(Vol. 12 | Spring 2025 - Cowley Student) “Where were you last night?” The feeling of a hundred insect legs went down Shawn’s neck. He turned from the time clock and let the name badge lazily dangle while the busted badge reel on his apron struggled. Moira wouldn’t be here.  Dampness, the consistent cologne of every Konbinient backroom, no matter the make and model of season, overwhelmed him. Ryan stood close. Oh, it’s not Moira. The cold from the large walk-in freezer he spe

(Vol. 12 | Spring 2025 - Cowley Alumni) I hate to drag you into this but after millennia of hearing the rumors and cockeyed concoctions of people on planet Earth; I decided it was time to set the record straight. Join me now as I interview the newbies who’ve been granted access to heaven due to His Grace, my boss.             It’s a Monday, and like every other job, there’s a mountain of work that seems to pile up over the weekend. My job is 24/7 so even though I don’t need

(Vol. 12 | Spring 2025 - Cowley Student) "Where are Ilia and Colin?" I asked Mama. Those two always came over for Friday night supper, ever since their mama, my Auntie Cecelia, got sick and died two years back. Ilia started bringing her own food, too! She got really good at making Auntie's cinnamon pie. Even if she put too much cinnamon in it. Colin said he liked the extra cinnamon, but he was just trying to make Ilia happy. No one would like a pie with that cinnamon. We alw

(Vol. 12 | Spring 2025 - Cowley Student) It’s seven o’clock on a Saturday night, and I’m out of bed. My parents don’t know, and they won’t. They’re perfectly content to be distracted by the guests and the alcohol and not give a whit about their nine-year-old daughter. Which is fine by me. This isn’t the first party my parents have hustled me to bed for. This isn’t the first time I’ve sat at the top of the stairs, peering through the banister, watching the ladies in their fa

(Vol. 12 | Spring 2025 - Cowley Alumni)              Walter Price sat alone at the breakfast table. His 78-year-old body had endured cold winters, hot summers, dirty, laborious jobs, working from dawn until dusk on the farm for fifty-odd years. His wife, Clarice, had stood by him in all of those years, providing moral and spiritual support whenever needed. She was the joy of his life and nothing made him prouder than to see her waiting for his arrival from the day’s work at