Author Archives: Caitlin Cummings

Our Copper Philosopher

A short story by English Department Teaching Associate Jonathan Ramsey

Originally published by the Canadian Science Fiction Review 

They named him Hermes and kept him in the basement, where he scuttled about on copper claws among the clumps of stale cotton candy. Bea didn’t feel guilty about this. Harrison, on the other hand, periodically suffered bursts of shame. On these occasions he’d weep, punch a wall, groan, and run towards the basement door screaming “I’ll save you, Hermes! I’ll save you! What have we done?” Bea, lighter and faster and generally more controlled, would beat him to the door and bar it from him. Harrison would beg for the key. He would get on his knees, clasp his hands, kiss her boots, and whisper “What have we done, Beatrice? What have we done to him?” A soft scratching could then be heard from the other side of the door. They both ran from this.

Bea spent most of her time upstairs in her room, drawing in sketchbooks. Harrison prowled the woods behind the house shooting things. These were the activities they enjoyed the most, and so this was how they spent most hours of most days. Bea never showed Harrison what she drew. Harrison never told Bea what he shot. Both had stopped asking.

Tuesdays were different. Tuesdays were for fortune gathering. Harrison would wake at dawn, shower, brush his teeth, and get dressed. His chain mail suit clicked and clacked; his steel boots hammered as he descended the stairs. Bea would meet him at the basement door with a cup of coffee and encouraging words. He’d listen, sip from the mug, smile with effort, and lower the plexiglass visor of his helmet.

“Flick it,” he’d sigh. And Bea would oblige. With the snap of a lever the basement filled with cotton candy, seeping from vents and tubes. Bea unlocked the door with the key around her neck, patted Harrison on the back and shoved him in. She locked the door after him and sat in the kitchen staring at a wall, waiting. Across the table, the rest of Harrison’s coffee began to cool.

illustration by Indrapramit Das

Harrison thrashed about wildly in the great mass of pink, yelping between mouthfuls of sugar, shoving his way through the thicket of candy cloud. Using his flamethrower he cleared a path along the wall. The radar detector on his wrist began to beep rapidly. Molten candy dripped over his visor. Continue reading

A Drawing by Eddie Chan, Class of ’15

The Ocean

A short story by Alex LaPierre, Class of ’16

There once was a moment, a tiny moment, when I believed I wasn’t myself anymore. That I was something different, something new. Something less sad and not angry. Something relaxed and calm. There once was a moment when I thought I was outside of my human self. Like my body was still physically there, but my personality, my mind, were somewhere drifting off. Somewhere nice and warm. Somewhere where my past won’t catch up to me. Or the ghosts and skeletons won’t jump out one day and say, “Boo!” from around a corner, or in a closet, or anywhere!

This moment came and then this moment went. This moment, this feeling, it came when I was looking out at the serene ocean waves. I loved how the waves would pour down onto the sand and then fade away into the sand, like they wanted to go back to their home. I loved how the wetness of the sand felt in between my toes, the softness, the warmness. Whenever I would go to the ocean I felt free. Free from everything around me. Free from me. Free from life itself. I went to the ocean everyday at the same time. It was around 6:00pm that I went. And every time I went I saw the same seagull, sitting in the same spot, in the same position. When I walked by to go closer to the water it would watch my every move, and follow me with its eyes.

Continue reading

Ethiopia M-Term

A series of photographs by Lily Baron, Class of ’14

Sketchbook Excerpts

A series of watercolor paintings by Elizabeth Burdge, Class of ’17

Untitled

A series of drawings by Joe Lin, Class of ’14

Random

A series of charcoal drawings by Zac Wan, Class of ’14