COUGH SYRUP FOR THE SOUL Cough Syrup For The Soul · 2015. 4. 22. · cough syrup can be described as having a bitter and abominable taste, Cough Syrup For The Soul will be feature

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Editor’s Note Thank you for choosing to read the literary magazine, Cough Syrup For The Soul. You may have come here by accident or you may have come here with a designated purpose. Regardless of which, I guarantee you that you will not regret turning the first page- or we shall say clicking the first page. Cough Syrup For The Soul was made with the goal to explore the dark, gloomy, and often dismal world of mankind. Mixed with subtle humor and provocative themes, Cough Syrup For The Soul strives to push boundaries and serves as a creative outlet. Just as

cough syrup can be described as having a bitter and abominable taste, Cough Syrup For The Soul will be feature tales that have depressing and perhaps even uncomfortable themes; yet, just as cough syrup acts as a remedy that cures our illness, this e-book strives to be thought provoking, stimulating, and therapeutic. This e-book hopes to bring awareness to various issues. Furthermore, our most important goal is to engage readers. So be bold, go ahead and turn the page. Do it. We dare you to enter our world. Enjoy!

1. Family Trip Bryan Kim

“Are you sure this a good idea?” I was scared, I had never robbed a bank before. It was usually only grocery stores, small clothing departments, but a bank was totally different. “Listen, just stick to the plan and stop being a bitch.” Dad was always on edge before our jobs. He was nervous, but a true bad-ass. We had done a couple of lines before we got out the van, it amped us up, gave us confidence to do whatever it took to make the big bucks. We slipped on our ski masks, along with our bullet-proof vests and picked up our carbine M-16’s (which were actually props). Our family was in the middle of rural Pennsylvania. The plan was to be in and be out before the local police could make it up the windy mountain roads. I felt sweat starting to build up on my finger pads as I clutched the fake, but heavy movie prop, ready to beat anyone who tried to be a hero.

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We kicked open the glass doors. “GET ON THE FUCKING GROUND, AND DON’T TRY AND BE A HERO, WE DON’T WANT TO KILL ANYONE.” Dad was always a persuasive dude. In a calm manner he jogged over to the front desk and spoke softly, “Sir, please open the safe and put the money in these bags and I will spare you your life. The clerk cooperated and obediently did as he was told. Everything was running smoothly, the bags were being filled with green, Big bro and I were watching the civilians while Mom was in the van ready to drive us away. The clerk was oddly starting to taking his time, slowing the process down.. “HURRY THE FUCK UP!” Dad raised his “gun” and pointed it at the man’s face. The clerk picked up the pace. Everyone was getting antsy, the civilians were starting to question our authority. One middle-aged man tried to get up, but before he could, I forcefully rammed the butt of my rifle into his stomach. He grabbed his abdomen in pain while people shrieked and cried as he fell to the ground. I hated hitting people, but it was something I had to do. Whenever I’m on a job with my family, I always thought about how unlucky these victims are, all innocent people witnessing a crime that would scar their lives for quite some time. But it’s what my world has come to, what I have to do in order to survive. Maybe I don’t have to, but I am tied down by my abusive family who gave me no choice; ever since I was young, they forcefully instilled the idea of “power through force” into my mind. I was snapped out of my thoughts when I heard something in the distance. Sirens.

Some Planet Called “Earth” Bryan Kim

Sprinting towards our vehicle, we threw the valuables in our bags. Jeeze. I haven’t ran in lightyears.

“We gotta make it to the doors!” He said. “I KNOW! THANKS CAPTAIN OBVIOUS.” (I love human humor.) The so called

“sand” was slowing us down. I hate this planet.

The doors were just a few kilosteps away. A2 was in front of me, he had just installed the latest locomotive limbs.

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That lucky bastard made it before I did. We were running away but these humans wouldn’t see us anyway.. All they’ll see is a shooting star.

A2 and I were late for a meeting, which explains the rush. Every now and then we come to the-so-called planet “Earth” to harvest beautiful cacti.

We cruised by about 482 years ago and scanned useful plants like the

cactus.

In our world, A2 and I manipulate the unique genetic make-up of the cactus

to create energy to power our machines.

See, these stupid humans are so caught up in superficial problems like

politics and wars. They kill for resources, money, and power.

They thinking the whole universe revolves around them. If they worked together, maybe they would discover the uses of such simple plants like the cactus.

We have noticed this stupidity in similar species on many other planets. Maybe this planet’s beings will succeed in discovering other worlds.

Or maybe they will continue to fight over trivial ideas like “religion”, and if they do, they will fight until they destroy themselves, without discovering what is really out there.

Back to Normal Subbashini Neelam

My father rinses off the peeled potatoes with warm water before slowly placing them in a pot full of boiling water. The water splashes angrily and I shout, louder than necessary or intended, "You're spilling everything!" The silence in the kitchen is heavy and the air is thick with tension. Maybe I'm angry because we've been cooking since eight in the morning and it's well past one in the afternoon. Maybe this stifling feeling is just in my head. Maybe. But I know better.

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I sigh slowly. "I'm sorry about that," I mumble. My father only smiles softly. It's been hard around here- for everyone. I should know better than to lash out like this- sometimes it's too hard to control. Times have been rough after my father lost his job a year ago. I can't remember the last time my whole family has gone out for dinner in a nice restaurant. It seems like every day is macaroni and cheese. I know money is tight but it doesn't seem fair. My grandma always used to say that. I don't think I ever understood the full meaning behind that quote until a year ago.

My father asks, "What do you want, Sarah?" I open my mouth to answer before closing it shortly after. I want things to go back to normal. I want my old life back. I want my carefree childhood before I was plagued with constant worries about money, school, or the divorce. However, I know that can't happen. I reply curtly, "Just hand me the

potatoes, Dad." I'm sorry Dad, I think silently.

Flashbacks Subbashini Neelam Toddler Subbashini sat squirming in her high chair, squealing at the sight of her mother. Toddler

Subbashini waddled around the kitchen stumbling over her two feet. Toddler

Subbashini climbed the kitchen counter top and headed toward the orange moving

mystery. Subbashini was entranced. Subbashini was so close. Toddler

Subbashini reached her hand out. Someone shrieked. Subbashini's mother moved

swiftly. Toddler Subbashini was swooped up before she could reach the orange

moving mystery. Toddler Subbashini was saved.

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Water splashing everywhere, Subbashini floating. Branches of trees reaching out, scratching at Subbashini. Sloppy mud marked the trail. A firm hand reached out to Subbashini. Subbashini grabs it

and manages not to slip. The sunlight beamed through the hat on Subbashini's face. It disrupted Subbashini's nap. The cool water flows around her, rocks unknowingly massaging her. The tide

became stronger and Subbashini struggled to gain control of the boat. Five harsh minutes later, the water was clear again and Subbashini became relaxed once more.

With small white flurries carefully coating her, Subbashini struggled to lock her apartment. Two minutes and a whole lot of struggle later, Subbashini managed to swiftly began walking to her class.

Subbashini’s stomach growled with hunger. Subbashini had woken up late as usual. Subbashini trekked through the snow and began her journey to her class. Moments later, Subbashini entered her

Creative Writing class.

Digitzer Obsessiveness Zach Mandell I wake up and crave it. My world is different without it. I am hungry thinking about it.

I look at it and squint. It has no scent, and it has no emotion until I exploit it.

I wake up and make coffee. I’m so tired with out coffee. Coffee makes me hungry.I look at it and smile. It smells better than it tastes. When I exploit it I feel happy.

I look and it keeps me up. I automatically become engaged and constantly wanting to look at it. I depend on it for my success. There’s no better alternative and I don’t want to look

anywhere else.

I think about how much I’ve learned from being so digitzed.I think my brain needs to be digitized to learn anything.

I ask myself, “Was I always this dependent on information? How important was information to my ancestors?”

I read the information and think about it, then I want to explore my thoughts.I search my thoughts through the digitizer.

My answers become what the digitzer tells me, should I accept this lifestyle?

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I make assumptions about the digitzer; this is too exaggerated, this is advertising, this is made-up, this is too basic, this is too hard, this is not interesting, this is too long to read.

Were my ancestors able to assess the quality of information like I can?

I continue reading information from the digitizer, sometimes I understand what I see.When I don’t understand I usually don’t stop reading if it’s not important to me.

When I don’t understand and it is important, I will stop reading and search the digitzer.The digitzer tells me all the answers,

the digitizer tells me what to believe.

My thoughts become intertwined with what’s on the digitzer and my

creativity. When I like to think creatively as I

use the digitzer, I will listen to music.

I find the music on the digitizer and the digitzer tells me what I

will like to listen to.

The act of looking at a screen that swallows my attention scares me,

but I do it anyway. The comments below the text are so diverse and appealing. People

from all over the planet have something to say, have a voice to be heard, and can clearly express

beliefs.

The positive and negative interactions probably end up cancelling each other out, I think to myself. Then again I think, more people are probably giving bad reviews than good ones.

The process to read the given text is usually interesting at first, just because of the text. Then I am easily and frequently detracted from the text by my thoughts or visuals.

I wonder so much about what I read, my thoughts become consumed in accommodating to my wonders that I find myself infinitely digitzed.

Goon Dog Zach Mandell Eh  this  will  be  easy.    Food,  toys,  leash,  and  tag  included  with  the  $1800  mutt.  The  happy  couple  already  paid  up  front,  they’ll  be  shipping  north  for  $400  more.  All  I  got  to  do  is  feed  it  

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till  Tuesday.    Finally,  I’ll  be  dog  free  for  the  Cirst  in  7  years.  All  thanks  to  the  newly  wed  couple  who  just  spent  $100,000  on  decorations.    

Don’t  get  me  wrong,  I  don’t  like  marriage,  not  even  sure  why  people  go  for  that  garbage.    I  don’t  mind  who  gets  the  dog,  I’m  just  glad  it’s  my  last.  A  wolf  may  just  be  the  bet  for  me.  Wolf.  Every  time  I  thought  about  it,  I  knew  I  could  train  a  wild  one.  Dead  on,  true.    Wolves  were  domesticated  by  humans  13,000  years  ago.    Sometimes  there  wasn’t  proper  techniques  or  tools  to  train  a  newborn.  Just  lots  of  blood.  Lots  of  disabled  newborns.  Lots  of  dead  chickens.    Just  blood.  

I  didn’t  want  to  think  too  much  cause  I  would  laugh.  How  dumb  were  those  noblemen  with  wigs?  Did  they  think  they  could  train  a  wild  animal?  Did  they  realize  they  cant  train  an  animal  by  shooting  it?    What  if  they  couldn’t  ever  train  it,  just  gave  the  wolf  to  townsmen  that  people  hated?  

I  needed  to  relax,  watch  some  animal  planet  on  the  loudest  it  can  go  or  maybe  I’d  throw  this  mutt  to  the  curb.  The  happy  couple  would  come.  And  then  I  would  have  to  return  the  cash  I  already  spend.    

I  started  looking  online  for  a  wolf  breeder.  40  miles  from  Berlin.    I  think  German  people  have  a  thing  about  them.    Not  the  accent,  smell,  or  skin.  The  way  they  engage  with  strangers  is  the  same.  Most  of  them.  

Berlin  breeders,  vicious?  As  I  think  about  it  I  was  ready  for  a  challenge.  I  sent  an  urgent  email.  ‘You  have  any  young  wolves?’  

The  breeders  name  was  Hobbs.  Hobbs    replies,    ‘of  course  wolf  pen  full  of  newborns,  great  for  killing  vermin.’  Hobbs  left  me  his  number  and  said  to  call  anytime.  

Walking  outside  with  the  mutt,  it  was  windy.    First  time  on  a  big  hill,  few  dogs  I  have  taken  this  height.    I  brought  some  stale  cheddar,  for  the  mutt.  A  bad  hill  to  roam  alone  as  a  young  little  mutt.  Big  birds  are  above.  

I  called  up  Hobbs.  ‘Who  runs  the  operation?’  I  asked.    

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Hobbs  replied,  ‘  a  frail  women  who  served  in  parliament,  thinks  she’s  strong  but  I  handle  most  work.    Cheapest  business  owner  I  know,  wont  sell  any  for  a  bargain.  I  can  offer  you  a  Goon  wolf,  are  you  interested?’  

I  wouldn’t  turn  down  a  bargain,  though  I  want  a  wolf  to  be  proud  of.  I  knew  little  about  a  goon  one,  when  we’d  be  hunting  without  a  leash,  but  until  that  happened,  ‘I  am  interested.’  

Sometimes  I  would  get  embarrassed.  All  the  couples,  families  ,  and  old  people  I’ve  sold  mutts  to.  Lots  of  them  were  good  people,  even  the  fat  ones.  I  didn’t  mean  to  cause  any  issues,  didn’t  want  a  bad  dog.  Hated  when  people  called  me  up  on  my  wrongs.  

Hobbs  called  and  said  real  loudly  ‘  I  got  a  delicate  and  real  nice  good  wolf,  she  don’t  do  well  with  the  bigger  ones!’  

Just  my  luck.      

I  thought  he  wanted  my  to  offer  something  back.  Something  of  value.  He  was  quiet.  

So  I  goes,  ‘  oh  that  must  be  a  modern  wolf,  do  you  have  a  Cierce  goon?’  

Hobbs  went  all  calm,  stopped  talking  so  loudly.    I  felt  the  mutt  on  my  leg,  it  was  looking  at  me  and  I  got  scared  it  would  piss  on  me  so  I  kicked  it  lightly.  The  mutt  scuttered  away.  Hobbs  replied  ‘  let  me  call  you  later’.    

I  was  an  expert  negotiator.    

After  4  hours  of  animal  planet  I  Cinally  lowered  the  volume  to  under  30%.    

My  night  was  over.  

Loving  animals,  lonely  animals,  Cierce  animals,  friendly  animals,  furry  animals,  dark  creepy  animals,  orange  living  animals,  blue  birds.  Morning  skies.  

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All  of  a  sudden  it  was  Sunday,  like  it  had  passed  in  a  minute.  

I  wanted  me  life  to  be  better,  I  wanted  to  be  happy  and  free  with  a  Cierce  wolf.  Of  them  of  folks  I  sold  mutts  to.    

I  didn’t  know  what  to  do  what  to  think.  I  punched  the  wall  and  it  was  all  cracked.  My  Cist  was  bleeding,  all  bits  of  skin  and  wall  was  loose.  My  face  was  wet  with  blood.  The  only  thing  that  cared  to  stand  by  me  was  the  dumb  mutt.  The  only  thing  that  made  me  even  half  smile.    

I  said  to  myself,’  he’s  not  yours’.    

Left  with  nothing  but  self,  like  always.    

I  went  outside.    The  sun  is  high  in  the  sky,  I  feel  alive.    

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