From
the Desk of the Editor;
Hello
and welcome to Larks Fiction Magazine! In this issue we study the
fantastic realistically and the realistic fantastically. Today we
study life through literature of every day life.
Slowly
but surely we are thinning out our back log. We hope to reply to
everyone soon but don't be afraid to inquire.
In
big news we have finished editing Quentin Pongratz's book “Del City
Nights” and will be publishing it as soon as the cover art is
finished. We are pretty excited for our very first novel publication
and hope to have copies for sale soon!
While
you wait for Quentin's book check out our other great buys on
Smashwords.com!
Yours,
Daniel
J. Pool
LFM
Editor
Defining
Things
By Mercedes Lucero
beginnings
[bih-gin-ingz]
noun
1. the part of us that
couldn't last.
Origin:
mid-June; Our bodies were
like magnets drawn to each other, to the way we moved, to the way our
chests rose and fell, to the way our eyes met for brief moments
before they lost each other, to the way our bodies looked when we
were awake , wilting away in the naked summer sun, and to the way our
bodies looked when we slept quietly, like we were dead.
Synonyms
1. fascinations
words
[wurds]
noun
1.
the things we never used.
Origin:
late-June;
We never spoke about our lives. I never asked you about your mother.
You never asked me about my favorite type of day. We learned to speak
to each other in shades of dark blues and burnt oranges. Alone in our
rooms we would feel the way our bodies felt in the darkness speaking
to each other in a kind of sexual hypnosis, pretending our own skin
was the others.
Synonyms
1.
rules
electricity
[ih-lek-tris-i-tee
]
noun
1.
what we created.
Origin:
early
July; Perhaps it was the way we moved together like waves in the
ocean. We were tides rising to the shore and falling back gently.
Perhaps it was the way we were travelers swimming across each others
skin like we were whales searching for the surface.
Synonyms
1.
phenomena
constellations
[kon-stuh-ley-shuhns]
noun
1.
things we found on each others skin.
Origin:
nights
in July; We became astronomers when we dragged our fingers across the
soft parts of each others spines. We found moles and connected them
together like they were stars. I collected the stars from your body
and spread them across my eyelids thinking perhaps it wouldn't be so
bad to see what the world looked like without darkness.
Synonyms
1.
reflections
delirium
[dih-leer-ee-uhm]
noun
1.
what we fell into.
Origin:
mornings
in July; It was after the intoxication from each others saliva that
we noticed our bodies turning into phantoms haunting the the caves
beneath our tissues. We dreamed in silence, built houses out of empty
shadows that stretched across us like blankets but didn't keep us
warm.
Synonyms
1.
quicksand
toxic
[tok-sik]
adjective
1.
what we became to each other.
Origin:
late
July; It's because we were afraid, because we sensed the fear on the
other like a perfume. It's because we only lived in darkness to each
other, because we were afraid the light could expose us. Because we
weren't sure we wanted to hear the others heartbeat. Because we
disguised affection for attention. Ours was a connection of pure
mechanics.
Synonyms
1.
necessary
sailed
[seyld]
verb
1.
how we finally left each other.
Origin:
September;
It was how the pieces of us we'd left on each others skin began to
flake off like snowflakes. You watched as I tried to gather them from
the floor before they dissolved into nothing. It was long days that
turned to nights turning to days rolling over
and over again into the things we never said. It was feeling the way
you left the smooth parts of my thighs
possessed,
gripping the flowered hallways of my body.
Synonyms
1.
abandoned
blinded
[blahynd-ed]
adjective
1.
the permanent state we are now in.
Origin
forever;
It's the way we will remain constant to each other, a tragic
metronome in each others minds. It wasn't that we didn't want more
from each other, we did. But there were too many gaps we couldn't
fill. There are days when I am in the process of forgetting the way
you slid your hands over me
like
you were feeling wallpaper for bubbles, but then the breath you left
in pores on my skin
whispers
something I cannot hear and
blows them away.
Synonyms
1.
lost
#
About the Author;
Mercedes
Lucero blurs the boundaries of form with experimental storytelling.
She have previously been published in North Central Review, Whitefish
Review, and Burner Mag. She is currently a first-year MFA student at
Northwestern University. She lives, loves and writes in Evanston, IL.
The Water Cycle
by Melanie Cordova
Megan
liked the way Charlie smacked his gum. As she waited by her cubby
after recess, she watched him pull a warm crumpled stick of Wrigley
from his back pocket and peel the wrapper off with dirty fingers. She
even liked the way he bit off just a small chunk of the stick at a
time until only a few centimeters were left, then added the rest to
the wad in his mouth. The gum was juicy and a stream of saliva
dripped from the corner of his lips.
“Miss
Wells, pay attention, please.”
Megan
flushed and turned back to Mr. Wurthers, her fourth grade science
teacher. Her partner Chrissy, who sat next to her, giggled and poked
Megan with her elbow.
“I
am paying attention,” said Megan, her face growing hotter. She
wanted to push Chrissy away from her and run out the door. Instead
she straightened her back and pinched her thumb, trying not to look
at Charlie.
Mr.
Wurthers raised his very white, very thin eyebrows. “Oh? Then
perhaps you can repeat what I just explained?”
Megan
frowned into her lap and brushed a lock of her brown hair behind her
right ear. “Pre—um—precipitation.” She heard a muffled giggle
from behind her and out of the corner of her eye saw classmates
turning to look at her red face.
She
paused. Mr. Wurthers put his pointer beneath his armpit and crossed
his arms.
“And—uh—collection—”
“And?”
“And
evaporation.”
“The
water cycle,” said Mr. Wurthers, turning back to the board, “is
the way the Earth recycles its water. Plant life like trees and
vegetables play their part. We—”
Megan
felt her ears turn pink and didn’t hear the rest of his lecture.
She tore her eyes from her lap to steal a glance at Charlie. He
smiled and she could see the pink wad of gum between the gap in his
front teeth. Last week he stepped on her untied shoelace and tripped
her. The week before that he threw an eraser at her head. And at the
beginning of the school year Charlie brought two miniature cars to
play with during recess, which is when Megan realized she liked him,
even after he stuck his chewed gum in the convertible car and
pretended it was a person. She quickly looked away and settled on
Chrissy’s notes. On her paper was a diagram of the water cycle in
sparkly green ink. She’d also drawn a rainbow with her gel pens but
accidentally smeared it over the word evaporation.
It just said ration
now.
#
Liberty
Elementary sat tall on a hill in the center of town. At three-o-clock
children burst from its wide glass doors like liquid from a popped
water balloon. Steps wound down the hill alongside the street and
Megan played with the yellow fringe on her scarf with one hand and
held on to the railing with the other. She hummed to herself.
As
she made her way down step by step, she heard a familiar smacking
sound. She turned around and saw Charlie walking behind her. He waved
hi.
Megan
thought about the big storage bin filled to bursting with miniature
cars in her attic. Her palms dampened and she rubbed the moisture on
her scarf. Her heart raced as she said the line she’d been
practicing for weeks:
“You
wanta come play cars with me?”
He
stopped a few steps above hers. His red hair stuck out beneath his
hat over the ears. He sniffled. “Yeah okay. Gotta be home by five
though. Mom said I have to pick up the dog poop.”
They
reached the bottom of the hill and went off together down the cold
bright streets. Megan lived just two blocks away from Liberty in tall
row houses. The one where she lived with her father and pet lizard
Lizzy was the second one down the line. In between the sidewalk and
the avenue at least a dozen trees lined the street, each reaching for
the gray sky like stretching gymnasts. Their branches waved in the
chilly breeze and the leaves chattered as they walked by.
“You’re
gonna love them,” said Megan, pulling Charlie up the walkway to her
porch. “I’ve got tons. Dad let me pick some new ones out for my
birthday, too.”
She
pushed open the door and left Charlie on the landing while she ran
into the living room, shouting out the back window. “Dad? I got a
friend over! We’re going up to the attic to play!” When a muffled
voice answered her from the backyard she went over to her terrarium
and plucked Lizzy off a rock, knocking the lizard’s newly-shed skin
to the side. She cradled her in her hands as she ran up four stories
of stairs with Charlie to the top room, the row house’s attic and
Megan’s playroom.
Megan
handed Lizzy to Charlie. “Be careful, ‘kay? And don’t pull her
tail.”
Charlie
sniffed the lizard as she crawled over his hands. Megan rushed to a
shelf, grabbed her big box of miniature cars, and dumped its contents
over the floor by the window. The plastic cars spilled over one
another in a mountain up to her waist.
“Whoa.
That’s a lot of cars,” said Charlie. He grabbed a red racecar
with a yellow stripe along its side and met her at the window, where
she set up a street along the sill.
“Three
car pile up,” she said, knocking a tow truck and a mini Toyota into
the windowpane. The plastic clicked against the glass.
“The
rescue was going peacefully until Lizard Kong showed up.” Charlie
put Lizzy on the sill. She took one slow step backwards, away from
the racecar.
Megan
giggled and reached for more cars. Charlie smacked his gum. Outside
dark clouds gathered far above the tips of the trees. Their attic
window was level with the treetops, which swayed silently behind the
pane as the wind picked up. One heavy raindrop struck the glass as
Lizard Kong wreaked havoc.
Together
they created a road of old jackets and bandanas so that they could
race their mini vehicles. Megan chose a tow truck and Charlie grabbed
a Jeep.
“On
your mark,” said Charlie. “Get set. Go!”
They
raced on hands and knees along the arm of the jacket and over the
zipper at the collar. Their limbs pounded on the rough carpet of the
attic like unsteady horses. Near the end of the race by the bandana
on the shelf Charlie said, “And he goes up a ramp!” and lifted
his car to the finish line.
“Hey,
there’s no ramp there,” said Megan, out of breath.
He
nodded. “Yeah there is—it’s this pencil on the carpet, see?”
“We
didn’t put that in the rules.”
He
frowned. “You don’t need rules to play with cars, do you?”
She
pursed her lips. This isn’t how she imagined this day would go. If
he always cheated it wouldn’t be as fun. “I guess not,” she
said.
He
spun the wheels of his Jeep with his pinky as she sat back and tucked
her legs beneath her. “Okay, we can have a do-over.” He looked up
at her. “Do-over?”
Megan
grinned and they clambered over to the starting line again. Charlie
finished first once more but this time Megan didn’t mind. She
crawled to the mountain of cars and scooped a handful as if she were
drinking from her palms. Then she dumped the cluster in front of her
and picked through them. A truck. Another Jeep, blue this time. An
ambulance. Two race cars with flames. A big-rig.
“You
gave a good answer in Science today,” said Charlie as he put
another car in front of Lizzy on the windowsill.
Megan
grinned. “Yeah well I know a lot about that stuff.”
He
nodded. “Doesn’t Mr. Wurthers have a big head? Me and Peter are
always talkin’ about it.”
Megan’s
heart pumped faster. When she wasn’t playing or talking cars it was
hard not to suck air nervously through her teeth around Charlie.
“Huh-huh-huh
yeah.” She pushed her ambulance into the carpet. “Like a hot air
balloon head.”
Charlie
giggled at this and his cheeks flushed. Megan hur-hurred
again. Lizzy rocked forward and backward on the sill. Three raindrops
on the window pane came together and sped toward the bottom. The sky
darkened.
#
“Thanks
for letting me play,” said Charlie.
Megan
smiled. “It was fun. You’re good at cars.”
They
stood beneath a tree just across from her row house. Thunder grumbled
in the distance. The white houses washed out against the sky.
“Lizzy
probably shouldn’t be outside,” Megan said. She held out her
hands and Charlie put the lizard in them. She tucked her in her
yellow scarf.
“You
going to school tomorrow?” Charlie said. Now that he wasn’t
holding the lizard he shoved his hands in his pockets against the
cold.
Megan
nodded and felt her cheeks flush.
“We
could be partners if Mr. Wurthers lets you change seats.”
“Yeah
okay. Chrissy just draws all over our homework.” She thought of the
ration
glitter pen on their paper and got an idea to spell out the word with
her cars, which they’d left splayed across the attic carpet,
waiting like little landmines for Megan’s dad’s feet.
Charlie
started walking home but after a few steps he turned around. “You
want some gum?”
Megan
smiled. “You have some extra?”
He
shook his head no and walked back over to her. He reached into his
mouth and pulled out an enormous wad of gum. He bit it in half but
some of it got stuck between the gap in his front teeth. He handed
her the half in his dirty fingers. “You can have half of mine.”
She
tilted her head and looked at the bulbous pink mass. She wondered how
much flavor was left in it.
“Yeah
okay.” She took it from him and popped the gum in her mouth. It
felt waxy on her tongue.
Thunder
rolled. They looked up at the sky. High and far above the treetops
dark clouds dropped snow over the city. Before the snow reached the
top of the tall houses it melted into rain. And before the rain
reached the branches of the tall trees it faded into mist. Before the
mist reached Megan and Charlie it dissipated in the cold wind.
#
About the Author;
Melanie
Cordova is currently a PhD student in English at Binghamton
University studying creative writing fiction. She received her MA
from New Mexico Highlands University with a creative thesis, a
magical realist novella set in early twentieth century southwestern
Russia.
The
Headless Girl
by
Beth J. Whiting
Kimberly
was a headless girl. She wore a dress made of purple yarn. She went
to a school for misplaced people. The school was way out in the
middle of nowhere. A bunch of people went there. For example, people
who had toes for ears or people who had two mouths. They secluded
themselves in the school..
Kimberly
was nine years old. She knew everyone from the boy named Emerson who
had a hand in his face to Lindsey, the girl who had three feet. She
liked them and all. But she was getting restless.
The
school didn’t know it. But Kimberly had taken the hobby of long
distance running. She would sneak out when people were asleep and the
coast was clear. . She then would run for at least an hour.
Kimberly
had been doing it for a while. She never thought that something would
go wrong as she always quietly entered back through the glass and
back in one of the hundreds of bunk beds.
Yet
one night as she was running, she ran into something. Kimberly then
heard the thing crying. Then it screamed.
It
was a little boy.
“You’re
Sleepy Hollow!”
“Do
I have a horse?”
“No.”
The
boy’s voice loosened. He was still shaky but less frightened.
“You
are a girl without a head.”
“That
is obvious.”
“How
do you speak?”
“I
don’t know. No one knows why.”
He
thought it was strange. She thought it was odd herself. Seeing a
human boy around her age with just one nose, two eyes, no problems.
It was unsettling to her. He was a redhead with freckles. He was in
his pajamas in the moment.
“Why
are you up anyway? It’s late.”
“I
have a problem getting to sleep. I usually just sit out here and
watch the stars.”
“So
what’s your name?”
“Happy.”
“You
don’t look very happy.”
“Not
really. I haven’t been for years.”
Happy
what an odd name she thought. His parents must not have been
thinking.
“What’s
yours?”
“My
name is Kimberly.”
“How
did you lose your head?”
“I
was just born this way.”
“How
did they know you were alive?”
“I
had a heartbeat. My parents didn’t know what to do with me. It
wasn’t like they could show me off.”
“But
they love you right?”
“No.
That’s why they shipped me off to a boarding school as soon as I
was old enough. It’s a boarding school for freaks. I’m friends
with a boy who has a hand in his face. Things like that are ordinary.
So seeing you is kind of strange.”
“How’s
it like being in a boarding school for freaks?”
“Interesting.
You meet a number of peculiar characters. The leaders of the boarding
school are a bit scary though. How is a normal school like?”
“I
don’t know. It’s pretty much just bullies and snobs..”
She
took a break and decided to ask something risky.
“How
would you like to be friends with a headless girl?”
He
paused.
“I’d
like it actually.”
Kimberly
was excited about being friends with a normal boy. It made her feel
like maybe she wasn’t so unusual after all. Besides it gave her a
place to run to every night.
Kimberly
asked the boy what he learned in school.
He
said that he learned English, science, history, and math.
She
asked about the history part.
“They
don’t teach you history?” he asked.
“I
guess they don’t think it is necessary. I mean it’s the history
of your people. Since we don’t go outside the walls maybe they
don’t think it’s important to us.”
“You
really don’t go outside the walls.”
“No.
I’m the only one who does. I think they do it so we think that
there isn’t a world we’re missing out on. We do have a recess
though. Since it’s the middle of nowhere it’s not likely that
anyone would be gawking at us.”
He
smiled to himself, “I’ll teach you history.”
He
took his history book and started to read her stories that she’d
never heard of.
When
he taught her the Boston Tea Party, he had two cups of tea ready for
them.
“I
thought we would celebrate.”
Kimberly
thought it was corny but she liked it at the same time.
She
liked the tales of the traitors like Benedict Arnold and the duel of
Aaron Burr.
Happy
liked seeing her enthusiasm. He didn’t have that spunk. Maybe
having at your fingertips had something to do with it.
He
also heard that Kimberly didn’t have much access to literature.
She
said that all they had in her school were Babysitter’s Club books.
So he brought her The Secret Garden and A Little Princess. He stole
them from his sister.. He didn’t much care for them but they were
imaginative girly books. Kimberly adored them.
He
told her once, “You know I’m beginning to forget you’re
headless.”
“Thanks,”
she said blushing. How could you do that?
Happy
wanted Kimberly to try new things. That’s why he put his money
aside for her to get chocolates or stuff like that.
Every
time she tried a new candy bar it was like a new experience.
The
first time Kimberly tasted chocolate she was in heaven. It wasn’t
like that at the boarding school where she was fed only fruit and
vegetables.
Happy
was starting to have a crush on Kimberly when it happened.
Emerson,
the boy who had a hand on his left cheek was on the top bunk one
night. He woke up in the middle of the night. The room was surrounded
by bunk beds full of children. It was dark.
Emerson
tried to get back to bed but then he saw Kimberly get up from her
bed. He saw her look around for caution and then climb out a window.
He
decided to follow her immediately.
Now
it was against rules to leave the school premises but Emerson had to
know what Kimberly was doing. What would make Kimberly break the big
rule? The rule that was repeated a hundred times a day: Do not go
into the outside world.
So
he followed her. It was hard. Kimberly was in shape and he was not.
Emerson
ran through grass and mud. He had a hard time breathing. He was far
away enough from Kimberly for her to not hear him breathing. Yet he
was near enough not to lose her. Sweat dripped all over his body.
He
wasn’t insulted by any of this. He could understand the need to
want to be outside, not cooped in the school. That was why recess was
his favorite part of the day. However, when he saw her with the human
boy it was something different. She was laughing. She was practically
flirting with him. It just wasn’t right.
The
next morning Emerson went to the principal’s office to tell her
off.
Emerson
ended up getting detention because he admitted to being outside after
hours. But from the expression on the principal’s face he could
tell that Kimberly’s punishment was going to be far worse.
When
Kimberly was called to the principal’s office, she really had no
idea what it was about.
The
look on the principal’s face told her though that it was going to
be bad.
The
room was dark. There was a desk and two chairs, one by her table and
one for the student. There was a computer, a phone and white walls.
The
principal wore a black suit and had black hair wrapped in a bun. She
was scary. With her angry expression she looked like a villain.
Kimberly
sat down and asked innocently, “What is this about?”
“You
were seen outside at night with a normal last night.”
Kimberly
was taken back. Who followed her?
“Do
you know what the punishment for that here is?”
“Lots
of detentions.”
“You
should wish. I don’t know if you realize Kimberly but we are in
desperate need of parts here. People have an eyeball missing. Give me
the heart of the boy and we should be on good terms.”
Kimberly
was shocked.
“But
that’s cruel.”
“It’s
the way things work around here.”
Kimberly
sneaked off that night. She ran to Happy to tell him the problem.
She
was crying, “Someone snitched on me.”
“What?”
“They
found out I’ve been sneaking out and they want me to do something
unreal.”
“What
do they want you to do?”
“Take
your heart.”
He
was horrified by this. He immediately became scared of her and
stepped back.
“You
aren’t going to do that?”
“Of
course not.”
He
was relieved.
“I’ve
just got to find a way out of this.”
Kimberly
spent the week thinking up things to do. If she gave her the heart of
a toad would she notice?
In
the end the principal became impatient and sent for Kimberly at once.
“Show
me the heart,” she asked Kimberly.
On
an impulse Kimberly ripped it out of her own chest.
“You
can’t have his. But you can have mine.”
She
ran out to meet Happy.
He
was surprised to see her.
“So
what happened?”
“I
gave her my heart.”
“What?”
“I
figured that if I could live without a head I could live without a
heart.”
“That
was a risky decision.”
“That’s
what friendships are for,” she said and smiled at Happy.
The End
About the Author;
Beth J. Whiting was born
in 1983 to a large family of brainy eccentrics. At eight years old
she developed a love of books through the works of Roald Dahl and
C.S. Lewis.
Her short stories revolve
around underdogs in suburban settings, such as the one in which she
was raised. She currently lives with her artistic twin sister in a
tiny apartment in Mesa, Arizona.
Thank you for reading! We
hope you enjoyed it. Make sure to come back next week for more great
indie literature.
