Shandell Clark

Born to an army man and woman, Shandell grew up in Los Angeles, California, but also spent a great deal of her life in Eunice, Louisiana. At a young age, she realized her attraction to the artistic side of life and became interested in fashion design, creative writing, and dance. As a young, quirky, and adventurous woman, she searches for new activities to partake in during her spare time, and lives by the words of Alastair Reid: “Only the curious have, if they live, a tale worth telling at all.” She is currently in pursuit of a psychology degree, and is working as an after school teacher at a Compton Unified School District middle school. She is expected to transfer to California State University, Dominguez Hills, in the fall semester of 2012.


The Shattered Rock

(298 words without title)

Sazerac Harrison. Patient 1654328 at Brunswick Women’s Asylum. Why am I here? I used to strip at this club called Trick City. I was the favorite with everyone except for this one kid. He'd sit in the farthest spot from the stage and watch everyone else’s performance but leave when I came up. One day he stayed and approached me. He asked for a private dance. I sat him on the couch in one of the private rooms, and I danced. Things got heated, and we ended up on the floor. I guess that got his attention because he started to stay and see me. I started to love him. I told him one day, and you know what he said? Who would ever date someone as dirty as me? I didn’t care that he turned me down, but he called me dirty, like I was some type of animal! That night he left his wallet behind. I looked through his wallet and saw his ID. Daniel Michaels. I never asked him his name before. He didn’t live far from the club. He came back for his wallet the next night and acted like I was invisible. My rock heart finally met a hammer. I went to his place. When I got there he wasn't home. I picked the lock and sat in the dark. When he walked in and saw me he didn’t have time to call for help. I didn’t let him have time. Bang! As I walked out I turned around and looked at his crimson-stained, dying body and asked, "Who’s dirty now?" Before he could mumble a word… Bang! He died, and I got away with it for a while, but....  You know what I hate about sex with clients? You never remember the condom.

 


Cartwheel Dreams

(297 words without title)

Twenty years ago we were frenemies.   At seven years old, our life revolved around arguing and attempting acrobatic stunts.

"Come on, Dede, you can do it" he shouted as I attempted my challenge of the week once again - a cartwheel. 

"Here I go!"  I shouted, just as I began to flip.  Bam!

"You still can't cartwheel.  Failure!" he joked. The sight of me clenching my scraped knee caused him to laugh uncontrollably.

A warm salty river of tears streamed down my face.  "You're so mean, Lawrie!"

His laughing stopped as I began to cry harder.  “You’re such a brat,” he said kneeling in front of me and wrapping his arms around me.  "You'll get it.”

"I really hate you sometimes," I said, clenching him tighter.

Why am I thinking about that now, of all times?

"Come on, Dede!  You can do it."

"SHUT UP, LAWRIE!  YOU ACT LIKE THAT HELPS!"

“It’s just as easy as doing a cartwheel."

"I never learned how to cartwheel!  Now SHUT UP!"

"Don't snap at me.  I'm only trying to make you feel better!"

"YOU DID THIS TO ME!  If you want to make me feel better then GET IT OUT OF ME!"

"Just push, baby. You're almost there!”

“ARRRGGGGGHHHHHHH!"

Tiny screams.

"Looks like we have ourselves a beautiful daughter, Dee."

When they gave her to me, all I could do was stare into her big brown eyes and cry. 

"You’re such a wimp, Dee.  Well, she is a sight.  Just like her old man."

"I really hate you sometimes," I said jokingly.  

My focus shifted back to my beautiful daughter, and I smiled.  

"No matter how moronic you act, Lawrie, I still hope that one day she can find love in someone like you, and maybe even learn to cartwheel.”


Editor: LinckeN@WLAC.edu | West Los Angeles College | 9000 Overland Ave, Culver City CA 90230 | www.wlac.edu
Production Mngr: Michelle Long-Coffee | Web Design: Clarissa Castellanos