Cosumnes River Journal

Spring 2024

Vol. 15, No. 1

Essays and Fiction

The Dark Secret

People like to ask me what it is like to be the most successful CEO in New York. I would give the answer they want to hear, like, “It’s amazing–I truly worked hard to get where I am today.” Stupid. But I would like to listen to what it’s like to be a powerful CEO of New York. You can say that people don’t understand how I can end their life in the blink of an eye. Oh, wait, I forgot to introduce myself … my name is Milian Stone. I am thirty years old. I own a marketing company and far more companies in Brooklyn and Manhattan. I have thousands of people working for me … but I don’t trust them or anyone except my younger sister and my assistant.

Keshia, my assistant. We went to high school and college together. She was like a best friend to me. She is feisty but shy; she likes to tell people what to do but not trying to hurt their feelings. She is fantastic; she is the only person that can get close to me and know my past. My sister Gigi used to call me Milly when she was younger. Back in the day, she used to get into a lot of trouble, like stealing.

Them

By Lauryn K. Gibson

She found the ticket again, dusty and dog-eared. It had been under her set of dresser drawers for however long, but the mere sight of it brought back those fluttery-heart feelings. An old life was revealed again. Dropped by accident, blown away by the ceiling fan, hidden by cosmic instinct? She supposed it didn’t matter now that she was holding it again, paying extra attention not to let her clammy fingertips lightly stain the thin ticket paper:

ADMIT ONE: The Man and the Silver Gun.

It could’ve been months, days, years later. This new-found nostalgia fully took its hold and wouldn’t let go; being stuck in the past has an effect few truly know. The first coincidence thrust her into a hazy gloom, and she sought more physical pieces of their existence– her and her long-forgotten love. She’d be fine for days, mostly during the daytime when the sun shone and kept the loneliness at bay. Then night would creep in, the cool air overtaking the flat luminescence of the last moments of light. Just before sunset, she’d remark about the artificiality of the orange light from the sky, how it looked like stage lights cueing her for bed. Dark calmness could never keep her company like he did. Finding herself restless in the late hours, she would dig through scrapbooks and cardboard shoe boxes looking for fragments of them. Eventually, scanning a piece of thick cardstock, she laid her eyes on his name adorning a telegraph. Smiling again at last. Haze clearing like fog being blown away.

An Alien Me

By Amber Le

07 March 2016

How do you live?

How did you bear today, knowing every succeeding one will only test you more, while telling yourself some tomorrow will one day be worth it? What did you do to reach that morning where you needed to bear no more? Teach me how to stop stealing time from your future to extend my present; was it worth giving up the sanctity of my precious, tense happiness? How did you learn to face the encroaching minutes–reminders of borrowed time run out–when they come to demand payment?

How did you learn to belong with insecurity? Where did you look where I haven’t? What did I do wrong that everyone I turn to has doors sealed shut and I’m locked out, yelling through the walls to be heard, hovering at half-cracked windows and hoping for an invitation further in, dreaming of the warmth of an always-expected visit, doubting even the clearest view for glass slammed shut in my face?

My Favorite Wych Elm Tree

By Devan Stuart

I came home from work, exhausted. The house was boring and tiresome without my wife. It felt so lonely watching television by myself in the yellow light of the kitchen.

“Police are still asking for information about the disappearance of Kathy Harold…” the newscaster echoed through my solemn living room.

“How sad,” I thought to myself as I turned off the television. I got ready for bed as usual just as I had done all those days before when my wife was still around. I would begin by showering. When my shower was near completion, I would brush my teeth in the shower to save water. My wife would always tell me this was disgusting, but I was convinced I was saving money on our water bill.

The Time I Stalked My Crush

By Devan Stuart

I still remember the first time I saw him like it was yesterday. That’s because it was yesterday, but that’s beside the point! I had never seen him at school before, so I assumed he must be a new student or something.

He walked calmly through the main hallway of our high school, sticking out like a beautiful sore thumb because of his height. He must have been 6’2” at least. He had pale skin and light blue eyes that seemed to dance around the hallway, looking for the exit. His brown hair bounced up and down like a cloud on his head while he walked.

As I passed by him in the hallway, I took all the time I could to study his beautiful, angelic face.

The Don

By Vaughn Vianen

“You wanted to see me, Boss?”

Sofia spins around in her chair to face Antonio. “Antonio, take a seat. Talking to me standing is disrespectful towards my hospitality! C’mon, you know better. ” She smiles, presenting her teeth with her eyes pinching together. An outsider would take this as a sign of Sofia’s delighted mood, but those working for her know its true meaning lies behind her smiling façade.

“Uh—yeah, my apologies, Boss.” He turns to his right to see an empty chair. His eyes scope the room to see Cousin Giuseppe, Cousin Giovanni, and Cousin Frankie standing stoically against the wall. Before he questions their presence, he takes his seat.

Funeral Rites

By Nora White

“Is it sleeping?”

Micah takes a moment to consider, really trying to dig deep into all the expertise a nine-year-old could possibly have about squirrels and sleep and hibernation. Unfortunately, there is not a lot of material to work with, and even more unfortunate is the way Evan takes his silence as allowance. Before Micah can think of a proper reply, his older brother’s foot shifts forward, one sneakered toe poking at the disturbingly still squirrel.

For a moment Micah is hopeful that Evan will lose interest. He stands corrected only fifteen seconds later when Evan finds a stick and begins poking the poor thing with a new tool of torture. The squirrel’s head flops to the side limply.

“Maybe it’s just knocked out,” Evan theorizes, continuing with his prodding.

Micah gives him the look. “It’s not breathing.”

Evan huffs like Micah is the unreasonable one. Annoyed, he retracts the stick, and Micah is reinstated with the hope that they can finally go home. Like a fool, he waits, knowing the only way Evan will leave a sight like this is if he makes the first move to go.

“Hey. Micah.”

“Yes?”

Evan steps back to stand equally with his brother. “Pick up the squirrel.”

“What?’ Micah looks up at him, unbelieving, “No way.”

“Just touch it!”

“No! You touch it.”