Kazden Bracket
Fieldwork
Henry Woodland
The Experiment
Jscob Elordi Poem
Olive Parker
Bones and the Angel
T.C. Hell
A flat massive thing already
Jane Dabate
Cup Drove Daisy
Reid Williams
Made on Honor, Sold on Merit
Sunset Limited
Rachel Dastgir
The Rabbit
Sedrick Chisom
G 32 22 32
— C A L I B U R N
NGGHS don’t usually go in the woods. That was the reason Jacob found his black ass limping around in the pharmacy. He was looking for a pacifier and some first aid to address the wounds he had invited from a young buck. Naturally, this encounter had taken place last night in the woods on Road A. He had found himself in the forest after smoking a chubby whale-shaped spliff on the hood of
his raggedy blue 2003 Honda Civic, tripping, in every sense, over nothing. After taking several initial hits, Jacob decided to go for a stroll in any direction. There was no real reason to do this other than that he was trying to get high and look at some trees.
Before long he had found himself surrounded by many trees. He stopped to take another drag of the almost-completely-dwindled-to-the-butt-end spliff. Then a wild young buck appeared. It was small, white, had three peculiar antlers, and looked more like a starving polar bear than a deer, but couldn’t have been, since polar bears had long since been made extinct in the year XX93.
Jacob squinted his heavy bloodshot eyes and stared at the buck’s antlers. What was so fucked up about them (aside from the odd quantity of them) was how they looked. They were shaped like wild airbrushed flames on a monster truck. On top of its crown projected a smaller, centrally-located antler in the form of a tiny cross. He couldn’t process it. The buck lowered its head. It looked like it would attack Jacob like a trained bull. Jacob threw the butt-end-spliff at the tiny creature and ran. The animal caught up with Jacob and rammed itself into his back. The cruciform antler penetrated one butt cheek and subsequently broke off from the buck’s head. The young buck turned towards the direction of Jacob’s car and ran.
Jacob was a paranoid weed smoker. He assumed the buck was heading in that direction in an attempt to destroy his worthless vehicle. Jacob pursued the buck. He, however, wasn’t fast or sober. He fell over himself many times, earning new scrapes, scratches, and other records of his stroll in the woods. When he had finally gotten back to his car, it was already too late. There, on the right side of the vehicle, was the damage. The thing had charged right
into the always/already busted whip, breaking all of the glass on the passenger side and leaving an imprint that looked like Phoenician characters and Arabic numerals. It almost read: “G 32 22 32.”
He turned his neck upward and tilted his head in response to this weird shit. He heard a loud snort and turned around. It was Him: the young buck. The buck was facing Jacob. It stared, indifferent to his presence. The creature stared then slowly turned to re-enter the woods. Before it disappeared back into the woods, he heard another snort come from the creature. It sounded like: “Bich’ä negus.”
And then it was gone.
There Jacob was, limping along in the pharmacy; his sorry ass still hadn’t fully processed the events of the night before. “Bitch NGGHS,” Jacob uttered again under his breath as he was deciding which pacifier to buy. He really had heard the buck say it. But he was questioning if there really were numbers imprinted on his car. Perhaps it had instead spelled out ‘GENESIS’ in code? Jacob decided
he wouldn’t think about it. His attention defaulted to the selection of pacifiers in front of him. He knew he didn’t need the pacifier as much as he needed to quit smoking in the woods, or as much as he needed Band-Aids, cotton swabs, and hydrogen peroxide.
Once he had made his selection – a charming baby blue pacifier with a yellow strap – Jacob went to search for some painkillers. As he limped towards the painkiller aisle, he felt his right butt cheek sting. His mind wandered back to the moment last night in which he had pulled the crucifix from his ass like the sword in Excaliburnian myth (without the aura). Jacob had yelped at a volume that registered at
several octaves outside an ordinary NGGH’s pitch... He only looked with wonder, with those bloodshot eyes of his, at the half-bloodied broken tine that was lit by the moon. He held it up towards the sky... His thoughts returned to the pacifier. Yet, from then on, Jacob was no ordinary NGGH – not since he had gotten rammed by that
young buck. He didn’t know that, however.
— I WILL NOT LET YOU GO, UNLESS YOU BLESS ME
Present day. Present time.
Nighttime, meadow, raining hard. Jacob, 5’7” – little NGGH. Box haircut with fade, boxing gear, all red. Dorky headgear, gloves, low top boots. Sluggish, sweating, breathing hard, exhausted, right butt cheek still stings.
Smiling pink NGGH, Ancient of Days. 32 feet tall. Very big, very naked, very pink. Covered in leaves, bald rock-shaped head, triangle-shaped halo, thick grey beard, glowing aura, heavyset. Several watching. A single owl – probably the devil. Clan NGGHS. Some seen. Many unseen. Big yellow eyes, foaming at the mouths.
Jacob is keeping him off so far. Can’t land a single punch. Can’t take one either. No blow connects. So far, so good. Pink NGGH patient, can take a hit, probably could take a bullet. Jacob can’t take a hit, Jacob can’t take a bullet, Jacob not smiling. Pink NGGH smiles. Jacobis fucked.
[Yakub, from now on.]
Pink NGGH picks Yakub up by the leg. Shakes him like a piggy bank, spins him around. Yakub is dizzy, close to puking. Pink NGGH smacks Yakub back and forth on the floor. Several teeth lost, most teeth broken, broken nose, twisted ankle, a lot of bleeding, some wounds external, lots internal, would have brain damage if it weren’t for headgear, lost a boot. Flew off somewhere. Still conscious. Pink NGGH slams Yakub into ground. Yakub planted in ground, at least eight inches in, more external bleeding. Bad. Pink NGGH just getting started. Yakub had enough, referee just standing there. Yakub can’t stand on his own. Pink NGGH digs Yakub out of ground. Pulls Yakub’s left arm off, starts beating him with it, left boxing glove flies off somewhere–
— P U T S O M E R E S P E C T O N M Y N A M E
If it hadn’t already been clear, Yakub’s encounter with the buck in the woods was one of the worst nights of his entire life. Yet somehow, this was even more traumatic. Yakub had received the Word, a vision in which he would fight a hopeless match against Him. YHWH. Would have his name changed forever after. Last night, he had just gotten home to receive some much needed rest after being attacked by the young buck. And just as he had parked his busted-up car, before he could even unbuckle his seatbelt, before he could catch his breath and say, “Damn,” his eyes had
rolled to the back of his head; a cross was burned onto his face like 21 Savage; he was chanting descriptions of what he saw using his own idiosyncratic vocabulary (‘Pink NGGH’ being preferred to ‘YHWH’) and convulsing wildly. He wanted none of it.
Yakub felt his body sink through the car into the depths of The Streets. Yet he felt completely still at the same time. He would vomit later that day. Inside The Streets, he heard loud whispers that spoke their revelations. The Streets spoke to him like James Brown gargling on shards of glass. It lasted for just seven seconds, but felt as if he were there for hours. He was exposed to the entire history of The
Streets. During this time, his peripheral vision darkened. He saw nothing but a tiny hole, a small sharp aperture of light. By looking into the aperture, he was able to observe his fight with God.
YHWH took the form of a large, happy, sunburned-red, naked, toothless, bald, old white man with a beard. He smiled for some time, and played with Yakub a little, like a man with a restraining order but limited visitation rights plays with his children. And then, without ceremony, he ripped Yakub’s ass open and picked him apart like a seasoned crab with potatoes. But Yakub, somehow, had still
survived the encounter in that vision. He just came out hurt. Very badly hurt.
It wasn’t as if he was totally surprised. He had gone to Sunday school enough times to understand that God was going to hurt him at some point for something he had already done, or for something he was bound to do. It was clear from the way Yakub had lived up till that point. He had been seeing several women and calling each
one his ‘wife’. He had even cheated his twin brother out of his inheritance. And even though the word ‘amends’ was not in his vocabulary, he hoped it could go either way in the end. God might even cut him some slack if he got his shit together and prayed during the last seconds of his life. The expectation was just, in Yakub’s mind, that he would catch the beating after his life had ended. Not before. And not with YHWH standing over Yakub, beating his chest, and
repeatedly chanting, “Put some respect on my name.”
Back to consciousness. The cross still seemed to be permanently burned onto his left cheek. He wouldn’t be able to remove it as he had removed the cruciform antler. And he was sweating a lot. And what do you do when you receive a prophetic vision of getting smacked by God Almighty as a brolic, naked, Pink NGGH? Well, the obvious thing would be to call the police – which is what Yakub did.
— T H E S T R E E T S I S T A L K I N G
“So, if I understand you correctly, you’re telling me that a very tall, naked, pink–”
“Big pink-type NGGH,” Yakub interjected. “Whole body was sunburned.”
“Yes. This pink yeti man. Where was your vision? Where exactly did you encounter Him?”
“In the woods.”
“Where did you receive your vision from?”
“The Streets,” Yakub said.
“The Streets?”
But The Streets were impossible.
The two officers left. Yakub sat there, sulked. Neither officerhad written a single thing he had said. Finally he lit a camel-shaped spliff and took a hit. He was rubbing his cheek to feel the cross-shaped mark. He pulled out his cellphone to get a good glimpse of his face. When he was done feeling himself, he looked over to see an old light-skinned black woman, who looked like his mother – or at
least looked like she was just as judgmental as his mother – hunched over glancing at the totaled side of his car.
Her salt and pepper hair was pulled back. She was wearing
a yellow, disk-shaped hat that was tilted upward to the left. The disk had flowers decorating the its full circumference. She wore a matching yellow skirt, with a matching yellow purse, and matching yellow gloves. To top it off, she was wearing a fresh pair of red Air Force Ones.
“She probably milked the church basket to buy all that gear,” thought Yakub.
As if she could sense that Yakub was observing her, she turned around and shot him a look that was as judgmental as the one he was giving her. “What you looking at, boy?”
Yakub didn’t reply.
“You Isaac and Rebecca’s son, ain’t you? Why don’t you come to the church sometime to receive the Word?”
Yakub knew what church the old woman in the red Forces was talking about. The pastor was an old slimy black motherfucker, who put lye relaxer in his hair, had all of his front teeth encrusted with diamonds, and was too busy staring at all of the “sisters” in the church to deliver his sermons about how he used to be a drug dealer and a pimp. Sister Teresa, Sister Gwen, Sister Lisa, Sister April, etc.
“That hen-pecked, two-for-one NGGH ain’t got nothing to say to me,” Yakub shot back.
“You watch yo mouth, before I go upside that monkey-head of yours. If you showed up, you’d know when and why He left messages for you.”
“He?”
“The Lord.”
“What do you mean?”
“G 32:22-32.”
The old lady turned towards the car, pointed at the side that the young buck had rammed. She opened her pocketbook, reached into it, and pulled out a small 3”x 3”x 3” navy blue book, then handed it to him.
“I’ll be back for it.”
Yakub was too lit to understand anything she said. He was also too lit to make out the characters on the blue book and so assumed, in characteristic paranoia, that she had handed him the Big Book. He was offended. There was only so much harassment he could take. Yakub was done the moment the young buck had railed the cross into his ass – he had no more fucks to give. Yakub stood up and
stumbled down two steps from his stoop. He took a big hit from his spliff, walked up to the old woman, and blew a thick cloud of weed smoke directly into her face.
“I already told y’all I’m not going to no alc–”
Almost as if premeditated, she responded by striking him across the mouth so firmly that a jolt pulsed through his body. The sting felt unsettlingly familiar. The old woman, quite sluggishly, walked away. Yakub kept running his mouth. He hadn’t realized he’d already stuffed the book into his pocket.Colton Karpman (Founding Editor)
Editor’s Note
Dilara Koz (Art Director)
Em Bauer (Illustrator)
Isaac Zamet (Poetry Editor)
William McGuire (Prose Editor)