Written by: The Newspaper Team
In Europe during the 1920s the members of the Surrealist art movement invented a storytelling game they called The Exquisite Corpse. Different rules could apply, but the main idea was for each person to contribute one “piece” or one paragraph in a sequence until a unique and complete narrative was formed. This February, in honor of Valentine’s Day, the staff of the Rampage comes together to offer our readers the following romantic fable. We hope you enjoy it.
“Why am I here?”, I thought to myself. The hot sizzle of mocha drip coffee burned the roof of my mouth as I attempted to take my first sip. It must have served as a warning for what I was getting myself into. I am waiting for my former high school lover. I can’t resist the feelings of nostalgia when reminiscing the high school moments I once spent with him four years ago. As I wait for him, the palms of my hands accumulate sweat and the only thing I find comforting right now is the sweet aroma of Love Café`s brownies, drifting in the air. I go into the bathroom to touch up my mascara and soft red lipstick. I look into my eyes in the mirror and whisper to myself, “Get it together, Amira.” I slowly walk back to my table and then I suddenly hear the ring of the small bell attached to the corner of the café`s front door. I lift my head facing the entrance and my insides feel as if there were tiny specks of light dancing within, as I stare into the eyes of my former lover from across the room.
~Kiara Ventura
The sound of the soft bell continued to echo in my ears as my former lover walked in my direction. I opened my mouth to say hello, but only jumbled, indiscernible words came out. “C’mon Amira, don’t do this”, I thought to myself. He smiled that warm smile of his that melted my heart. “Amira! Wake up…” said a distant voice. I was bewildered and confused. Someone was violently shaking me. “Amira….” I opened my eyes lazily to see the sun peering through my curtains. I was greeted by my angry mom. “Amira! It is 10:00am and you are late for work.” “Oh my gosh!” I exclaimed while jumping out of bed. My mother gazed at me with scorn and left the room shortly after. Despite the fact that I was tardy, I couldn’t help but sit on my bed and allow the feeling of emptiness to surround my soul. I felt my heart breaking all over again. If only…
~ Penda Smith
“Amira! Hurry, you’re late!”. I was shaken back into reality once again as my mother’s words resonated in my head. I sprang to my feet and was fully dressed in a heartbeat. I jumped into the front seat of my ‘ 99 Toyota Corolla and sped off to work. By now, the peeking sun was hiding behind ominous clouds of gray. As I merged onto the expressway, the rain began to fall steadily, as the window wipers danced across the windshield. It wasn’t long before I drove into the New York Times lot and drove up to my parking spot. I reached to turn off the radio. All of a sudden, a familiar tune filled the air, as silence filled my mind. It hit me. How could I forget? That song… had been our song. And just like that, a montage of memories bombarded my head: the long walks to Lexington Avenue, the times at the Love Cafe, the late night conversations, and FaceTime calls…even the cheesy jokes we would tell each other. Every memory with him I could possibly think of, funneled into my mind with such clarity I could hardly believe it. I was lost in all the vivid memories… until suddenly, I heard a familiar voice…
~ Larry Castellanos
That familiar voice was unfortunately my boss complaining on my speaker phone about why I was so late. I immediately apologized and acted as if I were concerned, but little did he know that my mind was FAR away from his anger, swimming in a deep pool of wonderful memories. As I’m walking over to the office building, I see a couple that looks just like me and him just a few years ago. They walked, dressed and even converse the same way we once did, but too bad I already had to stop observing them and glide through the building doors. I shake off my distraction with a deep breath and get on the elevator. I repeatedly press the closing door button so I won’t have to be with anyone, but all of a sudden I see manly yet tender white hands try to stop the doors from closing…
~Rebeca Mora
The doors open again and a tall man came inside. He wore black shoes with a black suit, and a blue shirt with a black tie. He’s dressed like almost every other person in this building just that they don’t look as good as he does. His black wavy hair falls over his white pale skin, setting off his great royal blue eyes, a small but perfect nose and his mouth omg! his mouth…frames the sweetest lips I have ever seen. One side goes up, making a smile and immediately I want to run into his arms and kiss him, bite those lips, know the texture of them, with my heart rising up while I’m doing it.
“Good Morning,” he says, and my dream breaks apart bringing me back to reality, “Thanks,” I murmur. “Ding!” the elevator reaches the floor number 25, were I work. I just walk away without even looking to see if he gets out too. It takes 15 minutes before I can get his image off my mind.
“Amira, John wants to see you in the office now!” uh oh, my boss… now what does he want? I enter his office and I see the man that had been in the elevator facing me. “You again!” He says slowly but with a slightly arrogant sound. I couldn’t answer because my boss started talking. “Amira, this is Emmanuel, and he will working with you over the next three months”. Later, when he comes back to my office I catch him looking through the crystal wall on the left side. Observing him I wonder how it might feel to have my hands all over his neck and hair while I kiss him. “Stop it Amira, you’re not that sex obsessed!” I yell at myself mentally.
“Where’s the bathroom?” he asks.
“Down The hall, first door on the left”
“Thanks,” He replies. And leaves.
Watching him go I finally let out the sentence that will mark my future: “This three months will be the longest In my entire life”
~Yeritza Mejia
Contemplating the magical Adonis I was assigned to work with by my boss (someone I suddenly perceive as a god of benevolence instead of an uptight miniature of a man), I thought about my previous love interests. Since sixth grade, I’ve had bad luck with boys. My first relationship, which lasted about a week, was actually the result of a lost bet. My pre-teen arm candy was too afraid to pull the school’s fire alarm, and for that he got stuck with Amira, the abnormally tall girl with a bowl haircut. Then in 8th grade I gave it another try, but let me tell you that was the worst decision I have ever made. Okay, it wasn’t the worst, but it was close.
I was completely unaware of the stage males go through when they hit the “teen” years; they want to experiment with many things, especially with girls. As expected, we broke up. Let’s just say I did not want to be the lab rat in his experiments. Fed up with boy problems, I entered high school determined to ignore the boy-crazy part of my mind.
It all went well until the winter of my sophomore year when I met Jake. He was tall, with deep black hair, and a tan that survived all winter long. He won me over with his laid back personality and taste in music. We were compatible, indestructible, and unbreakable… until graduation. Surprisingly, our relationship proved to be incapable of resisting college separation. Up until now, I have deprived myself of love. For so long I’ve forced myself to believe that I could not have the connection I had with Jake with anyone else… but maybe it was time to change …
” Amira, right? Hey,are you ready get on this story?” God, that blue shirt made his turquoise eyes pop. They were like two small Caribbean oceans promising endless possibilities. “Actually,” I said coquettishly, because I could feel my confidence rising, “it’s time for our lunch break. How about we discuss it over a cup of coffee? It’s on me.” Lunch wasn’t for about twenty more minutes, but he didn’t need to know that, at least not today. After all, we had just met; writing partners must know each other before working on a piece together, and a forty-five minute lunch was not enough to learn his writing style, previous work experiences, or… relationship status…
~Aimee Capellan
“Yeah, sure. Why not?,” Emmanuel replied. So we walked out the Times building and towards Schnipper’s Quality Kitchen. As we walked there, which was literally two minutes away, we talked about how we both got into journalism and writing in general.
“So Amira, how did you get into writing in the first place?” Emmanuel blurted out killing the silence. I didn’t want to give him my full story, I barely knew the guy and my trust wasn’t easy to capture anymore.
“I guess I was always fond of it ever since I can remember. How about you?” I responded, keeping everything strictly vague. As eager as I was to know the guy, I just couldn’t help thinking about all my relationships in the past. Of all the things that could have been. I was suddenly filling up with anger and regret. But why am I in such a feedback-loop with my past, I wonder.
“… then my band and I split. Since then I continued writing, I don’t know where the hell they are, but here I am,” Emmanuel blabbed.
“Oh cool… look we’re here,” I said. “They have the best scrambled eggs, you won’t believe it.”
We entered the place, and ordered two cups of coffee with some scrambled eggs. There was distinct screaming in the background but I assumed it was someone listening to their peculiar taste in music. Right when I was about to ask Emmanuel of how he was starting to like the Times I saw his eyes widen, with jaw dropped and everything.
“PUT YOUR HANDS UP, I’M NOT PLAYING! DON’T MOVE OR I’LL BLOW YOUR BRAINS OUT. PLEASE, I’M NOT TRYING TO HURT ANYONE!”
~ Minul Asgar
Red hair peeked out from under a dingy Yankee hat. Filth covered this person all over, making their body tremendously grotesque. What a journey this deranged bandit must have had, but was it all just to rob a diner? The robber holds a pistol in one hand and starts to walk around glancing at everyone’s face. Bright, wild, green eyes make their way to our table. “Emmanuel? You got to be kidding me. This was too easy.” Due to her voice I now know this person is female, and is presumingly Emmanuel’s ex. I noticed a glimmer of twisted love in her livid glare. Now the gun is pointing right at Emmanuel. She’s so transfixed by her former lover she must not even have noticed me.
“Why are you doing this? You are a long way from home. Does your father know where you are?” Her voice gets louder and louder. “Why did you leave me? We were so happy together. Remember how you couldn’t wait for every Sunday morning to taste the exquisite breakfast that I prepared for all week. Now look where you are eating breakfast! Too bad that you didn’t get to eat your last warm meal.”
My nose starts to tingle and I feel it coming. I try to hold it in but then I recall the pain of the back spasm I endured after holding in a sneeze. “Aaa-choo!” Uh oh. Her eyes flick to me. “So is this the reason you left me? For this pretty gal right here? Well, well, well, we will see how pretty she is after Olivia Carves that delicate face.” Her laugh is erratic and she starts twitching. She’s obviously insane. What is taking the cops so long? Hmmm. Then in one swift motion Emmanuel gets up and attacks Olivia while she was still laughing.
-Tatyanna Morales
Emmanuel grabbed her pistol but Olivia was pretty strong, so he couldn’t take it away. They were both trying to get it. While they were struggling, that pistol fired at least four times. Everybody started to scream and run out. What should I do? Leave him like all the others or wait for him? But I liked him. No, I shouldn’t leave. Emmanuel stumbled while pointing the pistol at her and Olivia accidently pulls the trigger. He gets up and can’t believe what just happened. Emmanuel turns around and looks at me with a shocked face.
I could tell he was happy that I didn’t leave. He even says “Thank you for not leaving me.” But I don’t respond. Then he looks at my stomach and says: “You’re bleeding.” I looked at my stomach and yes, I was bleeding. Why couldn’t I feel it? Perhaps, my heart was hurting more than my stomach. I tried to walk but no, I couldn’t. He takes my hand and carries me outside. What was that feeling? No pain, no happiness. It’s like time has stopped. Police are everywhere. Blue and red light was blurring my eyes. I looked at his face. He looked back and said…
-Jennet Kurbandurdyyeva
“Someone get the ambulance! She’s hurt!” A trickle of sweat traveled down your face, kissing your chin before it fell onto my face. Out of all the things I should have been worried about, the people running in and out, your ex flung somewhere across the restaurant, and the gun shot that caused every ounce of pain in my body to ball up into one area, I worry about your beautiful sweaty face.
“Geez-louise, you’re losing a lot of blood,” You start to stammer as you panic, “I’m so sorry that my ex did that. I mean wow, that’s really crazy, what a first impression you must have of me. You must think I’m some kind of crazy-chick magnet. This is like a freaking movie…like who the hell gets shot in the middle of New York City while eating eggs? How crazy can this get? Next thing you know there’ll be another 9/11. Goodness gracious. I can’t believe this is happening, how am I supposed to get you to go on a date with me now?”
You’re the only person I know who can manage to look beautiful while they’re worried and ranting. With every word you say, I can only hope you would stop talking and kiss me instead. I wish to give you a thousand osculations and hold you and tell you everything is going to be fine as long as you’re with me but instead I say “You want me to go on a date with you?” I can barely get the words out without getting dizzy and nauseous with the pain. But before you can answer, the paramedics rush towards us yelling “Move move! She’s been shot! She’s losing a lot of blood!”
As I’m being wheeled into the ambulance, I can see you standing there, your suit looking rummaged, your hair ruffled to the side, looking hotter than ever. Before the ambulance doors close, I can see you mouth the words “I love you”. It had to be in my head because of all of the blood I had lost. There was no way you could love me, I mean what is this, a love story..? But still I feel obligated to reply, even if it’s just me hallucinating, and just as I’m about to reply…everything fades to black
~Roberta Nin Feliz
I don’t know how long I remain unconscious I only know that I awake smelling disinfectant and hearing the beeps and hum of hospital equipment, long before I open my eyes. I’m alive! That much is good. What’s not so good is the memory of all the yelling, gunshots, and pain that got me here in the first place. I peer through the flimsy curtain that screens my bed from the open door and see a nurse scurry past. Evidently the newspaper’s health insurance is pretty good if it got me a private room at St. Lukes!
From just beyond my doorway I hear the booming voice of a doctor saying: “She’s stable and recovering now, so she can receive visitors other than family. The mother is already on her way back, and says we can let the two gentlemen who’ve been waiting visit her briefly once she wakes up.”
“Hello…,” I call out, despite a sharp pain under my ribs if I breathe too deeply, “Doctor, I’m awake. Who is here to see me?” A tall, husky intern in mint green scrubs enters the room smiling.
“Well hello yourself. You’ve been quite the celebrity patient since the ambulance brought you in two days ago. Your friend Emmanuel called your boss while you were in the ER, and your boss called your mom, who must have told the world because there’s been a steady stream of people asking after you since then. Nobody but immediate family could see you until now though. You up for visitors?
“Who are they?” The curiosity was killing me.
“Your pal Emmanuel came back, and this other guy…I think his name is Jake…who’s been here waiting since last night.”
Jake was here! All the silly fantasies I’d been having about my new work partner vanished as soon as I heard Jake’s name. Who called him? How did he know? Suddenly I knew I couldn’t see them both together, and that I had to speak with Jake first.
“Please,” I asked the intern, “can you send them one at a time? Send Jake in first.”
Moments later, there Jake was, just like he’d looked in my dream except for a worried crease in his forehead above dark, anxious eyes. “Amira!” he said in a hushed voice as he rushed to my side, “Are you okay? I came as soon as your mom told my mom you’d been shot…”
Ah, the mom connection. I’d forgotten how friendly our mom’s had gotten back when we were still dating. Jake pulled a chair next to me and touched my face.
“Sweetheart, I didn’t realize how much I missed you until I realized you almost died.” He paused, then his voice became stronger, more emphatic. “I had to come and see you, to ask if there was any chance you would let me back into your life. I don’t know why I ever let you slip away.”
I couldn’t believe it. All the old feelings between us-the intimacy, tenderness, and passion-flared up like a bonfire. Suddenly I realized it was only my latent longing for Jake that had made me overreact to Emmanuel’s charms. Like old times, Jake could see my answer in my eyes, and was already grinning with joy.
“Gee, so who gets to tell that sharp-dressed package of Tall, Pale, and Trouble waiting outside that you won’t be needing his services? ” Ouch! Jake could always read me like a book. I guess he’d suspected I’d been flirting with Emmanuel before the man’s loony ex-wife showed up to kill the vibe. So to speak.
“Don’t gloat Jake, I chided him. “After all, Mr. and Mrs. Tall Pale and Trouble brought two true soul mates back together! Invite Emmanuel in. We can tell him our good news together.”
–Carol Cooper
THE END