the Antioch Voice Fall 2015

We are excited to present to you the Fall edition of the Antioch Voice. Click here to view and download: The Antioch Voice Fall 2015

The Antioch Voice 2015 Fall Cover

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The Year of Good Things

by Greg Belliveau

“Let’s make hope our New Year’s resolution,” my wife said. I was doubtful, but after a year of good things, a new job, a new child, a new town with new potential, someplace away from those lurking obstacles, rusted, jagged things that leave us wounded – after such a good year… sure, why not hope. Tomorrow was the first day of class, and I wanted to keep the Mojo going. I would bring cookies.

It was close to four in the afternoon, and the sun was out and the sky a deep blue and students grouped and goof-awed and hurried to their next class or their dorm rooms, the coffee shop, a bar. I pulled into the turning lane and stopped just before the pedestrian walkway and thought about how I really needed to secure the adjunct position for next semester, if I had time, maybe after class. A young Asian woman, maybe eighteen, in suede boots and grey sweats, a blue coat pulled up against the cold, December breeze glanced up at me, I nodding, she looking down the road, I waving her onward, and she hurried across the front of my car. I watched her pass, and watched the red blur of a truck come up from my right, watched her fold into the grill, watched her launch into the air, a shockwave, a thunder, a thud, and squeals as the body spun, legs spread and splayed out then landing, crumpled onto the gray pavement thirty, twenty, ten yards away.

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Heavy Metal Exorcism

-Steve Mayne

The Monster Hunters

and

The Heavy Metal Exorcism

SOLDIER FIELD IS PROUD TO PRESENT

TONIGHT FOR ONE SHOW ONLY

BEELZE’S BAND

“Honestly, I expected something, I don’t know, clever,” Dr. Griffin Wells, the teams scout and forensics expert, turned to the others on the sidewalk, “they went with Beezle’s Band. It’s like they want us to know they’re from hell.”

Lieutenant Sarah Parker of the Chicago PD looked at him, “what were you expecting, Idle Hands?”

Wells thought about it for a second, “No, it’s probably taken.”

“If we’re done with the music critique,” asked Douglas Wulf, close-quarters fighter and wilderness survival expert, as he stood in the back of the truck loading magazines with green rings painted on them into his pistols. He then turned, faced out the back of the truck, and handed extra magazines to Wells and Rabbi Adam Stein, expert in religious studies and heavy weapons operator.

Adam took the rounds and went back to performing the last few steps of the ritual cleansing of his gear. Once he had finished he placed the purple linen sash, called a tallit, over his shoulders. He removed the Star of David from inside his blue turtle neck and let it dangle down the front of his chest, outside his armor. It was an old star, heavy and black, made from iron over two hundred years ago. He then took a large, and very old copy of the Torah from a special drawer lined with white felt in one of the cabinets, just inside the rear door. He placed the Torah carefully in a satchel with several glass vials filled with water. After he was finished he slung the satchel over his shoulder and secured it with a magazine. Continue reading →

Cul-de-sac to Hell

-Steve Mayne

They could see the pillar of green flames from the highway.  Dr. Griffin Wells, the teams scout and forensics expert, had joked from the back, “it’s never easy is it?”  After a groaning pause, everyone in the back began putting on their tactical armor.  Each standard SWAT suit, originally designed to be bullet proof, was also inscribed with sets of sigils and runes, up the arms and across the back, to ward of more incredible threats.

Rabi Adam Stein, expert in religious studies and heavy weapons operator, drove the truck, “I guess this confirms he’s not a crackpot, Albert,’ he said indicating the pillar of green flames still some two miles away.

Wells called from the back, “yeah, thank god he’s not crazy.  He’s just screwed.”

Captain Albert Card, the teams leader and sorcerer, swiveled his seat around to face the back of the weapon lined command truck, “I think that’s quite enough, don’t you Griffin?”  Wells placing the tactical helmet over his head, the visor obscuring the insides nodded silently, “excellent.”

Douglas Wulf, close quarters fighter and wilderness survival expert, was gathering up guns and handing them around.  “What munitions you want Captain?”

“Let’s wait till we get closer.  It’s quicker to outfit there than it is to get it wrong and have to redo it.”  He started to swivel his seat back towards the front.  Albert ran his fingers through his jet black hair, made even darker by his pale skin.  Wulf noted that he ran his thumb and middle finger over the sides of his widows peak, a sure sign he was thinking “Actually, belay that, green flames is a good indicator, get the blue clips with the cold iron slugs ready.  If we need anything else I’ll decide once we arrive.”

“Will do,” Wulf cried out moving to follow the order.  While busily at work he looked to the last and newest member of the team, “Lagoona, you OK?”

Blake Lagoona, trained in aquatic operations and a gifted sniper, already in full gear, a slight gurgling noise coming from his respirator, gave Wulf a double thumbs up as his answer.  Wulf wasn’t entirely convinced, he had hoped for a smaller job to break in the rookie, hoping to see if Blake’s inability to talk would hinder the team.

As they grew closer to the Donovan home they noticed the runes on their armor beginning to glow a little bit brighter.  Continue reading →

The Great Wave of Kanagawa

by Karan Singh

He loved the act. All his passion raged towards it, alone in any environment. In any form he wanted the act. The bang of the keys on a keyboard were his impressions on the saxophone during dangerous jazz-songs from upstate New York in the early nineteen-sixties; he ached for the scratch of the fountain pen on thick paper and the stroke of a brush; the mechanistic nature of a typewriter, and the pedantic technology in a word processor were his fetish.  Continue reading →

Strange Dreams

by Tierra Cooper

When I was a child I had a dream that seemed to occur quite often. I would have a note of sadness brewing deep from inside the pit of my stomach. I would sit and wonder if I could crawl inside of myself and hide. It was a sadness that seemed as if it would never go away. I could have gone into a deep depression, but my body new it was just a dream. It knew that the walls of sadness that plagued my mind during sleep would turn into vapors once the lids to my soul opened up. My body had a way of protecting itself from things like that.

As the sadness began to intensify something strange would happen. I would feel this calming spirit rise up and the sadness had to vacate the space in which it held its ground firmly. I would notice a figure coming closer and closer to me. I at that moment was not afraid, but drawn to whatever it was. Time would pass and the figure would become noticeable and unnoticeable at the same time. By this I mean I knew the figure was a child just like me, but I could never see their face clearly. I assumed it was a boy, but I never had proof either.
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