Berkeley Fiction Review, Issue 40

berkeley fiction review

Issue

40

Published by the students of University of California, Berkeley

Cover art by Kristina Kim Š Copyright 2020 Berkeley Fiction Review

For advertising inquiries, submissions, and general inquiries, contact us:

Managing E dito r s Molly Nolan & Regina Lim

A s s is t ant E dito r s Mackhai Nguyen Madelyn Peterson

Liam Magee

Des ign St af f Kristina Kim

F aculty Sponsor David Marno

Re adi n g St a f f

Ian Tseng

Nailine Palomino Nancy Duong

Brittany Kresch Brooke Thornton Carlin Praytor Chase Wilmot

Frederik Boumeester

Kaitlyn Duldt

Phat Dat Nguyen Raven Pearson Rebecca Bair

Kasandra Tapia Kristina Kim Madeline Weisenburg

Theressa Malone Benham Thomas Welch

Matthew Xu

Dear reader, began planning a number of changes to Berkeley Fiction Review,

E D I T O R S N O T E

worked together, we looked forward to the changes ahead with enthusiasm.

We also looked to past issues for inspiration, and endeavored to discover what Berkeley Fiction Review long standing commitment to diversity and innovation, while also creating something fresh and modern—a publication that

Review

Berkeley Fiction

Berkeley Fiction Review should

upholding the original mission of the publication.

Throughout the past year, we also found ourselves continually striving to foster an essence of “connectivity,� a it together. Beyond releasing a new issue, we hoped to create authors and audiences.

Part of embracing this mission to develop and deepen network and presence in a digital space, featuring authors on our revived social media channels with the hopes of sharing their work with new readers. We also created space for our dedicated our artistic vision for the publication and our advertising and the creative brilliance of our contributors.

The process of building this issue also brought people together, fostering moments of creative collaboration among

Berkeley Fiction Review have been the moments of connection and laughter with of collectivity, and use our collective passion for literary engagement to generate new moments of connectivity. countless hours our editors put into Berkeley Fiction Review. There were many late nights and passionate discussions as we worked to achieve our vision of into serious consideration and acting as advocates for the stories that resonated the talented writers whose stories found a home in Berkeley Fiction Review. selection process and hope you feel a sense of connection with them. We take quiet life of a mother searching for meaning in her everyday life, to the lonely

Molly Nolan & Regina Lim

TABLE OF CONTENTS F iction Resignation

9

Drought

12

Behind the Birchwoods

21

Tommy Lambert

34 37

Mackhai Nguyen

45 53

Kristina Kim

Sudden F ic t ion 1st Place

71

2nd Place

74

Letter of Recommendation 3rd Place

77

Honorary Mention Fitting Rooms

80

Honorary Mention

82

Doris W. Cheng

Art 8

Layla Chamberlin

33 Broken Teacup

36 51

Nursery

52

Kristina Kim

70

E nding Mat ter 85 87

Berkeley Fiction Review

8

Martin’s foot walked out the door by Layla Chamberlin

Resignation Zachary and Christen Davis

M

was typed neatly and professionally, which was surprising, as Martin

reason for its desire to move on.

and spattered his keyboard with crumbs as he ate meals at his desk until work

be at the bottom, to be under a tremendous amount of pressure, to have a soul bursting with potential that no one could see. In an odd way, he was proud of Martin let his former left foot know if it ever required a letter of if the company it was leaving for had any more open positions.

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Berkeley Fiction Review

separating tact from poor manners. The conversation would have limped along,

Life continued in a way that had become normal for Martin: he was shit on by his manager and accepted more and more work with no increase in pay,

clean and start over fresh and unsoiled.

accrued immediately. Martin begrudgingly wished them well, even though he had to bite his tongue to keep from yelling at them, which was embarrassingly keep his chin above water.

When his right hand announced it was leaving, Martin lost control.

want

When it saw the abuse its friend and frequent collaborator the right hand

When Corporate paid a visit, Martin was sure his time at the company was I have too much work to do to get

10

Davis

became one with Corporate itself. the pronoun to hail and salute Corporate with the proper and deserved respect.

yet utterly toothless when it came to leadership. It made no sense that he would be promoted. it.”

Martin was dumbstruck. can quite admirably talk out of both sides of your mouth, you permanently give the side eye, and with that plunger foot—a stroke of genius, by the way— you can bring up old shit from the past that bears no relevance to the current

decision as management.”

career. Now was the opportunity for Martin to become directly responsible in your future endeavors.” It was a new, despotic mindlessness, coupled with than the sum of his parts and a member of Corporate itself. Despite his work footpaths. resigned to life among the cubicles.”

11

Drought Tommy Lambert

fan in the corner of the room moved to the left, to the right, to the left,

shadows of branches dance above his toes, on the wall that was white but looked The song hummed electricity run through wire, held to earth with piano. thing crawl onto the sheet of white then lifted the paper to the windowsill, popped the screen. The spider lingered on a leaf of a wilting bush of white roses when mosquitoes bit him, getting bit again and again, until one bug vanished

in particular. It was always a hip, a shoulder, a collarbone, a neck, all holding in 12

negative space.

a thin coat of orange plasma, like a primer on canvas, leaked out, matted down

shirt up in front of the mirror, looking at his waist, swollen pink from road rash

his sheets. look at each other. “Let me clean it.�

that had been punched through. triangular bits of asphalt. The bleeding got worse. But he ran water over the wound, and with his pinky thumb, he spread the antibiotic cream, before said so, while tightening his knuckles around the sink wet from warm water and thin blood.

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Berkeley Fiction Review

sun on his face. They heard a distant rumble, a roller coaster going up or maybe

the same brand his dad piled into suitcases when they had to leave their house

glistening Chanel bottle from a grandmother, the street maps that could show

in his mouth before letting it slip out. They both sweated and were still. The

trembling and dissipating when the fan turned.

for a second in a crack of water damage.

“Like, the more whacked out our seasons get, the longer those things have time to eat and fuck and make wiggly, larvae babies.”

“If it rains.”

14

Lambert

“I was reading about that, how it was actually red algal blooms in the Nile, from warm water or silt deposits or something, that gave it the blood color.

ash out the window. masking tape over the tiny camera, which humidity was peeling away from the slick metal. bathroom to throw up. The song started with a deep melody, with each pluck at the bass reverberating. The snare gave it a repetition, sounding like the steady something sidereal, maybe even magic. the bowl beneath the main hook. Being alone felt like a breath out. which made them more blue, brought out the green that was scattered like

faded away. despite the drought and the quick reminders after public access to take ten minute showers, water kept pumping into the park for sunburnt people to stand rides, before and between standing in lines, eating fried food and drinking 15

Berkeley Fiction Review

carbonated drinks. It was around noon when they passed the lot that smelled

skate through the mist, shattering the arc of color that hung in the droplets, the ground, gathering up powdery dirt. They walked away from the road, across grass yellow, stained with grey. The pines were spaced apart but looked thick from a distance.

easily everything around them could burn.

“Cool.”

“The one all marked up with orange paint.”

his and her body pink, in the dirt at night. The sun stayed in the sky, and they

When I was little,” then he remembered resting his face against the glass on the train without remembering how old he was or where they were going, the grey green of the trees rushing by as if gravity changed its directions and the earth started to fall away.

16

Lambert

his face towards him, listening. me to do it faster, and he did it with me—and at the end he picked me up and spun me around a bit.” writhe.

weird how wet we all are inside.”

They cracked the backs of their boards against the ground and became aloft.

With that, they turned and kept walking to the pool. They talked about

wounds were. The edge of one abrasion could have been the shore of a continent.

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Berkeley Fiction Review

drop and ripple and cloud the clarity of the still water. That night, in bed, he

sit around in stink.

the bottom slick with green chlorine, gathering and dissolving magnolia leaves.

from the BP up the street from their places. “I gotcha.� clouds became a sort of pink only possible from pollution, as the sky became a deeper blue. The clouds turned from pink, to red, then after the sun had gone and its heat stayed, purple, then nothing but dark above their heads. They watched it together.

dark, as the two became blue without shadows.

They breathed in the wind that smelled like water and things rotting until they were soft and together at the bottom of the Chattahoochee.

18

Lambert

cycle beginning again. The sterile orange light erased any color caught in their skin.

They sat, passing the cigarette, everything silent save for the sound of grass.

The hiss of sprinklers hung in the air.

of meadow. We had a picnic there. Then this caddy pulled up and was like,

because my blood

drown one another in the pavement, the air, the dark, a bicep.

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Berkeley Fiction Review

from the bone. dull throb of the same channel behind closed doors. his biceps burned. hard as he could, scratched his gums. They broke apart and saw each other, as

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