Volition - Fall 2017 by Student Media George Mason University

Volume 24

volition

George Masonâ&#x20AC;&#x2122;s Literary and Arts Journal

CONTENTS POETRY Laurel Ferretti Mari Baz Soshinie A. Singh Joseph Mcguinness Alaina Johansson Dana E. Nickel Kristopher N. Heaton Irene Nudd Zeariah Webb

PROSE Madison Gaines Laurel Ferretti Marcielo Ampudia

Swan Song | 22 how i swoon | 32 PINK SKIES | 34

FALL 2017

ART & PHOTOGRAPHY Tirth Rami Emily Krause Nina Montazedi Veeraj Modi Hiba Hamwi Fareeha Rehman Lazaria Roseboro Meagan Arnold Julie Frappier TJ Matthews Ala Al Sindi

MISSION STATEMENT Volition serves to elevate the creative capacity of the Mason community by fostering freedom of expression across diverse mediums.

FALL 2017

Flaneur | Emily Krause | Film 4

Water Lily Blossom floating on the viscous surfaceâ&#x20AC;&#x201D; no one would never know of the silt sunken beneath youâ&#x20AC;&#x201D; your fragile petals, cupped hand outstretched as if reaching for a proffered apple snuck to you by a lover that you take and devour, rosy orb, you wait with all but your hands submerged in the Michigan murk

| Laurel Ferretti

Wabi-Sabi| Nina Motazedi |Digital Photograph 6

Alternatives if a wall is ever erected to separate a mother from her son. a father from his daughter. a child from his home. do not be surprised. to find me with a ladder.

| Mari Baz

Diwali| Veeraj Modi |Digital Photograph 8

The Escaped Luminescence A light shines in my eyes and there is a spark or twinkle as I communicate with him. He who can illuminate the dark crevices of my life. My eyes avert from his as they blush upon contact giving competition to the sun. And I radiate upon contact as I see the same being reflected in his eyes. The universe would collide to make sparks fly and my dreams come true. I watch him with a keen eye Like a meteor orbiting a planet Heading straight for impact And deep down I felt This collision couldnâ&#x20AC;&#x2122;t be avoided No matter my attempts to hold myself back The stars held something different in the plans And willed it to their command. Light returned to my life After many dark days Of hiding in the corner of loneliness I finally had someone to listen to my moonlit whispers. But, he thought that Darkness spewed from his fingers Onto everything he touched, Bringing wilting roses To decorate the brim of his bed For mornings to come And find decay at its best. Though, my sunlight cascaded Through a slit in his window Spilling into his eyes his density melted Into something new.

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He couldn’t help to escape The parting of my rays So he laid bare his darkness For me to obliterate.

And all I could do was watch on, Hoping that my tears would resurrect the magic In my star dust long gone.

Hence, he made me unleash a power I didn’t think I had But, it burnt us both Until we were nothing but charred stars In my attempt to will the forces I thought I could have some control over. Sadly, my stardust could do no magic there So our midnight laughs And ever green kisses Lost their hope When disappointment severed our paths. And I watched the on… I explored his eyes Searching for that light, That could save us both But I found His sun gazed eyes had dimmed To realize That after our numbered days I was the light which escaped As he retreated into the dark oblivion Once again Hoping with might That his escaped luminescence would return. | Soshinie A. Singh

W.I.N.G.S | Hiba Hamwi | Digital Photograph 11

Mother Natureâ&#x20AC;&#x2122;s Song Sent along a rocky road, with no shoes and no clothes, to find the pleasures of existence. Broken heart and broken mind, my hollow eyes, empty and blind, lead me on my path of resistance. All around me trees abound ears awake, but not a sound, nothing makes me feel like I belong. Ask myself where they have flown, the birds who've left me all alone and taken with them mother nature's song. How I'm aching for the love from a robin or a dove, but someone else receives their lullaby. God could never be so cruel, someday I will find my jewel, or could all of the love here pass me by?

| Joseph Mcguinness 12

yellow jacket yanking your stinger from the yellowing forearm of this body was the greatest epiphany a yawning mind could never ask to find. poison still embedded in the poor cells of young life, leaving traces of honey in his nose when I walk by. I tell him its just the way I take my yuengling.

| Alaina Johansson

Visible | Fareeha Rehman | Graphite 14

sweet water slick skin soaking in summer sunbeams raining, the river running swift to a destination much safer than this place closing my eyes against the heat I’m seeing visions of better times, suffering psychotic breaks to still feel you in my slim arms. she’s the sum of my efforts, she’s my sole possession.

| Alaina Johansson

â&#x20AC;&#x153;Enduredâ&#x20AC;? i am not weak. i am not a wild fire or a natural disaster. i am the thunder and lightning that escapes all the rain. i am loud and bright, and i am not ruined just because i have felt pain. i am strong, like the iron in a warship. i have survived your blasts and blazes. caked in my blood and coated in scars, i keep on moving. and i might be rust in color,

but itâ&#x20AC;&#x2122;s just a reminder that i was here for it all and endured. dne

| Dana E. Nickel

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Ace Space | Lazaria Roseboro | Digital Painting 17

Imagine Depression Do you want to know what depression’s like? Imagine waking up to your heart Being torn apart by something new Everyday. Imagine all it taking is something, Something not even existent. Imagine trying with all your might to Enjoy and be free. It’s right there, within Whatever’s happening, but you can’t Feel it. Loss and guilt tell you that No, you can’t enjoy that party all the Way to the end. Something you did Will always be leering in from Around the corner. No, you can’t enjoy The relationships you’ve been bestowed With. You’ll screw it up somehow. No, you can’t Connect with other people without Feeling some kind of pain at Some point. And yes, you are a burden To everyone in your life. That is what you’ll be told Everyday, a reminder petty enough To see through, frequent enough to believe. Imagine working to find the Right combination that medicine Can provide, just the right Amount to make you a Husk, unresponsive, overmedicated. | Kristopher N. Heaton

Imagine feeling nothing Because you’re too afraid to feel. Imagine remembering something Just out of reach: that feeling of Happiness and normality that Will only be there to Visit your pain. Imagine a house. There was once love, comfort, Perhaps even something to feel, But you’re empty. Everything’s gone. And it’s never coming back. Do you still want to know what it’s like?

veins | Meagan Arnold | Digital Photograph 19

Aim | Nina Motazedi | Digital Photograph 21

Swan Song The light filtered through the leaves and bounced off the bark, and Jasper swore he could see a person hiding amongst the branches. He closed his eyes, distracting himself with the cold grass under his fingertips and the sound of birds high above him. He thought of all the hours he spent in the grass when he was little, watching his imaginary friends in the trees. He remembered how they would swing from branch to branch, too happy to join Jasper on the ground. Now, as he wondered about the shadowy figure in the tree, Jasper could hear his older brother Matt telling him to stop daydreaming. “Focus on the reality, Bambi,” Matt would say with a crooked smile. “You don’t wanna end up like me.” But Jasper didn’t see anything wrong with ending up like his brother. Matt couldn’t seem to hold a steady job, but the brothers never struggled. One week Matt sold cars, and another he was a chef in a local diner. One day he was a substitute teacher, and the next he was a construction worker. It was amazing: Jasper didn’t understand how they weren’t homeless. For as long as Jasper could remember, it had always been the two of them. Matt never mentioned their parents, and Jasper never asked. He remembered when Matt took Jasper to get ice cream. Jasper came home with a black eye, but Matt didn’t ask any questions. He just grabbed his wallet and fed Jasper ice cream sprinkled with jokes until Jasper forgot the black eye. But those days were over, and Jasper was alone. “Focus on the reality, Bambi,” he whispered to himself. “Who’s Bambi?” Jasper’s eyes whipped open and looked around. He was in the middle of the woods, no one else should have been out there. “Are you planning on moving any time soon? You’re ruining the view.” Jasper’s eyes followed the voice up into the tree where he had seen only shadows before. A dark-skinned girl with wild curls sat in the tree above him. “Excuse me?” Jasper stood up nervously. He had thought he was alone. “You’re excused. Gotta say, I love a boy with manners. What’s your name, stranger?” His mind felt too cluttered to answer her question, but it didn’t matter because she was talking again before had a chance to open his mouth.

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“What are you doing in the middle of the woods?” She asked. Jasper stared, well aware of how rude he was being. How did she get up there without him noticing? “Well forget what I said about manners,” she mumbled, and cocked her head. “Do you lay down in the woods often?” That question caught Jasper off guard. He used to walk through the woods every day after school, his imaginary friends swinging from the trees above him. Jasper spent so much time there, his brother thought he’d rather live with the deer. Then suddenly he was finding a job, and there wasn’t time to lay in the grass or imagine people in trees. He tried not to think about them, but the trees crept up behind him in the auto shop, they found him in the office, they surprised him when he was vulnerable. He felt vulnerable all the time these days. “You’re not answering my questions. Focus on the reality, Bambi.” “What did you just say?” Jasper couldn’t control the waver in his voice. “I said, ‘focus on the reality, buddy.’” Jasper narrowed his eyes. The only person allowed to call him that wasn’t around anymore, but it seemed she knew that. “I was taught not to talk to strangers,” Jasper said, taking a step back. He didn’t trust the girl who knew things she shouldn’t. “What harm can I do while you’re way down there?” There was a slight smile on her face. “Or,” her eyes suddenly grew dark. “You could come up here and see what harm I’m capable of.” Her smile was a wolf ’s smile, and Jasper moved even further away. She laughed, and the darkness slipped from her eyes. “How about this: a question for a question.” Jasper was skeptical, but felt himself nod. “Perfect! We’ll start off easy. What’s your name?” He told himself not to tell her, but his mouth had other plans. “Jasper Swan. What’s yours?” “Nice to meet you, Swan Boy. Do you-” “Wait,” Jasper ignored the nickname. “You didn’t tell me your name.” The girl paused as if she hadn’t considered it. “Cally, short for Calypso,” she declared, as if it’s the most average name in the world, as if she just picked it at that moment. It suited her. “Now, Swan Boy, do you lay down in the woods every day?”

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Jasper didn’t want to answer her, but the weight of her eyes wore him down. How could he answer without mentioning Matt? It seemed the two were so intertwined, it was impossible. He finally settled on just saying “no.” The girl, Cally, seemed satisfied. “What are you doing in the woods?” he asked, and her smile was nothing but secrets. “I have absolutely no idea.” “Are you lost?” “Not necessarily.” Jasper threw his hands up in frustration. “Then what are you doing in a tree?” He asked, incredulous. Cally looked into the distance. “Surveying the land!” She exclaimed. Jasper was not amused, but smiled anyway. “Swan Boy, don’t be alarmed, but I’m going to jump on you.” “Wait, wha-” suddenly Jasper was on the ground again, struggling to breathe. A head of brown curls and freckles appeared above him. “You spend a lot of time laying down, did you know that?” Jasper glared, but she just smiled. She reminded him of Matt. Suddenly Jasper realized he didn’t mind being on the ground that much. She stepped out of his vision and he found himself craning his neck to keep her in his sight. “Are you coming, or what?” “Coming where?” He asked, scrambling to his feet. She cast a look over her shoulder that stopped him in his tracks. “On an adventure.” She winked, but she wasn’t flirting. It was the kind of wink that held an inside joke, that an old woman would give her grandson, the kind that said she knew something she shouldn’t. The kind brothers would share. He liked it. “Where are we?” Jasper has explored the woods thousands of times, but he hadn’t been paying attention to his surroundings. He couldn’t bring himself to look away from Cally. She tilted her head again, and he couldn’t help but think she was listening to the wind for the answer. “That’s a good question,” she called back, as if the wind answered but she swore not to tell. “Well where are you from?” He asked, making Cally laugh. When they stepped out of the shaded calm of the woods and onto the frantic edge of a highway, Jasper was slammed by the heat radiating off the asphalt. For a second, he thought she hadn’t heard him over the sound of cars rushing past. “That’s another good question.”

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“What do you mean? Where are we going?” He didn’t understand why she couldn’t be straightforward with him. She turned, the wind from the cars bouncing her curls in a way that felt dangerous. “I know where I’m going. Do you?” Jasper tried to meet her gaze, but his eyes stuck on her freckles. “You’ve been asking me a lot of questions. Are you sure I’m the person you want answers from?” Jasper felt the breath leave his body. No, she wasn’t. He wanted answers from the man who drove the car that night and from the shooter in the passenger’s seat. From the person who threw the party, the girl that invited his brother, and the guy who pressured him to stay just a little bit longer. The first responders, the doctors, the liars in lab coats. He wanted answers from the police officers, the jury, and the judge that declared ‘not guilty.’ He wanted answers from the one who couldn’t hold a job, the person who was mother and father, the man who threw himself in front of others instead of onto the ground when he heard gunshots. The only person who called him Bambi. Jasper wanted so much, it haunted him. It crept up behind him in the auto shop, it found him in the office, it surprised him when he was vulnerable. It was the sound of his voice, his reflection in the mirror, the shadow in the trees. Cally tilted her head, and walked onto the road. “Are you coming?” Her voice was the light filtering through the trees. The cars sped past. “Where are we going?” He asked. She smiled, and he trusted her. “On an adventure.” Jasper’s mind was an empty slate, and he handed her the pen. Jasper followed her onto the road, numb. Cars honked at him, but Cally’s voice was all he could hear. Jasper thought of Matt, and screamed.

| Madison Gaines

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Sapphic The love of by for women sacred seas of Sappho, Greek queen of my aching heart. The island of young ladies longing, love millenniums far beyond, your poems dipped in feminine beauty. We have not forgotten your fragments in the arms of our lovers in the solace of our sleep. If I be Greek for â&#x20AC;&#x2DC;hopeâ&#x20AC;&#x2122; let your hope guide me home to the island of Lesbos where I shall roam.

| Irene Nudd

Swish | Julie Frappier | Digital Photograph 27

Going, Going... | TJ Matthews | Digital Photograph 28

The Seamstressesâ&#x20AC;&#x2122; Daughter your mother defied laws and traditions to give birth to you. your very existence on this universe is both a miracle and a revolution. you were born to light candles and start fires with your tongue these days why is it that I see you getting hurt instead?

| Mari Baz

Fern | Julie Frappier | Digital Photograph 30

Soulful Hands Your hands are beautiful full of promises, I see Ideas form the lines that cover your palm and they speak to me whispering along my face they chase my bad thoughts away. They leave trails of warmth down my arms and collect the tears that drip down my face. Itâ&#x20AC;&#x2122;s been many years since Iâ&#x20AC;&#x2122;ve really cried. Let myself actually feel what is real. You should feel pride; For your wonderful hands have done something no one can. They pulled a broken thing from a drought and placed it into a sea of hope. I know for a fact without a doubt your hands have saved me.

| Zeariah Webb

how i swoon your footfall drops on the cement outside where I wait sound echoes my heartbeat matches your step stepped in the way I remember from those old films and the lover was coming to give his lady a long kiss but not too long before I see you and though I feel peaceful my lungs jump with excitement for you will steal my breath as your palm’s gentleness remembers my neck and I can’t help but swoon under your touch and my foot can’t keep from popping upward because the dream of you has come alive and improved upon itself to come and woo me gently into slow dancing to Sinatra and late nights of ice cream with your arm around me while the documentary plays and my two sips of your frozen margarita before we kiss in the sand and into a dream better than my imagination could write as my skin responds to your touch in a way that my bones know you as my favorite choice

| Laurel Ferretti

a dayâ&#x20AC;&#x2122;s work | Meagan Arnold | Digital Photograph 33

PINK SKIES She wrings her hands together. Back and forth, she rubs her palms and strokes her knuckles, over and over again, until she feels her own warmth gather and spread. We’re standing on opposite sides of an old wooden bus bench, waiting, and staring ahead at the empty roads. My hands clench the soft fabric that lines the inside of my jacket pockets and I realize that at this particular moment, I’m thinking about nothing. “It’s gonna snow,” she says. The abrupt sound waves rise above her and eventually falls over us, slowly, scraping each section of our exposed skin. I’m not sure whether her comment is directed to me or if I, by chance, had caught an escaped thought. And so I wait to respond, but as I watch her try to wrap the tips of her long-sleeved shirt over her hands, I almost forget to. “How do you know?” I ask, my feet now pointing in her direction and I feel my lips, without my consent, rise to a small smile. “The sky is pink tonight” she says, starting the sentence with her eyes to the sky and finishing it with a glance in my direction. “That’s not a reason,” I say with a small, inaudible laugh that forms into a grin, almost a smirk. She shrugs and looks away, away to the street lights that shine green and wait for cars to pass under its legs, but there are none passing by tonight. My head tilts up, above the lights, her words still swirling in my mind. The sky, setting up to close at dusk, is a spectacular blue color with wide pink streaks flowing across, and against my better judgment, I think that snow would be nice tonight. The pink streaks look as though an artist cleaned her brush, left the room, and when she came back, realized her painting was already done. So very nonchalant, so very beautiful. “I saw your set tonight” she says, breaking the silence once again. “...What?” I perform in the city sometimes, mostly in open mics, and mostly to a small crowd of strangers. “Yeah, I saw you” she says, “playing at Gypsies.” “Impossible,” I hear myself say a second before she finishes her sentence. She laughs a little and repeats, “I saw you.” I think about the chance that we were both there, and now met here, like travelling in parallel lines that somehow skewed; long lines fusing into a singular point once again. “I liked it,” she says, pausing to breathe into her hands. She traps a small ball of warm air

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between her palms before finishing her thought, “your song.” The complement means more than she could yet know, and I hold onto it for a long time. “Thanks” is all I say. But I think about how nice this feels, to know that someone listened, and someone cared. “You a musician then?” she asks and looks at me with a curious expression, as if she knows I don’t know how to respond. I’m dressed the part with my guitar strapped on my back, but I don’t know what to tell her. To say yes feels like a lie for I know it is only a dream of mine. “Henry, artistic expression is a wonderful pastime,” my family tells me, “We’re glad you have one.” I tell her what I tell my them; “I play as a hobby.” She nods and wrings her hands again. Don’t believe me, ask again. But she doesn’t, not today. “What do you do?” She thinks about my question, squinting her eyes a little. “I write,” she says, and her gaze turns away again. “About what?” It’s so easy to talk to her. And I feel that if she asks the right questions, I’ll reveal anything. As she thinks, she shifts her lips to the side and plays with her bus card in hand. “I’ll write about this,” she says, turning her head in my direction, “except I’ll change my name to Sarah and it’ll be from your point of view. Sarah laughs, I’ll begin, and I realize it’s because of something I said. She laughs and laughs... Her voice trails off, carried by a sudden gust of wind. The wind picks up and we’re immersed in it, losing our balance. She grabs onto the metal bus stop sign and I lean into the back of the wooden bench, one hand grabbing on, the other, I wrap around my guitar strap. I can’t stop looking at her, even now, as the wind picks up again. I see her raise one hand above her head and wrap her feet around the bottom of the bus stop sign. She’s laughing, I can feel it as I lift my arm over my head, as if I were trying to reach the tree branch above. But the wind howls louder, the streetlight shines yellow and a car finally passes by, fast, swirling dead leaves from the ground up to the air, where they circle around. We hold on until the gusts die down and the leaves fall again, scattering around the streets. The bus arrives, and it is almost empty, but with so many choices, we end up sitting on opposite sides of the aisle.

| Maricielo Ampudia

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Choose | Ala Al Sindi | Digital Photograph 36

Letter from the Editors We joined the Volition team our freshman year, simply as staff members. Two years passed and we got the chance to head the magazine we both loved by ourselves. Volition exists to give students the opportunity to express themselves, and we were excited to provide this, now as editors. To George Mason and Student Media, thank you for giving us the venue to vessel and encourage the voices that make up our school. The support we have received is astounding. To our incredible staff, thank you for all the hard work you put in this semester. Your work did not go unnoticed and your dedication and talent helped this magazine become what it has. And to all who submitted, thank you for sharing. The amount and quality of submissions we received were record breaking. Your submissions tell us you believe in us, and that we’re doing something right here. We couldn’t be more grateful. Please keep writing, keep drawing, keep singing, keep taking pictures. Keep creating. Volition wouldn’t exist if it weren’t for you all. Your words and art have more power than you think.

Sincerely, Karolina Blaziak and Ayleah Hanton Executive Editors

STAFF

In Association with the Office of Student Media

Executive Editor Ayleah Hanton Karolina Blaziak

Prose/Poetry Prose and Poetry Editor Fizza Fatima

Art and Photography Art and Photography Editor Valerie McKenna

Graphic Design Design Director Anya Cooke

Public Relations Public Relations Officer Katherine Beutner

Faculty Advisor Jason Hartsel

Kim Bartenfelder Zaria Talley Madison Hoffman Lauren Billy Danielle Maddox Tiffany James Autumn Hutson Malek Salhab Macayla Smith Sarah Gwynn Elisabeth Angeley Hannah Brennan Michelle Levi Drew Rainer Emma Patterson Sabrina Huffman Alanna Milstien

Emma Hultgren Julia Rankin

Get published! Submit your prose, poetry, art, photography, and short screenplays to:

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