Tripping

Letter from the Editors

To our readers,

This year’s edition of the Red Shoes Review is all about change. Be- tween these covers are pieces about reflection and pieces about regret - about paths not taken and paths better left behind. But here are also pieces about simple beauties, silly sights, and faith in the journey.

This magazine is dedicated to the authors and artists who’ve changed since they’ve created their works, and the experiences that have shaped them.

We are so proud of the efforts of our staff, and so happy about what we’ve become.

Come on a trip with us,

Sankhya Amaravadi Christine Rachel Joseph 1 Literature 8 Bruised Blood 63 Waves 10 Arcade Coin 65 Untitled 14 Reality 68 Apathy 15 A Sonnet - Son of the Sun 71 A Place that Builds Itself 17 Meant to Be 75 Danny Digging a Hole 22 Wlflwr 78 The Epic of Ilumasahu 24 A Goodbye on a Snowstorm 82 Wind 26 Miss Porter 84 Handling Faith 28 December Nights 86 The Boy on the Bicycle 29 The Drop 88 The Sealing 31 A Bike in the Woods 94 Jamaican Countryside 37 The Girl in the White Coat 96 Acting Like Yourself 38 Nocturne 100 Abnormal Me 40 Presence 42 Searching for Stars in the Water 52 Maritime 54 “I’m from Joliet, and like poetry” 60 friends 61 ~~~~ >----->

2 Art 9 Colorblind 74 Hospice Saint Michel 16 Two Peacocks in a Pod 83 In Dubai 25 Smoldering 87 Volt 30 Blue 95 Beautiful Meowrning 36 Tripping through Kerala I 101 Tripping Through Kerala II 41 Veins of Life 53 Over the Edge 59 Peace 62 The Experience 69 Not on the Same Page 70 Reflections of the Past Staff Listing Editors-in-Chief Editors Sankhya Amaravadi Anjali Chacko Christine Rachel Joseph Lenny Ditkowsky President Jordie Formicola Alexis Smyser Sankhya Amaravadi Polatip Subanajouy Vice President Kathleen Lieffers Readers Tam Au Treasurer Serena Korkmaz Hoda Fakhari Chinwe Ndukwu Layout Editor Nayfah Thnaibat Nidhi Suthar Cover Design Layout Staff Christine Rachel Joseph Tam Au Alexis Smyser Advisor Professor Silvia Malagrino Webmaster Darlene Ymson Acknowledgements & Editorial Policy

We thank the contributions of:

The UIC Honors College Sara Mehta Dean Ralph Keen Abigail Kindelsperger Associate Dean Timothy Murphy

Editorial Policy The Red Shoes Review is a journal of free and creative expression. The views expressed here are those of the authors and artists and do not necessarily reflect those of the editorial staff or the Honors College. The journal welcomes and publishes work that represents a diverse range of beliefs and does not discriminate against race, ethnicity, religion, or disability. With the exception of grammatical changes, the content of this magazine is presented as is and is chosen through blind voting and panel review. All works presented are created in total by UIC students who were of undergraduate standing within the course of the 2015-2016 academic year. They represent only but a small portion of all UIC writers and are not necessarily associated with the UIC Honors College. Bruised Blood by Tyler Benavides I’ll give it all up in sync. I feel the blood rush to my head. I feel it leaving my fingertips. It is not red; it is not blue; It is purple, and it is not liquid. It is my bruised veins slithering out Underneath each fingernail. My body begins to suffocate and Now as my head drains and slowly crumples With the rest of my body I see where these battered strings are going. There is no time to look back at the empty husk, Deflated in a pile of grey skin and vacant eyes. My lifelines speed elsewhere, breaking off From one another, Heading towards different sides of the compass. I will search in all directions Until my blood bubbles warmly. I will call upon the other parts of me And tell them we are home. It is time to rebuild, reconnect, and Reawaken our body once more.

8 Colorblind by Hoda Fakhari

9 Arcade Coin together. He had no friends to turn to. He was never good at so- by Betty Krasnik cializing with others. It made him nervous. So his only option was He was in the alley searching living on the streets. He would through a dumpster full of rot- get a job. It shouldn’t take more ting garbage, hoping that some- than a week to find one, he fig- where underneath the moldy re- ured. In no time the whole thing mains of Subway sandwiches and would blow over, and he would empty Starbucks cups, he would get back on his feet. It would be find a cardboard slab. At last, ok. his fingers felt something dry He stuck his hands into his and smooth beneath them. He empty pockets. He shuddered, pulled out a shoebox, ripping off remembering how his dad kicked one of its sides. All he needed him out just as midnight struck, now was a permanent marker. marking his eighteenth birthday. The city was still sleeping, so he He had grabbed him by the hair, would have to wait until the sun emptied every cent from his came up. pocket, and shoved him out the He slumped behind the moss front door. green dumpster. A lump formed He swallowed hard, remem- in his throat, as he struggled bering the next hour of crying, to hold back an aching cry. He banging on the door, and plead- reminded himself he could cry ing to be taken back. His dad had now—that no one was here, as opened the door, but only to give he was all alone in the dark. But him a final beating. Reality had if he cried, he was giving in. And set in. His life there was over. He he couldn’t bear to do that. It had to pick himself up and move was the only thing keeping him on, no matter how hard it was. from hitting rock bottom. He had no choice in the matter. He was exhausted, but sleep He never wanted to live there did not come easy. Instead, anyway. His dad abused him and thoughts brewed inside his head. spent the rest of the time blast- He was an outcast. The disease ing the Packers game and drink- of society. He felt humiliated just ing Jack Daniel’s whiskey. thinking about it. Maybe it was a good thing He had to be logical—think he was kicked out. His life would things through and get his life 10 have gone nowhere in that hole. worse than ignorance. The sun rose in the sky, and After morning rush ended, the sound of cars hummed in the he stared into his cup, noticing distance. It was morning, which a few quarters, nickels, pennies, meant people running around the and one gold coin. city in their business suits—and He held the shiny gold coin spare change. between his fingers. An arcade He found himself at Wal- coin. It was new, with gold paint greens with his cardboard slab, that would eventually peel, only writing with a permanent marker, to reveal rusted old metal. It ap- his life story condensed into one peared to be a gem amongst the line. Dad kicked me out. Broke. other change—but it was worth- Please help. less. It wasn’t anything special, but He counted his real change, he was never the one to think relieved to find that it had added of something clever to say. He up to a little over one dollar. stopped by McDonald’s and It was just enough for a small picked up a plastic cup, before he chicken sandwich at Wendy’s. He finally made his way out on the truly felt lucky. busiest corner he could find. As days went by, he found People in dark-colored suits himself desperately counting up hurried through the streets, change and clearing the cup once quickly turning into a giant blur. it reached a dollar, unable to Cars honked, and tires screeched wait any longer for food. But his as stragglers hurried to make the cup was never really empty. The crossing signal. arcade coin was always there, “Help me please,” he said sitting at the bottom of the cup, over and over again to the blob glistening like fake jewelry. of walking people. The sound Days grew into weeks and of his own voice was ignored so the throbbing hunger turned into definitely, he wondered if any- a constant ache. On his lucky one had even heard him, or if days he gathered enough change he truly was invisible. Once in a to eat, while other days, he was rare while, someone would drop left starved. Weakness crippled a few coins, still walking quickly, his body. It was like a creature sat almost as if ashamed to have on his back and slowly nibbled helped. The feeling was even away at his flesh.

11 He had applied to count- it was the only thing that reflect- less restaurants, but without ed any form of light. He circled identification, he might as well his index finger around its rigid have thrown out his applica- edge. Holding it in the palm of tion himself. On one particular his hand, he felt safe. He wasn’t gloomy day, he leaned against the sure why. He slipped it into the wall of a building, feeling the hot pocket of his jeans. summer air stick to his face. For The clouds in the sky dark- the past two days he had barely ened, and lightning flashed in the enough change for food. He was distance. The hunger in his stom- at eighty-seven cents. Surely he ach transformed into a ravaging would eat something today. beast, howling inside of him and A downpour started—and not letting him sleep. Thoughts from the little time he spent on clouded his head. He would the streets, he knew that meant never eat again. He was going to people would be hidden behind starve to death. their umbrellas and be even more As he thought about his ignorant than on a regular day. funeral and how nobody would He slipped back into the alley be there, a scrawny figure ap- with the moss green dumpster. peared from the shadowy depths Rain spattered on the asphalt, of the alley. It was a younger boy and the smell of garbage filled in ragged clothing. His eyes were his nostrils. It was now what he wide with caution. “This isn’t called home. your territory.” He crumbled to the “I’m sorry, I was just sleeping ground—wishing he had at least here. I mean no harm.” one friend he could go to— Behind him, bigger shadowy someone to help him fill that figures emerged. They wore over- terrible void in his heart. He was sized shirts and pants. A gang. useless—a waste of space. If he The boy inched towards him, was dead, it would help lighten his eyes filled with rage: “I’m not the burden on the face of the going to say it again. Get out!” earth. That’s all he was—a prob- “Of course,” he said as lem. he hastily rose to his feet, and He picked up the arcade coin rushed out of the alley, tripping from the cluster of coins in his over a metal can, and falling face- cup. In the darkness of the alley, flat on the cement. He groaned

12 in pain, as he heard a gunshot hands, feeling more hopeless explode behind him. He turned, than he had ever felt before. He and the boy looked even angrier had reached a new low, some- now. But what scared him more thing he wasn’t sure was possible. was the gun pointed at him. He took out the arcade coin, “Please…” He heard himself relieved he had decided to slip it whisper, as he hoisted himself into his pocket, instead of leav- off the cement. “I’m leaving.” ing it in the cup he had left be- He limped out of the alley. At hind in the other alley. Why did first, he thought they would leave he slip it into his pocket at that him alone, as it had turned quiet moment? He didn’t know. Who for a few seconds. It wasn’t until dropped it in his cup in the first he felt a hand grab him from be- place? Was it an accident? He hind that he realized this wasn’t took it out, holding the gold coin over. with his thumb and index finger, “Please…” and staring at it with a newfound They had all surrounded him amazement. now. He had thought that the ar- “I’m so sorry…” cade coin was useless. Of course, Someone’s fist met his stom- many people would have seen ach. “We see you here on our it like that as well. But if they corner again, and you will find were to look on the other side, yourself without a head.” they would see it from another He nodded helplessly, turn- perspective. The worthless coin ing onto a main street blanketed was a blessing. A gem. Untrade- in darkness. He limped forward, able—unlike all the others. his breaths short, and his heart Nobody wanted it—just like him. thrashing in his chest. However, that is what made it He arrived at another al- so perfect. He would never have ley that was several blocks away to worry that it would find a from his old spot. He nestled home in someone else’s pocket. close to the dumpster, crumbling It would stay with him, through to the asphalt. The smell of gar- the thick and thin—it would be bage reminded him of the other his friend in his darkest time. alley—and sadly, it comforted And to him, that is what made it him. priceless. He buried his face into his

13 Reality by Scott Reel It rained. A puddle formed. The Moon rose. A reflection appeared. The Moon liked its reflection and told the Sun. The Sun rose the next day looking for the Moon’s reflection. The Sun found no Moon and no puddle. That night, the Moon never rose.

14 A Sonnet - Son of The Sun by Hani Said

Afar, beyond, the ocean stretches wide, And gives birth to the golden king of day. It is as if you always have my side. Oh sun, you guide me when I am astray. It is your call that ‘llows me to survive. The glitt’ring sea, a sign of unity, The signal to the world for all to strive, Eternal bond I feel, ‘mong you and me. You hide in clouds, but never cease to shine. Your faithful life, your kindness to the world. Your pow’r, your might, I want it to be mine. Never is there a time when you’re unfurled. But in the end, your rival’s turn is nigh. It dons its crown, and darkness fills the sky.

15 Two Peacocks in a Pod by Charisma Dalvi

16 Meant to Be placing my black bag on the seat next to mine, I missed an oppor- by Betty Krasnik tunity. I sighed, imagining our fu- ture together. Of course, I knew The morning rush of pas- I was jumping the gun, but being sengers scurried through the single for far too long has turned aisle, grabbing the last few empty me into a hopeless romantic. seats in the back, while the others I would get married in a wed- paired up with strangers, quickly ding dress made of sheer silk, settling in before the train started and the ceremony would be in up again. Cape Cod. What would be the I turned toward my black bag color scheme? And the flower ar- that was taking up space next to rangements? Well of course, gar- me. I would put it on my lap at denias and petunias! How would the next stop, I thought. There the invitations look? The font? were still plenty of spaces next to Brush Script was used at Kath- the other passengers. erine’s wedding, but it was just A few stragglers entered as too thick. A thin font, perhaps the train began to move. An old French Script, would go well man in a dark blue suit took a against a cream-colored card. seat next to a middle-aged wom- Now that would be nice! And an thumbing through her phone, everyone would come. Parents, and a young woman found her friends, friends of friends, and all way to a seat adjacent to mine. their plus ones. As I was about to flip the page We would tell everyone our in my book, I felt the presence story. How it was love at first of someone stopping next to my sight. He would wait for the train seat. I looked up, noticing an at- to arrive at Union Station, before tractive man staring down at my making his way out, rushing black bag, and then at me, before past passengers to find his way awkwardly moving forward, and behind me. I would then hear his finding another empty seat some- voice for the first time. Deep and where in the back. serene. Masculine but gentle. As the train gained speed, I “Hello,” he would say. felt my heart flutter. Uncertain if it was for me, I Out of all the possibilities, would keep walking, conscious he wanted to sit next to me. But of his looming presence. And because of my poor decision of 17 soon after, I would feel a light I would turn around, my tap on my shoulder. I would turn hands reaching over my mouth, around—his brooding brown as I stared at the 14-karat gold eyes and charming looks stop- engagement ring in the palm of ping time. his hand. His expression would be a We would have five kids. little embarrassed—unsure of Three girls and two boys. The how to smooth over the awk- boys would fight sometimes, ward introduction. Of course he and I would have to break them wouldn’t know how pleasantly apart, but at the end of the day surprised I really was until after my children would all get along. a dozen texts back and forth and We would raise them in a big a date. He would apologize for house in the Hamptons. Dark bothering me and ask me a silly blue shutters and a white fa- question…something like, “Do çade with beds of petunias and you know what time it is?” gardenias outside our front yard. “A quarter till eight,” I would Evergreens and willow trees say with a small smile. would grow in the backyard, “Thank you,” he would say obscuring us from neighbors. appreciatively. “I guess I will have We would go on picnics to the to take a taxi then. Say, which beach. And we would have a way are you headed?” treehouse in the backyard! It was “South Loop,” I would reply. every child’s dream, and mine “I am headed that way too,” would be blessed enough to have he would look pleasantly sur- it all. And it all would start with prised. “How about a taxi ride? a man I had met on the train— It’s on me.” how romantic. Then one thing would lead to “Next stop will be Edge- another, and three months later brook,” The intercom blared in he would be down on one knee, the car. proposing. It would be during I tried to brush my ponder- our trip to the Grand Canyon. ings away, wishing they would I would be looking out at the pass like rain clouds, and in- sunset. “How beautiful,” I would stead focus on my book. Yet, I say. found myself staring at the same “Yes, you are,” He would sentence, and dreaming of what reply. it would be like to touch this

18 man’s beautiful face. His striking at his boldness to sit beside me, complexion fit the perfect image waiting patiently until I had of a tall, dark, and handsome moved my bag. This was meant man. He was out of my league, to be. of course, but perhaps he didn’t My heart fluttering, I looked think so. Maybe, I was his type— down at my book again, re-read- his cup of tea. Maybe this was ing the same sentence, waiting supposed to happen and we were for him to make his next bold supposed to meet on the train. I move. had read stories like that, always For the first minute we sat wishing that one day it would together, he stayed silent, not happen to me. I never imagined even looking at me. At that mo- it might not happen because I ment, I took in the quietness hadn’t moved my black bag in of the train car. Besides a few time for his arrival— and over women whispering in the front such a silly mistake! seat, everyone else was silent. Of The train started to slow, course! He must have felt un- preparing to stop at Edgebrook comfortable to talk when nobody to pick up the next round of else was, so he was going to wait passengers who were waiting for the train car to turn chatty. impatiently for the train to finally Unless, he was waiting for me to arrive. I laid my black bag on my speak first? legs as I had planned, and then The idea was highly reason- I waited for the train doors to able—after all, he had made the open and the people to enter. first move—sitting next to me. It Before the doors to the car even was my turn now. We both knew opened, I heard someone behind it. me stand up and move forward, I took a deep breath, think- nearing my seat. Before I could ing of the right words to say. even turn, the attractive man ap- How would I introduce myself? peared next to me, taking a seat Would I start with a friendly beside me. hello or a simple question? My heart pounded inside my A question would be best, chest. I hadn’t been exaggerat- I thought. I closed my book, ing any of this. This was real. As and stuffed it into my purse. A much as I had convinced myself question…a question. of it before, I was still surprised “Do you come here often?”

19 I whispered, turning toward strange, I thought. him, feeling the heat rise to my He pulled out one of his ear- cheeks, as the pressure of the phones and turned towards me, question hung in the air. The his expression startled. “Uhhh… question sounded appropriate in yeah.” my head, but after I had said it in I nodded, as if in deep too formal of a fashion, I felt my thought, then turned back to- stomach twist into a tight knot. It wards the window. That did not sounded sudden and awkward. go over as well as I thought it I waited for his response, my would. It was awkward. Why had head still turned uncomfortably he not continued the conversa- in his direction. I blinked, feeling tion? Why did he look so sur- the unease cripple my body. He prised? I didn’t understand…he hadn’t moved from his posi- was the one who was so eager to tion. He was still staring straight sit next to me! ahead, as if he didn’t hear me or “Do you work in the city?” see me. And that is when I took I brought myself to ask after note of the small detail I had another long minute. I realized wished I had seen sooner—the I was whispering again so I said earphones. louder, “Do you work in the I turned back to the window. city?” He was wearing earphones! With I heard him sigh, as he pulled my quiet whisper, of course he out his earphone again, turning didn’t hear me. It all made sense towards me. “Yeah.” This time, now. But how did he not notice he waited impatiently for me to that I was staring at him? Surely, ask another question. he would feel my eyes on him! Instead, I gave another Confused and slightly embar- thoughtful nod and turned rassed, I let my mind wander towards the window again. He aimlessly. wasn’t interested in talking to I turned toward him again me. But why not? What was his and said louder, “Do you come problem? here often?” I didn’t want to “Arriving at Union Station,” change the question, in case he The intercom in the car blared. may have heard it the first time “Arriving at Union Station.” but thought it had come from Passengers began standing somewhere else. That would be up, forming a line in the aisle.

20 The young woman adjacent to my seat stood up, and the at- tractive man stood up behind her, putting his left hand on her shoulder. He leaned in and whispered something into her ear, and she chuckled. But it was before then, when I took note of another small detail I had wished I had seen sooner—the wedding band on his finger.

21 Wlflwr by Darlene Ymson

*A poem for the hidden self.*

Get them all. We who stand in the walls. Unheard. Unseen. Unheeded. All we needed were enthused eyes. And all we witness are white lies.

A black tangled mess In my hardened chest Is twisted with strange smiles so near. It’s them we fear.

Shivering with those cold hard leaves And falling into yellow grief, Please pluck us free. And let us be me.

For we are rooted in this comfort zone, And yellow weeds sprout for us to own. Awaken my true colors. Let me join the others.

Okay, let us go then, you and I. We’ll be friends till the day we die. (But a stranger you will be Right when we no longer meet.)

A sleight of hand, And cute love bands, A palm on cards, And abandoned after all.

Neglect falls on me. As I branch from the family. All your vines intertwine 22 Leaving my flower behind.

A hug for your thoughts And such wasted heart to heart, Is this the family I desired? A garden too fueled with fire, With no room for the ash to spread, And no room for my compassionate red.

They all jump around the exact same petals. All against me with your subtle rebuttals. Do I really need you? I do. But you plucked me from your garden. And I return to my yellow thorn net.

Such deceptive games And laughing secrets And all lost debts. I shouldn’t have to prove my loyalty to you.

And we were friends?

Hi, my name is dot. Let’s talk dot. Let’s play dot. What’s your favorite dot. I feel dot. I need dot. I love dot.

Forget me not.

Oh wait. I’m over here. You’re over there. We met way back when.

What’s your name, again?

23 A Goodbye on a Snowstorm by Hulliams Kamlem

to Stephanie I know a little Little you know For example that you love me now More than when we first met

You look puzzled At my inebriated grin – you half-murmur, half-shout: “WHAT?” With a detective underneath your smile

I laugh. I stop in the middle of it... I know enough to know I know little. What if we were to stop seeking certainties?!

24 Smoldering by Lenny Ditkowsky

25 Miss Porter the pork rind from last night’s supper. If she is wicked (we sus- by Jordie Formicola pect she is), her teeth might be munching and clattering full with There was a crazy woman bones and baked flesh, knock- who lived next door. Knock, ing between mouth grooves, knock—goddamn Miss Porter, and when the wormy spillage we dropped the ball in your yard falls onto her feet, she thinks, again, please let us come in and “Mmmm, more for laterrrr.” Her get it. Miss Porter does not like tongue would then snake down children or animals. She thinks to the divots in between her toes. they are vicious and scummy Or she might be gardening, and little cyclones of raw emotion, working on the beds of petunias. their bite is bad and their bark is Milking fresh scents from her worse. But she does like garden- flower bed with a mix of love ing. Plants are better than chil- and fertilizer. We all hope this hy- dren and animals, because they pothesis is wrong, because we do smell nice and stay in one place. not want Miss Porter to catch us The door is shut. It does not in an episode of fraudulent be- budge. Miss Porter probably isn’t havior. But no one knows what home. Or if she is, she’s probably Miss Porter is doing. We better busy doing old lady things, like go get the ball. But we shouldn’t knitting or making scrapbooks, bother her. And it’s trespassing! calling an insurance company, It’s not my ball though, let’s get thinking about what soup she it. The gate is wooden, and the might buy at the supermarket. latch opens or shuts with a black She might also be doing other lock, but it does not use a key or things, because she is a bastard code. We swing the gate open of an old woman who, as I said, and pop through. We also push it does not like children or animals. shut to be polite. It is a medium- Within such broad categories, it ish backyard, where most of the is difficult and even stubborn to plants are blooming green and a not like anything. In this case, few scratchy painted ornaments where she is doing other things, and wind-peppered birdhouses Miss Porter might be stripping hang around branches. None of magazines of their pages, lick- us have seen this place before. ing envelopes just for fun, eating Then we see it, there by the fence

26 - it’s our ball! The ball is near a short gray statue of a young girl in a long dress who holds her hands around a basin. The statue is also a fountain, and the basin is where the water is supposed to come out (no water comes out, though). The face of the fountain has been bitten many times and looks hurt. Many parts of the young girl are broken or gone. Are her lights on? She might see us. Better be quiet. I step toward the fountain, but I trip over an object sticking out of the ground and hit my head on the fountain. You ok? I am on my stomach. My head is bleeding a little bit. I know cause my hand is to it, and then to my ears. Oh, someone is screaming, so I open my eyes. A trowel through her heart, my lungs suddenly smell petunias, I am looking through the green bug-livid eyes of Miss Porter.

27 December Nights by Kathleen Lieffers

These hollow hearts and shallow minds make for conversation in our downtime.

Yet underneath our pity and doubt there’s talk of whisky through smoky mouths.

With nights that crash and mornings burn these righteous words somehow turn.

Just leave me behind in your strange thoughts because I’m insignificant though I hope I’m not.

28 The Drop by Katie Ley

Why am I so afraid of going to the ledge? Is it the thought that I will be clumsy? That I won’t be careful enough? That I’ll hit the ground with a heavy, wet thud? Or am I afraid that I’ll want to jump, In a moment of clear, perfect insanity? I don’t want to die, At least I don’t think so. It is said that getting the feeling, That you want to jump, Means that you want to live. What does it mean If I can barely trust myself To go near the balcony Or to the top of the stairs Without fearing The Drop?

29 Blue by Serena Korkmaz

30 A Bike in the my, uh, watch. I think I lost it around here someplace last night.” Woods “A watch?” Tara said. “We haven’t seen it.” by John Matthews “Yeah, I think it was Since the weather was around here somewhere.” The guy mild, Tara and I took the moun- kicked at some leaves and twigs. tain bikes to Colton’s Forest I was slightly on edge, Preserve. We killed a couple hours thinking this guy might be some pleasantly riding the trails until we kind of serial killer. were both hungry; then we found “How did you manage to a shady spot surrounded by old lose your watch?” Tara asked. maple trees and spread out a blan- “Oh, the band was loose, ket to eat some sandwiches. and I think it fell off.” “See, isn’t this nice?” Tara “What were you doing out said. “We never did this kind of here at night?” stuff when we lived in the city.” The youth paused in his “Our daughter also didn’t search for a moment, then smiled. ask us to clear out while she “Getting stoned,” he said. He filmed zombie movies in the back- shrugged. yard.” “Oh,” Tara said. “So you “We didn’t have a back- lost your bowl you mean, not your yard.” watch.” “I was OK with that—no “Yep. That is in fact the grass to cut.” truth,” he said. “You haven’t seen “It’s still nice.” it, have you?” “It is pretty nice,” I Tara shook her head. agreed. “Nope. Haven’t seen a watch or a But halfway through bowl . . .” lunch, someone stumbled out of “Well, if you do find it, the brush and broke our reverie. can you give me a call? Here’s my He was a tall, lanky guy with long card.” straight blonde hair. He had flared “You,” Tara said smirking, jeans and a faded blue T-shirt with “have a card?” a pack of Marlboros sticking out She reached over my hand of the breast pocket. His eyes and grabbed the proffered busi- looked like the Fourth of July. ness card. We looked at it togeth- “Oh, hey man,” he said. er. On the front was an amateur “Sorry, I was uh, just looking for drawing of a wizard with his arms 31 extended and a crude logo for a coughs and gags, “Oh my God, band called Hell Wing. Beneath I’m going to die! Oh my God the drawing and the logo, it said, does that burn! Ah! My throat is “Gigs, Jams and Sonic Freak on fucking FIRE!” Outs.” Jeff just sucked on the “I play drums,” the guy joint and watched her with amuse- said. “My name’s Jeff.” ment. “Well, Jeff, we’ll keep an “Jesus, Jeff,” I said. “I just eye out,” I said. “And we’ll give met you and you tried to kill my you a ring if we find anything.” wife . . .” “Thanks. You guys are “Stuff ’s a little harsh,” Jeff pretty cool,” Jeff said. “Do you said, “little harsh.” want to get high?” I handed Tara a bottle of Before I could stop her, Evian, which she accepted grate- Tara, who used to pull many a fully before settling down on a bong hit back in her college days, tree stump. spoke up. “You bet your ass we Jeff tried to pass the joint do, Jeff.” back to her, but she waved it Like a magician, Jeff made away. a joint appear out of thin air and “No thanks,” she said. lit the end with a chrome Zippo. “I’m sure I just gave myself lung Once he got it charged, he passed cancer.” it to Tara who took a long, deep The joint was now back drag that sent the joint burning in my court. It had been at least down one side. six months since we had dug into “Turn it! Turn it!” Jeff our little cigar box of weed at said as Tara passed it to me. I home. The baggie was now going rolled it over to even out the burn, on four years old. We were due took a ginger drag and returned for a toke, and peer pressure was the jay to Jeff. always a great excuse. “Ah, what I coughed out the hit and the hell?” I said. looked at Tara who was doing her I took a final puff, and best imitation of a smoldering thanked Jeff through a stuttering volcano. Her eyes popped as she cough of my own. Jeff chuckled, began sputtering smoke in long dragged once more on the rapidly plumes, and then an explosive, diminished joint, stubbed it out on whooping cough came on which his tongue and stuck it in the front required her to stand up, bend pocket of his jeans. over and repeatedly say between “No problem. Happy to 32 oblige. So, you guys hanging out the knife and slipped it into my having a picnic or something?” pocket. When I had completed “Yes, something like that,” this task, I got the nerve to look I said. up to see if Jeff had witnessed “Exactly like that,” Tara this. He was looking right at me. corrected. So was Tara. “Nice bikes,” Jeff said. I reddened like a child “Thanks.” caught in some mischief, but made Now I was back to won- no mention of the knife, no expla- dering about Jeff ’s serial killer nation for why I suddenly needed potential. Had he been watching it. The preserve became quiet and us this whole time? Listening to eerie. our conversation? Maybe the busi- “So Jeff,” Tara asked, “do ness card was just a false gesture you come here to smoke with meant to put us at ease. What if friends? Is someone meeting you he attacked us now that he got us here?” high? My mind was active, design- Jeff went a little pale. ing scenarios. Maybe he interpreted Tara’s ques- “I was thinking I should tion as a probe into the existence get a mountain bike,” Jeff said. of potential witnesses. “One like you have with wide tires I laughed suddenly, idioti- . . .” cally, and Jeff looked sharply at “You can get them at me, startled. police auctions,” Tara said. “That’s “It’s nothing. Nothing . . where we got ours. Cheap.” .” I said, waving him away. “Oh yeah? Cool.” “He’s stoned. Don’t mind While this banter was him,” Tara said. going on, I remembered I had a “Yeah, sometimes I’m lock blade in the seat pouch of my with friends out here,” Jeff said. bike. Why did I carry it around if “In fact I’m supposed to meet not for a situation like this? Yes, them in a few minutes.” a situation exactly like this where This was so obviously a young ne’er-do-well comes am- a lie, told out of nervousness, I bling out of the woods prepared couldn’t contain myself. I laughed to kill. I stood up and walked over again, even harder. This seemed to to the bike, thinking somehow frighten Jeff. His mind was prob- this little conversation between ably still on the knife. Tara and Jeff made me invisible. I “Do you want us to call unzipped the seat pouch, felt for for your friends?” Tara said. “I 33 bet if we all yelled as loud as we leaving, and she wanted to extend could, they’d come running out to the relationship. meet us, wouldn’t they?” Before Jeff or I could Did Tara realize she was object, Tara was on her feet giving talking this way? Why was she me orders to pack stuff up. challenging him so boldly? What “How old are you, Jeff?” the hell was she saying? My move Tara said. “Are you in school?” to get the knife gave everything “I’m twenty-one,” he said. she said the feel of murderous “I’m going to the junior college.” intrigue. I felt like a character in a “Oh really? What are you hyperkinetic noir film. studying there?” Even though we could “Auto repair.” be the ones in danger, even still, I “There will always be a couldn’t stop laughing. Tears ran need for that, won’t there?” from my eyes. “So long as we drive I “What the hell is wrong guess.” with you?” Tara asked as I dou- I got the remainder of our bled over and fell to my knees. picnic items put away in the bike “Nothing. Nothing!” I pouches. said, imagining the scene as per- We started down a trail, haps Jeff saw it—the seemingly walking one way and Jeff stopped innocent but actually murderous and pointed behind us. “Actually, psychopath couple in the woods, I’m going this way, so . . .” outnumbering him, not believing “It’s fine,” Tara said, turn- his bluff with the “friends,” the ing around. “We’ll go whichever crazy man with the knife now gig- way you want, Jeff. We’ve got all gling like a maniac to himself over day.” what? The killing that was due to Here we go again, I take place momentarily, of course! thought. Somehow Tara had “I really should get go- become a chatterbox psycho vixen ing,” Jeff said. out of an old gangster movie. “We’ll walk with you and Jeff was openly sweating at his call for your friends,” Tara offered hairline, and he seemed tense as a cruelly. rabbit. He kept looking over at me She was quite obviously as Tara resumed speaking words stoned out of her gourd. She that probably sounded like the last would never normally talk this he would ever hear. After giving way. Our potential victim or pos- numb, almost robotic answers sible assassin was on the verge of to her queries about his career 34 pursuits and interests, we came to invisibility on.” a clearing. Not far off was the lot “Wow. Weed was pretty where we’d parked the SUV. As strong, huh?” Tara paused to drink some water, “Stronger than our stuff, that’s Jeff suddenly took off running. for sure.” Tara watched his crazed escape, “Well, what do you want to not comprehending. do?” Tara said. “I’m so goddamn “What the heck was that?” high . . . what time is it?” she said after he’d disappeared I checked my cell phone. around a bend of trees. “Two-thirty.” “He thought we were go- “Oh my God, it’s still early! ing to kill him,” I said. We could ride around some more. “What are you talking Or we could go back home.” about? We were having a pleasant “Lily wanted us to stay away conversation!” until four, remember? Hell Walk- I removed the knife from the ers doesn’t wrap until then.” front of my jeans. “He saw me “Well, we can’t keep riding.” take this out of the bike pouch “Why not?” and slip it in my pocket,” I said. She pointed to her back tire. “Oh, I saw that. Why did you “I just noticed my tire is flat.” do that?” “Well, in that case we ought to “I got freaked out and start for home. But first, I suggest thought he might try to kill us.” we make a little side trip.” “What the hell?” Tara said, “To locate Jeff and find a but then she started laughing, see- suitable place to bury him?” Tara ing how it had gone down. asked. “So he thought you were go- “For ice cream.” ing to kill him?” Tara smiled, her eyes as festive “I’d venture to guess by the as Christmas. way he ran off, wouldn’t you?” “Oh, hell yeah!” she said. “Out for a bike ride, a little We went to the car and racked picnic, a little . . . murder?” Tara the bikes. laughed. “So it would seem.” “I guess it would have freaked me out if I saw a guy tuck away a knife while I was talking to him. Why did you make it so obvious?” “I thought I had my cloak of 35 Tripping Through Kerala I by Anuj Kambalyal

36 The Girl in the White Coat by Anjali Chacko

I see her everyday, walking to class in her white coat that has dirt on its sleeve from that time she fell. I saw her, sprawled on the sidewalk. She looked beautiful, like an angel in that song I heard on the radio. She just laid there, and I did nothing.

37 Nocturne by Aesha Talia

My noir trench coat, a cape of black, cascading Adorned, as I walk in anticipation for negatives to assemble them- selves into a panorama

My tussled bob caresses clenched jaws Sweeping the doldrums sewn unto night’s landscapes into focus

An inventory of life’s screenplay

Sorceresses with chapped lips & plump bosoms seduce Men, sloshing acidic scotches on rocks Burn the lashing knives seethed in day’s dreary

Spirits orchestrate crescendos

I walk… past subways & crevices Moist and infected with despoiled relics Ornaments to the pillars upholding the city’s deadly vices

My tortoise, circular spectacles uncoil negatives in blinks

In sync to the commotion Exuberant red lips Exhale smoke in swirls

My kaleidoscope vision Tessellates Night – Reality – Illusion

38 -- The colorful mosaic, Illusion, enlivens me As I saunter alleyways where faceless drunkards make love And the putrid puke of youth reeks The refuse and elite Simultaneously dance to the saxophone so melodious, sensual, and captivating

I run, exhilarated Droplets of rain refract panoramic pixelations of skyscrapers grazing heights to which I toil to ascend But instead I journey in the line of turbulence and mayhem

I pace onward, seeking my next reel In the midst of Gotham The macabre hunts me I pray negatives and positive films converge

As I am a confidante to illusions And deadly vices that are the night’s heirlooms

I inhabit multiplied dimensions Keys trembling in my coat’s pockets I tread a few steps unto my dreams’ latches

I must keep walking while bating my breath If I trip, the illusions will dispel

I fear I am incapable of reconciling my illusions and reality Hazes redevelop and re-envelop me As dusk brushes night

39 Presence by Alexander Kravetz

First, it was them. Then, it was among us. Now, it is everyone else. I am alone.

40 Veins of Life by Lavanya Nese

41 Searching for Dwyer loved more than a party. She sat in front of her toiletries Stars in the Water all day preparing: putting her hair in a tight bun and then taking it by James McCoyne out and letting it fall; using hair She was out of breath as spray and bobby pins to create if she had water trapped in a loose beehive, then once again her lungs as she drove into the shaking her head and running her velvety black night in her large, fingers through it until it went angular sports car; her headlights back to its natural, wavy form. did little to penetrate the deep Hair cascaded over her bare darkness. All she could make shoulders as she sat in her under- out were the illuminated yellow wear, the very picture of noncha- painted lines, faded but irides- lant grace. She applied mascara, cent like the crown of a fallen and then wiped it off as it got monarch. She could not for the too dark for her preference. life of her realize why she was Rose looked at the spectrum of in such a state of distress, yet lipsticks in front of her, trying on her hands clenched the steering and removing at least half of the wheel with knuckles bone white. two dozen corals, peaches, plums, Blonde hair fell haphazardly into and nudes that she had in an her face and almost covered her array. Finally she simply smeared once-sparkling blue eyes, yet she on clear lip gloss, smiling at her- did not once move a muscle to self in the mirror. What a smile. push it away. Instead she let auto- Her plump lips spread wide maticity take over so she was just and pushed her defined cheeks along for the ride as she retraced higher, which in turn brought a in her mind recent events, still lovely squint to her eyes. Even as attempting to uncover the source she squinted, a shock of blue and of her panic. a glittery twinkle flashed. Finally “Rose,” she almost heard she sprayed the first perfume she echo inside of the vehicle as her saw; although it was heavier and name bounced around her head, muskier than she would have re- “You’re going to be late for the ally truly wanted, she had neither party!” time nor inclination to do any- And as everyone knew, there thing about that now. was nothing that Rose With the clock winding

42 down, she went to her closet. brought back from under the She had picked out a beautiful ocean of her wandering mind. dress that was made of a black When she glanced back at mesh material with small silver the mirrored dress, Rose felt a sequins applied all over, glisten- self-loathing pang hit her heart. ing and reflecting like mirrors, Why did she care about what though still leaving peeks of the would cause a scandal anyway? sheer fabric. It was sleeveless and What could possibly be more stopped well above her knees. boring than the scandal caused She really had adored the dress by a dress that revealed a bit too when she bought it, though look- much flesh of a young woman? ing at it now she wondered if it The more she thought of it, the was perhaps a bit more bold and deeper the self-loathing bur- scandalous than she wanted. Af- rowed into her before it reached ter all, she was attending a rather the core of her soul. She sat stiff East Coast university for right there on the floor look- the future leaders of government ing at that dress. Not only was and industry—industry clearly scandal boring, the idea of the being the more important of the party was boring— excruciatingly two. She glanced into her closet, boring in fact. What was exciting seeing a variety of dresses and about wasting time with the most gowns for every occasion. pretentious group of youth one “Rose,” the harping tongue could ever meet? She imagined of her roommate called again, “I spending the night with the loud- am leaving without you!” mouthed girls and the rowdy, “Then go,” the Venus re- intoxicated boys. Normally she sponded in a delicate yet defiant enjoyed being wildly coquettish tone, looking over her shoulder and droll; gossiping and debating towards the direction of the face- with her girls and then flirting less noise. “I’ll meet you there and dancing with open-mouthed later. I’m still getting ready.” men with their tongues out like It was as if she had been dogs. under a siren’s spell alone in her And yet what was the point? room. The calling of her room- It might amuse her for the eve- mate had broken the enchant- ning but was there any real, last- ment, and she was now awoken ing significance? It wasn’t at all to the world around her again, that Rose was feeling concerned

43 for her reputation, nor was salvation in dance and drink. she concerned that she was on Since she had entered college the path of sin. Still the young she frequently went out all night, woman found herself taking a finding the it-parties at the right hard look at the life she had led nearby colleges—ones that did thus far, the road that had led her not uphold such a strict code of to this party this evening. moral conduct. There in a room Throughout her secondary full of strangers she searched education, Rose had developed for her home. She could clear an unwavering taste for hedonis- her mind and feel empty. Not a tic fun. In her earlier youth she dismal emptiness, but rather a had determined that the singular content emptiness of one who purpose for life was to have a feels no ill will and is just in a eu- good time and act only in a man- phoric state of mind. Inhibitions ner that will bring her the most did not exist and Rose had no immediate ecstasy. She would shame in what she wore, how she drown herself with alcohol until moved, or whom she associated she felt like she was underwater. with. Any regret she had ever felt This philosophy had brought her would drift away when the music through her adolescence into her washed over her, drums crashing newly developed womanhood. like waves against her ears and Yet as she sat nearly naked on causing her body to vibrate. the floor, stripped from anything What she had enjoyed the to hide her true face and mind, most was going to an outdoor it seemed to epitomize vain celebration where she could find superficiality. Still, even as those a secluded spot to fall asleep thoughts blossomed, her former under the stars and wake up with pangs of self-loathing were re- the morning sun. She now real- placed with the even worse pangs ized that nothing in her life had of self-righteousness. What had truly been fun and enjoyable, and she to be self-righteous about? she had no reason to believe that She had been a destined dis- there would be more whimsy in ciple of Dionysus and now this her impending adult future. The rude awakening was the inevi- only thing more terrifying than table hangover. For a great pe- realizing that one’s best years are riod of her life, and particularly behind them, Rose pondered, during the past year, Rose sought is realizing that those best years

44 were despondent and melancholy kept on her rack. Slowly she to begin with. She heaved heavily stood up, wobbling like a tod- as she laid on her side, still gazing dler taking those first steps. She at the dress. But God, why did took the sweater from the cherry she need to think about all of wood hanger before she put it this now? over her head for the first time in As she stared unblinkingly, a year, glancing back at her vanity each sequin reflected her image mirror and its array of rouges from a slightly different angle, and sprays. and she felt entirely pathetic until They sat in front of their her vision began to blur from not mother’s boudoir, looking blinking, and the dress became a through the drawers. They sparkling haze, floating in a uni- sprayed her perfumes all over verse that was melting more and and rummaged through her more before her very eyes, and makeup. Rose painted her cheeks all of the tiny illusions of herself red with blush while he smeared evaporated into the fog. Finally lipstick around his grinning the young woman blinked, and at mouth. They could not repress least some order was restored to their giggling and although her when she saw that the physi- Quentin hushed Rose, he was cal world was still intact. in fact making the most clatter Rose turned her thoughts between the two. The seven-year- on the people around her. Not old beamed at her big brother, physically around her, for of never imagining that there could course she was entirely alone in be more fun than putting on her closet. Rather she thought makeup to get ready for a night that perhaps the best way to out. There was silence when their evaluate her own life was to father came in, like the absolute examine the lives of her chosen silence of a burning building. She companions. She thought of the cried when the giant grabbed her people she surrounded herself big brother by the collar of his with in her life: her friends, her shirt and dragged him out of the mother, her father, her brother room. She chased after them but Quentin—well actually she tried was met with a slammed door. not to think of her brother One and a half inches of wood Quentin, though her eyes made could not mask the screams of their way to his old sweater she pain and indignity or the pound-

45 ing of flesh against human flesh. cable as the perverted Humbert. The door was locked, and Rose Perhaps she was, but she was fell helplessly to the floor, kicking beyond the point of inquiring and screaming with no purpose on the complex nature of mor- but to release her own undevel- als. She had simplified the whole oped emotions. thing down to the fact that it was Rose took off the sweater, all evil, and none of it mattered. coldly grabbing the dress and Even those who appeared to live slipping it easily over her svelte moral lives frequently sinned. frame. If the fabric without any Those who didn’t sin could easily lining itched or scratched her, have been the vilest vermin of Rose felt nothing. Her hair was the earth if they were born under even wilder than usual from all different conditions or if they of the tussling and teasing from just knew more about pain and her play makeover. Between loss. her unkempt golden locks, fair Still, Rose continued, even skin and the mosaic of metallic the purest lives end at one point squares that encompassed her or another, and their mark left is statuesque frame, Rose resem- never as large as their most im- bled Klimt’s muse. She slipped mediate loved ones believe. We on the first pair of high heels live our lives, but for what? When she found, grabbed her car keys we reside in the dirt, what does and left the room, the sweater a it matter what we did under the crumpled mess on the floor in sky? We struggle to stay within the corner. strict norms set down by society As she drove carelessly she as law, she thought, and once we had a momentary lapse back fulfill our civic duties we die as into reality and realized that she good citizens. If we deviate too had drifted to the wrong side much, we may be remembered as of the street. On her own in traitors, but what power does this the midnight hour, the empty legacy have for the dead? Much road felt freeing. She stayed in like scandal, this idea of infamy the opposite lane. For a second, bored her. Everything bored her Rose thought of the man before because nothing was eternal, and her who felt liberation when he everything repeated itself. All drove on the wrong side, and that changes on the newspaper is wondered if she was as despi- the date, as they say. Everything

46 just seemed so uninteresting and boys and girls around her seemed pointless. to only be seeking some convo- The idea of finding mean- luted form of power or influ- ing seemed so pretentious Rose ence. They spoke of their actions couldn’t even bear to continue changing the world, caring not down that river. True meaning about sickness or poverty but can only be found in one’s self, rather about making their mark. and Rose’s self appeared bleak What they called charity was re- and drab. The whole matter of ally a façade for their craving for living and life seemed so daft power. Even more, through pa- she could barely stand it. Rose rading their goodwill they gained remembered what she had been actual influence through business trying to think about: the lives of and politics, yet only performed those around her. She thought of these small acts to purport- her friends, or at least acquain- edly make the world better while tances. She remembered her ignoring the institutional power peers both in secondary school they gained. and now. She had examined her Honestly, the selfishness peers using others frequently, in their supposed selflessness entering the lives of marginal- revolted her. Rose thought of ized people for a month or two, dedicating herself to one sin- claiming to improve upon condi- gular cause, something that she tions and then leaving the whole could research heavily and work situation feeling internally re- with organizations exclusively solved as if they had done some- to improve. Yet with a world thing purposeful, when in fact so full of turmoil, how could the day-to-day conditions of the she blind herself to all suffer- people they saw were no better. ing except for one? That would She felt guilty for not being more be like taking a microscope to charitable but she felt more both- examine a single grain of sand ered by those who took almost out of an entire beach! When no time to learn of somebody’s the scars of the world go too problems before performing the deep for time or humankind to smallest act of improvement and cure, what could one girl do to expecting to be hailed like some make an impact? Rose now real- messiah. ized she was contemplating the In their alleged goodwill, the very things she did not want to

47 contemplate, things like lega- him for leaving her there. cies and purpose. She felt more Rose was blinded by the self-loathing and self-righteous darkness, unable to make out than ever for thinking about such much of anything in the pitch haughty, overwrought ideas. She black. She thought of her juve- was nobody to think herself bet- nile fear of the dark, and how ter than any other, and she was up until that day she always felt certainly nobody to contemplate unease when she turned off the such philosophical inquires. This lights. She had imagined ghouls is why I drink, she thought. It creeping in the shadows during keeps the thoughts away. So she her childhood, and something tried again to empty her mind more sinister lurking at night of anything but the grass out- through her adolescence. Rose side, turned into a shapeless blue realized that her fear was gone mound in the dark. and that the dark could bring The hill was steep but they no harm that truly mattered. kept running up it. Rose tried to Darkness was a simulacrum of keep up, but she kept on stum- all that was bad and cruel in the bling onto the ground. He would world. Darkness was the ancient, stop and turn around to help her macabre creatures that hide at off the grass. He took her hand, the bottom of the ocean never and they walked together to the to see the light of day. It was the top. There the real fun would panicked whispers between par- happen. Still holding hands they ents in the middle of the night. It ran down together, rushing for- was ignorance and nothingness. ward in synchronization. Some- Yet what is the universe but an how they maintained rhythm endless expanse of nothingness? as they reached the foot, their Darkness was an abrupt end, yet momentum not permitting them was it abrupt when one looked at to stop so they kept on running the vast expanse of time, stretch- and running. Eventually Rose ing out through infinity? The end tired, and she lost her brother’s of one thing does not matter grasp as he kept running. when time goes on forever, and “Where are you going?” she when everything repeats itself. shouted after him. Still he kept Darkness was just the death of running forward, never looking one day that would be reborn back again. She always resented after a few somber hours.

48 Likewise the death of a ever known turned out to be a human being in the dark was big bore. Rose feared nothing not the tragedy that Rose once and wanted nothing, and she thought now that she under- understood that this was true stood that one’s actions, one’s freedom. She would have been purpose, one’s ideas don’t matter exuberant about this revelation in a universe so big and infinite; if she didn’t feel so hollow. Rose that an individual who existed for looked up now as she parked the such a comparably short period car and realized that her subcon- of time may be studied in history scious had not driven her to the books, but mattered no more party as she had intended. Now than anyone else on this miser- as she got out, breathing in her able orb. Once someone passed surroundings, she realized she away, regardless of the genius was where she had to be. She was he or she may have been in life, in a clearing near a wood. Her time passes and the world moves heels sunk into the damp grass as on, and their creations and ideas she walked towards a nearby lake, soon lose their substance. We are over which there was a simple all flashes in the pan, shooting wooden bridge to cross the large stars shining for a moment in the body of water. The field was night’s sky. Prominence and rep- beautiful, strewn with daisies and utation are meaningless in death orchus masculas. She seemed to when one can no longer experi- glide over them, moving deter- ence first-hand the fruits of their minedly to the familiar bridge. labor. She realized that this is She saw a pale body pulled why she had been so struck by from the lake. She tried to push the pointlessness of the scandal aside the detectives and her of a short sequined dress. own mother, who grabbed and The absolute worst thing scratched at her as she dashed that could happen in the dark forward. Of course her mother was death, and she understood didn’t care; if she did, she never now that death was unbearably would have let this happen. She insignificant. Death is what she never would have let it come to has been told is the most ter- this point! She never would have rible thing that can happen to let Daddy and the rest of the a person, and now she realized world push him until he broke. that the greatest fear that she had Tears fell down Rose’s eyes as

49 she gave an almost inhuman shoes made an echoing clap that shriek like that of a banshee, or broke the hypnotic silence of the the howl of lost souls depart- secluded clearing. Not even the ing this earth. Bodiless hands stars were reflected in the end- tried to pull her away, to cover less black of the water. Like a her eyes and protect her fragile glistening tar pit, it appeared as innocence. Nothing could take if it would swallow anything that back the vision that she saw of approached it. Perhaps that was her beloved brother, the midday where the stars glistened: at the sun illuminating the droplets of bottom of the shining tar pit. water that covered him, his body That seemed like something she showing early signs of decay in would want to see. She stopped its clammy, grotesque form. His as she reached the exact center clothes were tattered, and his lids of the bridge. Rose looked down, lazily drooped over his now life- and an image appeared staring less blue eyes that once sparkled back at her. At first she thought so brilliantly. His skin was white, it was her own reflection, then but not in a pure, fair way, but she gasped. more so the mildew grey color She saw him in the water, of spoiled milk, resembling little smiling back at her with his the lively tan her brother had. typically insincere, sheepish “Quentin!” she continued grin. Rose stretched over the to yell out, her screeches barely bridge, trying to embrace him. audible as words. It took many It is impossible to tell whether grown men to pull away the girl she overreached and stumbled who fought with strength she over the railing or if she inten- didn’t know, sprinting hysterically tionally lunged into the murky towards the lifeless corpse of her depths. Either way, she de- big brother. She sobbed in agony, scended through the brisk air feeling abandoned like a little girl until she reached her brother. left at the bottom of a hill. His touch was a slap to her face Rose stepped onto the dete- as she melted right through him. riorating planks of wood, look- She floated haphazardly in the ing into the glossy water, which lake and her mind went blank looked black and luxuriously of all cognizant thought. She opaque at this late hour. She was Botticelli’s Venus, returning walked slowly forward, and her with beauty and elegance to her

50 birthplace. The fabric clung to her adolescence. She danced, she her body, and the sequins that drank, she stayed out all night covered her twinkled, reflecting and woke in a blissful stupor, the unbroken darkness of the prepared to do it all again. Once night before she began to sink she left behind this form of plea- down, down, down, down. Her sure, she only went on to seek brother’s image was gone, but the same thing in another form. perhaps she traversed the muddy Without thought of repercus- lake searching for him. Perhaps sion, without fear or regret, Rose her observations of the night went steadfast in the direction of crashed through her psyche until her whim up until the end of her she realized that there was noth- life. ing for her above the water, so With her brother, she found she stayed below, waiting to see the only happiness she had ever the white light to take her from truly experienced and she sought this blackness and into the arms out that feeling as best she could. of her beloved brother. Waiting When she was unable to succeed, to see the stars trapped at the she sought the ultimate happi- bottom. ness in a salvation she did not Rose’s life ended up playing even know she believed existed. no significance in human history. Her life did not hold meaning. She caused no wars, perpetrated Her death did not hold meaning. no genocide, found no cure and She was happy. The only token created no art. Her legacy was to her existence is a stone in a exactly as she had anticipated: graveyard, marking her eigh- nothing. The cycle of her story teen years of life which came was exactly as she may have pre- to a close on October 11, 1988. dicted herself. Within fifty years, She laid for eternity next to her there was no memory that she beloved Quentin, whose own had ever walked this earth, as her twenty years ended on October mother, father, and any friends 12, 1987. she might have had slowly passed away, and for those who re- mained, she was a memory that had long faded. Her purpose had been to pursue immediate plea- sure, which she did throughout

51 Maritime by Jordie Formicola

Wayward home when he looked upon yonder. Transcending the current, he thought not to wander. There were cleats off the portside where the light shown; however, the seas were as much of a home.

52 Over the Edge by Sara Alattar

53 “I’m from Joliet, and like poetry” by Sara Weston

1.

My left eye’s underwater. I’m from Joliet, and like poetry. Sound out this letter. Very good, and I know all dogs get lonely. Online we’re letters. I control my body. It’s bare-skinned.

It’s posing.

I write my friends letters. Venom pours through behind my eyes and my heart. Is it closing? I can’t look. I’m kidding. Our communication is solely for joking.

There are ponds in summer. There are wooden floors. I’ve got a skylight above my mattress. There are broken hearts. There are foreign wars. There’s tender shoots, and the world’s a green mess.

I live in the city of Chicago. I’m a student, and girl. I’m twenty-two. I like the word sodden.

Are you out to hurt me? Are you out to scare? Do you want to sell my pelt to the Europeans?

I don’t like your opinion. I don’t really care. We have the liberty to be a world upon ourself.

I have pale skin. I have dark brown hair. I’m American, Midwestern, of good health. 54

My file folder helps me feel comfortable in it I keep track of plans to see whales. My eyes are bad and unsturdy. The cars go by on Milwaukee. I need to feed my human body we’ve got a red crustacean-decorated carpet on the winter fake wooden 3rd story beloved floor.

Are my Internet friends my friends and, what are all of the things in the world really here for?

2.

I am hard at work in a kids’ novel to find the way out of our bodies. I will bring it home to the adored. Running water through old stone buildings keep going. Would you like to come and see our tour? We’ve got lakes, we’ve got sunsets, we’ve got more said a woman who had once been the first black cheerleader in stone city south of Chicago stone city’s white frozen high school there.

I like the look of fire. It twists and it devours and leaves objects eaten and demonic bright and golden enveloping in the midst of dark and quiet power, absence of power.

I’ve learned that words are gasps and not necessarily to be honored.

Maybe if I keep writing the poison will let out. I trust you more than anybody else to do this surgery, to do this to me.

55 Open up my body and get the poison out. It’s stored in a membranous sac somewhere where my throat begins, and take it out of me, don’t get it on yourself. Thank you for your help, my friend, thank you for your help.

3.

I wonder what Nabokov would have done with the Internet or Chicago. He had some windows into golden and a heavy wooden desk a dark stained wood rich and real elegant. I brood and won’t like you and have many occupations they crawl on lines between states in America, all the way to dead Indian country where you know the bars and the boredom. Traps of all kinds and trip lines, a camera, your glasses between us.

4.

Hello, I’m a profile. It’s nice to meet you and yes, it’s been a while since I’ve come near yours or anyone’s. This is my profile. I made it by tapping lilypads. I made it by invoking literacy. I made it by invoking. We need incense and turtledoves on an altar of limestone and hovering above a friend’s face in the electricity.

56

Get on Blackboard online. Get on Blackboard online. YouTube accounts and automated bill-paying come to mind.

I own screens upon screens. Or a few or plenty. Laptop, tablet, cell phone? In cotton fiber my feet grow cold, well-loved by the cotton and harvested, to be grown. I’ve shut off my voice and my phone. I’ve shut off the sound from the street on my own, Illinois -- home and so I drink tall-grass prairie remnants and consider prairie my own.

I’m awake at night and sleep alone. Here’s my poem.

5.

Are all cities metal coffins? Are all thoughts our own? Has your vision slowly softened? Do you sleep as trains moan?

In the daylight we are loved. In the nighttime we’re our own. In memories, bones fill with fog. And my dogs, they don’t come home.

57 6.

We love what is lost so I take care of the fossils. I take care of their grooves. I like the nuance of bones. Inseparable from stone. Like our cities of fossils. You only love dead things. To each his own.

I like to lie down and hear girls murmur around me. Like in little burrows. Grooming your fur. Your hair’s beautiful and you’re lovely. Like holding mom’s purse strap, walking through the mall, don’t let go.

58 Friends by Ibrahim Khan

Peace by Sara Alattar

59 friends by ibrahinn

60 ~~~~ >-----> by ibrahinn

61 The Experience by Anonymous

62 Waves glitzy affair, with the promise of my favorite pirate himself mak- by Amera Al-Ali ing an appearance. Translation: this was an opportunity I had to The minute you start, you are start strategizing for. So, I pulled a nanosecond closer to losing. out my phone and dialed up the Time seems to be at a standstill, station to inquire about the give- yet it’s a race against a merci- away logistics. less clock, and you can feel it. Ring. Ring. Ring. Ring. Your fingers fly swiftly over the Ring. Ring. keypad; your muscle memory I munched on a fry. repeatedly firing the same digits Ring. Ring. Ring. Ring. over and over again. This is war, Krrrrshhhhhhhhhh! and it’s you against an entire city “Hello0o0o0o0o, who do I of ears. And then, you hear a have on the line?” a velvety voice delicate symphony of harsh static inquired enthusiastically. followed by a kitschy voice on “Hi, uh, my name is Amera. the other end – sweet success! Long time listener, first time Adrenaline and triumph enve- caller, heh heh,” I said. “I was lopes you, your legs go numb, just wondering if you could, uh, and excitement renders you mo- maybe tell me if you’re giving tionless. You are one of the cho- away any Johnny screening tick- sen few, the elite, the privileged: ets this weekend?” You have just won something off “Well, Amera, it’s your lucky the radio. day, becauuuuuuuuuuuuuse YOU The first time it happened are caller 26! You’ve won two to me, my radio winnings (quite tickets to an advanced screening literally) fell into my lap. There I of Johnny Depp’s mov…” was, enjoying a birthday dinner I stopped hearing the sound with my family at our local diner, on the other end, and my phone when a commercial for a popu- slipped from my fingers into my lar Johnny Depp film flickered lap in ecstatic disbelief. From across the television screen. that moment on, I knew then Tucked away in the corner of my what I know now – there are few memory, I remembered that a feelings in the world that can Chicago radio station was giv- rival this one. To date, I’ve accu- ing away tickets to an advanced mulated a trove of winnings too downtown screening – a real 63 long to list: concert tickets, celeb- perhaps the most valuable prize rity meet and greets, iPods, meat redeemed from my newfound and cheese baskets, galoshes, and hobby was truly learning to listen a sleigh ride, among countless – not just passively ‘hear’ – the others. world around me. For me, though, over the Now that is music to my years, ‘dialing in’ evolved into ears. less of an avenue to merely win “stuff ” and into something much more meaningful. Through the healthy mix of stations I listened to, I realized that experiences waiting to be enjoyed abounded, and I learned about many of them simply by flipping the dial. From a volunteer opportu- nity at the YMCA with on-air personalities, to a sponsored canned-food drive for Thanks- giving at the shopping mall, or a poetry slam at my favorite café, the airwaves served as my pulse on the city I lived in, fostering a sense of community and cultivat- ing my creativity through music, charity and good, old-fashioned fun. The radio essentially became my ear to the goings-on of my town and a figurative extension of me. The first time I stepped foot into a hospital to donate blood at a drive I heard about on the radio, I realized I was des- tined to spend my life giving in the name of others. Sure, it didn’t hurt that I was winning things along the way, but

64 Untitled by Nayfah Thnaibat

There was Once upon a time When we told stories for fun.

Stories of chalk-filled sidewalks with Bittersweet memories that seemed to run On for ten miles.

Stories of saving up enough pennies for A someday trip to Neverland.

And stories of the scary monsters under Our beds,

But Those stories are no longer because We aren’t faced backwards anymore.

We are living in the Now.

They are no longer because the world Possesses 5x6 pictures that speak A thousand stories of a Child’s open mouth where we could See the screams crawling out of it.

They are no longer because the Doctors who left a trail of dark Blood leading up to the two starving Children who are being carried on Each arm are now lifelessly leaning Over their entrails Silently stuttering, 65 “I could have saved you my little angels.” They are no longer because the parents Of the same little girl who died In the baby blue shirt are now Wailing out her name that has lost Its meaning.

They are no longer because the boy Whose precious green eyes That became tattooed onto the Red swing set across the filthy Street are now fixed upon his Deceased mother’s.

They are no longer because the Screams with the spluttered Blood flowing out of the tongues That happen to be the only possessions That have not been occupied are now Speaking from their tired souls.

They are no longer because the Missile that has just hit the house In the tiny corner next to what was The preschool has stolen the skin From the left side of the teenaged Girl’s head is now searching for her Father shouting, “BABA, BABA. I AM ALIVE! I AM ALIVE!”, Only to be placed adjacent To a bloody mirror that revealed The dead parent lying on the Debris-filled concrete floor.

And They are no longer because the Millions of swollen, shoeless Feet that have been smeared

66 With infinite layers of glass And rocks are now glued right In front of the men gripping The guns and the bullet-proof Shields, are now Waving the beautiful red, black, White, and green flags Around their faces over, And over, And over Again.

67 Apathy by Alexander Kravetz

The people stared. A scream was heard. A man ran. Nobody stirred. With a flick, the screens scrolled.

68 Not on the Same Page by Nidhi Suthar

69 Reflections of the Past by Hoda Fakhari

70 A Place that gleamed off of the glass of a framed Paint By Number picture Builds Itself of Old Faithful. He had painted this Paint By Number on a sunny by Nathan Dragon day and hung it over his desk on another sunny day next to this He hasn’t gotten the chance year’s schedule of geyser erup- to go out and get a new desk tions. chair in almost nine years. Their An empty mug sat on his name is your name, and that is desk. It was from a gift shop 2 him or her, and that is me. He miles away from where he was spent most of his savings on the sitting, though he had never permit. At least now, he never been. He has never even thought has to worry about missing want of going. When he was in his he wants to see. Not that he’s teens, his aunts and uncles, cous- ever missed it. In fact, it’s been a ins, friends, and lovers would try solid 39 years of never missing it to get him to come out to the go off. park but he would only say, “No. One nice sunny day in July, I might miss it.” And that was he said to the kitchen from his that. desk chair, “Rosie, can you bring The first time he ever me some more pink lemonade?” watched it--or ever saw it--was But only wind through an open on the public access channel in door was there to answer his West Yellowstone, during a wind request. “Hmm. Hhhhph, hmp,” storm, while sitting in a rented he said. “Wonder when she’ll be room of the Firehole Motel his ba-,” but before he could finish family had rented during home the one syllable word, it started renovations. The antenna signal going off, and his eyes were fixed was weak, and the screen danced to the screen. His eyes were fixed with static in a Waltz-like manner. to the screen from the first spittle The static dimmed so the image coming up from the earth up could make its way to the tube. until the last few drops fell back The geyser shown on screen and down, which probably evapo- began to spout--to him, it felt rated as if he were an oil tycoon that before they even started to fall. just struck the big one. He yelled He enjoyed sunny days. He excitedly in his room, “I just enjoyed sunny days because sun struck the big one!” As soon as 71 it stopped completely, the image would often say, “I wonder what submitted itself back to a new I did wrong,” out loud to himself. crowd of waltzing static. The He felt relieved in one way--he way the pixels had reorganized never had to feel guilty again for themselves radiated in his brain disturbing Rosie when he would for the rest of his life because he set loud alarms to help make knew he was like the television. sure he did not miss it ever going His parents told him they wished off. He also learned he could it wasn’t so. get groceries delivered in this “I wish it wasn’t so,” his dad day and age. Things really were said. getting better. Groceries, web. “I wish it wasn’t so,” his He’d say, “Hmm, things really are mom said. getting better. Groceries, web- Now he has his own personal camera.” Before Rosie came into webcam permitted to be aimed his life, he survived on takeout or at Old Faithful from a distance delivery. With Rosie, she cooked of something like 250 yards. He mostly, and did all the errands. was thankful the permit forms She really did love him. She loved went through when they did him even with his habits that because the public access chan- perforated his daily rituals--like nel changed ownership and was the alarms he would set. Now, he no longer going to show the Old ordered his groceries every Sun- Faithful camera show. He had day within the hours of noon to written to town hall, a signed 2 pm, but never during the holy thank you letter for the permit. minutes of an eruption. “Thank you for the permit.” If He worked in Telemarketing it hadn’t happened like it did, he from home. That’s how he got may have missed it. by and how he first met Rosie. A breeze ruffled the pines She was just a number on a list outside his windows and the door some day, days ago. Another time slammed, reverberating mildly he thought of, he remembered from the kitchen and mostly calling a number that ended up empty living room, “Rosie? being a suicide hotline. Usually Hmm.” The breeze no longer other hotline-type phone num- made its way through the house. bers don’t get mixed into other After a few weeks he began hotlines’ or telemarketers’ lists. A to feel better, though he often Telemarketer would usually catch wondered what he did wrong. He such mistakes or even the person 72 who had previously canvassed phone. “Hm. Guess it was time the list would catch it. He did not to hang up.” feel like killing himself, but he Staring at the phone on was curious. So to kill time be- the receiver, he asked himself, fore the next geyser eruption, he “Did she say toaster or blender? requested to hear a couple recent Hmm.” He pushed his phone stories or general facts. The lady aside and turned his old desk on the other end told him about chair towards a screen showing a failed suicide involving a bath- a landscape. It wouldn’t go off tub and a blender. Or maybe a for another 20 minutes, but the toaster. “It wasn’t a pretty sight,” longer he watched it dormant the suicide hotline lady said, “I before the eruption, the more mean she was beautiful, but the clarity he would feel during the blender, or maybe the toaster, action. It was like fasting with a was rusted through. It turned the hamburger at eye level. At the tub brown and her skin orange. end of the day, he thought about She nearly died from embar- calling the numbers on the list rassment when the paramedics that he had previously called, arrived.” retracing his steps, in order to He said, “Hmm. That’s un- answer his question, but he did fortunate. A person’s always gotta not find what he needed. Instead, have something there for them, he got caught in a conversation something waiting up,” he felt with someone else. She told him sorry because he thought of his her name, he circled her number, Old Faithful and how Old Faith- and he, like earlier, decided it was ful was always there for him. He time to hang up mid-conversa- said, “I got my Old Faithful, she’s tion and that he would call again always there for me.” this time. Suddenly and for no reason, One sunny and gentle day he began to hang up, almost as in September his phone rang. if it was time to hang up. He He left it ringing, and walked vaguely heard the suicide hotline out the front door just as Old lady speaking, “...couldn’t agree Faithful stopped going off He more sir. Sir. I never got your walked towards Yellowstone and na-,” as the phone travelled away kept walking, making his way from his ear in his hand, towards through the park. He was carry- the receiver. He did not stop his ing a blender. Or maybe it was a momentum of hanging up the toaster. 73 Hospice Saint Michel by Sankhya Amaravadi

74 Danny Digging a Danny says back, waving his trowel. Hole They are interested, and they wish Danny good luck. by Nathan Dragon “Good luck, Danny!” they Danny’s digging a hole. He’s say. been digging it for a little bit Some afternoons Danny only now. Danny’s retired, but his wife sits there looking at his hole. Margaret still works. He could Sometimes, instead of digging, not dig without her. Danny used he takes notes or measures its to own a small restaurant in town circumference, though it never until he could not anymore. seems to grow bigger or change Before Danny started dig- shape. This display of diligence ging, he used to do all of the and of continuity scares the laundry, and he used to make townspeople, as well as aggra- sure the clothesline was taut, and vates the townspeople. Like, he used to work at a restaurant. “Hey, Danny!” pause, “what Danny had done it all, and Dan- the fuck are you digging for? You ny had done enough, he thinks. hear me? I’m fuhk-ing talkin’ to The townspeople are inter- ya, Danny bawd.” ested. They like to walk by now, “We’ll find out,” Danny says. his house is on their way now. The townspeople look down His house wasn’t always on the at the hole when they walk by way. They want to know why, so Danny, and it’s there. The hole’s they ask him questions, circumference is equal to the “Danny, whatcha doin’ circumference of a barrel of bawd?” a Wiffle ball bat. Danny is out “Digging,” Danny says back, there digging today just as he waving his trowel. is every day. He watches the or townspeople pass over his eyes “Whatcha diggin’ for?” as he looks down at his hole with “Well, we’ll find out,” Danny the clothesline slacking above says back, waving his trowel. his head under the weight of or heaven, and someone kicks dirt “EY Danny, why you dig- in Danny’s face, because he did gin’?” notice that someone was talking “I’ve done the rest of it,” to him. That man walks right up

75 to Danny, stands over him, and for some time because the officer says, “I ain’t afraid of you.” comes back again and again. He The townspeople are so gets so scared sometimes that he frustrated that Danny won’t say only sits at his hole and doesn’t what he is digging for or what he look at it. is looking for. The police stop by A phone is ringing in Danny because they have to investigate and Margaret’s house one day. these matters. Margaret answers the phone “Are you Danny Daven- call. She brings the phone out- port?” side to Danny and kisses him on “Yeup.” Danny sees his own the head. Margaret tells Danny reflection in the officers’ black how nice and how smart the shades. lady on the phone is and that “Is this 2 Mainstreet Road? Danny should be polite. Marga- “Yeup.” ret repeats what the lady on the “Mr. Davenport, what are phone said: “A Davenport is, by you digging that hole for? We’ve North American definition, an received several calls from neigh- upholstered couch while, by Brit- bors mostly suspicious fer ya.” ish definition, a davenport is a “We’ll find out,” Danny says, somewhat lav-ish writing desk.” waving his trowel and smiling. The lady on the phone is “Excuse me, sir?” taking a survey for a board game “We’ll find out,” Danny says, company. waving his trowel and smiling. “Danny,” Danny says into Danny takes a shiny black the phone. nightstick to the right side of “Is this Mr. Davenport?” his chin. The officer points it at “Yeup, Danny.” Danny, and Danny is looking up. “Hello, my name is Sandy, Danny can see his own reflection and I’m calling from Fun, Inc. in the nightstick’s glossy finish. and I’m taking a survey about the That same officer is back board game Repetition. Do you again and again and again. Danny have a few minutes to answer is digging today. The officer some questions about Repeti- comes, and he handcuffs Danny tion?” and makes Danny eat dirt. Danny “Well, I am searching for does not know why this is hap- a matching light,” Danny says pening. This happens to Danny slowly, and Danny hangs up the

76 phone. Danny is out on his lawn again sitting near the hole, and he never has a grass stain. Danny is at his hole, and it is a new day, and he never has a grass stain. Sandy from Fun, Inc. calls back and says, “Danny Davenport? What are you diggin’ for?”

77 The Epic of community. Of course, I set out for Ilumasahu Longwood at once and arrived a day prior to the funeral. Upon by Polatip Subanajouy entrance therein subsequently, I was greeted by a congregation, Prologue many of whom were wiping their eyes with tissues and uproari- READER, my name is Sir ously laughing at a witty remark Ester Birlington, and I have or two from the pastor, who dedicated my life to the study stood opposite to the casket. No of ancient civilizations. From one had noticed my intrusion the villages of Siberia to the but for the waiter who supplied snow-topped mountains of the me with a heavenly bloody mary. Swiss Alps, I have traveled across Halfway through – and I shall the world in search of ancient not reveal the names of any in- artifacts, ancient artifacts from dividuals involved in this humili- which human civilization may de- ation – the congregation paused rive the facts of its construction. after a peculiarity in which a man Nothing in such pursuance has in a dark overcoat began to cry so eluded me as the Tablets of without, apparently, any jubilee in Saginaw, which, under no preten- his sobs, at which point his seem- sion, I have doubted the exis- ing wife chided him. Oh, what a tence thereof due to the failures day! I certainly made all attempts of my persistence. It was not to demonstrate no semblance of until word was received that the impropriety, with my smile most Tablets were found by one Dr. exaggerated for good measure. Edward Lemarck that I was re- After the festivities concluded, it lieved and simultaneously disap- was at last time for the auction. pointed, a rival researcher having After five rounds, I had be- defeated me in such an exigent come somewhat jittery, for there quest. Attempts at contact were was no mention of that wonder- met with futility: it was only after ful item for which I had departed a period of time that I had gath- to this island. Finally, the auc- ered that the good doctor had tioneer proceeded to place three fallen ill and ultimately passed clay tablets on the table, which, away after having achieved such though weathered, were worth esteem from the archaeological 78 more than their weight in gold. years, at the time the eagle soared I was the first to bid on the set, over the metropoleis; Iluma- and, as expected, this bid was sahu rose from the earth into by no means no contest. After the atrium of THE COUNCIL due time, the competition had OF SEVEN MEN. A stair was wired down to myself, a repre- regarded as a slope by her sight. sentative of some industry, and The chanting of the names of that man in the black coat from the dead was regarded by her the sermon. I must say that that sound (?). Around a gate adorned man knows how to partake in a by lapis lazuli danced (?) the stat- mission. Ultimately, I prevailed in ues of Gaius Julius Caesar, En- my conquest, albeit with a much embaragesi, Wak Chan K’awiil… more significant expenditure than and Isis. In the center observed I had envisioned. the statue of an unknown man Enough about the auction. I in a German suit, who, with eyes have translated the three tablets, closed, pointed to his forehead but it is undeniable that they tell and saw all. an incomplete story, much of which has either been undiscov- 14-15 Dissolved in…the ered or lost to history. Hopefully chalice supports neither water my excavation in the coming nor wine in a ghost town. months should be able to extract more information. We know 23-28 She smelled the smell now at least that the Tablets of of fumigation. The room be- Saginaw are originally titled “The came illuminated with a thou- Epic of Ilumasahu,” which is, sand points of light. Portraits of certainly, out of respect to the prominent financiers and shep- original intent embedded by me. herds were hung along the walls, Let the Epic for all open a new much of which were painted red world, a world of old. in the blood of animals and parts thereof (?) of all kinds scattered Tablet I around the room: chimpanzees, serpents, humans, doves… Blood 1-6 IN THOSE DAYS, in sacrifice… On the ceiling was those far remote days, in those painted a fresco of the nations nights, in those faraway nights, in of the world darkened, as though those years, in those far remote by a horde, with some areas

79 darker than others. In the middle Chester Meron and the number of the room, something began to “107,523,053,055” engraved stir on the floor. thereupon, and she stared into the abyss (?) of its eyes. It was 29-33 A filthy goat-like crea- at that moment she realized that ture with human-like arms and something was staring back into legs and grey wings arose from her. It was herself, frozen, with a the linoleum. Ilumasahu was bullet through her left eye. regarded by the beast’s diamond- shaped pupils as it uttered Tablet III incomprehensible sounds. She shrieked as the beast stepped for- 5-6 In the center observed ward with its arms outstretched. the statue of an unknown man “Aahap! Aahap!” She pulled out in a German suit, who, with eyes her magnum and unloaded all the closed, pointed to his forehead bullets into the beast, which fell and saw all. (?). She walked forward, discov- ering the gigantism of the femi- 8-9 She fell to the floor as nine creature, whose last words the aperture in the gate widened, were, “Halp. Halp.” not knowing whether the sounds originated from within or with- 67-68 She backed against out. the wall, not knowing how far the hooded figure was in front 29-31 A filthy goat-like crea- of her, but knowing that it was ture with beast-like arms and legs approaching her. and grey wings arose from the linoleum. Ilumasahu was regard- 85-88 Before Ilumasahu, ed by the beast’s diamond-shaped whose eyes were still puffed and pupils as it uttered incomprehen- reddened, there were the statues sible sounds. of seven men, seven unknown men whose eyes were hollow and 71-72 “We must escape!” whose hands rested on the hilt of embroidered swords, under a 85-88 Before Ilumasahu, dome… She felt one of the stat- who looked sharply upon the ues in front of her, which stood scene, there were the statues of on a pedestal with the name seven men, seven unknown men

80 whose eyes were hollow and 67-68 She backed against whose hands rested on the hilt the wall, not knowing how far of embroidered swords, under a the hooded figure was in front dome… She felt one of the stat- of her, but knowing that he was ues in front of her, which stood coming towards her. on a pedestal with the name Chester Meron and the number 85-88 Before Ilumasahu, “107,523,053,055” engraved who looked sharply upon the thereupon, and she stared into scene, there were the statues of the abyss (?) of its eyes. It was seven men, seven unknown men at that moment she realized that whose eyes were hollow and something was staring back into whose hands rested on the hilt her. It was herself, frozen, with a of embroidered swords, under bullet through her left eye. a dome… She felt one of the statues in front of her, which Tablet IV stood on a pedestal with the name Chester Meron and some- 23-28 Her olfactory (?) thing ending in “055” engraved senses were overwhelmed. The thereupon, and she stared into room became illuminated with a the abyss (?) of its eyes. It was thousand points of light. Por- at that moment she realized that traits of businessmen were hung something was staring back into along the walls, much of which her. It was herself, frozen, with a was painted red in the blood of bullet through her left eye. animals and parts thereof (?) of all kinds scattered around the room: chimpanzees, serpents, humans, doves… The evidence of blood sacrifice corroded the human origins of the room. On the ceiling was painted a fresco of the nations of the world dark- ened, as though by a horde, with some areas darker than others. In the middle of the room was a mess of bodies.

81 Wind by Scott Reel

A boy sat at the foot of a tree and watched it dance, but the tree became tired and stood still. He loved it when the trees danced. On Sunday, the boy sat in a pew, staring at the candle, waiting for his favorite part. Finally, the priest made a face like a fish and the fire vanished. God had truly blessed them, the boy thought. One day, the boy’s mother told him to go play with his kite in the park. The boy smiled and did as he was told. Once at the park, the boy threw his kite, but it did not feel like playing that day. Again, he threw it, but it demanded to stay on the ground. The boy frowned and wondered why his mother had told him to play with his kite when it did not want to play. As the boy was about to leave, he heard another boy say, “The wind left, no point in flying that kite anymore.” The boy smiled politely and began to walk home. On the way, he stared at his feet with his eyebrows together in thought. What did the boy mean by wind and fly? Suddenly, leaves jumped all over him and ran off, wanting to be chased. He always loved when the trees danced and the leaves played tag. He dreamt of playing with the birds, but they played tag too high. When the leaves were done playing, the boy continued home. He found his mother in the kitchen and asked her, “Momma, a boy at the park said my kite didn’t want to play, because of wind and fly. What did he mean?” “Some people don’t see life in all things,” she said. “They make up reasons why the trees dance and your kite plays. The wind exists, because they say it does. Do you believe God exists?” “Yes,” the boy said. “Then he does,” she said. The boy smiled, and the trees danced.

82 In Dubai by Charisma Dalvi

83 Handling Faith by Sara Alattar

“There will come a time when holding to your faith will be like han- dling hot coals.”

Every morning, if I wished, I could wake up, and greet the day like any other would: brush my teeth, wash my face of sleep (I didn’t get any), have a dose of caffeine, or two, or three, zip my coat, but before I rush out the door, I’ll grab a piece of coal light it, wait until it’s fiery hot, (it won’t take very long) and hold it in my palm, squeezing it as hard as I can, as if my life, my entire existence, depended on it (it does).

Instead, every morning, I wake up, pray, wrap a hijab around my head, and step out the door. My hands are empty of hot coals, yet I’m still getting burned.

My faith is these burning coals; their crackles are the voices that denounce my religion,

84 that seek to oust my people, that spew plain ignorance. To hold them so firmly is difficult. My hands, they ache and burn and bleed, but how strong they’ve become; how thick my skin has grown; how cleansing the flames are.

These coals are fiery, look how they burn. Yet they leave no ashes no dirt, no soot, only white-hot coals only fire that purifies. So although my hands are calloused, they are strong, I am strong, and I glow.

85 The Boy on the Bicycle by Tyler Benavides

Baby, if I blink I’ll miss it; It’s the quick little smiles in between words That lure my concentration Away from the rusted beauty and breath Of everyday life. The warmth of your hands Is a stranger to the ice in your eyes That cuts into me With every gaze. It’s the quickening of your heartbeat And the unevenness of your breath That are the rhythmic pleasures That I get the privilege to memorize, And what sweet and sharp words Fall amongst those lips. Press them against mine So I can only begin to understand Who and what you are. I don’t know if you can see it, But you have this effect on me, Like a respite of peace in a world Where that idea is foreign. This is what is on the surface when I think of you, A beautiful opaque image that bleeds true.

86 Volt by Lavanya Nese

87 The Sealing with static on the screen. He inched back and hid in by Darlene Ymson the last room he passed by. His breathing increased. “Jeffrey Wordsworth, go to And the static stopped. bed THIS INSTANT!” He raced out of the room “Wait, lemme finish the last and went to the sun room. page!” The blood-splattered page I sipped another gulp of taped on the wall seemed to glow Mountain Dew before placing with victory in the darkness. (Ei- my fingers on the keyboard. ther that or the Mountain Dew The flashlight in the comput- was making me hallucinate.) er screen illuminated the digital He retrieved the last page. forest, and it shone brighter than The static flooded the screen my fading lamp on the night- and Slender’s horrendously gaunt stand. body stood there stoically, em- “Where’s that friggin’ last bracing the player in madness. page?” I murmured. But I’ve played this game too Oh yeah. It was in the cabin I many times for this to scare me. died in. I moved the person towards ~~~ the cabin on the hill. His raspy breathing clouded the insides of UGH! The math problems my headphones. But his breath- were endless! Row after row of ing was surrounded by a threat- x’s, y’s and meaningless numbers ening silence, only distorted by cluttered my mind and my note- a couple owl hoots and cricket book paper. I scribbled down hymns. The flashlight bounced in more of this crap, hoping to play the rhythm of his jogging, which Amnesia to make up for this was off beat from the sounds of bore. night and fear. But I was interrupted by an With extreme caution, the IM from my friend Eli. It read: person swung the door open. He walked the corridors, looking at Eel Eye: Hey dude! You each wall ahead. He hated cor- should play this game! ridors. www.thesealing Around a corner, a faceless, Later! tall man in a suit greeted him Eli 88 I replied: the page. It read:

TheJeff: Dude, what is that? THE SEALING And he didn’t respond. How I clicked on the words, and it odd. Eli was glued to his com- started to download. puter. But instead of jumping I picked up my pencil and right into the game he sent me, wrote more answers. THE I decided to research it. I put my SEALING remained on the math homework aside and took screen. It kinda creeped me out out another piece of paper. I got so I switched the tab to go on my pencil in my left hand and the Facebook. And Eli wasn’t even mouse on my right. Immediately on Facebook! I went onto YouTube and typed After a few laughs on the “The Sealing.” I anticipated a posts from my Wall, I exited out video or two from Pewdiepie or of Facebook. Markiplier about it, but there was THE SEALING words nothing. I googled The Sealing, greeted me again. And the words and the only result was the link seemed to be getting bigger… Eli sent me. A dialog box popped up, So, this game has no mods, scaring the crap out of me. It no cheats, no hints, and no walk- said the download was complete. throughs. I clicked play and the same How was I supposed to win? two words appeared on a black I went back to Eli’s message. background: The website doesn’t even have a “.com” or a “.net.” What is this?! I gritted my teeth and typed: THE SEALING

TheJeff: Dude, this is not Below it were two options: funny. What is this? PLAY and QUIT. I was really tempted to click QUIT because I And he didn’t respond. was surprised at how… simplistic I sighed heavily and I clicked on the title screen looked.It lacked the link. It opened a new tab. Its fog, cobwebs, a haunted house webpage was black except for with a looming moon, a stick-like two dusty words in the center of forest with wolves howling in the

89 background… It lacked a lot of wooden cabinet shrouded with scary things except for the black webs, a table in the center, and a background. And the silence was drawer standing guard beside the maddening. I mean, how scary threshold. Windows spilled out will this game be? There wasn’t pale moonlight. anything remotely scary in the The boy opened the drawer title screen to tease me for the and the nothingness saluted him game’s horror. There was noth- once more. He approached the ing but four words in the same brooding cupboard. In the great dreary font. How odd. emptiness of the cupboard lay a “Well, YOLO!” lone match. I clicked PLAY. Wow, a match… How help- ful. ~~~ The boy grabbed the match and immediately went for the A boy woke up in a small, door. bare, and lightless bedroom. The When he placed a foot into bed was placed right in the center the hall, a low moaning sound of it. erupted from above. It sounded I maneuvered the boy’s like the hum of plugging your movements. The boy held a ears with your fingers. But it was candlestick. His inventory at a louder drone, a monotony that the bottom left of the screen erased hope and eerily echoed revealed three unused matches. through the sane mind. Beyond the screen I saw an open The boy scrambled to blow door. out the candle as he went for the The boy slipped past the open cupboard. He struggled to threshold. Ahead of him were a fit inside as the moaning grew scowling darkness and two gray louder in volume. He closed the doors on his right and left, illu- doors. minated by the candle’s miniscule The low moaning continued flame. to increase. The boy could feel The boy’s breathing height- the creature’s resonating voice ened. The silence and the noth- behind the door. He was itching ingness mocked his cowardice. to open it to see the creature’s He approached the door on face, but the voice receded be- the right. Within it was a dark fore the temptation clouded his

90 judgment. It faded as the crea- as he could, sprinting past the ture crossed the threshold and crib and deeper into the room. searched the hallway for the boy. Attempting to erase the memory When it was silent again, the of the baby, he scoured the room boy opened the cupboard door for an exit. and looked out into the hallway. Beside the moonlit windows He couldn’t see anything. He lit were stairs. They seemed to be his candle using the extra match, leading down into an endless going across the hall to the other abyss. room. Slowly but surely, he de- In the middle of the room scended into the darkness, was a crib. It was an island fighting off its immensity with a amidst the nakedness of the tiny flame. It wavered as the boy room. The closer he walked to felt a slight breeze from an open the crib, the more he heard music window. He went to the window, box lullabies and the laughter of but it was bolted so it couldn’t go children. It resonated within the any higher or lower. He shivered. walls of the game. But the flame ran out of its Beyond the crib railings lay shivers. a premature, crimson-stained The moaning began once baby. The lullaby plummeted to more. flat notes and children’s screams The boy scrambled to light drowned the boy’s ears. The another match, fleeing from baby in the crib held a white and the open window. There was wide-eyed gaze with a horrifying nowhere to hide in the room’s full-toothed smile. The edges of abyss. his mouth stretched to his ears He saw something glowing to as his eyes grew wider and wider. his left. He ran towards it, hop- His neck was ripped open and ing to find a gleaming doorknob the endless blood gleamed in the that would be a closet or another candle light. Holding out his tiny, cupboard. twisted arms, he whispered in a What he found was a shining baby’s babble amidst the melo- human heart dangling from an dies of frightened children and upside-down body nailed to the broken music boxes. wall. Her hands and feet were The boy’s heart skipped a bleeding the most—because beat, and he screamed as quietly that’s where the nails were. Her

91 cut-covered arms were out- With a sigh of relief, he took stretched as blood dripped from another step toward the hall. each and every cut she had. He turned. The body wore a pretty A shrill scream erupted from blouse and a skirt. But she was above, and a creature attacked covered in endless crimson cuts, the little boy. The creature’s pale still dripping. The floor at the face was bordered with cuts, boy’s feet was damp with scar- and its stark cat eyes greeted the let. The boy looked up from the terrified youth with a sharp and floor and his eyes met the eyelids exceedingly elastic smile. Its ebo- of the woman’s face. The boy ny hair was sticking up at random tried not to scream. points about his head and across Immediately, the eyelids his face. opened. It neared the boy’s face and The eyes were as madden- then stepped back, revealing ingly red as her blood and as its scrawny body covered with black as pure evil. They grew in numerous scarlet cuts. It was size until her forehead began to clothed with a faded, broken disappear. straitjacket and discolored scrubs. She grinned widely until It neared the boy’s face once the edges of her mouth pushed more and screamed right in it, past her ears. Her lips became a like a heavy metal singer screech- thin border for her sharp, yellow ing with his voice tinged by he- teeth--gleaming in the boy’s small lium. It pierced the boy’s ears as candlelight. his screams were lost in the shrill And the low moaning in- outcry of the beast. creased. Its razor sharp, eccentric grin The boy’s eyes grew wide and filled the screen as the back- while he still looked at the bleed- ground faded to black. Its face ing corpse, he rushed for the was surrounded by the black, its door at the end of the room. cat-like eyes grew wider, and the The moaning increased. whites of them grew brighter, He opened the door. punctuating the odd shape of its The moaning was at its loud- pupils. The bordering cuts on its est. face began to drip slowly with He took a step forward. crimson. The moaning stopped. And it smiled without end.

92 The screen turned off.

And in the black reflection… Behind my face… I saw that elastic smile, those sharp, pristine teeth, the numerous cuts around its dripping face, and those sheer cat-like pupils. I heard the low moaning increasing in volume, and I felt a burning breath…

Emanating from the ceil- ing…

93 Jamaican Countryside by Hulliams Kamlem there is a one-story poem hiding at the entrance to my mind when the shore casts stillness into the midnight it says- someone no one sees sits by the table in the parlor – drinking from an old roots beer every time I lie dead in my sleep as October refuses to shut its door to summer i open the soil and plant the seed for unwarranted words to grow the poem is like the emerald ash borer i never get to see it, but the dead trees tell me it’s here.

94 Beautiful Meowrning by Priya Shah

95 Acting Like workmanship of the boots that he’d scraped so long to get.“How Yourself much they make him look like a misplaced Texan in that respect- by GRR able hipster establishment” they thought. But he was too drunk He loved them. His leather with pride to realize it, floating boots that he had saved up three ever higher on a cloud of leather years for, scooping loose change as he received giggles and stares from friends’ car seats. So many from women. Then, flexing his odd jobs that he wouldn’t be brows, making him seem all the able to keep track of. It was all more creepish as he tossed back because of cowboys. Ever since his hair and sat down. he was a kid, he loved cowboys. One person whom he scarce- “Who wouldn’t want to be one?” ly noticed was eyeing him from he thought. That life had a a back seat. Back to the corner perfect blend of adventure and with an eye to the door, her eyes danger and all the while knowing darted back and forth, suspicious that pure confidence would lead of everyone coming in her path. you to victory in the end. Their warm smiles discouraged For three years his world her all the more, sensing that twirled around the heel of an they probably had something to imaginary cowboy boot. His days hide. and nights were consumed with This clearly set her apart a leather hand crafted vision. His from the other ladies around entire existence, every second her, who always left their purses which he lived, was defined by hanging around their chairs when the letters B.B. and A.B. That is, they went to the bathroom. The Before Boots and After Boots. only difference between her Now the toe of that boot was and the others, though, was that proudly planted on the ground. they had someone to look after On this day, in the year of their purses when they went. She our cobbler 0 A.B., the trajec- moved to the city from the next tory drawn by the heel and the state over. It was a conservative, toe of his boot was pointed at god-fearing, rural state. There, the door of a restaurant. As he she lived the kind of life that entered, everyone took notice, makes someone claustrophobic mostly to point out the shoddy when standing in a room of 96 more than five people. But she strolls through the park and long was going to be the hero of her chats in cafes with him. family. The first one to get a de- When she finally came back gree. The first one to be a nurse. to the real world, she noticed that This was a city that honked she was turning her glasses over and moved, but not like it did in in her hands nervously and im- the movies. Of course there were mediately dropped them loudly skyscrapers and people in smart on the table, turning unwelcome suits with shined shoes, but they heads towards her. She must have were far and few between. It was sat there for a half an hour after mostly dress-shirted accountants she’d already paid, just to admire and computer programmers with his crass quality. Seeing him smartphone holsters on their slowly tilt to one side, she took it belts and headphones in their as a sign he was leaving. So, like ears. Those who used head- an awkward hurricane, she spun phones to answer calls looked up her things and forced her schizophrenic, talking to them- presence on his right shoulder. selves for blocks on end. The “Gah!!” was his first reaction, weather was brutal, as if trying, until he eventually said. day by day, to sink this unholy “Hi…”, not knowing exactly man-made mess into the ground. what to do. All of the weather’s dark handy- “I saw you over there… a work, down to her now crooked while ago… and… noticed that and frayed shoelaces, was often your boots didn’t have laces.” more than she could take. She quickly rummaged through But, what caught her eye her bag, throwing her hairbrush at that moment, focusing them and lotion bottles on the table. unflinchingly to the counter, was “I have a pair of laces in my bag the booted hero. To her, he was here if you want them.” unlike all of the others in the res- He grinned back, just as he taurant: uncouth and apathetic, was supposed to. He looked a true bohemian with the grimy down at the counter and asked, fingernails to prove it. While “Do you always do this?” all the other hipsters ransacked “Do what?” flea markets for their vintage “Carry around shoelaces in swag, his swag was vintage in the order to get to know people?” making. Instantly, she became “Well… I…” while look- distracted with visions of long ing at her own boots, as if they 97 needed re-lacing too. how,” she said. Unfortunately, as they left He looked completely indig- the restaurant, he’d forgotten nant, eyes opened as wide as he the part where he was supposed could make them. “Of course to look at her feet, notice the you can! You should pick some- gnarled state of the laces of her thing more artistic. People are boots, and say he didn’t need the living their dreams and you just new ones - but beggars can’t be want to be a nurse. You really choosers. So he chose the laces. probably want to do something They walked outside in the else…open up a coffee shop with city for some time. She told him an ironic name… start a ride about how she wanted a good sharing app…or …” stable future someday - that is, Here he finally paused. He with excitement, adventures, and looked at her up and down, try- new experiences. Tightening his ing to size her up. laces, he casually mentioned that Then finally he thought it he was “in a band.” aloud: “You should be a photog- “Oh…” rapher! Yeah! You look like the “Yeah, we only do covers for kind of person who would make now. There hasn’t really been the a good photographer. Your head kind of inspiration yet for our is always moving around, like own kind of musical vision. The you’re trying to get the perfect muse has to come… meantime, angle or something… that’s it for I’m trollin’ the streets of this sure!” city…my city! Hehe! Ye boyyy!” “Thanks… that’s… I’ll think Wow. This was what a real on it.” artist was like, she thought. She They didn’t say very much reassured him, “I’ll come listen for a while after that. to you sometime, even when I’ll They both ambled along for be…rolling in the Benjamins as a a few blocks, exchanging smiles nurse.” now and again, looking away He gave his usual smirk. awkwardly for lack of anything “Why do you want to be a nurse? substantive to say. When cross- Doesn’t sound like it’d give you ing an intersection, he would anything interesting to do. You’d sometimes motion for her to go just be stuck in the same place first, as a gentlemanly gesture. 24/7.” He slowed his pace for her, and “Need to earn a living some- she slowed her pace for him, but, 98 in the end, both of them made either because of some invisible the whole thing a lot slower than gravitational force pulling her, it needed to be. Finally, they or maybe just because she didn’t stopped. know anybody else in the room. “Hey, you know, the people “When is your band going upstairs are having a Throwback on?” Thursday thing tomorrow if you “Hi, just when this playlist wanted to come. It’d be a perfect finishes.” chance for you to take a listen to A new song was starting up our band.” and she asked him if he wanted “Cool.” to dance. Not because she loved, “It’s a 50’s theme, so come or even knew, The Ronettes’ dressed like you’re from the 50’s songs, but simply because she … It’ll be out of sight man!” was trying to avoid any more She laughed and waved with awkwardness. her fingers. Slinging her bag over Choking on his egg cream, he her shoulder, she walked away, answered “sure.” foot over foot, like she was on a The night we met I knew I… catwalk. needed you so… The music that night was “Do you always do this?” she played on scratchy vinyl in a large asked. room. Guitar riffs were repeti- “What?” tive, but familiar. All in all, the And if I had the chance music was a great hit. Guys were I’d… never let you go… “spinnin’ their gals” and choco- “Throw parties in order to late egg creams were being liber- get to know people…” ally distributed. So won’t you say you love That’s when she finally ar- me… I’ll make you so proud of rived. She came in a red dress me… with a blue ascot and heels, a “No, I mean what are you Sandy before she turned greaser. saying?!?! I can’t hear you above She looked around trying to and all these people?!?! Speak up!!” find him. He wasn’t hard to spot, We’ll make them turn their though. He came dressed up heads… ah-every place we go! So with a tie-dye shirt, a fro wig, a won’t you… bandana – and, not to forget, the boots. She walked right up to him, 99 Abnormal Me by Tyler Benavides

Tickling movements of nails against skin The blood I so often see bubbling to the surface In my mind, behind my eyes, lies Dry, acidic tears of nausea And desperation As I cling To all of which keeps me here Alive and unwell Slumped and enclosed to suffocate The peeking abnormalities That wink form the corners of my being

I need you to understand That my bursts of exasperation Over miniscule junctures Of fragile, broken down connections Are me trying to get away from myself And over to your understanding of nothing That will make all the difference

Be patient in the times of purging For I am constantly undoing myself To find my own truce with my own demons That you have only grazed hands with I warn you now Proceed with caution Because I am suspended in open air

100 Tripping through Kerala II by Anuj Kambalyal

101 Index of Writers and Artists

Al-Ali, Amera - 63 Alattar, Sara - 53, 59, 84 Amaravadi, Sankhya - 74 Anonymous - 62 Benavides, Tyler - 8, 86, 100 Chacko, Anjali - 37 Dalvi, Charisma - 16, 83 Ditkowsky, Lenny - 25 Dragon, Nathan - 71, 75 Fakhari, Hoda - 9, 70 Formicola, Jordie - 26, 52 GRR - 96 ibrahinn - 60, 61 Kambalyal, Anuj - 36, 101 Kamlem, Hulliams - 24, 94 Korkmaz, Serena - 30 Krasnik, Betty - 10, 17 Kravetz, Alexander - 40, 68 Ley, Katie - 29 Lieffers, Kathleen - 28 Matthews, John - 31 McCoyne, James - 42 Nese, Lavanya - 41, 87 Reel, Scott - 14, 82 Said, Hani - 15 Shah, Priya - 95 Subanajouy, Polatip - 78 Suthar, Nidhi - 69 Talia, Aesha - 38 Thnaibat, Nayfah - 65 Weston, Sara - 54 Ymson, Darlene - 22, 88

102

Red Shoes Review

104