Gone Lawn
a journal of literature
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Gone Lawn 4
Summer, 2011

Featured painting, Steakhouse Grand Opening, by Daniel Dove.

Featured Excerpt & Review

Victoria Vasterling


Instead of pieces of flesh lying on the floor, their skin expanded to hold it all in. He felt as if one needle prick would make them pop. Yet there was nothing he could do. More and more of them kept coming and squishing and pushing and shoving. The plushy bodies suddenly seemed to be smothering. What if he died? Could he even breathe anymore? Closer and closer they came. There was no escaping, they were coming and taking his air away. Now he's in a big room with white walls. Oxygen in, oxygen out. HIS oxygen. Breath comes more evenly; there are no more marshmallow men, no more blueberry women. Then his face becomes crowded with bubbles of fat, faces to high up for him to see. They are taking it all back now.

Thrills and Chills

It seemed like a good idea. Kept it safe from the smacking waves, they wanted it to succeed. Oblivious to consequences. Ignorant. All they knew was pretty, all they heard was loud. "Life" did not flash before their eyes, instead all they saw was red and blue. When everything had happened, their hearts stopped pumping fast, they found the pieces. In the trees, in the bushes, on the beach. Nothing left, all was destroyed. Their lives have been spared without even realizing they were almost lost.

No More Singing in the Rain

You lick at my eyelashes, leave fingerprints on my glasses. My fingers fumble in your presence; you send shivers down my spine. I love the green things that you make, the smell when you're around. Yet you're harsh with me. You make me feel empty, I've lost something special. My friend is gone and you are here, and I don't want the green or the smell. My feet stick to the ground, you're trying to trip me and make me a dirty thing like you. You tempt and you toil, all you want to do is see me fail. Give me back my friend! You bring no more good to my life. Nothing that you accomplish is worth the tears of mine that mix with yours, your tears that cripple my own objective. You pin me down and hush me up, my screams are deafened by your frightening roar. No more will I take your whipping and whirring, no more will you drown out my protest.

Victoria Vasterling is currently studying English and Writing at Concordia University, St. Paul MN, where she is also a staff writer for the University's newspaper.