Issue Twenty-Three, Volume Three

From the desk of the editor;

Welcome to another exciting issue of Larks Fiction Magazine! In this issue we are pleased to bring you two great word-smiths.

As we mentioned last week we are starting renovations on a new office in historic downtown Lindsay, OK. Stay tuned for Filozophy videos and pictures detailing the construction.

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Thank you for reading and make sure to comment and share us with your friends.

Yours,

Daniel J. Pool

LFM Editor

Poems by Angela Khristin Brown

Black History

Often I take the time to

Eminence feelings

On the things that matter most

Often I am reminded of

 past accomplishments

That makes me proud

Often I reflect on wisdom

Voices from God

Often I dream of images

That celebrates my fate

I often fantasize

Your beautiful passion

Your kind heart

Often when I think of you

I surrender history

Sweet Love

Savor the nectar of my sweet breath with your lips

Sample the essence of my forbidden fruit with your tongue

Cradle the concave of my body structure

Rock gently my figure from behind

And listen for passion calling you

Independence

Everything is perfect

      informality…

To each his own

     who has his own...

About the Poet;

Angela Khristin Brown was born in Meridian, Mississippi on January 5, 1969 by Ouida and Thomas Brown. She moved to Las Vegas, Nevada at 9 months old. She is a native to Las Vegas. She spent most of her life in Prerochrial School, where she wrote her first poems. She matured in college, over 25 years of classes where she earned 2 Associate of General Studies degrees in Fine Arts and Business, a Bachelor of Science degree in Post-Secondary Workforce Education – Business emphasis and 2 Honorary Doctorate degrees – in Fine Arts, Communication and Humanities. She currently works at the College of Southern Nevada gaming lab as an administrative assistant. Angela first poems were published in 1990. Angela vocation in life is to have others have an appreciation for her work and become a mentor for others to follow her dreams.

Angela was inspired to write poetry in grade school as she began writing rebuttal cheers in drill team, cheerleading and song leading at St. Christopher. She later played basketball and tennis at Gorman High School. She later spent time playing basketball at the University of Nevada, Las Vegas. Being competitive on the team as team captain, encouraged her to strive forward in her writing career.

Angela Khristin Brown is the author of over 20 books published around the world in many languages. Angela has published poetry, articles, essays, short stories, plays, documentaries, short scripts, songs, novelettes, how to books, and children’s literature. She has been published in magazines, anthologies, newspapers, books and on various web sites. She was awarded best book award for her book, “Floe try.” She has created a not for profit organization, Angela Brown Writer’s Group in Las Vegas.  In prose that soars with soul historical verse, Angela writes about cultural issues faced in society relevant to all cultures faced today. She writes about race, sexuality and morality as she writes from her experiences. She writes with great stature that grants her acknowledgement for her work.

And All Things Will End

Christina Dunavant

We had just arrived to the concert and sweat was already rolling down the insides of my shirt. Trish stood in front of me with a cigarette in her mouth and her make up in her hands. The heat was the only thing that made me almost wish I wasn’t here, but every time I would get a mild heat flash I would think about seeing Avenged Sevenfold. This would be the first time I would get to see them and I was not letting a little heat get in my way.

“People!” a woman with a megaphone yelled just a couple of feet away from us, making me flinch and drop the bottle of water I held. “Have your ticket out and ready to scan. No cameras, no drinks, no drugs, no weapons of any kind. If you have any of these, go back to your automobiles and keep them there or throw them in the trash before you reach the gates.”

When we approached the people at the gate, we thrusted our tickets in their hands and spun in a circle for the metal detector. Once we were cleared, we ran through the gates reveling in our freedom. I looked around in awe. The way people moved reminded me of the intersection outside of Shibya Station. Most people were in a rush to get to the next stage and the ones that were walking a bit slower were immediately pushed out of the way. Concession stands were lined up in the back while the outhouses were on the other side of the lane.

“Becca, what do you want to do first?” Trish asked while she scanned the area.

I looked around, trying to listen for any bands that I might know. The thought hit me like a slap behind the head. I turned to Trish with my eyes wide and a grin that showed some teeth, “We can look for a person selling passes to see the bands. Remember last year?”

Last year was the first time I saw a band in person. Papa Roach, a band that seemed to tell my life through their music, was there and were one of the bands that aloud fans to visit. We were one of the lucky few that bought a pass to see them after the concert. After I found out that Avenged Sevenfold was going to be here I promised myself that I would do whatever it took to see them.

Trish scrunched up her face and shook her head. “How about we go to a mosh pit right now?” she asked while grabbing my hand and pulling me forward. I snapped my knees shut and scrunched up my toes, trying to grab onto the ground for help. Trish ignored it and tugged me along with force.

I’m sure she thought that I was being reluctant because of the mosh pits. The last time I was forced into a mosh pit by her I lost a contact and broke my finger when someone pushed me on the ground and stomped on it. Though I did hate the pits, I was more disappointed that I couldn’t go look for any passes.

Before I thought about protesting, Trish stopped in the middle of the lane and turned her head to the side. I could almost see her ears twitch forward like a dog’s once it caught a scent. Her lips spread into a smile, the ends of her mouth stretching to her earrings. I turned trying to follow the invisible ray that came from her eyes. I noticed a concession stand that was selling drinks in multicolored bottles that were in the shapes of microphones, guitars, drums, and I’m sure a base or two.

Trish claimed that she never did have a drinking problem, she just liked the containers that the alcohol came in. I once made the comment that she could just dump the drink out and keep the glass, but she said that she had to get her money’s worth.

Trish grabbed my wrist and skipped to the stand. People stood around the small building talking and slurring their words. Some would throw their devil’s horns in our faces screaming something I couldn’t understand. We stood on the side of the line close enough to make it look like Trish was waiting with the others. She took out her wallet and her driver’s license. “Time to test this baby out,” she said, waving the card in front of my face.

My eyes moved with the license. Not being able to focus, I shot my hand up and grabbed her moving arm, stopping it from distracting me. I realized it was the fake ID her ex-boyfriend made her. She dated him for that purpose only and once he came through she left him. As far as I knew, she hadn’t used it.

I shook my head in disbelief. If she had done this at a bar or some club then I would understand. She always did stupid stuff like that, but this was too ridiculous to be risking everything we came here to do just so she could drink. I wasn’t ready to deal with the consequences of her actions tonight. She knew how important it was for me. Nevertheless, she hopped all the way in line and ordered a margarita

“Want some?” she asked while sticking the straw underneath my nose. The sickly sweet smell of tequila shot in my nostrils making me almost gag. I had not been able to drink ever since Trish and I did margarita shots, a game that we made up. It was the night of my parents’ separation and the last night I got drunk. Once I destroyed her bed she cleaned it up and washed my face for me. I promised her that I wouldn’t get that drunk again.

I shook my head and spotted a tall man standing in the middle of the lane holding up a green handmade paper megaphone. We ran up to him while he was yelling, “Want to see your favorite band? Get your tickets to see them after they preform!” He leaned back a bit with his eyes wide. I tried not to look crazy, but with my favorite band being here, I had to know. He slowly handed me the paper and I yanked it out of his hand, fixing my eyes on the band names. I got down to the third name until I spotted them. They were going to be on at 5 o’clock. I looked at my phone; it was 3:30 right now.

“Where’s the booth to buy the tickets?” I said, my words rushing out of my mouth.

He blinked, “Um, right behind me.”

Feeling like an idiot, I smiled and ducked past him to get in line. I had enough money to buy the tickets for both Trish and I. There were about 20 people standing in front of me. The music from the stage next to us moved throughout my body. I used it to calm me down and keep me from shaking. Now that I had a chance to meet them I couldn’t stop shaking. It was my chance to tell them how much their music had helped me throughout everything I had been through. Not to mention I had a huge crush on the vocalist, but they wouldn’t know it.

Sweat rolled off of my hair and in my eye making it hard to see. The liquid burned my eye making me squint. I heard screams come from the head of the line. I jumped up to see if it was actually them and the fedora, multi colored hair, and aviators were all the proof I needed to confirm it was them.

I started to shake, getting a little bit cold again. I couldn’t hold my cell phone without risking dropping it so I put it back in my pocket. People started calling out their names and girls were screaming while the rest were chanting their name. I stared down at the ground again.

“Please tell me you’re not thinking about telling them how much you love them,” Trish said.

I scoffed and shook my head. I was actually trying to figure out how to tell them they were the greatest band on the planet without sounding too weird. I didn’t want to be like the fangirls that gushed over them, telling them how sexy they were. Or like the guys and tell them how much they “fucking rocked.”

I made that mistake last year when I met Papa Roach. I told Jacoby how amazing his voice was and how hot he looked that night. I told Jacoby and Toby I loved them and I even cried a little. The band seemed down to earth and in the end they gave me a hug, telling me they appreciated me listening to their music. Even though I regretted doing most of everything, I did tell them the important stuff like how their music helped me through my parent’s divorce and how Scars reminded me of my father.

I wanted to tell them something that they hadn’t heard before. When I was going through the divorce I would listen to both bands. Papa Roach described my life, but Avenged Sevenfold was what kept me getting out of bed every morning. They would let me forget the pain that I was feeling and make me feel alive. I felt like I needed to thank them personally.

The line sped up and we were close enough where I could actually hear what they were saying. I clenched and unclenched my hands. My leg kept tapping even when I tried to stop it. We were almost up. There were a couple of people in front of us, but that was it. The sounds of their voices made me melt. Trish looked back at me and smiled and I smiled back.

Trish’s smile faded, “Oh fuck.”

I followed her eyes to the guy behind me. He was talking to a guard and pointing at Trish and me. The guard nodded and approached us. “Ladies, can I see your tickets?” he asked.

We handed him the tickets while we were talking about what we would say to the artists. The guard looked up and handed the tickets back while motioning for us to step out of line. “Have you been drinking?” he asked while looking at Trish.

Trish scoffed, “No! Of crouse I haven’t.”

Noticing the slight slur in her words, the guard nodded and grabbed both of our arms. “You do know that underage drinking is not allowed right?” he asked while pulling us towards the gate.

“How do you know I’m underage?” Trish demanded. I was wanting to slap her, but I knew that would only confirm the guard’s accusations.

“Too many years on the job, ma’am” he said.

Trish fought a little bit and still protested. I had tears in my eyes while I snuck a couple of looks at the band. I had lost my chance at meeting them and now we were getting kicked out of the concert just for drinking. Trish and the guard argued for a bit and then he pushed us out of the gates.

I stomped to the car while Trish was still yelling at the man on the other side. She run up beside me, getting her keys out. “Piece of shit. What kind of person does that?”

She rambled on about how no one in their right mind would rat out someone that wanted to see their favorite band. It wasn’t until we were almost home that she stopped talking. I never spoke a word to her. I watched the buildings and signs pass us by on the highway.

“So what? You aren’t going to talk to me now?” she asked.

I laid my head on the window and stared out the front, still looking at the signs and buildings. She waited for an answer, but I never did give her one.

“You can’t honestly believe that this is my fault!” Trish yelled, looking at me and then at the road.

“It was your fault,” I mumbled.

“What?” she asked.

I sat up straight in my seat, “I said it was your fault.”

She started to speak, but I cut her off, “It was your idea to lie about your age and start partying. If you had just controlled yourself and waited until after we got home then I would be talking to them right now.”

“So you are mad at me for ruining your little meeting with some stupid band?” she asked, her pitch getting higher.

I jerked my head towards her and tried to fill as much anger as I could in my eyes, “They aren’t stupid, Trish. You have no idea what they have done for me.”

“Like what? Calm you down when you got crazy? When was that, Becca? You do nothing so what could they possibly help you with? Huh?” Trish was screaming at me while she flung her arms about.

“They kept me from jumping off the ledge!” I yelled while tears filled my eyes, making it hard for me to drive.

Silence filled the car again. My sniffling and the squeaking of the tires were the only noises that could be heard. Trish finally spoke after a couple of minutes, but this time her voice was soft. “What do you mean?”

I wiped my eyes and my nose, “Nothing.” I didn’t tell her about the time that I was considering suicide when it seemed like everyone was leaving me. Trish moved that summer and I thought that she would never come back. My parents were leaving me and keeping me out of their conversations. My grades began to drop. I felt alone until I put on my headphones. It was too hard to relive my life by listening to Papa Roach. With Avenged Sevenfold I could fall away from my reality and create my own life. Once I found them I stopped feeling like I was alone and started becoming motivated. They saved my life, but no one would know about it.

Once I stopped crying I started arguing with her again. “God, you just have to have things your way don’t you?”

“What the hell are you talking about? Everything I do is for you, Becca.” She said with disbelief.

I mentally ran through the checklist that I had created when Trish forced me into things, “You didn’t like my boyfriend Bobby. So what did you do? You convinced me that he was cheating on me even though he wasn’t. You were pissed off because he was the one guy that sad ‘no’ to you.”

“That is so not the reason why I didn’t like him. That jerk was cheating on you. I saw him kiss a girl at the freaking bowling alley.” She said while pointing her finger at me.

I laughed, “That was his sister and it was on the cheek.”

I waited for her to come back with another comment, but she never did. This was the first actual fight that we had and I smelled a scent of victory for me. Everything I had wanted to say came out in that car. After she stopped talking, I unleashed all of my anger onto her. Every stupid thing she had us do, I brought up. Every time I took the fall for her, I brought up.

When she pulled into my driveway, she started crying. “I’m sorry, Becca.”

I felt nothing. She would always use some trick to get me to forgive her, but I wasn’t falling for it. I stared at my house, not looking at her. “I don’t care.” I paused and while I got out of the car, “When you get your keys tomorrow you can get your clothes that you have let me borrowed in the past.” I said.

Trish leaned forward, “Wait, Becca. I’ll be better. I promise.”

I shut the door and turned my back. All this time I was living in her shadow. I did what she wanted and hardly protested. Tonight was the last time she would make me suffer for her actions. It wasn’t until after Trish pulled out of the driveway that I started to feel a little stab in my chest. It was like a small needle penetrating my skin. Though even with the pain, I still stood tall when I walked up the steps and in the door.

The End

About the Author;

Christina Dunavant is an English major at Southeast Missouri University. She is a beginner writer that has yet to master the art of finishing a story. She is a previous journalist of the Spirit newspaper and is a lover of anything rock which she often uses as references in her stories.

Thank you for reading another exciting edition of Larks Fiction Magazine. From all of us here at HQ we hope you will join us next week for more indie art and literature!