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REBEL 56

Arts © Literary Magazine

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East Carolina University Published 2014

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Rebel 56 is an adventure. It pays homage
to the blossoming of travel in the 1920's
and 1930Ts"all the while highlighting the
award-winning work of the student artists
and writers of East Carolina University.

Table of Contents |
,

Animation* 2 |
Book Arts 8
Ceramics 14 |
Dance* 29 :
Digital Photography 28
Documentary Film* 36
Drawing a2
Fiction 48
Film Art* 70
Graphic Design 76 !
Illustration 84
Metal Design 90
Mixed Media 98
Music* 106
Non-Fiction 12
Painting 118
Poetry 126
Printmaking 132
Sculpture 140
Textile Design 148
Traditional Photography 156
Wood Design 164
Best in Show 170
Judges 176
Staff 17]
Production Notes 178
Special ~Thanks 1

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Copyright 181] :
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*Al] winning entries in marked categories can be viewed at www.ecu.edu/ cs-studentaffairs/rebel.

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MARIAH LEE ROSS

A New Millennium

Fiction

Chris and Ray were driving to the liquor store in ChrisT dadTs old
Dodge Caravan. Chris was keeping an eye out for Woodward Ave-
nue while Ray fiddled with the radio.

oSo do you think Vickie will be there tonight?� Chris asked.

oProbably, I called Lauren yesterday and she said Vickie was
spending the night with her,� Ray said, turning the dial past The
Goo Goo Dolls and Britney Spears.

oYeah, my dad will probably be hammered watching the ball

drop like he is every year,� Ray said, stopping at a local radio station.
: y é ? y Ps :

oHELL-O DETROIT? ItTs four oTclock and youTre listening to
the Motor City Madman, the Car Town Crazy, Mister--Marc
Maxwell. ItTs the dawn of a new century folks!�

oOh shit!� Chris said slamming on the brakes and making a hard
turn down Woodward Avenue in the wood-paneled tank.

oJesus!� Ray yelled.

oNow everyone is talking about the end of the world, this Y-2-K
debacle weTve got ourselves into. LetTs take some calls and see what
you all think about it. First caller, you are on the air!�

oSorry, I hate driving this thing,� Chris said.

Chris pulled into the liquor store. He parked far away from the
entrance to feel more clandestine.

oHello, my name is Victor.�

oHow-you-doing- Vic. May-I-Call-You-Vic? What is your opin-
ion on this whole Y-2-K thing?�

oPersonally, I think everyone is overreacting. I think we can
handle computers going off-line for a couple of days.�

oWho are we meeting?� Chris asked.

oHolliday Jones,� Ray said looking around the vacant parking lot,
oand why are we parked so far away from the entrance?�

oWho?� Chris asked as Ray got out of the car and walked over
to the alleyway where two homeless men were playing cards.

oHey Mr. Jones,� Ray said approaching the homeless men.

oWho you calling Mister? Gat-Damnit Ray, you know my name
is Holliday. Just Holliday.� One of the men said throwing down a
group of cards.

oSorry Holliday, do you think you could buy me and my friend
a bottle of Vodka?� Ray asked pointing to the Chris who was
observing from inside the car.

oItTs a damn shame"yTall young folk canTt buy liquor. Why,
when Earl and I were boys we could go down to the corner and
buy ourselves a bottle of that shitty West Virginia hooch that'd
keep a preacher hung-over on Sunday.� Holliday Jones said run-
ning his thumb over his lip.

50 | Fiction

14

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oAmen,� the other homeless man chimed in as he stuffed his
coat with bits of crinkled up newspaper.

oSo is 1t cool?� Ray asked.

oThat depends... why do you need this liquor?� Holliday Jones
asked.

oWeTre having an end-of-the-world party tonight... you know...
for Y2K and all that.�

oEnd of the World! Look around, the world of Detroit ended
years ago,� Holliday Jones said jumping up. oThe shit fell from the
sky, and set fire to the Earth.�

Holliday Jones used to work with Chris and RayTs fathers in the
Chrysler Warehouse. One day while inspecting the brakes on a
minivan a co-worker slammed the door on his head. ~This was how
most people explained his erratic behavior and mood swings.

oSo is that a yes?� Ray asked.

Chris got out of the car. Holliday Jones jumped at the sound of
the car door slamming.

They drove back to ChrisT house for a New YearTs dinner. Ray al-
ways liked driving by the old Chrysler building. Its windows, which
once housed so much life, were now completely frosted over. Ray
would always remember when his mom took him to visit his dad at
work. He remembered watching his dad inspect the engines. His
fatherTs eyes had a focus in them that had since been lost.

oGlenn you are on the air.�

oComputers are going to be the death of us all. Nazis built the
first computers to keep a tally of the Jews! Come midnight, the veil
will be lifted, and you will all see!�

oThe temperature must have dropped twenty degrees since
yesterday,� Chris said turning the heat up.

Ray pulled a pack of cigarettes out of his brown leather jacket,

oYeah, good thing weTll have our beer blankets on tonight.�

oYou need to get a new jacket man.�

oWhatTs wrong with the bomber?� Ray asked lighting a cigarette.

oMedia hype! ThatTs all this is. We get all worked up into a fren-
zy about something, and when the dust settles, we realize it was all
over nothing.�

oOther than the fact itTs an artifact?� Chris asked poking his
finger through a hole in the stitching.

oT bet Vickie would like the bomber,� Ray said following his
statement with a small jab at Chris.

oStop,� Chris said, holding back laughter and returning a few
jabs with his right hand, owe wonTt make it to the New Year.�

Fiction | 51

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oIT donTt think itTs crazy to believe weTre on the brink of a man-
made disaster. I donTt think most people truly understand the ex-
tent we rely on computers. ~Ten years ago, this may have not been
a problem, but we have computer technology integrated in every
level of infrastructure. Power grids may go down, water processing
plants, ATMs... nuclear power plants could shut down!�

oSo are you trying to nail her tonight?� Ray asked as they
turned onto ChrisT street.

oshut up man.�

oCome on, we both know you arenTt into Vickie for her person-
ality,� Ray said tossing the cigarette out the window.

~They both winced as the cold air crept into the van.

oWeTre here,� Chris said, trying to fit the van inbetween his
parentTs cars.

Ray got out and watched the vanTs suspension tremble awk-
wardly as Chris negotiated the narrow space.
oI hate this car,� Chris said as he got out.

Chris and Ray walked into the kitchen where ChrisT mom was
filling old milk jugs with water from the faucet. ChrisT dad was
changing the batteries in all the flashlights. His sister Claire was on
the cordless with her boyfriend.

oHey dad.�

oHey Mr. Boyed.�

oHey boys,� Mr. Boyed said testing the flashlights.

oHey honey, dinner will be ready in a little bit. Is Ray eating
with us?� Mrs. Boyed said checking the oven.

oYeah, weTre going to eat then go to RayTs house to watch the
ball drop.� Chris said.

oOh, sweetie, I donTt know. Have you been watching the news?
TheyTre saying we may lose power,� Mrs. Boyed said pulling a bag
of salad out the fridge.

oThey'll be fine Martha,� Mr. Boyed said sitting down at the
table.

oClaire, dinner.�

oOne second,� Claire said, still on the phone.

oClaire,�

oOkay, okay! ITve got to go, [ll call you later...� Claire said look-
ing around, and then whispering, o...I love you too babe.�

oSo Ray, howTs your dad doing?� Mr. Boyed asked.

oHeTs doing alright,� Ray said, fidgeting in his chair, ostill look-
ing for a job.�

Mrs. Boyed brought over a loaf of bread and a plate of pork
chops.

oWell you know weTre always looking for people at Mitsubishi.�
Mr. Boyed said, reaching for the bread.

oHoney!� Mrs. Boyed yelled, snatching the bread. oWhat about
your diet?�

oSorry,� Mr. Boyed said retracting his hand, oso what are you
two planning on doing tonight?�

oUm, probably just stay up and watch the ball drop, maybe play
some video games.� Chris said, stuffing his mouth with pork chops.

oAre you going to take the woody out tonight?� Mrs. Boyed
asked.

The Woody, the moniker that always made Chris cringe, was his
momTs name for the wood-paneled Dodge Caravan. Ray always
gigeled a little when Mrs. Boyed mentioned Chris otaking the
woody out.�

oYeah, ITm taking the van out tonight,� said Chris, sawing
through a pork chop.

oWell, be careful, make sure you stay warm tonight. Ray, has
your dad stocked up just in case?� Mrs. Boyed asked nervously
moving her peas around with a fork.

Chris and Ray got into the woody and headed over to RayTs house.
oSo do you think a lot of people are going to be there tonight?�
Chris asked as they made their way to the other side of town.
oProbably, I'll call a few people when we get to my place.�
oShould we call Vickie?�
oNoe.�
oWhy not?�
oBecause thatTs incredibly lame. Just relax dude, we'll have a drink
when we get to my place.�
oRay, is that you?� RayTs dad shouted as the two boys walked in.
oYeah dad, Chris is spending the night,� shouted Ray as the
two walked in with the bottle of vodka.
Mr. Harris was working his way through a case of Budweiser
and watching Dick Clark on the T'V.
oOh. HowTs your dad doing Chris?� RayTs dad asked without
turning around.
oHeTs doing pretty good, Mr. Harris. His new job at Mitsubishi
is working out really well for him.�
Ray looked down at the case of Budweiser his dad had gotten
into. It looked about half empty. Ray hoped his dad wouldn't
curse ChrisT father for being a oturncoat� and working for oa

Fiction | 53

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54 | Fiction

blood-thirsty Jap dealership.�

Instead, Mr. Harris leaned back in his chair and said, oThatTs
good to hear. Your father probably never told you how I saved his
hte back im 69,�

In reality, this was at least the fourth time Mr. Harris had told
Chris this story.

oYour old man and me were putting the axles on the frame for a
LeBaron...or maybe a town car? Anyway, we were fitting the axles
and out of nowhere�

oDad we have stuff we got to do,� Ray interrupted.

oOkay, okay. If you boys go out, donTt do anything stupid,� Mr.
Harris said as his eyes followed the curves of whatever teenage
pop star they were interviewing on TTV, oand there are some TV
dinners in the fridge 1f you boys get hungry.�

The boys were back on the road within fifteen minutes.

oSo where are we going exactly?� Chris asked as he drove the
woody along Jefferson Avenue.

oThe old Ford warehouse,� Ray said staring out over the black
waters of Lake Huron, and the thin layer of fog that loomed above
the surface.

oOh, itTs a factory party.�

Chris parked his car a few blocks away from the factory. Ray
took a big swig of vodka before getting out of the car. They
walked through the back parking lot where they saw two boys from
their high school shivering by a window.

oHey guys,� Ray said walking over to them.

oHey Ray, Chris. Climb in through the window,� one of the
boys said as his teeth chattered, othey started a trashcan fire in
there. ©

oHere man,� Ray said handing the boy the bottle of vodka,

othis will keep you warm.�

The boys helped Chris and Ray climb up to the window. They
jumped down into the warehouse. The smell of smoke saturated
the air.

oWe're probably going to suffocate,� Chris said as they walked
by an old assembly line.

oOur dads probably met in a room like this one,� Ray said slid-
ing his hand over the cold metal of the machines.

oI saw the Chevy assembly line once,� Chris said looking
around the room, oit was bigger than this one. They probably
made small stuff here.�

Ray followed Chris into the main room where a large group

cm

oWe need to get into bomb shelters after the ball drops.�

of people huddled around the fire. Chris and Ray were greeted
almost as warmly as their vodka.

Chris spotted Vickie outside the huddle talking to her friend
Lauren. She was wearing white boots and a white vest. Chris
kept trying to sneak glances at her face. All of her features were
enhanced by the light of the fire. Her lips shimmered reflecting the
dancing flame.

oTake a swig,� Ray said handing Chris the bottle.

After a few passes of the bottle, and a few awkward minutes of
silence, they found themselves in the middle of a conversation.

oWell the computers going down is a concern, but we hackers
are the real threat,� a boy named Jeremy said after his third swig.

oWe hackers?� Ray asked, oas in, youTre a hacker?�

oYeah,� Jeremy said.

oBullshit,� one boy said throwing an empty beer can at Jeremy.

oWhat? ITm serious. All of the serversT defenses are going to be
down. ItTs the perfect time to strike,� Jeremy said.

oT think the Russians are going to nuke us,� another boy said,

They all knew they were drunk when they started entertaining
the idea of their own TVTs killing them. It was around this point
the entire camaraderie that had been built up was broken as Lau-
ren and Vickie entered the huddle.

oHey everyone,� Vickie said introducing herself to the one or
two people she didnTt know.

oHey Vickie,� Chris said offering her the bottle.

oThanks,� she said taking a small swig, owhatTs your name
again?�

Ray held back his laughter.

oTtTs Chris,� Chris said introducing himself.

oWell itTs nice to meet you Chris,� Vickie said as her friend
Lauren whispered something in her ear.

It wasnTt long before the bottle was empty. A group of people
arrived with a few cases of beer and a hand radio. ~They turned it
to an A.M. radio channel that was broadcasting the ball drop from
Times Square.

oThere is a lot of energy in the air tonight. There is a lot of talk
about the New Millennium. Excitement, anticipation, and a small
level of fear as we count down the end of an era.�

Chris and Ray tried to talk to Vickie and Lauren, but found
little common ground. Ray cringed through her diatribe about Ab-
ercrombie & Fitch, and wanted to scream when she began talking
about makeup being over-priced. Chris stood there nodding his

Fiction | 52

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56 | Fiction

head and interjected with a sporadic oyeah� or ointeresting.�

oPhil, it looks more crowded this year than previous years.�

oPeople have come out tonight, as they have in previous years,
but I think most people want to be here in case the lights go out.T

oThe Banana Republic is my new home, oh-my-god!� Vickie
said putting her arm around Chris.

oMe too,� Ray said radiating with sarcasm.

oRay!� Lauren said. oWe should totally take you shopping.

oThat would be wonderful,� Ray said as he chugged the rest of
his beer.

oI need some new clothes too,� Chris began, onone of my
clothes fit me anymore.�

oEverybody!� a boy shouted. oTheyTre going to start the count-
down!�

oFIVE! POUR! THREE!�

Everyone in the warehouse began counting down.

oEWO! ONE!

The room flooded with silence.

STLAPPY NEW YEAR!�

Everyone in the warehouse cheered. A few girls grabbed a guy
to kiss. Chris looked over at Vickie, but she was giving Lauren a
peck on the cheek. He felt a little deflated.

After the countdown, a large group of people left. Chris and
Ray stuck around talking to Vickie and Lauren. Lauren walked
away to go chat with a guy on the football team. Chris, Ray, and
Vickie stood there talking for a while. ~They stuck mostly to topics
of VickieTs rampant consumerism.

oHey, I need to go to the little boysT room,� Chris said.

Just go into the other room,� Ray said.

oAlright, be right back,� Chri is said leaving the room.

Chris walked back into the small assembly room. He could hear
a few audible moans, but 1t was too dark for him to determine
their origins.

aD

Chris walked back into the main room, and saw Vickie in the
corner with Ray. ~heir faces a few inches apart. ~The two boysT
eyes locked.

Vickie turned around and saw Chris, oI better get going.�

Vickie went over to talk to Lauren.

oWhat the fuck was that?� Chris said, closing in on Ray.

oIT donTt know man, she just kind of cae ed me,� Ray said look-
ing down at the floor.

They stood there for a few moments. Most of the people were

14

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leaving the warehouse.

oYou knew I wanted to"T

oWhat? Screw her?� Ray asked.

oGod damnit Ray,� Chris said balling his fists.

oCalm down, it was just a kiss. No tongue or anything,� Ray
said taking a step back from Chris.

ChrisT mind was racing. The sick feeling of betrayal churned
his stomach. He didnTt even realize he had swung until he felt his
boney knuckle hit RayTs jaw. ~The sound of impacted flesh rang out
through the ruin.

oFuck you, man!� Ray said pushing Chris.

Chris threw another punch but Ray was too fast. Before Chris
knew what was happening, Ray was choking him from behind.
ChrisT attempts to pry RayTs arm off his throat were futile. ChrisT
knees gave out before Ray released him.

It took Chris a few minutes to catch his breath before he could
muster words, oI hate you.�

oChris,� Ray began, oITm sorry man.�

Chris stood up, and looked at Ray, oGood luck finding a ride

home, asshole.�

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Chris was driving home down Jefferson Avenue. He looked
out over Lake Huron. He remembered the time Mr. Winston got
drunk and tried to swim to Canada. His body was found half-fro-
zen the next morning.

Chris looked over at his passenger seat. ~There, sitting next to
him was RayTs leather bomber jacket. Chris ran his fingers over
the worn leather. One day, Mr. Harris told the boys that RayTs
grandfather was a fighter pilot in World War II. He brought the
jacket out to show them.

oThat old bastard shot down more than his share of krauts,�
Mr. Harris told them as he admired the jacket. oHe gave me this
old jacket when I was your age.�

Ray had worn that ragged jacket ever since. Chris remembered
how foolish it looked on him. At first, it was two sizes too big and
the sleeves hung over his hands. ~That was more than three years
ago. The jacket fit now, and after a while it stopped looking foolish.

Chris stopped the van.

Chris found Ray walking a few blocks from the warehouse. He
pulled the woody over and opened the passenger door. ~They didn't
say anything.

Ray got in and put the bomber on.

oDo you mind if I crank the heat?� Ray asked as his teeth chattered.

Fiction | 5/

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58 | Fiction

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The streets were filled with drunk drivers. Chris, being a little
less than sober himself, was trying to steer clear of major roads.
oThere are a lot of °em out tonight,� Chris said.
oI guess they're disappointed the world didnTt end.�

They drove through the darkness of the abandoned buildings, ad-
miring the wasteland. ~They barely noticed the other lights shining
in defiance.

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ERIKA DIETRICK
Silent Strength

Fiction

Dr. Anderson clasped his hands together until his knuckles turned
white, as he always did before he was about to make his prognosis.

oHailey, a lot of the symptoms you are describing sound like they
may be symptoms of depression. Depression can affect anyone at any
age, and itTs easily treatable with medication.�

I stared blankly at the doctor, long legs dangling off of the exam-
ination chair. What was I supposed to say?

oOh... I replied. { quickly shot a glance at my mom, sitting in a
chair off to the side of the room"she was staring back at me.

The doctor continued to ramble on about the positive results his
patients have had from this antidepressant, how sometimes therapy
should be used to supplement it. I nodded when appropriate""I smiled
like I was hearing a cute story about his four-year-old son.

I donTt know how things got to this point.

History class was boring as usual, our teacher droning on and only
somewhat teaching us incorrect material. I sat in the second row, note-
book open, the page facing me already covered in notes.

Suddenly, I felt a prick on my back. Confused, I turned around.
Nothing. I faced the teacher once again.

Ouch! Another prick, much harder this time. ~Two more, and another,
now three at once...the pencils landed on the floor beside me. I turned
around once again to see two girls in the back laughing hysterically.

Completely embarrassed and with the entire class silently w atching,
I stage-whispered, oCut it out, guys!� As if that would do any good.
Pee five more pencils pierced the back of my shirt. I star ed at the
front of the classroom, please stop, please stop, ple ase stop I repeated
like a mantra. The bell finally rung. I grabbed my bag, and I scooped
up the pile of pencils around my desk, as if salvaging whatever dignity

I had left.

oAre you feeling okay?� Mom asked as we drove home, her voice
a mix of awkward strain and concern. I stared out the antes even
though I felt carsick. This school was supposed to be better. Better
than the snotty private school I just left. T'm just an invisible nerd who
isnTt good at anything to these people.

oT just feel lonely and sad, I hate the girls at my school,� I said with

a heavy, tightened chest. I just want to go to college, or dr op out of
high school, or move out of the state, I thought. I just want to be left
alone, thatTs all.

oDonTt pass it to the center, Hailey!�
oHAILEY, get over here!!�

oYou tould try to pass it right to me next time...T

5

60 | Fiction

cm

I kept running down the soccer field at practice, eyes straight ahead,
pretending not to notice them. The Senior Girls. ~The Girls That
Hated Me.

I busted my tail down the field when my team had the ball at prac-
tice, wide open near the goal.

oPass!� i yélled. o1m open!�

The dribbler looked right at me, then turned to kick it to a girl with
two defenders on her. Sighing, defeated, I jogged back up the field to
defend our goal.

At the end of practice, all of the girls formed a giant huddle, guz-
zling water and laughing at inside jokes. I grabbed my water bottle
and rehydrated off to the side"I didnTt care to be a part of that. The
coach did his usual 30-second spiel about needing to work hard this
season and then let us go.

I met my boyfriend at the edge of the field, his practice ending

just after mine. I hugged him tightly despite his sweat-drenched shirt,

letting all of my frustration seep out.

oYour coach really needs to start playing you more,� he started, as
he always did after practice. oYouTre way better than any of the girls
on your team.�

Like that matters in a town like this, I thought. I knew he was right.

I stared at the little bottle of Celexa, twisting the bottle around in my
hand. The name sounded like it belonged to a rich celebrity, or maybe
a Martian.

I didnTt want to take it. Why canTt I just get over this? I thought.
Why do I have to be so weak? I twisted the cap off and peered inside
at the small brown pills.

In a way, I really wanted to take it. I wanted to feel better. I wanted
to stop crying all of the time. I wanted to stop feeling so tired. I want-
ed to feel happy again.

I pinched one of the pills between my fingers and promptly swal-
lowed it. Day 1.

oYouTre such a whore now, Hailey.�

I snapped around in my chair to face Matthew. The guy who was my
best friend last year.

oWill you freaking shut up, Matthew? ITm trying to actually use
study hall to get stuff done.� I pressed my pen forcefully to paper, my
face hot and my heart angry.

oITm serious,� he said. oNow that youTre with Derek, youTre a whore.
You guys have pronabe already had sex.� Both Matthew and his
friend Anthony snickered to themselves.

oWill you stop calling me that?! I thought you were supposed to be

Fiction | 61

my friend!� I snapped back at him, realizing how stupid my come-
backs were. I furiously scanned the room...no empty seats to move to.
Unfocused, I started doing problems from my Algebra II book, my
anger a destructive combination with my already-lacking math skills.
Suddenly, I felt a ruler go up my skirt. I jumped, startled, angrily,
oWhat are you DOING?!� I yelled as Anthony bent over with laugh-
ter and Matthew scooted close to me, moving his tongue around his
mouth like he was going to make out with me. Is this real life?
o..But seriously, youTre a slut, Hailey. And you barely have any boobs.�

It was the night of our first home game. And it just so happened that
we were playing my old snotty private school, St. PaulTs. | walked
across the field to the bench with my team confidently. Pll show them,
I thought. I canTt wait to show them how good I am at soccer and
smoke them! I bounced on my toes at the bench, unable to contain my
excitement for revenge.

Our obese, hung-over coach called off the starting line-up""which
included his daughter, her friends, the Senior Girls, and most impor-
tantly, not me. It was no secret that Mark Pack had a grudge against
my dad"the kind that only result from attempted petty competition in
a small town-~and it was apparent that he wasnTt going to play fairly.

I sat down on the bench as the starters took the field. ItTs okay, I
thought. Pll still play my heart out once m on the field, Pll show
them what Tm made of. The whistle sounded and the game began.

With only ten minutes left in the game, my disappointment had
turned to pure, unbridled anger. I sat still as a stone, arms crossed,
watching the blades of grass by my feet sway in the wind. I watched
the grass as everyone else played, and I was watching the grass when
the game-ending whistle was blown.

I shot up, ready to grab my bag and get the hell out of there, until I
realized that I still had to shake hands with the other team. Horrified,
I looked into the eyes of all of my old, snotty classmates, shook their
hands, told them they played a good game.

I started fast-walking across the field. The tears were already in my
eyes. DonTt cry yet, I canTt cry yet, I thought. I found my boyfriend
beside the stands and walked straight into his arms, burying my face in
his chest.

oWe gotta go, we really gotta go,� I whispered, my voice cracking. I
let out a sob.

In half a second, he had wrapped his arm around my shoulder,
sheltering my face from the parents and my jackass of a coach as we
almost ran past the open gate.

62 | Fiction

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oI canTt do this, Zach.� Sobbing and heaving hysterically, I gripped

his hand as we walked loops around the path near the school. oI hate
these people, and [| hate this town!�

oIT know,� he replied quietly. oYou donTt deserve this at all.�
oT mean it, I hate these people. Why do people always treat me this
way? I didnTt do anything to them!� I exclaimed right before hiccup-
ping with another wave of sobs. I let my tears wash over me, hoping
to cleanse myself of all the sadness I felt rushing through every vein in
my body...a coping mechanism at best. Between ZachTs s mentally ill fa-
ther and my struggles through school, we were used to coping together.

That night was a night spent alone. A night when I was so inside my
head that I couldnTt see. Cross-legged on the floor in my messy room,
I stared through a wall and remembered everything. All of the little
things over all these years, things that couldnTt be explained to other
people who werenTt there to see it. | wasnTt beat up or shoved into
lockers""girls donTt play that nicely. Even my old guy friends were
impervious to the pain they caused me.

I was mean to no one. I minded my own business. I went out of my
way to sit by kids who were by themselves. I liked learning and writing
and thinking, and I wanted nothing more than to go to college, where
I would finally be.

I just didnTt get it.

Day 13 of the Celexa, and I was feeling better. Not great, but good.
School had just started, and I was now taking all of my classes at the
University of CincinnatiTs community college about an hour away. I
loved my new classes"I loved the freedom and the new friends I had,
even if it was a little creepy that a fifteen-year-old would have adult
friends. It was almost like starting over. Brushing on eye shadow, I
smiled at myself in the mirror.

The school day was typical. | beamed as my first-ever short story
was read aloud in Creative Writing. My History class was boring, and I
learned about the parts of a cell in General Biology.

Mom picked me up from school, as usual""I wouldnTt get my license
for another year.

One year and thirty credit hours later, I felt as if I had been reborn
again as I drove to class my junior year, my boyfriend now sitting in
a seat beside me. This year was going to be the best: I had a car, I
was basically going to college, I rarely had to go back to my old high
school, and best of all, my boyfriend was now attending classes with
me. My medication, my boyfriend, and I could live out the rest of high

Fiction | 63

ls

It

school in an academic bubble until we could finally leave this black
hole of a town.

It was a dream. It was perfect.

I would survive.

I lived in my own happy space now, my own little world. My boy-
friend and I would go to our separate classes and then meet up for
lunch to catch each other up on our day. We would walk the paths of
the college, holding hands and talking. We would go to the park and
hike trails, or drive to FrischTs for dinner, or go to Walmart and walk
around, just cause we could. They were the best days with my best friend.

~1 month later~

\ oHailey...your dad got the job,� Mom said as we sat in the living room,
the television blasting. I was careful not to whip my head to face her"
rather, I just continued to stare at the television. oOh,� I replied.

My dad had been applying for a job anywhere and everywhere to get
out of here. When he applied for the directorial position at a hospital

| in South Carolina, he was one of hundreds of applicants. Doubtful
that someone from a small town with experience at a hospital that
served less than 10,000 people would get the job, my family and I only
watched with one eye as the other applicants were weeded out. My

| dad and a man from Washington had survived the interviews...and
now my dad had been chosen.

I was so proud of him"but I wasnTt ready to leave.

I had a life here now. I was earning college credit and going for drives
with my boyfriend and eagerly making plans for when I graduated.
But I knew that there was no way we weren't moving. [ wasnTt the only
one who had suffered from small town politics, subpar schools and in-
stitutions, and a lack of opportunities. My family wouldnTt think twice
about leaving after what we had been through.

eer

ThatTs great!� I replied again. It was somewhat enthusiastic.

The next day at school, I broke the news to Zach.

We stood in the middle of the hallway and just stared at each other.
He was speechless. I was tearful.

We watched each other silently, both in our own heads.

oWhat do you think we should do?� I asked hesitantly.

Zach looked at me sadly and anxiously, seeming to have a million
thoughts rushing through his head.

oT guess...we'll have to break up then...,� he replied uncertainly, un-
sure of what I was thinking.

64 | Fiction

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I felt my heart shatter into a million pieces. The thought of breaking
up with the best friend I had survived everything with"that I had
fallen in love with"was more than I could handle.
oBut...why?� I asked, my voice cracking. His face was tense, scrunched up.
oWell...,� he started, still speaking as if disoriented, oyouTre going to
live in Sou Caro lias now. �

oSo?!� I shot back desperately. oWho cares? We can still make it work!
I can come back over the summer and at Christmas...we would just
have to date long- distance until we graduated, like a year and a half.�
I was half-convincing myself that we could ele make that work.
oMaybe...,� he said, his eyes blank. I leaned in and hugged him as he
slowly wrapped his arms around me.

Later that night, he called me. oI changed my mind,� he started,
talking quickly, oI donTt want to break up. I want to make this work.�
He paused. oITm really sorry for saying that earlier. I canTt even imag-
ine my life without you.� I could tell he was genuine.

I smiled into the receiver despite a looming sadness of future separation.
oYou have no idea how glad I am to hear that.�

It was the day after Christmas...our scheduled moving day. All day,
we heaved boxes into a U-Haul truck and packed away the presents we
hadjust opened. It was an all-day job of taping, packing, heaving, ma-
neuvering, and reorganizing"a task that lasted long after the sun had set.
With just a few boxes to go until we were on the road, I stood out in our
gravel driveway. It was pitch black outside, save the stars and two street-
lights lining our dead-end road. I looked around me"-the ground was
covered in a blank slate of snow. I shivered in my light jacket.

I couldnTt believe this was happening"that I was moving away from
the house I had lived in for ten years, out of the school district I had
loathed for so long, away from the loving boyfriend I had grown so close to.
Maybe it was all a good thing.

I felt my cell phone vibrate in my pocket. With numb hands, I pulled it
out and unlocked it.
oWhen are you eee! read the text from Zach.
oAny minute now. :(� 1 replied.
oPm driving by in just a few minutes. Stand outside,� he texted.
oOkay, Pil look for you, I texted back.

I walked into the snow, halfway across a field that led to the main road
that our road branched from. I stood alone in the middle of a cold
white field and waited for his car. After about five minutes, I saw a silver
car driving 10 mph under the speed limit past our road and past the
field. Quietly, I raised my arm and waved slowly but largely so he could
see me. The car was almost at a stop in the road now.

I shaped my hands into a heart and held them in the air, unsure if

Fiction. 65

cm

he could even see them in this lightless world. From his rolled-down
window, he stuck his hand out the passenger side window, making the oI
love you� sign.

I smiled, my hands still in the air, my eyes already beginning to water.
Slowly, the car crawled down the road, ZachTs hand still out of the win-
dow signaling at me. He was almost out of sight now. I put my hands
down and waved. He was gone.

I stood there for a moment in the snow, not sure what I should do. I felt
a few tears run down my face, but I wiped them away""I didnTt want
everyone to see me Cry.

I looked up at the stars"they were brighter than usual tonight, despite
how far away they were. I took a deep breath and slowly exhaled. I
knew it was time to go.

I thought about the past few years in just a few seconds. I could never
forget what happened, the rough way my story had begun...but I could
decide how it would end.

I turned on my heel and trudged back to the house"a little sad, a little
scared, a little calm.

66 | Fiction

Fiction | 67

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ERIKA DIETRICK
The Grand Finale

Fiction

68 | Fiction

A small, powerless planet within the universe is nothing but a speck on
a black canvas. Despite our best efforts"our courage, cunning, and
commitment"we are once again just a bunch of puppets in a play,
forced to do and say and believe and love as our puppeteers command us.

This isnTt new""weTre used to the constant tug and pull, the loss and
temporary gain of freedom.

The Behemians decided that oBlair� was a good name for a puppet. |
decided that oBitches� was a good name for my puppeteer re | aucss
names that start with oBTs� is one thing that we have in common.

We eat their food and wear their clothes and listen to their music. We
fight and die for their beliefs and take care of their children... and yet,
they hold their heads high, smile at one another and say how well they
have treated us, how itTs like we were never even conquered, simply
living in harmony"

They will see what they want to see.

Commander Bitch is on her way, along with Assistant Bitch. She has
heard what I have done.

I donTt hide behind my curtains as usual, but instead open my front
door"I even wave. I see Commander scowl from inside her guarded,
tinted car.

At the door now, she is merely half a foot in front of me"a distance
meant to intimidate me...if her head even came to my shoulders.

oYou have slandered my good work in your article,� she states as fact.

oIT brought it to light,� I reply simply. oIt is my job to enlighten the
public.�

oIt has put you in a terribly uncomfortable situation,� she shoots back
tensely, firmly.

Smiling, oI feel more at ease then I have in years.� My thoughts, my
worde othese are things I will not let you control, I thought. Assis-
tantTs eyes widen, anticipating the backlash. The hand with which
Commander grips her gun turns deathly white. My stomach lurches.
Rapidly, I ramble to fill the deafening silence. oYou can try your entire

life to make us forget who we are, but I will always remember the
truth. Your grandkids and your grandkidsT grandkids can try fighting
us and taking from us, but theyTll never own us. Control of our lives
isnTt enough to control our spirit.� I pause, swallowing angrily. oYouTll
never own me.�

Commander yanks her gun from its holster, and I kick her square in
the stomach"~her finger pulls the trigger a moment too late, shattering

my front window. I start sprinting down the street.

Swallowing air like sweet candy, pumping my arms and legs, I know
they will find me-"I know I will die soon.

But for the first time in my entire life, I am free.

Fiction | 69

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Non-Fiction

Their footsteps do not make a sound...and why would they, sparsely
spread out along the sidewalks with hung heads and shuffling shoes?

Emotionless, faceless sleepwalkers.

My head is hung and my shoes are shuffling, with a scenic view of the
cracks in the sidewalk, thinking about nothing and everything at the
same time. Crack...crack...crack...check phone, crack...tired, crack...
donTt want to (crack) go... Suddenly, as if shooting up from underwa-
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students is completely and utterly silent.

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studying the patterns in the sidewalk.

I think if someone were to break the barrier of silence, like a wrecking
ball bashing through an unstable home, I wouldnTt hear it"itTs as if I
am on the other side of a glass wall""I can see someone on the other
side shouting and beating on the glass with a closed fist, but I hear
nothing. ItTs as if my ears have folded over, theyTre full of cotton balls,
theyTve been chopped off...or as if I am wearing iPod headphones.

ITm not wearing headphones, but I wish I were-"then I would have
a rhythm to follow other than the predictable melody of muteness.
Calm and quiet is nice, but zombiehood is decidedly not.

ItTs 8:30 a.m. on a Monday morning, and I am walking to class while
mentally cuddled up in my bed, enjoying a few more moments of
thoughtless inactivity and solitude.

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ERIKA DIETRICK

Mas Despacio, Por Favor

Non-Fiction

It is extremely lonely to be in a foreign country that speaks another lan-
guage. Not only can I not communicate with people my age to make
friends, but I cannot say the day-to-day things I need when talking to a
cashier, a taxi driver, a police officer. Everyday tasks that were habitual and
thoughtless in America are now a source of struggle and anxiety. People
are not patient, and they are not understanding. After a handful of times of
being laughed at in a store or scoffed at for not being able to speak Spanish
correctly, you begin to find ways to avoid interaction. I donTt mean to do it,
but I do. I hate getting looks that say ostupid American,� and itTs embar-
rassing to be in a room full of Spanish-speaking people when you cannot
understand a sales clerk or a waiter. ItTs embarrassing because even though
Spanish is not my first language, people hear my rudimentary sentence
structure and just assume that ITm stupid. They donTt think, oOh, sheTs just
learning how to speak another language, and she doesnTt know how to say
much yet.� No, they laugh"and not in a loving, poor-girl-itTs-okay-we-un-
derstand way, but in a youTre-an-American-and-you-obviously-donTt-know-
any-Spanish,-you re-not-wanted-here kind of way. Not everyone, of course,
but a lot of people. A tip from one of my Spanish professors? Just tell them to
speak more slowly so that you can understand them, she said. Mads despacio, por favor.
For asking them to speak more slowly, I get the double prize of a harsh
laugh and an eye roll.

I have always felt sorry for people in America who donTt know how to

speak English for this very same reason, but now I can truly feel their pain.
People in America scoff, and they like to say, oWhy donTt they just learn our
language?� Well, I have taken up that challenge in another country, and the
answer is this: you canTt learn a language overnight, and many of the people
around you arenTt going to help you along the way. Many of the people
around you are going to make you feel worthless and stupid""many of the
people around you are going to try to scam you and take advantage of you.
Many of the people around you are going to tell you to go back where you
came from, and many of the people around you are going to call you names
that they think that you canTt understand.

oSo, who cares?� say some people. oWho cares if they think you're stu-
pid?� Well, thatTs a lot easier to say when youTre surrounded by other
English-speaking people. ~UhatTs a lot easier to say when youTre not com-
pletely on your own, without family or friends, without familiar ways of life
and social customs, without a place where you can return to at night and
recharge your confidence.

Those people are right-"you shouldn't let other people make you feel stu-
pid. But thatTs a lot easier said than done.

116 | Non-Fiction

ERIKA DIETRICK
Saturday Stress

Non-Fiction

The ongoing drone of television noises echoing from downstairs.
SLASH, POW! POW!...BOOM! sounding from the room beside me,
each onomatopoeia a hammer incessantly banging against the wall be-
side my head. I, in my room, writing, really just sitting here. A typical
night at my familyTs house.

Thinking about how my Chemistry homework isnTt due until Monday,
but how it will probably take me most of one day, so I should really be
starting it soon. tonight? No, Pll put it on the list for tomorrow. Oh,
and I for got that that Biology lab report is due Tuesday, and I really
won't have time to work on it on Monday, so I should write that down,
too. I didnTt study Spanish very much, so I definitely need to catch up
on that. And it wouldnTt hurt to actually read the assigned pages before
the lecture on Monday...hmm, what else... my room is a mess. I still
havenTt applied for that scholarship. I can do that after my volunteer
trip...man, canTt he turn those videogames down?? Ugh, okay well,
this is a long list, T'm not sure if ITm going to be able to get this all
done.. aay, the only way I will get this done is if I plan out my whole
day. ItTs 11:00 p.m., so I have 30 minutes to plan before I go down-
stairs to watch SNL. Or should I just take a shower? I really need a
shower...but...Pll just take it in the morning. This list is so long, I re-
ally need to devote my time to Chemistry aoe first priority tomorrow.
Okay, think. Okay, maybe this would be a good time to map out my
courses for next year.. J should j just write them all down...I can take
Physics next semester, Organic, ao ..but wait, thatT sa lot Pll just
throw a drawing class in there and Exercise, too...ahh okay I'll look at
the rest later, plan tomorrow...Chemistry 1", lab report 24, Spanish
3° read during lunch...my heart is pounding. Breathe in...breathe out...
still pounding. I need to Google ways to manage anxiety...oh, itTs
11:30-"TTll just take my laptop downstairs with me, Ill look up anxiety
and then ITll check my e-mail while I watch SNL with them...

SNL isnTt very funny tonight, Facebook just for a pong © .Like-
LikeLike, sc roll, haha, oh my Oa is |:00 a.m! I havent
showered, I havenTt gotten anything done, I have so much to do oh
tomorrow is going to suck...

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AMELIA GAGE

Dinosaurs in the Sound

He wakes to the sound of electricity

soft and constant like hummingbird wings

just below the sound of his heartbeat

patiently plugging away from the corner machine
and he knows heTs not at home.

HeTs in the hospital again.

The fog must be the morphine

the pound must be his head

He wonders aloud if heTs ever treated his life the way that machine
treats his heart-

detached.

Unsympathetically reporting in,
beating with no purpose just repeating the last verse...again.

Through the window is a view of the sound,

where the morning mist plays tricks on the mind

This isnTt a Christmas Carol tale of ghosts and chains

just chain link fence and

long steel necks of container cranes that bow along the side of the
sound

My father"watches them approach each day,

bend and graze like herd animals long gone.

he says they should be extinct but damn if it ainTt something to see.

He misses his world,

tells me that when youTre sick you develop your own gravitational pull
but only if youTre lucky""and he must be lucky.

At home, its the cats and the dogs that surround him like the Pieta
and even though he suspects its to draw the warmth from his burning
body

he appreciates the company.

In here, he says its the same, just on a larger scale-

pulling family from their lives to orbit his bed

He sayTs weTre louder than the dogs but then

he cracks a smile and for a moment I can see the man I grew up admiring.

He says thereTs a hole in his heart where his love used to be.

I think about how I tried to fill that void in my youth

not knowing that there was nothing I could do to lessen the weight of
cynicism that he would eventually wear like a shroud,

126 | Poetry

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around his laughter heTs still a class clown

An artist with a painted face and an eye for color

even now, ITve seen the blood in his pale cheeks so often he looks
almost normal.

HeTs looking at the world like a series of compositions.
Had us stand by his bedside while he got out his fish eye

so that we could See how he was feeling.

View finders canTt find what youTre looking for, he says

you have to know how to make them see what you can and
based on this last roll"

I guess heTs feeling a little over-exposed.

The shutter speed on his heart is set a little slow

but thatTs alright ocause too much light can wash out your photo,
but the same should never be said about love.

He knows.

He lifted his hands that have never looked natural empty,
more sunspots on his knuckles than his face,

Said look, just there, while the sun is low

Can you imagine

there are dinosaurs out the window.

Poetry | 129

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AMELIA GAGE
Trigger Warning (| Should Have Said)

Being with you was like washing dishes without plates

Just hands in hot water thinking maybe

with enough leverage I could call it clean

a clean break in my spine from where you made a habit of bending me
into your favorite shapes

I should have told you I hated bridges.

I much prefer towers on horizons but I had you confused

with Kali, who stomped on VishuTs chest until he nearly bled to death
like him, I threw myself beneath you so that you would hurt me and
nothing else you loved

blind with rage and beautiful

I thought you would stop.

I still have days where I think I should have let you kill me
SurvivorTs guilt is an invisible illness

I joke about trigger warnings like paragraphs haven't brought me to
my knees

All the towers ITve built since leaving you are scarred at the founda-
tions from shallow breathing

and light sleeping

in the corner where I can always see you coming.

You are not Kali.

She started the world with her dancing

I should have known that that was me!

I drank the blood of Racktavijah and lost my way in the windmills of
my limbs

the whole time I was with you I was drunk and though it was you I was

drinking

I should have told you I wasnTt thirsty.

Meeting you was a twist of fate I should have ironed straight
when you asked me my name

I should have said

Nothing.

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Out there, embossed shadows of men
Stamp on through a still tender Night,
Past a still molten sun against
A sky of withered anthracite.

Internecine floods bite their flanks
And yet onward attrition stems
Them across the hypabyssal

Vistas, those landscapes it condemns.

Those stoic, marching bas-reliefs,
TheyTre homage to all darkened souls,
Shaded cold by trespassing wounds,
And livened by the deep drum rolls.

Soundless, out into oil dark pools,
Climbing up over crag and soot
They march atop that wretched land;
The true tired, the poor, underfoot.

Down, clustered above the briars
Tightly wound around the keystones
Of crumbled courts and blasted gates,
An ageTs spent, dishonored bones.

Athwart the sea 1s the party,
Spreading their purposeful diction;
Here, a numberless troop gone to
Affirm their violent conviction.

In the progress of savages,
Nervous out there, all in tandem
Go those hid dissidents marching,
Calling out Corupedium!

Their arms change, become sticks sharpened,
Moving wildly and unmanned

Yet in concert, one great shadow

Gravely brazed on the crimson sand.

When the reddened air and slaked earth
Have become nothing but the same,
Back to vast, empyreal fleets

They shall go, all made free again.

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Rebel 56 Staff

Editor
Assistant Editor

Designers

Faculty Advisor

Photography

Student Media

Film Crew

Copy Editors

Megan Burns

Jacqueline McAdams

Abby Rarig

Amanda Carden

Craig Malmrose

Henry Stindt Photographic

John Harvey

Yvonne Moye

Student Media Board

Evan Kidd
Brian Korff

Craig Malmrose
Lisa Beth Robinson
Angela Wells

Rebel 56 | 177

cm

Production Notes

Printer

Edition

Press

Stock

Typography

178 | Rebel 56

Theo Davis Printing
2,000 books

Komori Lithrone S40

Cover: Neenah CLASSIC Linen cover, 130|b.

Text: Inspire Earth dull text, 100lb.

Baskerville
Bodoni
Gill Sans

m ®
Se MIX

Paper from
responsible sources

Ee FSC*® C015782

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Special Thanks

Marcos Alices

John Dixon

The East Carolinian
Holly Garriott

John Harvey

Evan Kidd

Kate LaMere

Craig Malmrose
Yvonne Moye

Frank Pulley

Chris Stansbury
Henry Stindt
Gunnar Swanson
Phillip Winn

Pitt County Arts Council at Emerge
Theo Davis Printing

University Printing and Graphics

Our professors, families, friends, and

anyone whom we might have left out.

Rebel 56, 1/9

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Copyright

Rebel 56 is produced by and for the students of East Carolina
University. Offices are located within Student Media in the
Self-Help Building. The contents are copyrighted 2013 and
2014 by Rebel 56. All rights revert to the individual artists and
writers upon publication. Contents may not be reproduced
by any means, nor stored in any information retrieval system
without written permission of the artist or writer. Printed

with non-state funds.

Rebel 56 | 181

East Carolina University.

4

Rebel is a division of Student Media

SS

stions or comments to rebel@ecu.edu

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