4BBEHREND BEACON
December 1, 2009
www.thebehrendbeacon.com
an exhibit of Behrend students' expressive thoughts
The Blooming
Rose
The blooming rose.
I suppose none of you have ever looked down the barrel of a shotgun. Laying flat on your back with your at
tacker, drunken bastard with a gun, what have you standing above you in the light of an orange streetlamp- it
creates a halo around their head and darkens their face. It is as if a faceless angel is standing above you. A
faceless angel with cheap whiskey on its breath in my case.
I was driving home that night, the heat was on and I was almost uncomfortably warm and could feel the
sweat beginning to generate a swamp between my shoulder blades creating a trapezoid of sweat. The home
made cd that my girlfriend made for me was playing as loud as it could go and I was singing along as best as
I knew the lyrics, the song faded out and the familiar six introductory notes of Folsom prison blues rang
through the cab of the truck. Unwisely, regrettably and in all truthfulness I enjoyably closed my eyes and
shouted out the first verse with Johnny. I never saw him coming.
There's a funny thing about adrenaline that not many know about, not many people care to know really and
some people just don't goddamn have the presence of mind to notice it happens, your vision becomes com
pressed, tunnel vision is
what most people would
call it I suppose, it always
seemed to me that it was a
whole lot like looking
through a peephole in an
apartment door you know?
Sorta fish eyed and com
pressed.
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bush Z'/7' 1._)(4": don 3, rnd Z /Rd my camerci.
/?c,, Plc.rP,, fir ~,. ,i.....
"YOU MOTHERFUCKER YOU DONE KILLED MY TRUCK I KILL YOU SUM'BITCH" oh shit, guess there
wont be the awkward information exchange and we will skip straight to the open hostility.
Wonderful. I wasn't really worried about the guy I hit if he
probably all right enough. With my undamaged right arm I
fished out my cell phone, noting on the way that my left arm
I managed to get my phone out of my pants pocket. After
my left arm, truck, home burned CD and night it was totally fucked. I didn't really take much stock into
what the man from the other truck had said about killing me because apparently I am a "sum'bitch" who had
"done killed his truck" until I heard the distinctive sound of a breech action shotgun snapping shut. Shit.
Another funny thing that people most of the time do not seem to notice
about the effects of adrenaline on cognition is that time appears to slow
down considerably. Its as if everything is played to you on a high speed
camera that has been set on showing frame by frame. Combine this with
the fisheye effect and you got yourself a mighty interesting trip.
My heart rate immediately jacked itself up to an intolerable level as
soon as I heard the sound of the breech action snap shut. Ohshitohshi
tohshitohshitohshitohshitohshit. Was my mantra for the moment, from
the direction of the truck I heard arrhythmic clomping scraping noises
like the noise of a stubborn horse trying to resist being led somewhere
it doesn't wish to go across an asphalt plane. From the corona of the
streetlight a figure staggered into view, he wore heeled tan work
boots, blue jeans almost washed out white and torn to shit and a sim
ilarly weathered and destroyed plaid flannel shirt over a stained
beater. He was small, maybe five seven, stringy and pale white, in
the orange street lamps glow he was almost yellow. He had a big
gash on his forehead and what looked to be the remnants of a felt
Stetson on his head. And in his hands was what at the time ap
peared to be the largest most intimidating gun I had ever seen it
looked twice his size in his miniscule hands next to his shrunken
wasted figure. It was beaten, weathered and old and I looked ab
solutely fucking lethal. As soon as I saw the shotgun in his
hands and the man that had run in to me my mantra changed
from my comfortable at this point "Ohshitohshitohshitohshi
tohshitohshitohshit" to the more frantic much more frenzied
and very incredibly surreal "imgonnafuckingdieidontwan
nadie imgonnafuckingdieidontwannadieimgonnafuck
ingdieidontwannadie "
He staggered slowly and drunkenly to my position. I felt
helpless and couldn't help notice that a puddle had formed
in my pants, yep. I pissed myself. What's the point of dignity
right now in the face of death? He was muttering to himself maybe
he was talking to me I didn't know it was if the world had gone mute except for
the sound of my heart beat and my ragged rapid breathing. He was finally over me
He stood over me and I couldn't help but notice the orange halo that formed over his head, a drunken aveng
ing angel had chosen me that night. It was strange I wonder if I would be seeing more of these halos around
in a few minutes. Kind of a silly thing to think in your last moments isn't it? whether you are going to be seeing
angels. Shouldn't you be thinking of something noble to say? Or at the very least I could piss myself again. My
vision constricted and I focused on the halo on my destroying faceless angel then the barrel of the gun was
leveled in my face it was like looking into a dark tunnel, and then time slowed to a creep. Reality frame by
frame. There was a noise and the pellets moved towards me it seemed in an agonizingly slow amount of time,
spiraling, expanding it was like standing over a closed rose and watching it bloom in slow motion. That was
the last I saw. A lead rose in bloom.
Les Baie,s!
Behrend Showcase
Kevin Roche
sophomore psychology major
was healthy enough to threaten to kill me he is
reached across my body to my left pocket and
really, really shouldn't be at that angle. Finally
a quick inspection I realized that much like
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his 7qc)14_,,./',5 C. 020/ Z
.174 c/
C go7d. I'4
4_,;6/1 ''7e •
A 4„,
The white truck I hit was
shoddy at best, it was hard
to tell from where I was lay
ing whether the bumps and
dings in the vehicle were
from the accident or were
there long before me and it
crossed paths, I tried to
push myself up on my, left
elbow, nope no fucking way
that's way too painful to be
normal, nope. Has to be
broken. My truck as I could
see it from where I was a lit
tle bit more than severely
fucked to hell and back. To
taled from what I could tell.
Soon though all thoughts on
the status of my truck would
be washed from my mind
with the next words that
came through the darkness.
5/,
r,/
The Ending' of Existence
II a inn II ~ - . ..), t for ~aikerß,
why in mi t'y
loii Iloirtunrre me so?
IDrlftiing on hoar (rions of death, dismay,
11 crumble crultnbile and meld
within the broken tildes—tides whtch toss,
turn, throwing me to unknown scenes.
Embers of lust pulsate deep in the
depths of my blood.. Do not misread
my fortune of triumph—fortune - of death,
dismay. I am the fire that burns
in your heart. Water that calms
your soul. Sun that shines on
your. beauty. Earth that flourishes
your talent. Do not forsaken me,
for I am not meant to be forsaken,
ever lying in the pyramids of , discoveries.
Discern the fact 1( exist in the universe.
Abolish blood that pumps through
itlhie roots of the trees. rve nothing left
to prove of my existence as summer leaves
darken, !Leave a layer of dust—layer of dust
whit , clll , drlifts slowly to the bank of the sea,
~c~o~l(lht(IIiing wut h IPoseiidon and his womdrous
w,ay ts , 110§it if °never airi the abyss
of it .1)0111 , .e and dliivtinity.
Emily Ginnona
lunior creative writing major