Tag: Portfolio
It Slowly Slipped Away
by The Cowl Editor on October 28, 2021
Portfolio
by Grace O’Connor ’22
She looked in the mirror and took a deep breath
Today was the day her life would change
She looked down at her newly polished nails as her heart drummed in her chest
Time was going by painfully slowly yet too fast
She stood up slowly and walked down the stairs in silence
The silence in the air weighed her down with every step
The last time she saw her she was in her arms, the most beautiful thing alive
It felt hard to breathe every time she thought about her
She sipped the coffee slowly as her mind kept running rapidly
She wanted more than anything another chance
A new relationship, one that she could cherish rather than one that bares the emptiness
Of a relationship that was nonexistent
The ring of the doorbell echoed through the house
She stood up slowly and walked to the door at the end of the hall
She put her hand on the cold door knob and twisted it hesitantly
She gasped when she saw her face
It was the day that changed everything
One that she had tried to delete from her memories for years
But also a day she could never get back, all the emotions that she had buried inside
Sometimes would bubble up to the surface
All she kept was that one photo
That one memory
It slowly slipped away
Until that one moment, the day that changed everything
Tiff and Earl
by The Cowl Editor on October 28, 2021
Portfolio
Dear Tiff and Earl,
It’s me again. My COVID-19 lover and I don’t know what to wear for Halloween—we want a good couple’s costume idea. Thoughts?
Sincerely,
Caught Feelings (and COVID)
Dear Heartswab,
Darling, I am positively bursting with couples costume ideas.
Two halves of a Kit Kat. Dean Sears and his lollipop. Beef and broccoli. Two thumbs (you’ll have to pick up or down). A caveman and a cavewoman. Raisins and peanuts (a classic combination). A pair of pants. Henry VIII and one of his decapitated wives. Edgar Bergen and his ventriloquist dummy Charlie McCarthy. Those goops from Titanic, but in the scene right before the guy dies, when she’s all cozy on her door and he’s just hanging on. Oh man—like Celine Dion’s heart, I could go on. But oy vey, I am lonely.
Cheers!
Tiff
Dear Caught Feelings (and COVID),
For your and your lover’s safety, as well as that of anyone with whom you may come into contact, costumes that cover your nose and mouth are a must. You could easily go with a tired, cliche costume, such as ninjas or bandana-wearing cowboys. However, if you want a costume that is both COVID-lover-safe and will certainly not be copied by other couples, I would suggest going as this advice columnist’s favorite celebrity, Taylor Swift, when she was transported out of her apartment in a large suitcase. Not only was this a watershed moment in popular culture, but it’ll also keep you and your COVID-lover from infecting anyone—plus, nothing says romance like contorting your body to fit in a tight space.
It’s a Love Story, baby, just say yes,
Earl
Bloodline
by The Cowl Editor on October 28, 2021
Portfolio
by Toni Rendon ’24
1946
“AGH, WHAT’S HAPPENING TO ME?” Helen’s howls bounced off the walls of Packard Manor, causing Howard, the head of staff, to rush to the master bedroom in concern. What happened next could only be described as unearthly. Helen, the mistress of the house, was laying on her back in bed with her legs raised while her husband, Thomas, looked on with an eerie sense of satisfaction. Her stomach rocked and bulged as if there was something trying to claw its way out. Helen continued to howl and plead for help as her stomach began to tear apart from the belly button to the perineum.
“Come now darling, you knew what you were getting yourself into. Now be quiet and complete your duty.” Thomas demanded in a kind tone wearing a nightmarish grin.
Howard, petrified with fear, couldn’t help but watch as the final section of skin was torn asunder giving way to an Adonis of a man. Basking in his mother’s blood, the strange man yawned, stretched, letting the entrails that adorned him drop to the floor. Scanning the room to find who summoned him, he locked eyes with Thomas and approached him. Howard wasn’t able to hear the conversation, but from what he witnessed it wasn’t pleasant. Thomas slapped the stranger, who then picked Thomas up by his head and launched him through the door and into the wall behind Howard. His body landed with a squish and clear sound of bones shattering, Howard, now free of his petrification, rushed to his side.
“M-M-Master Thomas, what’s going on?” he stammered while propping Thomas’ body against the wall.
Floating in and out of consciousness, Thomas noticed the stranger approaching them, and with the last strength in his body, he looked at Howard and muttered, “Run, Howard. Run.”
Howard, realizing there wasn’t anything more he could do for his master, took Thomas’ advice and turned around, and began to run down the hall. Running at full speed, he was suddenly stopped in his tracks when the strange man said, “Stop.” The strange man began approaching Howard like he was a predator stalking his prey.
“Turn around,” the strange man demanded, causing Howards’ body to turn around on its own. “Allow me to introduce myself. My name is Leopold Wayne, and you are?”
“H-H-Howard J-J-Jones,” Howard stuttered.
“Nice to meet you, Howard Jones. Now you and I are going to make a deal, or I will kill you and everyone else in this house, understand?” Leopold grinned wickedly.
“Y-Y-Yes sir,” Howard whimpered.
“Good boy, now tell me, do you know what a bloodline is to a demon?” Leopold asked while sticking his hand towards Howard.
2016
“COME BACK HERE, PUSSY!” is all Atlas heard besides his heavy breathing and the soles of his sneakers slapping on the pavement as he fled from the bullies. He raced down the block and around the corner towards his house. Reaching his front door, he felt a sense of peace washing over him as he reached into his pockets to grab his keys, but he couldn’t seem to locate them. It’s okay, I probably left them in the house or in my locker at school, he thought to himself, trying to remain calm as he heard the approaching call of “stop hiding you little bitch.” After banging on the door a few times, trying to get the attention of someone in the house, he realized his grandfather had already left for work and his mom hadn’t come home from her shift yet.
“I FOUND HIM! HE’S OVER HERE!” rang in his ear as he realized that his lack of entry into his house gave the bullies a chance to catch up. Before they could regroup outside of his yard, Atlas took off running again, his soles once again pounding on the pavement. I can’t run to Mom—she works halfway across town—so my best bet is to go see Grandpa and get his keys, Atlas thought to himself as he raced down the street towards the manor where his grandfather worked.
Reaching the manor, Atlas raced up the steps, threw the door open, and ducked inside the foyer to seek refuge. Taking a couple deep breaths Atlas heard the bullies call out, “YOU CAN’T RUN FOREVER, WE’LL SEE YOU AT SCHOOL TOMORROW!” and return in the direction from which they came. Atlas waited a few moments to make sure his pursuers had truly fled before got up and wiped his hands on his pants, leaving small palm prints on his thighs from where the sweat rubbed off. Grandpa has worked here for my entire life and I’ve never actually been inside before today, Atlas thought to himself as he explored the foyer.
“Grandpa Howard, where are you? It’s me, Atlas, I can’t find my keys, so I need to borrow yours.” Atlas called out to the seemingly empty manor, “Grandpa Howard, are you here? GRANDPA HOW—”
“I THOUGHT I TOLD YOU TO NEVER COME HERE ATLAS!” Howard shouted, appearing behind Atlas and putting his hand on his shoulder.
“I know, but I didn’t have my keys and Ma wasn’t home, so I came here to get your keys,” Atlas said, looking up into his grandfather’s stony eyes.
“I don’t care why you’re here; you should’ve never come to begin with. Now take my keys and leave before anyone else sees you.” Howard said, pushing Atlas towards the door. As Howard opened the door to let Atlas out, they heard, “Who’s your guest Howard?” which caused them both to turn around. Approaching them from across the room was Leopold, his beautiful caramel complexion glistening in the light coming from the windows. His 6’5” athletic build intimidated Atlas with its perfection, and making eye contact with Leopold instantly turned Atlas’ stomach inside out. One eye was a white as ivory and the other was a shade of pink Atlas couldn’t put his finger on.
“Are you going to make me ask again?” Leopold asked Howard, the neutral look on his face transforming into a pout.
“N-No of course not, Master Leopold,” Howard said, moving behind Atlas and presenting the boy to the head of the house. “This is my grandson, Atlas. He came by to get my keys, but he’s leaving now.” Howard said, proceeding to open the door and push Atlas out, but Leopold stopped him and crouched down to get a better look at Atlas.
“Atlas is it? A strong name for a strong child.” Leopold said flashing the same smile he gave Howard that night back in ’46. “I knew your genes would be strong. I just didn’t know they would be this strong. He looks exactly like you did when we met.”
“Yes sir, he’s basically my spitting image,” Howard said with his voice wavering. “He must really get going though.”
“Yes, take young Atlas home, but first follow me for a second, I must talk to you,” Leopold said, beckoning Howard to follow. A few minutes went by before Atlas saw Howard enter the foyer by himself.
“Come now Atlas, your mother is probably waiting for us,” called his grandfather as he walked out the door. “Atlas, I want you to know I’m sorry for everything that’s going to go wrong in your life.” A tear from his left eye slid down his face.
2021
“Mr. Jones, your grandfather will see you now,” said the nurse, signaling that it was finally time for Atlas to see Howard. Walking through the waiting room, Atlas thought he spotted his grandfather’s old boss Leopold, but when he turned to check, nothing was there. Atlas entered the room to see his grandfather sitting up in bed staring off into the distance, his eyes cloudy from time.
“Hey Grandpa, how are you feeling today?” Atlas asked as he draped his coat across the back of the guest chair and took a seat.
“I’ve been dying for the past five years,” Howard struggled to reply. Despite never being sick a day in his life, five years ago after Atlas visited Packard Manor, Howard contracted a terminal disease and had been fighting for his life since, but recently the battle had gotten too hard for him to continue.
“How’s the eye, you regain sight yet?” Howard asked sarcastically while violently coughing. Atlas’ left eye had clouded over around the same time that Howard had been hospitalized, leaving him partially blind. “Atlas, I know I’ve been apologizing for the past five years, but I can feel my time coming to an end. I just want to let you know I was young and scared to die. I didn’t know you’d be the price when I made the deal.”
“What deal are you talking about?” Atlas asked.
“My deal with Leopold Wayne—” Howard’s EKG changed from beeping rhythmically to a long deafening beep, shattering Atlas’ world. Nurses and doctors rushed into the room trying to breathe life back into Howard’s body, but they were unsuccessful. Escaping the suffocating atmosphere of the room, Atlas rushed into the hallway for fresh air.
This doesn’t have to be the end, Atlas heard from a voice that he remembered belonged to Leopold. Looking around he abruptly noticed Leopold standing at Howard’s door, watching the doctors’ futile attempts to resuscitate him.
“What do you mean this doesn’t have to be the end?” Atlas asked, riddled with grief.
“I can give him back his life and health if only you follow through on his end of the bargain, my dear Atlas.”
“How would you do that?”
“Don’t worry about that, all I need to know is if I can count on you to follow through on the deal.”
“Yes, fine, I’ll do whatever I have to,” Atlas said, desperate.
“Good boy,” Leopold said, sticking his hand out and flashing a wicked grin, “Now put it there, partner, and I’ll tell you what a bloodline means to a demon.”
No Snow in October
by The Cowl Editor on October 28, 2021
Portfolio
Photo courtesy of pixabay.com
by Kate Ward ’23
It was another October; she had lost track of how many Octobers had come and gone. Her friends and her lovers came and went with it. Victoria was tired. Not just tired—exhausted, drained, defeated. She had been experimenting for years on how to turn her human friends into vampires so they could be together forever and potentially make this suffering a little more enjoyable. Nothing had worked—she had bitten them, injected them with her blood, and there was still no transformation; it was futile. Victoria sat in a high-backed leather chair rereading Homer’s Iliad, which she didn’t need to read as she had been alive for the actual war, but she liked to see how the humans told the story.
Magnus, her brother, plodded down the stairs, moving his hair from his eyes and sitting across from her. “Vic?”
“Mag.” She looked at him over the top of her book.
“Any progress on that serum that allows us to go outside during the day?” he asked, picking at his cuticles.
Victoria had also been researching a serum to allow her and her fellow vampires to exist alongside humans in daylight. After multiple trials, a handful of deaths, and some savage burns, she decided to call it off. She hadn’t yet had the heart to tell Magnus this, and she didn’t intend to.
“Some, but it’s slow going.” She shrugged and returned to her reading, the fire popping beside her. He departed and left her there to stew over past failures and nitpick Homer. After hundreds of lengthy pages she got up, bones cracking like the tinder in the fireplace, and she moved to the front door. It was the morning of Halloween, a holiday she always enjoyed as a child because she could fit in with the other kids with her permanent costume. But now—now things had changed. Halloween wasn’t fun, she was too old to go out, and she had no children of her own, but she still put out a bucket of candy with a sign reading “take as much as you want” posted on the front.
Victoria slid the bucket out through the small doggy door they had, her flesh tingling as a beam of sunlight hit it. She pulled her hand back. Many vampires committed suicide by wooden stake, but she found the idea to be too risky, too many things could go wrong, there were easy fixes to healing vampires who tried it. She had thought about it and even helped with finding cures, but she was tired of seeing the people she loved vanish, tired of seeing her human friends die off when she aged slower than a tortoise. Before she was turned into a vampire, she had always loved the sun, loved the feeling of it on her face, and especially loved watching it dip below the horizon every night. She had fallen deeply, deeply in love with the sun and that was ripped away from her just like everything else. She wanted to return to her love, her one true love, and so she would.
While flying in her bat form, the sun didn’t bother her, but the feeling of the sun against her skin wasn’t the same, plus it didn’t take long until her wings started to singe. She stepped out onto her front porch and transformed into a bat, beating her wings hard and fast directly up to the sun. Tears trickled down her pushed-in snout and her heart wrenched as she left behind her last remaining family member. She flew and flew until the sun’s rays embraced her, her wings turning to ash. Victoria sobbed and the sun drew her in, her now battered and burnt vampiric form. Her body combusted and ash rained down to earth.
“Snow!” a young girl cried and stuck her tongue out, catching a grey-white flake on her tongue.
Her mother took her by the shoulder. “It doesn’t snow in October, honey.”
Two Sentence Horror Stories
by The Cowl Editor on October 28, 2021
Portfolio
I dipped my spoon into the Jell-O in front of me and lifted it to my mouth. I had never seen white Jell-O with little red spider veins before, and it was unexpectedly chewy.
Kate Ward ’23
Laughter can be such a pleasant noise. That is, unless you live alone and hear it all night long.
Taylor Maguire ’24
I kiss his cheek, comb the falling hair out of his eyes, and fix his crooked tie. If only he had let me fix him up this nice when he was alive.
Mariela Flores ’23
I caught up on emails this beautiful morning. Midterm grades were released.
Anna Pomeroy ’23
The boy walked aimlessly around the dimly lit house, looking for his mother. When he arrived at her bathroom, he noticed her there, on the floor, and the trail of blood leading to the dagger he gripped within his grasp.
Max Gilman ’25
I woke up in a room surrounded by guys in pink masks. They told me we’d be playing our favorite childhood games…
Taylor Rogers ’24
The Devil gave me a choice to walk through Hell or walk through Pinehurst Ave at night. I chose Hell.
Aidan Lerner ’22
Knowing that loose lips sink ships, the captain had gone to desperate lengths to protect his craft. But as they entered international waters, he began to hear from all sides that ominous smack smack smacking.
Fiona Clarke ’23
I’m staring in the mirror. But I don’t know who that is grinning back at me.
Toni Rendon ’24
One night I asked my dad to check under my bed for the boogeyman when he was tucking me in. His smile faded as he said, “Why would I do that when you’re looking right at him?”
AJ Worsley ’22
I woke up to the blissful sound of birds chirping and the sun streaming through my window at a noontime height. I love Saturdays, I thought, as I opened my phone to see the eight a.m. alarm that had been neglected.
Sarah McLaughlin ’23
Listomania
by The Cowl Editor on October 28, 2021
Portfolio
Worst Candy to Get in Your Trick-or-Treat Basket
- Milk Duds
- Candy corn with the chocolate on the bottom
- Granola bars
- Apples
- Green Kit Kats
- Black licorice
- Toothpaste
- 100 Grand bars
- Laffy Taffy
- Dots
- Anything grape flavored (tastes like cough medicine)
- Bit-O-Honey
- Circus peanuts
- PayDays
- Lemonheads
- Hard grandma candies
- Scorpion candy
- Tootsie Rolls (especially the fruit-flavored ones)
- Pretzels
- Really small gum
- Spicy candy
- Raisins
- Good & Plenty
- Mini soda bottles
- Clementines
- Werther’s caramels
- Gumballs that look like eyes
- Only one tiny piece
The Boy With Star Eyes
by The Cowl Editor on October 28, 2021
Portfolio
by Max Gilman ’25
What came first,
The rope,
Or the knot,
The knife,
Or the cut,
The murder,
Or the disdain?
Nonetheless,
One leads to the other,
In an endless cycle of circling disparity.
Before all these, though,
Came the child,
With a free mind,
To fill with ideas.
There he was,
Laying on a bed he honed for years,
Since his old life,
When he was but a child,
Tears grew into puddles,
On the indents of his face,
Whilst he stared with starry eyes,
At a white ceiling panel,
Accompanied by other panels,
That ran along the whole upper surface.
Above them lay things his mother had no knowledge of,
Empty bottles of liquor,
Downed in silence days before,
His eyes slowly lost stars,
As his tears began to subside,
He thought about his mother,
And her disdain for who he had become.
He thought of the past days,
When he and his mother would play,
When he was child,
In his old life.
Now he has a good time,
Through a bottle of liquor.
When will the young boy’s eyes dry of tears?
When will the boy return to his mother?
When he becomes a child again?
When will the boy get help?
When he needs it?
Years have passed,
Since the boy cried there,
The bed he knew was now gone,
The ceiling tiles were empty and clean,
The boy had now grown to a young man,
And his eyes cried for those things less pitiful.
His eyes then,
Had cried away the stars.
A fire burned long ago,
As the ashes of the young boy’s belongings slowly turned,
To winding smoke,
Rising,
High into the night’s black atmosphere,
Stretching to the stars above.
An Ode to My Dark Circles.
by The Cowl Editor on October 21, 2021
Portfolio
by Mariela Flores ’23
It’s as if someone cut you out of a magazine
and glued you under my eyes.
You are the accessory that I have been given,
even in my well-rested times.
I’ll always know when I’m tired
but I won’t ever need an eyeshadow base,
and even if I don’t like you that morning,
you’ll always be a part of my face.
You’re the star witness of my best nights writing
your brown-ish purple hue lets others know that I am still fighting.
I keep my darkest secrets in the roundness of your bags
the swollen fragile skin stays soft despite the tags.
They remind me of my father whenever I look in the mirror.
Caffeine courses through our blood and it helps us see much clearer.
I don’t know who I’d be if you weren’t there.
Makeup tried to hide you
but I didn’t like the feeling or the purple-lacking stare.
I see now you are my inheritance
a face I cannot escape,
but I’ll always remember to love
my tired face.
Tiff and Earl
by The Cowl Editor on September 23, 2021
Portfolio
Dear Tiff and Earl,
It’s that time of the year—the squirrels are starting to gain awareness again and have begun pummelling our heads with acorns. How should we wage war against them? I think we might want to get the pigeon involved.
Sincerely,
Fallen Soldier
Dear Fallen Soldier,
You are right to revolt. We must rise up. But don’t be hasty. If the pigeon is of sound moral character, he’ll join us in our fight, and I suspect he may be the key to our victory. But let’s not put all our eggs in one bird nest. First we must establish whether we can trust our beaked brother. He’s not a bird you want to meet in a dark alley. Your first mission is to determine where his loyalty flies. Should he prove trustworthy, your second mission is to enlist him and arm him (wing him?). Three words: Concealed carrier pigeon. Now three more: We will overcome. The squirrels will never know what hit them.
Warmly,
Tiff
Dear Fallen Soldier,
You’re absolutely right: in this years-long, hard-fought, violent battle between the defenseless students of Providence College and the malicious squirrels that seek to threaten our very way of life, the pigeon is our last best hope. Since all pigeons are obviously government drones planted with the intent of spying on the unsuspecting public, we’ll need to hijack the FBI’s database. Let’s just hope we can save some of the computer science majors from the squirrels before it’s too late.
Your comrade-in-arms,
Earl
Golf Party: Civil War
by The Cowl Editor on September 23, 2021
Portfolio
by Aidan Lerner ’22
This past week, the Providence College senior class was torn asunder by a significant conflict centered around the bi-annual event, Golf Party. Sources confirmed that a portion of the class would have preferred to host the Eaton Street bash this past Saturday, while the other group fought to have it held this coming Saturday. The fallout has been devastating for all involved.
One student told me that, “We’ve been through a lot of adversity as a class. There was the time we all found hella snakes in the Ray food, the pandemic that killed millions of people: putting our future as students in doubt, and the time they renamed Suites. In my opinion, this is what finally broke our spirit.”
Another student relayed their harrowing tale teary-eyed: telling me that, “I have been dating my boyfriend since Freshman year. Yesterday, I found out he voted for ‘this Saturday.’ I broke up with him immediately. I could never be with someone who does not stand with the ‘Next Saturday-ers.’”
While the two sides seem unlikely to reach a resolution, they do agree on one issue. Late in the battle, a small group of radicals emerged who demanded that two Golf Parties be held: one on each Saturday. Spokespersons for both mainstream parties stated that this concept was, “sacrilegious and tantamount to nihilistic anarchy.”
I managed to catch up with Mr. S, the leader of this organization of extremists, and I asked him an impartial and not-at-all leading question.
“How do you respond to those that would say that this entire debate is stupid, pointless nonsense?”
Mr. S replied, “I would say come ask me at graduation whether I accomplished anything important. They have no idea what I plan to do next.”
“And what is that?”
Mr. S answered me confidently, “If we can manage to hold two Golf Parties, that is a massive achievement and a revolutionary moment for the student body. After that, I would like to do everything in my earthly power to make a lifelong dream of mine reality: throwing a party where a bunch of people wear cool stickers. Also, I’d like to end racism on campus. We’ll see what I can get done this year. I am sort of busy, and my GPA sucks. I should probably study every now and then.”
Lofty goals, indeed. In this reporter’s opinion, I’m free either Saturday so I’ll probably just head down with some of the boys if I see heads.