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Dancing The Game

Charlene Yang Naoma Howard

The breeze giggled and laughed, As I run, screaming,

ruffling her hair. through the dark regions of my mind,
I think of you-
As she danced, with the same faces,
the wind led her different names,
speaking the same hateful words
Billowing her dress, out of equally vile mouths,
Caressing her skin. until I am nearly suffocated by this-
a plastic bag over my head of
Eyes closed, emotions thick and tangible,
a smile drifted across her lips As I lay, beaten,
tossed aside like last year's toy,
And she danced slowly bent and broken,
to the song of her dream. I submit.
You win.
I forfeit this game,
and I didn't want to play by these rules anyway.
 •• I

I , : I ,, : "

A world, consumed in prejudice

and turmoil , Angels
Embodied injustice and hate
Until a seed was planted in the soil- Sean Sears
A vision of life in a fair and
equal state. If Angels
can fall from
The seed was provided water grace
and sunlight, And lose
But roots of opposing trees their angelic
firm in place face.
Stole its sustenance to prove their There will be
presiding might, one who can see
Allowing prejudice to rear its the Angel
ugly face. inside of me.

However, the seed was strong

and survive it did,
To spread its roots and braches over time;
Eventually towering over trees under which
it once hid,
Aboloshing problems caused from racist crime.

Its needs have augmented as the tree is so tall,

Although peace has triumphed, we cannot subside;
It is now a challenge for use all
To keep this dream alive.

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Another American Dystopia: J.C. Penney

Amy Love

Catalogs frighten me. While flipping through the paper on Sunday, I began to wonder what my life
would be like if it even resembled the paper-doll artificiality of the world portrayed in clothing catalogs.
I, being a teenage girl, would be nearly anemic--but with a healthy tan and rosy cheeks. Of course, all of
my friends and I would wear clingy striped sweaters in a rainbow of the "season's colors," along with
carpenter's jeans that, of course, had never seen a workshop. "Like, sawdust? Eww! It could, like,
stain my new chunky-heeled boots or something!" We would participate in 90210-worthy activities:
yachting with the pomade-headed guys, shopping with Daddy's credit card, or making ridiculous faces
at a photographer while posing in front of a white screen.

Eventually I, the funny-faced teenager, would grow up. I would never be in my late teens or twenties; I
would immediately become thirty-two after being sixteen for a sufficient period of time. Depending on
my hair-color and chest size, I would be filed into one of the following three positions: a suburban
housewife, a power-hungry executive, or a grown woman making ridiculous faces at a photographer
while posing in front of a white screen.

( continued on page 5)

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 Spark

Megan Barry

She dreamed of a world

Where equality was reality
and ignorance,
a lost thought
Where there was no black and white
because everyone was gray
She dreamed of a world
Where there was no minority
no hate
but she woke up to breaking windows
and burning crosses in the yard
She woke up to a world
Where minds are narrow
and life is hard
But his dream was shared by others
Men and women of every race,
religion, and color,
a dream that started as a spark
now bums like a fire
Haiku Thoughts in the hearts of people who believe
they can make the world better
Caroline Mann If everyone was blind
You wouldn' t know who to hate or
Captured butterflies blame
Are so beautiful to hold, We could be individuals
But they cannot fly and still be treated the same.

Rhythm of the sea

My small toe paints a picture
In the wet warm sand

4
(continued from page 3)

If had golden honey hair and a matronly bustline, I could become a housewife in suburbia. I could
always be found leaning in completely unnatural--but flattering--positions on doorways, or hovering
around my three children. When I was not leaning on doorways, I could be found hovering over my
rosy-cheeked children, two boys and one girl. I would spend the day tidying the house and happily
baking low-fat cookies for my children to eat after school--but only if they washed up and ate their
vegetables first. My husband, though rarely seen, would be an American-boy outdoorsman who main-
tains his manly figure by chopping wood in his trusty flannel shirt.

Perhaps I do not have the golden honey hair of the sububan housewife. I could always be a power-
hungry executive instead. Of course, a power hungry executive would never wear the holiday-themed
knitted sweaters of the suburban mother. Only a black, pin-striped powersuit with an attention-grabbing
miniskirt would do for me. Black clothing is the only proper choice for a wire-rimmed glasses wearing,
red nail polish-owning businesswoman such as myself. Despite my incredible fashion sense, though, I
would never show the warm smile of the suburban mother: I'm still ticked off about that glass ceiling.

If I can't fulfill the roll of the suburban mother or the power-hungry executive, but I look decent in a
Bali bra and support panties, I could continue my roll as a girl making goofy faces at a photographer
while standing in front of a white screen. Naturally, I would feel perfectly normal cooking, cleaning,
and attending PTSA meetings in my Bali bra-and-panty set. Who doesn 't enjoy lounging around the
house in comfort-fit cotton?

And so, my miserable existence would dwindle on, until I hit forty and grew a grey hair. Everyone dies
of grey-hair disease in the catalog world, except for the eighty-year-old women with permed blue hair,
who are resurrected from the J.C. Penney graveyard each year just in time for the Mother's Day Sale ...

5
 a black stallion. She was frightened, but the
man was kind to her, and extremely hand-
Jenni Williams some. They began to talk, and somehow,
somewhere, they fell in love. He was tall
The bright green countryside streched and dark, with raven black hair and rugged
out forever, until the rolling green hills features . She was petite and beautiful, with
faded into the vibrant blue sky. Rose long, flowing red hair and porcelain skin.
gazed out over the view, drinking in the They were a classically matched pair. Their
warmth of the golden sunlight. The love was beautiful and pure, and the con-
scene outside of her tower window was flict of their families hadn 't tainted it. They
breathtaking. She sat upon her dress- were destined to be together.
ing table stool, waiting for sunset. She
heard a clash of swords below, and Tristan and Rose had decided the week
glanced down. The knights were before to elope. Tonight was the night they
practicing their jousting skills. She were going to do it. Rose's bag was already
sighed and shook her head. Her father packed. Tristan was coming for her at
was always in preparation for battle. nightfall. She sat at her window and
He was such a violent, bloodthirsty watched as the sun sank behind the hills.
man, and she hated him. She didn ' t All she had left to do now was wait.
understand why he had to fight so
much over petty conflicts. Land, of all Eventually, after what seemed like forever,
things. Her father had so much prop- she heard the hooves of Tristan's stallion
erty already, yet he still insisted on clattering along the pathway, then the noise
fighting for more. His biggest enemy abruptly stopped. That was their signal.
was their neighbor, Tristan. There had She grabbed her bag and crept out of her
been a feud between the families for tower. She ran up to his horse, and he lifted
many generations. Their property her up to sit in front of him. Together they
shared a border with Tristan's family, galloped off to the chapel, where a priest
and they were constantly fighting over was already awaitng them. There was a
that line. Her father was always stag- short ceremony; then they were married.
ing attacks on Tristan. Tristan--her first They even had a castle already. It was
true love. She sighed once more. Why called the Castle of the White Roses and
did she have to love someone who was was located in one of the most remote areas
supposed to be her worst enemy? She of Tristan's property. The couple lived in
hadn 't meant for it to happen. She that castle in happiness for almost a month
thought back to the day when they had before the trouble came.
met.
Rose was happily sewing one day while
She had been walking in the meadow, Trsitan was fixing a few things around the
enjoying the sunshine, when a large castle. It was another normal, peaceful day.
man dressed all in black galloped up on Then the peace was shattered by the

6
clattering of hooves and the shout-
ing of voices outside. The hooves
came to a halt, and a single voice
echoed throughout the castle.
"Tristan!" It roared. "Show thy-
self!" It was Rose's father! Tristan
appeared in the rose garden, where
Rose's father was waiting. Rose
flew to stand in the doorway.

"What is amiss?" Tristan asked

politely.

"I will kill you! You made my

daughter a traitor, you blackguard! "
her father raved. Tristan simply
stood there.

"I will not deny it. I made her into a

traitor. However, I love her, and we
shall always be together." He said,
calmly and quietly. Rose's father
was enraged, and he lunged towards
Tristan, his sword poised high in
the air.

"No!" Rose screamed. She ran

towards Tristan, her heart beating
loudly in her head. She acted
blindly, throwing herself in front of
her husband. She watched as her father 's eyes widened in shock, but he was unable to stop the momen-
tum of the sword. It pierced Rose 's heart. He body slumped down atop the pure white roses. Blood
flowed from the wound, spilling out over the roses, staining them red. Tristan fell over her body, sob-
bing for his lost love. He lifted one of the blood-stained roses to his lips. A tear coursed down his
cheek.

From then on, red roses have been well-known symbols of true love.

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 Sententia Q&A
Q. What is Sententia?

A. Sententia is South Mecklenburg's literary arts magazine. It is published once a year by a nine-
member staff under the guidance of Mrs. Miklos.

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