hrend Showcase
an exhibit of Behrend students' expressive thoughts
The Desert
Magician
"You got a permit for that thing, Hop? And don't you
lie to me!" I interjected. Guns wer e
. something I was
touchy on. Some say I'm more concerned with them
then the written law is, but it is what it is.
"Yes, I certainly'do, sir," he responded, calmly ply
ing his wall t from his back denim pocket. "I've got it
Vit in here, sir. Good ol' boy over in Sante Fe said I
bit be protected. He also said these Mexicans ain't to
bitrusted, but I wasn't quite ready to go as far as that
one. I'm one to believe in those types. You know me,
sheriff."
"I do," I reassured, grabbing the yellow slip with
my thumb and knuckle, scanning it over for a pur
chase date and a notarized stamp. "Go on."
"So, I had my shotgun pointed at him, and then I
lost my sight. I know it sounds like a load of bullshit,
sir pardon my French - but I swear, some kind of
bright light came out of this here stone."
My gaze fell from the permit to the oddly-shaped
rock that was laying on the table. The craziest part
about It all was... I believed him. Sure as shit, I
knew... this stone wasn't an ordinary desert slate.
There was something more to it, and when Hopper
went on, I knew I'd be hearing more about this ma
gician fellow down at the station.
"So, I was blinded, ya see? And, I'm ashamed
to ay this, but I pulled the trigger. I fell backwards
and landed hard on my lunch bag: Sara's famous
Texas Spaghetti got all over my backside, but I
was too scared to laugh. I got my sight back and
stood up to find out he was gone."
"Disappeared?" I asked, still staring at the
stone, which now seemed to starting to glow a
light blue. I wasn't sure if it was my own imagi
nation or if it really glowed, so I didn't mention
it. "Like gone or left the store?"
I'm not quite sure, but what I am damned sure of is that I didn't hit him with the pellets," Hop
per informed and pointed behind him. "I took out a bag of dog food."
I stared behind him, perplexed by the whole thing, watching a few chunks of red and brown
dog food occasionally drop out of one of the many holes onto thesto*lgoor. It wan
of the end for Larkin, New Mexico. I didn't quite know it then, but Iltidnwt.ttld!" •y 77"
``.*af
After a couple more cups of coffee and a good discussion about what Hop thought the motives
were behind such an incident. He didn't have much to say other than maybe some sort of alien
force. Myself, I never understood why weird events always sparked these sudden beliefs in aliens
among most of the locals. I was rather partial to demonic activity. At least that had some resonance,
in my opinion. The whole alien thing just seemed entirely too farfetched for a southern
sheriff like myself, and to an extent, seemed even more farfetched to me that the locals
would believe such things. Hell, it doesn't matter much, I suppose.
Anyways, I figured it was best to confiscate the stone and put in our evidence locker
down at the station. I wondered if the lock and key could keep something so mysterious in
its place. I ain't ever heard of something being stolen from the evidence locker, let alone
broken out. It scared me to a degree, and that was probably where I went wrong. The idea
of being scared was a proposition to all of those evil forces out there, saying, "Take mel Do
what you will!" That was certainly not something I wanted to throw into the desert air. Janet
began to convince me that the demonic thing was malarkey; as well. My wife of 20 years,
and station secretary of the same, often read books about crazies that broke out of prison
to commit crimes on the locals and stir up a big scare. Living in the scenery she read about
was, from this old man's point of view, a horrible thing for her. I remember the night I ex
plained the events to her.
"Who would do such a thing?" I questioned her after
sponse to her long, sullen pause. Apparently, the story
"I've never heard of a good of boy like Hop be
That statement was only true to an extent, .
every once and awhile, but suggestions of curfew
changed those tendencies, Jane finally began, "He •
cape(' San Quentin a couple months back. You
I just grinned at both her memory and her novel
However, I did remember the case. The he.adbe
Prison. It was an exaggerated , story, from my pety
that seven men escaped, but they were all WWI
You don't get far from San Quentin
men find that the haze crate a sort of a
from New York ended up circling a large perimeter
continued from the Oct.
Vermont's road-side waterfalls are brea
Meisha Freeborough, sophomore bush
* * •
to b.
,
sophomore
OWOSSO
, , ,
'
Support for a Tattered Soul
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ght that by leaving them with me, maybe I'd eventually understand where he came from. Maybe I 'd ierstal
e wanted to go. He didn't know the only person's shoes I was gonna put myself in were my own.
Freeborough, sr iomore business and finance major
Freshm an e
BEHREND BEACON
October 23, 2009
www.thebehrendbeacon.com