February 23 2016
Volume 1, Issue 2
The Writers’ Vomit
Speed
J.L. Phoenix
It took nearly a year for Sara to get ready for trial. Originally, she was charged with murder,
assault in the first degree, driving under the influence and a whole mess of misdemeanors.
Court proceedings are slow; it’s part of the game to avoid expense of trial. The courts
schedule dates far apart to create an ever-building tension: district arraignment (within a
few days), district preliminary hearing (couple of weeks), indictment by grand jury (up to
60 “business” days,) then circuit court arraignment shortly after the indictment, the pretrial conferences every few months so one can “prepare” for trial. All this court B.S. is
mainly to wait someone out. And for what? A plea bargain. The prosecutor gets his conviction, hands out some “years”-which usually run consecutive but still up his bonus-and save
the Common Wealth a substantial amount of money.
The day before thirty-year old Sara Myers went to trial, she accepted a plea of five years to
serve with parole eligibility at 20%. The charges were amended down to Reckless Homicide, assault 2 and some misdemeanors, which were overridden by the felonies. Apparently, Mayor Myers pulled a few strings being the “loving dad” the public viewed him as. Perhaps some much needed compassion dealt beforehand would have saved Linda Roland’s
life and kept Grace, the baby that survived, from growing up bitter.
***
INSIDE THIS ISSUE
“Nineteen years ago, nineteen years ago today, to be exact,” Grace said, “That bitch took everything from
me. Now I have this fucking scar.” She reached for the large imperfection on her left side; the lump
could be felt through her shirt. “Today’s the day,” she said in the mirror, almost ecstatic. “Yeah, today.”
Everyday since she learned what had happened to her mother and who was responsible she had told
herself that she was going to kill the wretch who took her momma, the bitch who caused her father to
drink himself into oblivion.
What It’s All About ..................2
Oh, how she loved her dad. He raised her by himself never giving his love to anyone else. Grace tried to
get her father to move on, but the bottle was his only muse.
Submission Guidelines……..….6
“Love you, Dad. I have to go to class,” she yelled as she headed toward the door. “See ya this evening.
Call me or text if you need anything.”
“Okay, baby girl, be careful going to school.” Bob looked over his bifocals and grinned. “I love you,
Gracie girl.” Bob Roland was round, husky and in his early fifties; his voice was gruff from cigarettes and
his breath smelled of alcohol.
“Love you, too, Dad, but I gotta go.” She closed the door behind herself.
She’s just like her mother, Bob thought. He reached for his bottle of Early Times Whiskey. “Today’s the
day,” he mumbled in hot whiskey breath. “That bitch is going pay for what she did.”
(Continued on page 4)
Poems by Tom W. Buchanan…3
Speed........................................4
Poems by Daytia…………………..5
Book Review ............................6