"The Dried Tomato"

Vaqueros in Brooklyn, NY

by Angela Pailevanian

Six in the morning, Ruben woke up for his shift at The Dried Tomato, a sandwich shop in the Lower East Side. Ate breakfast, brushed his teeth, put on the weird-looking hat, and off he went to ride the subway to work.

"Ruben, you're late!" Alice said. She was like the veteran of the place. Eighty years old and still working. With at least 20 grandchildren.

Ruben apologized and ran into the back to get his apron. Conversation continued amongst the workers.

"Hey Riley! Have you caught the kid that threw a baseball through your window?"

"No! I can't even fix it, I'm two months behind on rent. I swear that kid's gonna get a beating when I find out who it is!"

It was noon. People were pouring in. The orders were accumultaing quickly.

"I want a turkey bacon sandwich, hold the mayo."

"I want a chicken sandwich on wheat bread, and fries on the side."

"I want a large coke, with a bacon sandwich, no tomatoes though."

Around 2pm, a boy walked in. He had on a Led Zeppelin shirt. Green eyes. Dark skin. Looked like he was ready to kill somebody.

"Welcome, what do you want to eat?" Ruben asked.

"You want to know what I want? I want to know why my father left. But you can't tell me that, can you? Nobody can. Not even my momma. Now she's three months behind rent, he aint paying a dime and we're gonna get evicted."

"Oh. Well I'm--"

"You have any idea what it's like to grow up without a dad? Watchin' my momma struggle every day, not comign home. She's got five kids. Six including me. I'm the youngest."

"How long has he been gone?" Ruben asked.

"Oh, he was gone before I was even born. Momma said she met him at a bar out in Buswick years ago."

"What's your momma's name, son?"

"Ayleen."

Could it be? The Ayleen he met in Vaqueros 15 years ago? The boy had Ruben's eyes, Ruben's nose, Ruben's slick straight hair. But she never told him anything, never called him. They broke up just as soon as they had gotten together.

Ruben stayed silent for a moment. Then he said: "Man, if I found my father now, he gon' wish he never left my momma."

Ruben shook his head and tried to stay focused on the food: "What do you want to eat, son?"

"The Great Four Guardians"

by Christopher K.

[Circa 2009. End punctuation by Christopher K. -- ed. ]

Everyone thinks gods are a myth but...

They would be wrong.

When God created the World via the Big Bang Effect and the first Act of Evil took place, with Adam and Eve eating the Forbidden Fruit placed by a Fallen Angel named Lucifer who wanted all the power to himself: God created men known as Guardians.

Crafted to assist him in the defeat of Lucifer, they each carried one of the elements that made God who He was: Earth, Air, Fire, Water, Light, Darkness, Chaos, Twilight, Balance, Nature, Existence, Cosmos, and Ultima.

Each person had a mate to reproduce with so with every new child the element would pass to the kid as well. What was the point? To keep Lucifer and his minions in check and the world safe. Back to the main issue...

These four kids were children of Guardians and soon figured out they were needed to carry on their father's work: Zane Eison Hatake of Fire, Blaze Eison Hatake of Fire, Alister Rizon of Light, and Getsu Fuhuma of Existence.

These four would one day be known as The Great Four. In 1583 they discovered that they each had a symbolic relationship with one another. The great war in Japan in the early Edo period took place in the year 1611 and ended in 1614.

The Great Four fought in that war to prevent an evil Warlord named Kazwki Ino-moto and his 10,000 troops from taking over Kyoto. The Great Four only had 500 in total to help the cause. Even though outnumbered severely.... They still had their powers which they mastered but unfortunatly the Warlord also had a gift. Power of Darkness he had.

The result? Total destruction... of the Warlord's men!!! As for the Great Four against Kaz.. A dead draw.

But legend says Guardians permanently never die.. will they return? If so, is this still a myth?! or True? you choose! end?

[300 film is released in 2007; Last Airbender film is released in 2010. -- ed.]

"Song"

by Jessie Baum

The playground was covered in children, all cutesy clothes that would have been tacky on anyone else but were unbearably adorable on tiny people on monkey bars. To the mothers (and occasionally fathers) that lived near 9th Street, the playground was a place to let their children off of their little leashes and chat with friends. Only one man didn't know anyone else at the 9th Street Playground. The dirty man lying on the bench.

He was technically breaking rule #45-A of Parks Service Public Conduct (“only guardians and their children may enter”) but he didn't care and the police weren't about to bother him. They weren't eager to encounter him again.

The parents, for the most part, ignored him, though occasionally they'd snatch their children away from his radius. He was tired, and wanted to sleep, but as soon as he drifted off, a child's shriek would rouse him. He was about to slouch off when a little girl, thin with slip-on-shoes and droopy socks, danced up to him.

“Are you his daddy?” She pointed at a little boy trying to do the monkey rings.

“Go away, kid.”

“'Cause he says he don't got a daddy and I said everyone has one and that's when I saw you, and you look like him.”

He squinted at the boy. He did look like him.

“What's your name, kid?”

“Song.”

“Song, if that's your real name, I don't got a son, okay? So leave me alone.”

She cocked her head. She actually looked a bit like a bird, with bright dark eyes and dark hair. He closed his eyes and prayed Caroline wasn't the child's mother.

“Why?”

“Why what? Go.”

“Why should I go?”

“Cause I don't like kids.” He did his best fierce homeless-guy face.

“Why? You were a kid too, right? And why don't Oliver got a daddy?”

“I don't know. Someone's not a daddy unless they're in a family.”

So I can't be the kid's father, he added silently.

“Why is your voice so scratchy?”

“'Cause I used to smoke. Don't smoke.”

“My mommy smokes. But I love her. She showed me how to cartwheel. Look!”

Song stepped back and ran a little and gave a jump, but tripped and skinned her knee.

“Oh no! Hey! You okay kid?!”

“Yeah.” She smiled bravely.

He smiled.

“Song!” A woman called form across the playground.

“I gotta go.” She looked at him almost wistfully.

“I'm here all the time,” he called to her as she skipped away.

The Mask

"The Mask"
by Delia Taylor

“I'm tired of this crap... You said you would stop. I don't think I can do this anymore!” she exclaimed.

“But it's for our own daughter, Jullian! Why can't you understand that? She needs this, we need this! Don't you want to keep our baby girl alive?”

Jullian sat in her chair and stared at Paul as if she'd never met him before.

“I think you're addicted to it, Paul. What about last week, huh? When you drew all that damn attention and almost got your face on NY 12?”

Jullian stood up and walked away from the table with Katherine in her arms. Paul grabbed her. This was how things had gotten. Ever since Katherine developed her disease, their lives had turned into endless bickering, constant cursing, and the ever-frequent “Why don't you act like the man in the family?”

“Maybe someday I will,” Paul would always answer. Jullian never expected him to make good on his word the way he did.

*

Two months after receiving Katherine's diagnosis, Paul woke up, took a long look at his slowly fading baby girl, and knew that he'd chosen the right path. He put on a black mask and got his gun out of his sock drawer.

He reminded himself of how it would go. First, he'd tell his wife, “I just need to clear my head.” Then he'd drive off to the nearest Commerce Bank. And it wouldn't be for the free pens or the red lollipops.

*

Jullian stood in the door frame crying off her makeup.

“You can't do this, Paul!” she cried. Paul was used to this. He was done yelling, done fighting a battle he couldn't win. “But don't you see how much better Katherine's gotten lately? She's smiling again, Jullian. I haven't seen her smile in so long. I'd forgotten what it looked like...”

“But that doesn't give you the right to keep breaking the law!”

Paul wrapped his arms around her waist, like he did when they were in high school. “To me it does,” he said.

He kissed her on her cheek once like he used to. He patted Katherine's head. He looked in his wallet, which had grown in size since he'd... switched professions.

He grabbed his keys and took the black mask—it was his shelter, the assurance that he'd have enough to pay for his daughter's medicine. It was the thing that filled him with adrenaline and kept his heart beating at an unnatural pace, in unnatural places, late at night.

He put the mask on and suddenly had a very clear conscience.

The Monster

"The Monster"
by Yossi Halperin

I was awoken by the front door being slammed open downstairs.

The footsteps made chariot sounds as they marched up the stairs. Told me what fate lay ahead.

I quickly threw the covers over my head, hoping to shield myself from the unwanted intruder about to enter my room.

I lay down and pretended to be asleep so that the intruder might pass over my bedside.

I knew deep inside that like countless times before no bed sheet no shield not even a peaceful sleep would protect me from what was about to happen, what’s gotta happen what will happen and has happened every Saturday at 8:00 for as long as I can remember.

The chariots stop at the entrance to my door and my door swings open.

“Max!!!”
“Max!!!”
“Get the fuck up”
“Get the fuck outta bed”

I lie perfectly still maybe he’ll go away. Maybe I’ll fall asleep. Maybe he’ll fall asleep. But I know that, that’s wishful thinking and this situation has only one outcome.

The chariots approach my bedside and a bear-like claw reaches down, grasping my shield, my protector, and I come face to face with a six-foot-two hideous monster, a daemon. A giant a monster.

The monster stares me down. His eyes pierce my body and my soul.

He’s a giant, a giant without a shirt, old pants and a long beard. In one hand he holds a Budweiser and in the other he holds a Marlboro.

“Max!!!”
“Max!!!”

Smoke blows out of his mouth like a dragon as he talks and he finishes the cigarette and lights another from the embers of the last.
“Stop staring and answer me”
“What, you want one”

He takes a new Marlboro out of the bright red package and lights it. Then he hands it to me.

“Take it”
“Smoke it”

I just stare. I don’t want to smoke. I don’t want to be like him. But I don’t want to upset him either. I don’t know what to do. I just stare.

“Take it”
“I don’t want it”

“You don’t want it?”
“Yes you do”
“Yes you do”
“Yes you do”
“You want to smoke”
“All good little boys smoke”
“All good pre-teen boys smoke”
“Open up for the choo choo”
He laughs as he brings the Marlboro to my mouth.

I push his hand away and the Marlboro falls to the floor.

“No good”
“No good”
“Bad boy gets treated as bad boy” he chuckles as he chews on his Marlboro.

He picks the Marlboro up and grabs me by my neck and holds me up. He then pushes the Marlboro towards my mouth. I try to resist I try to keep my mouth closed but can’t. My mouth opens and the Marlboro enters. He forces it between my teeth and smoke fills my mouth and my body and I find my self coughing and wheezing and I find him laughing. I manage to push him away and he burns himself with the Marlboro.

“Look what you did”
“You little shit”

He throws the virtually extinguished cigarette butt at me and it forms embers as it collides with my covers

I want to scream.
I want to cry.
I want to run.
I want to hide.

But all I can do is stare and that’s what I do I stare and stare and stare. I don’t know why but I do.

“Stop staring you little fuck”
“Answer me”
“What you want one?”
“Why didn’t you answer the phone?”
“I needed a ride from the bar I called you for a ride but you didn’t answer the phone.”
“Why not”
“Why, you little shit”
“Why answer me”

I’m used to this; it’s sort of the norm for me. Normal Saturday morning routine and I know that if I ignore him he’ll hit me and if I answer he’ll hit me. So I answer him.

“I was sleeping plus I’m twelve and I don’t know how to drive.”
“No, no, no good”
“Little fuck!!!” he screams.

He takes a slug of his beer and lights another cigarette and takes a long hard pull and exhales letting smoke and the smell of beer fill the room.

“You’re just a lazy fuck. Too lazy to pick and old man up. Too lazy to get out of bed,” he chuckles.

He then finishes his beer and releases a large belch and throws the can at me.
“Aw that’s better”
“Wise guy”
“You think you’re a wise guy”

He removes his belt from his pants and whips it against his hand that holds the Marlboro causing it to fall to the floor. He looks at the cigarette and looks at me.

“Look what you done now”
“You little shit”
He picks up the Marlboro which is still lit and takes and puts it to his face taking a final drag. Then he looks at me and smirks. He takes the Marlboro and presses it against my chest.

The Marlboro flames burn as they get extinguished by my body. The butt drops to the bed and eventually rolls of to the floor.

He looks at me and laughs.

“You little shit”
“Be a man”
“Be a man”

I stare at him and then start crying. I don’t know why I but I do. I know what gonna happen but can’t help myself I burst out in tears.

“I said be a man”
“Be a man”

He swings the belt around. He swings the belt at me hitting me in the face.
“You lazy fuck”

He screams as the belt collides with my back/

“Lazy”
“Lazy”
“Lazy”
“Fuck”

His shouts are followed by another belt whip. I scream out in pain and he bursts out in laughter.

I hold my tears in when it comes to being beaten. I’m no amateur at this I’m a professional. I know how to play the game so I can get the least hurt. After all we have been competing for many years.

“All lazy fucks”
“All boys are lazy fucks”

He hits me in the face.

I don’t try to crawl away. I try to stop screaming but I can’t. I know how to play the game but can’t. I cry hard and scream louder and try to get away.

He grabs me picking me up in the air and hits me over and over again. Blood trickles down my face and onto my chest. I cry harder and louder and louder and I beg and I plead and I try to stop crying but I can’t.

I jump onto him. I don’t know if I’m trying to tackle him or hug or hurt him or what. He throws me over his shoulder and onto the floor. I stare up at him and he stares back down at me.

“I’m sorry daddy”
“I’m sorry for being a lazy boy”
“I’m sorry for not answering the phone”
“I’m sorry for not picking you up at the bar”
“I will next time, I promise”
“I’ll pick you up even if I have to find a car”
“I love you daddy”
“You bet you will, boy.”

He screams picking me up even further in the air. He then throws me on the floor and sit there In very wet boxer shorts shivering on the floor in a small pool of blood. Looking at the man, looking at the monster, looking at my dad.