Collin College: DigitalCommons@Collin

Student Winner of the NaNoWriMo Flash Fiction Contes

Limburg, Lauren

Forces 
Volume 2024 Article 6 
4-15-2024 
A String Called Curiosity 
Lauren Limburg 
Follow this and additional works at: https://digitalcommons.collin.edu/forces 
Recommended Citation 
Limburg, Lauren (2024) "A String Called Curiosity," Forces: Vol. 2024, Article 6. 
Available at: https://digitalcommons.collin.edu/forces/vol2024/iss1/6 
This Essay is brought to you for free and open access by DigitalCommons@Collin. It has been accepted for 
inclusion in Forces by an authorized editor of DigitalCommons@Collin. For more information, please contact 
mtomlin@collin.edu. 
6 7
F O R C E S
2 0
2 4Student Winner 
NaNoWriMo Flash 
Fiction Contest 
November 2023
Sometimes when the moon is full, and 
Venus is in retrograde, and the weather is 
exactly 43 degrees Fahrenheit, and your 
room is completely dark, a thin golden string 
will appear under your bed. It is on nights 
when you are not looking for it or on nights 
when you have forgotten. Usually, it is when 
you know just where to look or when the wind 
whispers a question. The string combats the 
darkness with its shine. 
If you are brave, inquisitive, and hungry, 
you can even take hold of it. When you pull, it 
does not give in to your strength. It will not be 
unraveled. So, you are forced to crawl. The bed 
frame has become too close to the ground, and 
you cannot normally fit. But if you look in the 
right spot, just for a night, you will slip through. 
Now that you have made it under the bed, you 
are face to face with small memories that shine 
almost as much as the string. It gets tangled 
around some of them.
you find yourself getting closer to the bottom. 
You cannot see it, but you know there is an end. 
You will not fall forever.
With your feet on the ground, you begin to 
walk. You feel someone else just outside the 
glow of the string. They must have left the 
string because you cannot see them. They call 
out to you to join them in the dark. To come 
back with them. You do not listen. The hum of 
the string overpowers them. 
They run past you in a huff of anger. They 
smell familiar. 
The journey is long and short in equal 
measure. Sometimes the string goes over rivers 
that are too wide and too deep to traverse. It is 
okay to ask for help. Eventually, someone will 
give you a ride if you ask nicely. Sometimes 
the string takes you through whole libraries 
and museums. Stop and take a look. But do not 
dawdle or walk too far from the string. The path 
it is leading you on is purposeful.
A String Called Curiosity
Lauren Limburg
You want to know where this mystical and magical string will lead you. 
Your first broken heart. The first time you 
failed. The laughter and taunts of cowards.
However, those memories are not why you 
pulled on the string. You want to know where 
this mystical and magical string will lead you. It 
hums a faint tune as you grip and pull. You pass 
those obstacles, unwilling to be slowed down, 
and crawl. Darkness covers the floor.
As if the ground was never there in the first 
place, you begin to fall. You are gripped with 
fear. But you do not let go. You do not fall. The 
string buoys you. You descend. With every pull, 
Sometimes there are other strings with 
other people. It is okay to ask them about their 
journey. They will do the same to you. Share 
what you have found on your way and share 
where you hope it will lead you. A kind ear goes 
a long way. Kind advice goes even longer.
But more often than not, you will be alone. 
The path will only have room for one. It is 
tempting to give up and go back. You may fall 
and scrape your knee on doubt and uncertainty. 
But do not be afraid, you will be fine. Once you 
learn the roads, it will be easier to navigate.
6 8
Keep walking until you find your answer.
Upon arrival, the string hums to let you know 
it will wait. It will allow this moment. You drink 
the purest water you have ever tasted. You 
speak in languages you never thought possible. 
You eat strange fruit that tastes like hope, a 
better future, and knowledge. You play a new 
instrument of your own invention. You laugh 
with the others that made it to this wonderful 
place. You are better for it.
alone but not lonely. New memories shield you 
from the wind.
When you reach a wall, you are not afraid. 
You pull. Gravity lets go of your feet. You slowly 
begin to ascend, unafraid of the fall.
You are under a new bed. It is the same bed. 
But it is a bit more crowded. There are new 
memories, but they are not yours.
If you keep crawling, you will bump heads 
with another child. No, not child. They are older 
Rustic Memories
Kimberly A. Catino
You put the new memory in your pocket. 
 You will want to tell the world about your discovery.
You put the new memory in your pocket. You 
will want to tell the world about your discovery.
Full of life and answers, you return to your 
waiting string. The string glows a little softer, 
but that is okay. This time you are glowing 
enough for the both of you. The path is not as 
narrow. The darkness is not as cold. You are 
than you. Their hands are also firmly gripping 
the string with the same intensity and fervor. You 
know their eyes and you recognize some of the 
older memories, the ones with more dust. You see 
the memory in your pocket by the bed frame.
When they ask you if it is still worth the trip, 
tell them yes. 


English

A String Called Curiosity

Cruz, Michele

Forces 
Volume 2024 Article 7 
4-15-2024 
After Hours 
Michele Cruz 
Follow this and additional works at: https://digitalcommons.collin.edu/forces 
Recommended Citation 
Cruz, Michele (2024) "After Hours," Forces: Vol. 2024, Article 7. 
Available at: https://digitalcommons.collin.edu/forces/vol2024/iss1/7 
This Photograph is brought to you for free and open access by DigitalCommons@Collin. It has been accepted for 
inclusion in Forces by an authorized editor of DigitalCommons@Collin. For more information, please contact 
mtomlin@collin.edu. 
1 3
F O R C E S
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2 4
America’s Way
Matthew Williams 
This is our structure.
Built to the eyes of man.
The patriarchs’ lifeline ruptures.
Shameful bubbles are creating this juncture.
Dreams fade into hateful spans.
This is our structure.
Manifestos apparatus blocking culture.
Incorrigible disarray of governing bans.
The patriarchs’ lifeline ruptures.
Justices’ exasperated hearts punctured.
Freedoms grasped by geriatric plans.
This is our structure.
Big Brother’s vision shattered infrastructure.
Compromises of growth are lost firsthand.
The patriarchs’ lifeline ruptures. 
By dividing groups to extinction;
By providing a genocidal depletion;
This is our structure.
The patriarchs’ lifeline needs a restructure.
After Hours
Michele Cruz


After Hours

Ring, Matthew D.

Forces 
Volume 2024 Article 26 
4-15-2024 
Greek Checkers 
Matthew D. Ring 
Follow this and additional works at: https://digitalcommons.collin.edu/forces 
Recommended Citation 
Ring, Matthew D. (2024) "Greek Checkers," Forces: Vol. 2024, Article 26. 
Available at: https://digitalcommons.collin.edu/forces/vol2024/iss1/26 
This Painting is brought to you for free and open access by DigitalCommons@Collin. It has been accepted for 
inclusion in Forces by an authorized editor of DigitalCommons@Collin. For more information, please contact 
mtomlin@collin.edu. 
5 6
Greek Checkers
Matthew D. Ring


Greek Checkers

Meeks, Shane A.

Forces 
Volume 2024 Article 30 
4-15-2024 
Hollow 
Shane A. Meeks 
Follow this and additional works at: https://digitalcommons.collin.edu/forces 
Recommended Citation 
Meeks, Shane A. (2024) "Hollow," Forces: Vol. 2024, Article 30. 
Available at: https://digitalcommons.collin.edu/forces/vol2024/iss1/30 
This Painting is brought to you for free and open access by DigitalCommons@Collin. It has been accepted for 
inclusion in Forces by an authorized editor of DigitalCommons@Collin. For more information, please contact 
mtomlin@collin.edu. 
6 5
F O R C E S
2 0
2 4
Tree Root and Trunks 
(Van Gogh’s last painting)
Abby Roberts
I tried so hard to find peace with pastors.
Cast out by God’s children,
I found I was better serving in pastures, 
Wheat Fields even.
They likened me to a mad man
but I knew I had not yet reached the Starry Night.
Maybe that’s why I hate the color white.
The mere sight of it would send me into a frenzy.
I was meant to live in color.
If I was meant to live at all.
I never painted mountains before,
I felt climbing them was enough.
Every wretched day walking the uphills, 
knowing they would only lead to cliffs.
I painted a damned gray rock.
It gave me chills.
I felt more akin to foliage
Maybe like Tree Roots and Trunks
I was never easy enough to be a flower.
As little space as I took up was too much for people.
More often than not, they couldn’t bear me.
just as well, I never asked them to.
I would survive off oil paint and easel chips 
 if they let me.
They never let me.
It was May when I left Saint-Paul-de-Mausole.
My feet could not carry me fast enough,
My hands could not be quick enough,
to cover what I had missed. 
I felt only absence.
I shot myself on Sunday 
When God watched me drag my easel
I never understood how an empty heart 
 could feel so heavy.
I thought a bullet to the chest could not 
 be much different.
I was kind of right.
Maybe when they bury me,
I will find my friends.
Woven into the earth
gnarled and jagged
and beautiful
We will push trees from our bodies 
like we were meant to all along
and then I will know peace.
Hollow
Shane A. Meeks


Hollow

Yarbrough, Scott

Forces 
Volume 2024 Article 32 
4-15-2024 
Introduction 
Scott Yarbrough 
Follow this and additional works at: https://digitalcommons.collin.edu/forces 
Recommended Citation 
Yarbrough, Scott (2024) "Introduction," Forces: Vol. 2024, Article 32. 
Available at: https://digitalcommons.collin.edu/forces/vol2024/iss1/32 
This Essay is brought to you for free and open access by DigitalCommons@Collin. It has been accepted for 
inclusion in Forces by an authorized editor of DigitalCommons@Collin. For more information, please contact 
mtomlin@collin.edu. 
1
F O R C E S
2 0
2 4
I N T R O D U C T I O N
You Are the
Artist of your Life
Kaci French
W hen I run, I have developed self-identifiable mental mile markers: the duck house –  mile 1, Buddy the white Poodle and Tammy on their front porch – mile 2 … each mile  
a point I know, a mile I expect to be in place, a tangible sure. The picnic table by the leaning Elm … 
but, last week the Elm fell after our yearly winter blast. One of my expected markers of place,  
a permanent marker, was simply gone.
Michael Gregorash passed away Jan. 21, 2024. Michael, the primary Student Government 
Association advisor and director of the Student Activity Fee Advisory Committee (SAFAC),  
was the Elm I ran to for Forces each year, to be renewed, approved for financing “as worthy”  
of  student funds.
SAFAC is a very necessary and worthy vetting for all special activities through the college.
Michael’s support was unwavering. He continuously, diligently built panels with students  
and other college representatives to make sure each year that all SAFAC funded projects were  
solid, real experiences in multifarious arenas, meeting the rubric for forward-moving student 
development and enrichment.
Last year I missed the final meeting of my SAFAC funding request. Ironically, I was 
delivering my own father’s eulogy. When I returned, he simply said, “When you are ready,  
we can meet. Life happens.”
This year, Forces, approved and funded by SAFAC – via Michael – is to be unveiled the  
same week as the total solar eclipse across North Texas. Michael’s profound gesture of grace  
to recognize my father’s passing is a sort of acknowledgement of a blacked-out sun, a moment  
to mourn. However, it is also a “constant” of the college to shine again after the dark – not 
slighting the contributors, the recorders of our Collin history, by connecting the past with  
the present and those to come in the chain-linked future.
“Every man’s death diminishes me,” English poet Jonne Donne once said. Thus, I dedicate 
this issue to Michael for being human in a very human moment. He was one piece of a lengthy 
process. Without his contribution, that piece, the dream of the collective us in the journal and  
our observations would be lost like grand thoughts in the night, the kind of thoughts we are 
confident we’ll “remember in the morning.”  Those are the grand thoughts we lose because we 
simply don’t record them. Thanks to Michael, this year, and those before, have been recorded by  
a choir of voices and stamped in time as a tangible artifact reminding us “The Sun also Rises.”
As always, thank you to Dr. Neil Matkin and the Collin College Board of Trustees, Digital 
Commons Manager Mindy Tomlin-Paulson, Dean Dr. Meredith Wang, Dr. Kelly Andrews,  
Dr. Regina Hughes, the forever wonderful Communications team of Tricia Murray, Marlene Miller, 
Donna Kinder, and Kirk Dickey, and the ultimate Forces team of Claudette Lowery, Rachel Walker, 
Annie Bousquet, and Glenn Trueman. 
    Forces Editor - R. Scott Yarbrough


Introduction

McDonald, Eilish

Forces 
Volume 2024 Article 84 
4-15-2024 
To Love an Idol 
Eilish McDonald 
Follow this and additional works at: https://digitalcommons.collin.edu/forces 
Recommended Citation 
McDonald, Eilish (2024) "To Love an Idol," Forces: Vol. 2024, Article 84. 
Available at: https://digitalcommons.collin.edu/forces/vol2024/iss1/84 
This Poem is brought to you for free and open access by DigitalCommons@Collin. It has been accepted for 
inclusion in Forces by an authorized editor of DigitalCommons@Collin. For more information, please contact 
mtomlin@collin.edu. 
F O R C E S
2 0
2 4
4 3
F O R C E S
2 0
2 4
Emotional Baggage
Lauren Limburg
Why must we write of emotional baggage
Like the soulless black boxes 
We curse when trying to pull from the carousel.
After you’ve told me of your baggage,
The baggage hidden from the rest of the passengers,
Don’t forget to tell me of your carry-ons and
Personal items.
Tell me of your first memory of laughter,
The first album that gripped your heart,
Your sincere love of a good commercial,
That sparkling keychain you can’t throw away,
Or the reason why you love a well-placed roundabout.
They all come on the journey with us,
So aren’t they all just as important to who we are
Or the version of ourselves we are traveling towards?
To Love an Idol
Eilish McDonald
Every breath stretches into forever
I could spend my entire life
Admiring you
Adoring you
Share a laugh, share a meal
Lost in your smile, coffee is a date
with just you here
My eyes are only on you
I could never see another
With your care and your love,
I could never be scared,
As your hand reaches for mine
and with just you here
I have loved before, more fierce than now
But the person I was grew.
I found myself lost in the sky
But now I feel more at home
Like we’ve been waiting
Two stars, tangled, in a love parallel
Your joy, your heart
Your smile that reaches your soul,
it warms me like sunshine
Your laugh, so beautifully contagious,
I would join you every time
Your face when you’ve just awoken
Your face when you’re eating well
These moments and more
that I’d never share
if it were just you here.
T
hese m
om
ents and m
ore that I’d never share if it w
ere just you here.


To Love an Idol

Roberts, Abby

Forces 
Volume 2024 Article 86 
4-15-2024 
Tree Root and Trunks (Van Gogh's last painting) 
Abby Roberts 
Follow this and additional works at: https://digitalcommons.collin.edu/forces 
Recommended Citation 
Roberts, Abby (2024) "Tree Root and Trunks (Van Gogh's last painting)," Forces: Vol. 2024, Article 86. 
Available at: https://digitalcommons.collin.edu/forces/vol2024/iss1/86 
This Poem is brought to you for free and open access by DigitalCommons@Collin. It has been accepted for 
inclusion in Forces by an authorized editor of DigitalCommons@Collin. For more information, please contact 
mtomlin@collin.edu. 
6 5
F O R C E S
2 0
2 4
Tree Root and Trunks 
(Van Gogh’s last painting)
Abby Roberts
I tried so hard to find peace with pastors.
Cast out by God’s children,
I found I was better serving in pastures, 
Wheat Fields even.
They likened me to a mad man
but I knew I had not yet reached the Starry Night.
Maybe that’s why I hate the color white.
The mere sight of it would send me into a frenzy.
I was meant to live in color.
If I was meant to live at all.
I never painted mountains before,
I felt climbing them was enough.
Every wretched day walking the uphills, 
knowing they would only lead to cliffs.
I painted a damned gray rock.
It gave me chills.
I felt more akin to foliage
Maybe like Tree Roots and Trunks
I was never easy enough to be a flower.
As little space as I took up was too much for people.
More often than not, they couldn’t bear me.
just as well, I never asked them to.
I would survive off oil paint and easel chips 
 if they let me.
They never let me.
It was May when I left Saint-Paul-de-Mausole.
My feet could not carry me fast enough,
My hands could not be quick enough,
to cover what I had missed. 
I felt only absence.
I shot myself on Sunday 
When God watched me drag my easel
I never understood how an empty heart 
 could feel so heavy.
I thought a bullet to the chest could not 
 be much different.
I was kind of right.
Maybe when they bury me,
I will find my friends.
Woven into the earth
gnarled and jagged
and beautiful
We will push trees from our bodies 
like we were meant to all along
and then I will know peace.
Hollow
Shane A. Meeks


Tree Root and Trunks (Van Gogh\u27s last painting)

College, Collin

2024 Forces

Archival Pigment Print 5 - 24”x36” Instructor: Lisa Means Class: Portfolio Developmenthttps://digitalcommons.collin.edu/studentphoto2024/1006/thumbnail.jp

Reed, Xayla

Cerulean Currents - 2024

Flyer for the Mosaic photography art exhibit.https://digitalcommons.collin.edu/studentphoto2024/1013/thumbnail.jp

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