ScholarWorks @ SeattleU (Seattle University)

McWilliams, Brandon

Fragments 
Volume 62 Interlude Article 4 
2020 
A Dead Tree's Life 
Brandon McWilliams 
Seattle University 
Follow this and additional works at: https://scholarworks.seattleu.edu/fragments 
Recommended Citation 
McWilliams, Brandon (2020) "A Dead Tree's Life," Fragments: Vol. 62, Article 4. 
Available at: https://scholarworks.seattleu.edu/fragments/vol62/iss1/4 
This Prose is brought to you for free and open access by ScholarWorks @ SeattleU. It has been accepted for 
inclusion in Fragments by an authorized editor of ScholarWorks @ SeattleU. 
1 
 
A Dead Tree’s Life 
Brandon McWilliams 
 
 
On the corner of 15th and Thompson, hidden behind the ramshackle gables of 
decayed houses, there grows a tree. There are two notable things about this tree: one, 
it grows in reverse, and two, it is covered in wishes. 
It began its life as a rather sickly dogwood which had gamely made an attempt 
at life in the poor soil of a curb cutout. No one planted it there; it seeded itself, life 
springing unbidden in the wasteland. It might have been a moving and poetic symbol 
for the many people that scurried by it on their way to and from whatever errands 
occupied their time. It might have inspired a budding poet or unawaken artist, or 
simply lifted the spirits of the people who passed under its leaves. Unfortunately, 
however, five years after its first green shoot rose from the ground, it died. 
The leaves browned and shriveled, blowing off in the wind until all that was 
left of the tree was a barren skeleton whose branches reached imploringly towards the 
sky. Because no one had planted it, no one felt responsible for removing its carcass, 
so the people got used to seeing it as they passed. 
One morning, thirteen months after the tree had died, a man was hurrying past. 
His head was up but his eyes were vacant, mind already wandering to other places 
even before he started his shift driving a backhoe downtown. Yet his dreams of sunny 
islands and cold drinks were interrupted as he scuttled past by a flicker of movement. 
A single leaf fluttered on a low branch of the dead tree. He stopped, curious despite 
himself. With clumsy fingers, he grasped the small green oblong. It was paper, tied to 
the branch with a piece of white string. Written on one side in neat black pen were the 
words “I wish for life.” The backhoe operator stared at the wishful leaf for a long 
minute, his mind turning over and over. Another flutter of movement caught his 
attention, and he noticed the small stack of green paper leaves and strings pinned 
under a rock. He reached down slowly for the little papers and, using the pen tucked 
into his front pocket, wrote “I wish for a rest.” A small quirk of a smile lifted his lips 
as he tied the little leaf onto the branch next to the first. With this small act 
completed, the man hurried on. 
1
McWilliams: A Dead Tree's Life
Published by ScholarWorks @ SeattleU, 2020
2 
 
In the months following the first wish, the tree flourished. Once more, its 
branches were full of leaves which whispered in the breeze and shaded those walking 
by. Sometimes, the rain or the wind would take some of its leaves, scattering them 
across the city or driving them into the ground, but they were always replaced by 
more wishes. And thus, the tree grew out of the whispered dreams of the community. 
It still stands today, in fact, as a monument to hope, resplendent and green. 
2
Fragments, Vol. 62 [2020], Art. 4
https://scholarworks.seattleu.edu/fragments/vol62/iss1/4


English

A Dead Tree\u27s Life

Rock, Máire

Fragments 
Volume 64 Emergence Article 7 
2022 
The Last Ride 
Máire Rock 
Follow this and additional works at: https://scholarworks.seattleu.edu/fragments 
Recommended Citation 
Rock, Máire (2022) "The Last Ride," Fragments: Vol. 64, Article 7. 
Available at: https://scholarworks.seattleu.edu/fragments/vol64/iss1/7 
This Prose is brought to you for free and open access by ScholarWorks @ SeattleU. It has been accepted for 
inclusion in Fragments by an authorized editor of ScholarWorks @ SeattleU. 
 
 
1 
The Last Ride 
By Máire Rock 
 
The wind whistled in Dan’s ears as he dropped down. His ski’s hit the fresh snow, and 
everything disappeared. It was just him and the powder. Everything but the sound of his skis was gone. 
He was on his home trail, and his muscle memory just took over. He whipped past the trees and the 
plants, snow flying out behind him. Flying down the hills, Dan felt a sense of peace. He gripped his 
poles and leaned farther down, picking up speed. Rushing through the snow, Dan had never felt more 
alive. He crested hill after hill, floating over them. He relished the feeling of weightlessness as his skis 
flew over nothing but air. The early morning sun glinted off the crystalline snow. It was his favorite 
kind of snow to ski in, the freshly fallen powder fine like sand. His skis moved through it like butter, 
throwing it up in the air around him. The tiny crystals pricked at all the skin it could reach: the small 
sliver of skin between his glove and his coat, his cheekbones that poked out between his goggles and 
neck garter.  
All too soon, he glided over the crest of the final hill and at the last moment, slid himself to a 
stop. He pulled his goggles up and his neck garter down, his breath billowing into the cool morning air. 
The helicopter that had dropped him off was flying in the distance. The soft morning light illuminated 
the town below. The town he was raised in. The town he raised his children in. His grandchildren. This 
was the mountain he taught them to ski on. He had taken Jake up on his first helicopter ski when he had 
1
Rock: The Last Ride
Published by ScholarWorks @ SeattleU, 2022
 
 
2 
turned sixteen. Most kids wanted to take their drivers test on their sixteenth birthdays. Jake wanted to 
go helicopter skiing, just like his Pop. He had only waited so long because his mother hadn’t given him 
permission till that very morning. Jake hadn’t asked for anything else. All he wanted was to go 
helicopter skiing with his Pop.  
Dan felt his breath catch, and a lone tear slipped down his cheek. He was going to miss it. But 
he knew that he also needed to be there for his family. In his heart of hearts, he knew that not skiing 
anymore was going to be the right thing to do. But it was going to hurt, not being up here most 
mornings. Not to go sweeping down the mountain with his heart in his throat, missing trees by a 
fraction of an inch, all the while being in complete control of his actions. Not to feel the complete 
satisfaction of completing a run where he had to use every ounce of his skill to finish the run. Not 
skiing in the dawn light with his only grandson.  
Dan snapped his goggles back on. It was time to close the chapter in his life. He knew it was 
better to do it on his terms than his doctors. Or Cassandras. He knew she wouldn’t stand for it much 
longer. For the last time, he pushed off the crest of the hill.  
As he flew down the hill for the last time, he forced himself to slow down. To enjoy the 
journey to the bottom, not just think about the destination. All too soon, he could see the bottom. But 
the bottom of the trail wasn’t empty. They were there. They had come. His family. All piled at the 
bottom of the hill. The tears came back to Dan’s eyes, but the wind whisked them away as fast as they 
came. And then, for the last time, Dan pulled himself to a stop. He lifted his goggles and pulled down 
2
Fragments, Vol. 64 [2022], Art. 7
https://scholarworks.seattleu.edu/fragments/vol64/iss1/7
 
 
3 
his neck garter. Walking towards him was Jake. He pulled him into a tight hug. They both knew that 
words wouldn’t suffice for what they both wanted to express. 
Jake clapped him on the back, and they walked over to the family. “Not bad for seventy-five 
years old Pop, not bad at all,” Jake said, walking to the group with his arm around Dan. Dan smiled 
softly, walking with his back to the snow peaked mountain, towards his family.  
 
3
Rock: The Last Ride
Published by ScholarWorks @ SeattleU, 2022


The Last Ride

Caulton, Carissa

Fragments 
Volume 64 Emergence Article 19 
2022 
Some Place Green and Soft to Sit 
Carissa Caulton 
Follow this and additional works at: https://scholarworks.seattleu.edu/fragments 
Recommended Citation 
Caulton, Carissa (2022) "Some Place Green and Soft to Sit," Fragments: Vol. 64, Article 19. 
Available at: https://scholarworks.seattleu.edu/fragments/vol64/iss1/19 
This Poetry is brought to you for free and open access by ScholarWorks @ SeattleU. It has been accepted for 
inclusion in Fragments by an authorized editor of ScholarWorks @ SeattleU. 
someplace green and soft to sit 
 
 
surprisingly quiet, for a Friday afternoon- I think. But, I did force myself out here, afterall, 
following some hidden instinct 
like a bird, perhaps, preparing for migration 
but then, it is just like me to presume comprehension 
of the hidden forces guiding 
my feathered observers. 
They watch me now- journeying over a dying creek where one bathes 
I scare him up from ripe green brush, 
or so he lets me think. 
  
Discussion up ahead 
unnerves me, more than usual 
the presence of others never fails to alert me 
of my own suspicion. 
A hospital trip, though not our speaker’s own experience- 
Three hours in a waiting room! 
They hadn’t followed the instructions, “no visitors” 
Our speaker sounds derogative, but from my seat among the cedars 
she could have just as easily been on the losing end 
of this invisible hospital and its assumedly 
sterile waiting room. 
1
Caulton: Some Place Green and Soft to Sit
Published by ScholarWorks @ SeattleU, 2022
  
I’ve lost my way by now- impressively, as these trails have faced 
a fair amount of wear by my sneakers. 
The ground is soft, red-brown and made up of pine needles and cedar fronds 
turning the dirt acidic, 
hostile to outsiders, 
perhaps in true pacific northwest fashion. 
   
I grew up with a mother who took the time 
to compliment trees. 
Cedars were her favorite, with their frayed strips of bark, 
and she would often guess the age, 
staring with awe at the weight 
of her predictions. 
    
I come back to familiar parking lots 
and walk slowly, taking note of the balconies 
of each apartment I pass. 
There is power in observation, 
as well as a loneliness 
that I do my best to ignore. 
It does not feel 
like coming home. 
 
2
Fragments, Vol. 64 [2022], Art. 19
https://scholarworks.seattleu.edu/fragments/vol64/iss1/19


Some Place Green and Soft to Sit

Dickinson, Deborah

Fragments 
Volume 63 Pivot Article 14 
2021 
being someone who’s never experienced it 
Deborah Dickinson 
Follow this and additional works at: https://scholarworks.seattleu.edu/fragments 
Recommended Citation 
Dickinson, Deborah (2021) "being someone who’s never experienced it," Fragments: Vol. 63, Article 14. 
Available at: https://scholarworks.seattleu.edu/fragments/vol63/iss1/14 
This Poetry is brought to you for free and open access by ScholarWorks @ SeattleU. It has been accepted for 
inclusion in Fragments by an authorized editor of ScholarWorks @ SeattleU. 
being someone who’s never experienced it 
Deborah Dickinson 
 
 
my sister and I cartwheeling 
through the veteran’s cemetery climbing 
trees shouting squealing 
 
 
I think about war way more than              I should 
 
I think about death way more than             I should 
 
I think about dying way more than             I should 
 
 being someone who’s never experienced it. 
 
 
ninety-eight days of steel rain mountain faces blown away government issued grenades 
mass suicides    in the caves filial piety dictating who kills to remain to kill       themselves 
 
 
     weaving through headstones 
    bare feet   dancing  across   grassy    thruways 
    careful not to step on the graves 
       the dead slumber 
 
      Mom wonders 
       should we stop? 
 
       Dad says, “Let them play.” 
 
    “Let them be happy here.” 
 
 
I think about war        way more war 
 
I think about death        way more death too much 
 
death   too many dying        I think about dying    way more than 
1
Dickinson: being someone who’s never experienced it
Published by ScholarWorks @ SeattleU, 2021
 
I should   way more         too much 
 
war and death and dying 
 
 
Loss and grief are familiar funerals     weighted in the intimacy of rigor mortis— 
 
   stiffening skin lock 
 
   jaw trigger finger eyes 
 
   wide / mouth open / shut / 
     Break. 
 
     time frozen 
     in place 
 
 
“Let them be happy here.” Dad says, “My mom 
 
would love this. They would love this.” 
 
 
I think about   too much. 
 
I should   I think 
 
I  think about        should I? 
 
 
scraps of flesh and bone  sprout from soil rolling      white hills    maggot 
swarmed corpses floating  bodies tangled in river grass the water runs red with blood 
distant temple burns     holy shroud of        flames 
 
 
vacuum breath      sucked      away 
  frightful (dis)similarity 
  unsettling stillness 
 
2
Fragments, Vol. 63 [2021], Art. 14
https://scholarworks.seattleu.edu/fragments/vol63/iss1/14
 the world rearranges itself: 
 garish kaleidoscope 
 tilted reality     you learn to walk with a slant 
 
 
 
what should    war think 
 
about   about 
 
war? 
 
 
dying? 
being someone 
 
who’s never experienced it. 
 
at sea the ship was hit 
 
taking on water 
 
an order to seal the doors   they were ordered to seal the doors      they had to seal the doors 
to save the ship to save themselves they sealed the doors      drowning friends clawing like rats 
screaming until they stopped    fermenting in brine    for    days 
taking on water     taking on liquid weight 
 
four men needed 
to carry one of their dead 
 
 
Should I    make meaning: 
 
graves as shrines 
place as relationship 
as in place for me to care for 
as in the dead need care for 
 
as in peace for me becomes peace for them becomes freeing me becomes freeing them 
 
3
Dickinson: being someone who’s never experienced it
Published by ScholarWorks @ SeattleU, 2021
Only, what  should I 
know 
 
bodies appear smaller 
when the people inside 
drown, dry, wither go 
4
Fragments, Vol. 63 [2021], Art. 14
https://scholarworks.seattleu.edu/fragments/vol63/iss1/14


being someone who’s never experienced it

Dimsey

Fragments 
Volume 63 Pivot Article 24 
2021 
A Bruxist Triptych 
Dimsey NA 
Follow this and additional works at: https://scholarworks.seattleu.edu/fragments 
Recommended Citation 
NA, Dimsey (2021) "A Bruxist Triptych," Fragments: Vol. 63, Article 24. 
Available at: https://scholarworks.seattleu.edu/fragments/vol63/iss1/24 
This Poetry is brought to you for free and open access by ScholarWorks @ SeattleU. It has been accepted for 
inclusion in Fragments by an authorized editor of ScholarWorks @ SeattleU. 
 
A BRUXIST TRIPTYCH 
Dimsey 
 
 
 
the god comet  
 
what we’ve decided on 
it’s watching our every move 
using the air remaining we 
stretch our lungs to overcapacity  
collapse forward towards a brighter 
Tomorrow we will be better 
never taking blood in the name of love  
and it’s disappointing! 
we knew better 
from the moment we started restrained  
strapped and carted 
I’m alarmed by the decision 
that a comet can dictate 
the juice I take 
this Town is no Good 
death stretched across the pavement  
Sprawled out 
staring back up, presenting itself 
in an unlikely fashion 
Naked as all hell and broken 
the faucet’s broken 
the drain is open 
The god comet has finally come for me  
 
what we’ve decided on 
it’s watching our every movement  
Using the air remaining we 
leap forward, and take the Jump  
Together in the god Comet  
 
What we’ve decided on  
it’s watching 
So, hide your sins 
1
NA: A Bruxist Triptych
Published by ScholarWorks @ SeattleU, 2021
Turn the blinds Up 
Light beams to pins  
Turn the blinds up  
They can’t see in  
Finish Your Work Now  
for the destroyer! 
 
what we’ve decided  
death on intake.  
 
•  
 
dot dot dot  
 
an inferno erupts from the girl 
burning her friends to a crisp 
she’s become listless and poor in spirit  
marmalade drips her mind! 
she’ll sick the dogs like a tomboy  
marmalade drips her mind!  
 
the matches beg quietly  
she owes them after all  
fire full of brimstone 
flurries of sad sights  
she had to show them  
explain the night phlegm  
the dark licks of flame  
the ghost inside  
 
dot dot dot  
 
the love 
the love to hate  
running in circles  
smoke tornadoes  
upwards to stretch  
restless from sleep  
resting from death 
flakes of ash  
no sadness in the air  
no smiles around 
2
Fragments, Vol. 63 [2021], Art. 24
https://scholarworks.seattleu.edu/fragments/vol63/iss1/24
no fear to fear  
 
an inferno erupts from the girl 
burning his friends to a crisp  
 
••  
 
 
the ceiling bulges  
 
I see beauty  
when I wake  
from the coils  
of the devil’s  
matted black fur  
and I take  
note of todays  
performance. I’d see  
myself off as  
a goodness to  
be had dove  
yet intrigued by 
the promise of 
anguish and new 
battery powered legs 
I cease to 
collect such pettiness 
in the form 
of random, mystifying 
elements as such 
as what can 
be found in 
my own work. 
“Feed on my 
own,” said the 
mantis in the sky and I wonder if this is  
all your fault.  
 
•••  
3
NA: A Bruxist Triptych
Published by ScholarWorks @ SeattleU, 2021


A Bruxist Triptych

Hanano, Chyna

Fragments 
Volume 63 Pivot Article 36 
2021 
Tofu's Victims 
Chyna Hanano 
Follow this and additional works at: https://scholarworks.seattleu.edu/fragments 
Recommended Citation 
Hanano, Chyna (2021) "Tofu's Victims," Fragments: Vol. 63, Article 36. 
Available at: https://scholarworks.seattleu.edu/fragments/vol63/iss1/36 
This Visual Art is brought to you for free and open access by ScholarWorks @ SeattleU. It has been accepted for 
inclusion in Fragments by an authorized editor of ScholarWorks @ SeattleU. 
1
Hanano: Tofu's Victims
Published by ScholarWorks @ SeattleU, 2021
2
Fragments, Vol. 63 [2021], Art. 36
https://scholarworks.seattleu.edu/fragments/vol63/iss1/36
3
Hanano: Tofu's Victims
Published by ScholarWorks @ SeattleU, 2021
4
Fragments, Vol. 63 [2021], Art. 36
https://scholarworks.seattleu.edu/fragments/vol63/iss1/36
5
Hanano: Tofu's Victims
Published by ScholarWorks @ SeattleU, 2021
6
Fragments, Vol. 63 [2021], Art. 36
https://scholarworks.seattleu.edu/fragments/vol63/iss1/36
7
Hanano: Tofu's Victims
Published by ScholarWorks @ SeattleU, 2021


Tofu\u27s Victims

Murphy, Fiona

Fragments 
Volume 63 Pivot Article 39 
2021 
skaters 
Fiona Murphy 
Follow this and additional works at: https://scholarworks.seattleu.edu/fragments 
Recommended Citation 
Murphy, Fiona (2021) "skaters," Fragments: Vol. 63, Article 39. 
Available at: https://scholarworks.seattleu.edu/fragments/vol63/iss1/39 
This Visual Art is brought to you for free and open access by ScholarWorks @ SeattleU. It has been accepted for 
inclusion in Fragments by an authorized editor of ScholarWorks @ SeattleU. 
 
Fiona Murphy 
 
Exploring Carcreek 
 
 
  
1
Murphy: skaters
Published by ScholarWorks @ SeattleU, 2021
Ferry Ride 
 
2
Fragments, Vol. 63 [2021], Art. 39
https://scholarworks.seattleu.edu/fragments/vol63/iss1/39
 
 
skaters 
 
 
3
Murphy: skaters
Published by ScholarWorks @ SeattleU, 2021


skaters

Wang, Sylvie

Fragments 
Volume 66 Parallel Article 6 
2024 
Looking at the rare seed catalog 
Sylvie Wang 
Follow this and additional works at: https://scholarworks.seattleu.edu/fragments 
Recommended Citation 
Wang, Sylvie (2024) "Looking at the rare seed catalog," Fragments: Vol. 66, Article 6. 
Available at: https://scholarworks.seattleu.edu/fragments/vol66/iss1/6 
This Poetry is brought to you for free and open access by the Seattle University Journals at ScholarWorks @ 
SeattleU. It has been accepted for inclusion in Fragments by an authorized editor of ScholarWorks @ SeattleU. 
Mirror, Mirrored bySamantha Taylor 
(she is) (incorrectly configured) 
(flesh curving in) (too early) (or too late) 
(skin dimpled) (and tender) 
(she bruises) (easily) (but I thought) 
(she had) (thick skin) 
(it is raised) (and pink) (translucent) 
(ripples of silk) 
(nails tear at) (delicate fabric) 
(shear away) (layer by layer) 
(reveal) (sheets of) (weeping red) 
(pool) (around her ankles) 
(too thick) (not smooth) 
I do not elect this state 
flesh but rather am 
mortification of longing 
to be hated and 
critical lens teeth 
seeping out liquid 
crushing scrutiny 
choking regurgitating 
made into your 
moral shortcoming 
to be lazy to be selfish 
sin in excess in evil I 
free from this body if I 
force exist naturally to 
beautiful not just for a 
b9ldi6m otni gniviBO 
b9tq900B otni b90iot 
9on9teix9 y869 ton ai t\ 
b9tnioq i9bnu b9liv9i 
rl89ft 9lqqus gniqmBb 
to tr1ei9w 9fit trigihsts 
gnirlgusl gn bloom 
gniytqm9 noit09i9i 
gnitsoibni 9iBmtr1gin 
tn9miisinuq to ydhow 
ni 9d ot lutrltols 9d ot 
9d Ot 9800fl0 bluow 
tuoritiw os ob bluoo 
bns ydtiow SB 0993 9d 
.hig tBt 
Looking at the rare seed catalog by Sylvie Wang 
Glass gem corn 
I'm in shock like the people who walk into ERs with their own severed hands 
Lillian's caseload pea 
Their bodies don't know how to tell them what has happened to them 
Mouse melon 
A transformative experience is defined by the fact that you cannot predict in any way what 
and how inside you will change when it happens to you 
Sugar baby watermelon 
You'd loved me into an unrecognizable liberation 
Split second morning glory 
Now on the other side 
Double diamond pearl yarrow 
Sitting in rooms with the lights all off 
Falling in love poppy 
I want to wait for you 
Hanover ground cherry 
You want to sleep with other people 
Mortgage lifter tomato 
I ate baby carrots slowly for lunch 
Fairy snow balloon flower 
I had really truly planned to have your babies 
Sugar rush pepper 
Or at least adopt 
Majorette hollyhock 
Bowing my face into my bowl hands 
Alaska salmon nasturtium 
Inside my heaving attempt to think anything at all 
White bride mullein 
The bare cortisolic reality is this 
Five color silverbeet chard 
The haven in the curvature of my palms in which I stoop 
Kissing tulip 
Will always be for your chest 
Your arm 
Your belly 
Your knee 


Looking at the rare seed catalog

Kuoch, Melody

Fragments 
Volume 66 Parallel Article 21 
2024 
Parallel Line Theory 
Melody Kuoch 
Follow this and additional works at: https://scholarworks.seattleu.edu/fragments 
Recommended Citation 
Kuoch, Melody (2024) "Parallel Line Theory," Fragments: Vol. 66, Article 21. 
Available at: https://scholarworks.seattleu.edu/fragments/vol66/iss1/21 
This Prose is brought to you for free and open access by the Seattle University Journals at ScholarWorks @ 
SeattleU. It has been accepted for inclusion in Fragments by an authorized editor of ScholarWorks @ SeattleU. 
Apocalypse from inside the orca endosure by Audrey Lovinger 
The woman who brings the fish is dead on the floor. 
The orca knows what this looks like because her calf was born small and gray and 
crumpled and never opened its mouth to nurse. 
The glass between them is very thick and smeared by fingerprints. The orca cannot 
break it, though she tried for hours when the feedings stopped. 
It is very dark inside the big room. Most of the bulbs that illuminate the tanks and 
walkways have stopped working. 
The orca still had her dead calf on her back when they trapped her and brought her 
in. She snapped and thrashed and crushed the mechanical arm that hoisted her away but 
they left her baby anyways. She watched her calfs body sink very slowly into the black 
water. There was nothing she could do. 
The woman who brings the fish used to recite poetry at night with her blue-gloved
hands covered in chum and viscera. Poetry is not something the orca knows much about,
but the woman's voice sounded like bells ringing underwater, soft and silvery. Nothing dies.
Nothing really dies. 
The orca cannot tell how many days it has been since she last ate. She swims laps
around the tank. Hunger keeps her awake, a cruel, watery ache in her belly.
The gestation period of an orca is eighteen months. Orcas live and travel together in
matrilineal pods. Orcas stay with their mothers until one of them dies.
The woman who brings the fish used to stand and talk to the orca when nobody else
was around. The orca cannot speak her language but she understands it. (This is unique;
dolphins cannot understand any language but their own. Neither can sharks.) Orcas have
very good hearing. 
The woman had a child who was going far away for a long time. It made the
woman very sad. 
I know you had a baby too, the woman said once as she deaned the glass with a
yellow rag. I'm so sorry. It isn't lair. 
There are tall green plants in the orca's tank, but they are not the kind that grew
where she lived. She eats them very slowly. It is not a very good meal.
Orcas can go for a long time without food. But she does not know how long exactly,
nor does she know how long it has already been. 
The orca thinks of the large pink salmon she used to eat every day. They were still 
alive when the woman brought them, alive so that the orca could chase and catch and kill 
them in her massive jaws. Orcas are very fast and very strong. Apex predators. It is 
supposed to stoke her prey drive, chasing the salmon; however, the orca knows better. 
She knows she is not in the ocean. She knows that the salmon are bred and fed and raised 
expressly for this purpose. It does not matter how fast they swim. They cannot escape. 
Their short lives have been predetermined for them. In the ocean, it is bad luck. In here, it 
is an inevitability. 
Read the rest online. .. 
Parallel Line Theory by Melody Kuoch 
m: Do you think we'll make it? 
n: Why wouldn't we? 
m: Have you heard of the parallel line theory? 
n: Creating a theory for every niche 
phenomenon doesn't make life easier to 
grasp. 
m: Ignoring that. 
m: Parallel lines are parallel because they have 
different y intercepts, but the same slope. 
n: Obviously, but what does that have to do 
with us and why you don't think we'll make it 
m: I never said I thought we wouldn't make 
it. 
m: Anyways the lines. 
n: So I'm a line is what you're saying. 
m: No. everything is lines is what i'm saying. 
n: Not following 
m: Lines are everywhere, not just parallel 
ones. Straight, overlapping, squiggly 
n: Very scientific 
M: The lines around us are types of lines to us 
visually. An artist uses lines as a sort of 
building 
block to shape for instance. 
n: You've never been much of an artist. You 
think too hard. 
m: Oh touche my love. Math is an endeavor 
of pure art. Lines give us the ability to 
comprehend 
what seems like impossibly vast concepts like 
infinity. An artist and a mathematician alike 
encapsulate incomprehensible meaning. 
n: Through lines 
m: Precisely 
n: You never explained how this specifically 
relates to us. 
m: We are lines thousands of mjJes away 
from each other. How could we make it with 
so many 
statistics against us? 
n: Lines curve do they not. 
m: What do you mean ? 
n: Maybe in a finite range a line stays straight, 
but when you change the range the behavior 
of a 
line may not be what it seems. 
m: Logically sure, but if a line is parallel to 
another they never touch mathematically. 
Their 
slopes don't allow for it. They will never 
intersect. 
n: I guess we're not parallel lines then. 
m: You can't just claim that. 
n: Why can't I, I just did. 
m: It doesn't work like that 
n:Why not? 
m: Have you heard of the multiverse? 
n: I'm sure you'll tell me. 
m: there's some physics theory that says there 
are multiple parallel universes next to each 
other. Every moment of our lives, every 
decision we make is causing a split of our 
"now" selves 
into an infinite number of future selves all of 
which are unaware of each other. What if my 
decision to leave ruined our future? 
n: You're scared? 
m: You're not?? 
n: There's an infinite number of futures, and 
yet I'm certain in every one of them you're in 
my 
life. 
m: You don't know that. 
n: but I do. 
m:how? 
n: you ask too many questions. 


Parallel Line Theory

Editors of Fragments

Fragments 
Volume 66 Parallel Article 26 
2024 
Magazine Masthead 
Editors of Fragments 
Follow this and additional works at: https://scholarworks.seattleu.edu/fragments 
Recommended Citation 
Editors of Fragments (2024) "Magazine Masthead," Fragments: Vol. 66, Article 26. 
Available at: https://scholarworks.seattleu.edu/fragments/vol66/iss1/26 
This Magazine Masthead is brought to you for free and open access by the Seattle University Journals at 
ScholarWorks @ SeattleU. It has been accepted for inclusion in Fragments by an authorized editor of ScholarWorks 
@ SeattleU. 
Gtina Koseman josePhSne EJhflttock 
Luna R0Ve*a Zapata 
SophSa Modflca Madden Armstrong 
ivy Sennflngton 


Seattle University

Not a member yet