now. Nothing, ever again. I have seen the end; I have seen many ends, and soon I shall see The End. Nothing now but rock and I, and our gloomy undertaker above. No need to move. The shifting shadows in the sky deepen, and that roiling blanket makes way for the emptiness, the emptiness that grows and will soon consume. Merely a spot in the sky, yet even the empty, deathly clouds make way for that burgeoning void. They twist and turn, a slow whorl of death; those silent whispers of finality swirl beside the emptiness, vanguards to the glorious End that begins to fill the sky. 

I watch. That deep ravine widens, exhorting the Nothing beyond to enter upon my realm, to consume, blindly, with cruelty and malice. The empty and endless horizons which were my final fortress walls begin to crumble. Soon it is I, I and no other, I and naught else. A deep and silent thunder resounds; a great and terrible voice calling from beyond the Nothing – and it is the End.

I awake. The birds chirp to greet a new day; the sunlight burns my eyes. But I see the world with a gaze bedimmed. My sole memory now the clouds, the clouds: the clouds bespoke the End of All.

-Martin Berlove '15

Safe Haven

 A wall of mirrors -

A black rug with a circular design

On the living room floor.

I used to trace the circles

And spin around them like a

Maze,

Until I became dizzy and

Fell.

Then my mother would yell,

Because

Floors were not made for sitting;

So I would jump on the couch.

Then my mother would yell,

Because

Couches were made for sitting,

Not jumping.

So I sat,

And my mother would yell

Because

I wasn’t

Doing

Any

Thing

At

All.

Confused, I run to your room -

You don’t care if I

Sit on your floor,

And then your bed.

Or on your bed,

And then your floor.

Or in your closet,

Or in your chair,

Or best of all,

In

Your

Lap.

­-Kimberly D. Villacis '15

The Will to Live

They hit the window with the force greater than it could bear. Glass splintered and burst into the Portland night sky. It was over seventy eight floors below until they would have impact. Blood trickled in the air next to their slow-motion bodies. This freefall would seem longer than a lifetime. And this fall was just the start of the end. Their bodies fell with a cursed grace, like grains of sand dripping to the bottom of the hourglass. Their time was almost up.

This was just the climax in a long-standing rivalry and an old feud. The two men falling towards the pavement are Jack Redman and Adam DeLarge, half brothers cursed with paternally linked brotherhood. Their father, Frances DeLarge, was an overbearing businessman and CEO of the Jetstone Company, the most powerful industrial mining company on the west coast. The brothers had a shattered relationship full of hatred that kept them from ever developing a bond or even coming into contact. This would all change when they entered into their father’s company exactly five years ago. Their loathsome relationship developed into complete and utter abhorrence. Both scratched and clawed their way up the corporate ladder, becoming more successful each year. When one would do a project successfully, the other would steal the credit. When the other got the promotion, an argument would ensue and both would be given the job. They absolutely hated one another and would stop at nothing until one, and only one, would become the CEO.

It was a silent, cool November night when the brothers received news that would change the rest of their short lives. The brothers’ phones rang in synchronicity miles apart from one another.

“Hello?” Jack answered the phone as he looked with burning eyes at his alarm clock. It read 2:14 am. Who would be calling this late? His unshaven face glared into the darkness. He was still a young upstart still getting used to a 9-5 job; sleep was the last of his problems. Little did he know, this call would change his destiny.

On the other end of the phone was a hospital nurse who aided in the attempted recovery of the victim of a drunk driver. They tried as much as they could but the man would not be revived. He left the staff with two names before he passed away, uttering “Jack Redman, Adam DeLarge,” with his last breath. These two names were to be contacted and told of their father’s passing.

“Are you sure? You say you did everything you could?” Jack paused and listened to the nurse’s quivering voice. “And that’s all he said, just our names? Has my brother been contacted?” His eyes shifted madly around the room. “Okay, thank you.” He hung up the phone.

Jack’s emotions were torn. Should he actually feel remorseful for the loss, or smile with a sigh of relief? He had never been close to his father, as Jack’s mother had been “the other woman.” Jack’s name was Redman, not DeLarge. The man had practically disowned him if for no reason other than to hide his infidelity to his wife. Jack deserved to be the head of the company now after all the hardship he had to face. It was his turn to finally be successful, and by doing so get revenge on his father and brother by becoming the new CEO. He needed to go to his father’s office and see the will. Jack knew he would not be left with the company and the will would have to be changed before anyone would get access to his assets. Jack couldn’t let Adam have control, not after all these years, after all the hardships.

Jack got dressed, throwing on a collared shirt and black slacks, leaving his apartment in a rush. His father’s office was five minutes from his apartment. He hurried, not knowing if he would be the only one there when he arrived.

Jack soon ascended the floors of the building, tapping his foot nervously on the floor of the elevator. His anxiety grew with every drop of sweat that arose on his arms. He had to claim his right to a good life. Jack longed to be someone in this world and with all the desire in his body, wished to gain the power, the control of his father’s company.

A bell rang; he had arrived at his destination. The elevator doors opened with a lurch on the seventy-eighth floor. He stepped out cautiously and looked down the narrow hallway. He never liked to be in his father’s building at night. The lights of the city gave off cynical shadows that reflected the shady business deals made within. This building was the capital of business in Portland. Nowhere else in the city could a place be so busy and energetic during the day and yet so dismal and maladroit when the sun went down. Jack could feel his nerves twisting into fear, into hatred, into that animalistic drive that keeps greedy humans searching for power.

Jack walked the length of the hall quickly, keeping his strides short but his tempo upbeat. The door of the office was a large oak mammoth that towered over the cowering employees it faced. Many a man had broken down just before stepping through the threshold to learn that he wouldn’t be able to provide for his wife and kids this Christmas. The lumbering menace had the same effect on Jack. He stood there frozen, anticipating the large desk and leather chair his father had occupied for so many years. He turned the cold, silver knob with ease. Frances never left his office open after work? Jack gradually stepped in.

The creak of the door startled Adam. He nervously twitched as he looked up from the file he had open in front of him. Jack was halfway through the door when Adam stood up from his father’s throne directly in front of the wall of glass perched above the city. Adam was towering figure, only a few years out of college but still three years younger than his brother. His conservative manner was reflected in his cardigan and black slacks. Adam quickly scurried to the shadows that covered one half of the room and pressed along the book-lined wall. Jack’s head peered in just as his brother sneaked past his peripheral vision. Adam crouched behind the dusty artificial plant that occupied the corner into which the door opened. He gazed at Jack with such abhorrence that he had to bite his tongue from screaming out. He has no right to be here.

Jack took deliberately-measured steps and made it half way to the desk before he stopped short, noticing the open file. He felt a heavy thud from behind. He heard something shatter and then felt intense pain throbbing in the back of his head.

“Aghhhhhhh!” Jack shouted, falling to the ground. He had been blindsided by his rival. Adam slowly circled to the front of Jack.

“You really thought you could just waltz right into my father’s office and take the will for yourself?” Adam spat, aiming at Jack’s face. Jack winced away from the projectile, rubbing his bruised bleeding head.

“Honestly, what makes you think you have any right to this empire?!” He kicked Jack in the stomach with great force. Adam’s boot penetrated deep into his torso, tearing a button off his now dirtied white shirt. Jack let out an exasperated gasp for air and fell onto his side in a fetal position. He started wheezing heavily, trying to regain the wind he lost.

“You’re pathetic you know that? That’s why I have my father’s name and you have nothing more than what that whore left to you before she died, Redman.” He drew a smug smile and sauntered to the desk where the file laid open. He read the opening line aloud to Jack.

“I, Frances J. DeLarge, hereby make this Will and Testament…”

He paused, hearing a wounded chuckle, the laugh of a madman, coming from Jack. Adam stared at the will, blankly listening to the nonsense and finally looked up. Jack was on his knees, giggling away, and in his hand, he held a gun. The barrel of a .44 gawked at Adam and it seemed as if the handgun itself was laughing.

“It doesn’t matter what the will says!” Jack cheerfully sneered though his grin. “All that matters is that I’m the last man to have the will before the attorneys get it. I can change it to whatever I please. Sorry, brother, but you’ll never have your happy ending.” Jack’s giggle started growing maniacal. His shoulders shook as he laughed like a demon.

Adam stood stunned, unbelieving of the turn of events. His heart raced and his head beat to the sound of his pulse. This is it, he thought.

The hammer came down on the back of the pistol. The gun fired and an overwhelmingly loud blast filled the room, followed by crackle. His shot missed, passing Adam’s left shoulder and turned the limpid window into a spider-web of glass fissures. A blur sprinted towards the confused injured man on the floor. The bang acted as the shot of a starter gun. Adam dropped the will and dashed. Jack’s eyes grew large with anxiety as he saw the embodiment of rage approaching at full speed. He jumped to his feet and threw the gun to the side with a wince.

Adam wound up his fist and brought it down on Jack. Jack ducked the punch and countered with a quick jab to the Adam’s kidney as he fell to the right. He gasped for lost air and turned around to face Jack. They circled each other, one taking slow careful steps and the other limping rhythmically. Each grunted with hatred at the opposite man. Their fireball eyes clashed in the darkness.

Jack lunged forward and swung a left hook at Adam’s face. Adam threw up his arm, taking the full impact of the punch with his forearm. Adam withdrew in pain, wincing back several steps out of harm. He looked at the bookshelf next to him and grabbed the first thing saw: a thick leather-bound Bible. The book weighed close to ten pounds, but Adam had no trouble throwing the holy script directly at Jack’s chest.

Jack dropped back and the book fell to the floor with a thunderous bang. He bellowed out, trying to get his wind back once more. Adam ran at Jack, jumping into the air and roundhouse kicking him right in the ribs. The force caused Jack to fly back and slam into the desk behind him. A large shoeprint appeared dirty across his white shirt. Writhing in pain, Jack grabbed a letter-opener off the desk and pushed himself forward. He rushed right at Adam, grunting in both pain and anger.

“Meet your father in hell!”

Adam raised his hands in self-defense, but it was no use. Jack brought down the blade with great might. His rage overpowered him, swelling in his heart. It enflamed with each drop of sweat that poured into his eyes. The makeshift knife slit Adam’s outstretched hand and tore through his tendons. The blade exited the other side of his hand and blood gushed out onto the floor. It splattered Jack’s shirt, the red blots adding a tactile feel to the present shoeprint.

“AHHHHHH! YOU STABBED ME!” Adam grabbed at his wrist in agony. His sleeve was starting to stain. Blood enveloped his hand like a red glove

He charged at Jack, with his arms spread, ready to tackle his brother. Jack braced for the hit and drew his arms in. The impact of the hit was immense as the brothers flew backwards, crashing over the paperwork and stationary on the desk. As Adam wrapped his arms around Jack, he jabbed him in the side with his wounded hand, knife still protruding. The knife penetrated just below Jack’s ribs, pinning the brothers together.

They flew past the desk, still in the air, and crashed through glass curtain. This would the first and only hug Jack and Adam would ever share. The two brothers fell all seventy-eight floors, hatefully embracing one another until the fatal impact. Neither would take over their father’s reign over the city.

The will, crumpled and bloodstained, lay unread in Frances DeLarge’s office, the paper that resulted in the death of two brothers.

“I, Frances J. Delarge, hereby make this Will and Testament. I hereby leave all my assets and the future of the Jetstone Company under the care of my pride and joy, the most inspirational person I know…”

A slight breeze lifted the will out of its resting place and floated out the window into the dreary night sky…

-Rich Brenner '15