campo review ‘17
campo review OCTOBER 2017
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THE CAMPO REVIEW OCT. 17 2
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THE GOLD ISSUE 3
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from the issue “It’s funny, he thinks. It’s just like being a kid again. First, you’re afraid of the light, bright as it is. Then you’re afraid of what you don’t know.” “a jet in the distance: five hours / of April.” “That’s why we kiss up to our bosses. Because we fear ending up next to the man by the bus stop at the Safeway parking lot.” “you bury your hands in the dirt, / bring up loam and broken roots.” “Daylight takes over, chases the smooth velvet of darkness away.” 4
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letter from the editor It is effectively fall, but not fall. I, being a senior, am effectively finished with the college admission mania, and yet I am not. I spent my summer completing Hinduism research at Columbia. I also spent it writing supplements for the 16+ colleges to which I plan to apply. Now, back at school in this sweltering California autumn, I am as in limbo as is the surrounding weather. I spent three years of high school working towards admission to my first-choice college. From the vantage of my freshman, sophomore, and junior years, senior year appeared to be the breathing time after a long distance track of hurdles. As a senior, I have, unfortunately, found this fall is not composed of exhaling, or of the post-competition stroll to the water fountain I always expecting. As a senior, I find myself sprinting, considerably less enthusiastically, at a group of phantom hurdles that were hitherto concealed to me. Maintaining the academic track record I have sustained thought high school. Continuing to produce fiction and nonfiction, to lead publications and clubs. Studying for Calculus tests which seem no less real to me than did their mathematical predecessors, which struck fear like nothing else in me for three years’ duration. I do not take car trips to Muir Woods, as I once expected I would. I do not eat takeout Chinese food over Scrabble games with leisure time I can now afford. I make Quizlets for AP Comp Gov. I bite the inside of my mouth over Calculus. This is not a fractured peace. This is not the tranquility following the run. I am the same person I was as a junior, and as a sophomore, and as a freshman. I escape none of the old responsibilities. I skirt none of the old expectations. I am in limbo. I am working to a standard of excellence by which I am not only merely tired, but routinely exhausted. It is this kind of excellence we try, despite our common exhaustion, to present in this year’s first issue. Zoe Del-Rosario presents a popping, multi-hued ‘color-chrome,’ as well as a series of gold oil portraits under ‘Untitled I’ and ‘Untitled II.’ Sierra Warshawsky plays with mirrors. Margot Armbruster laments the ‘rigor mortis’ we are all positioned to become. We do so glad for the smell of fire in the air, for the year we still have yet to create ahead. Alexandra Reinecke, EIC
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editorial staff EDITOR-IN-CHIEF alexandra reinecke MANAGING EDITOR elena koshkin SUBMISSIONS MANAGER brigitte jia SUBMISSIONS TEAM fiona deane-grundman (poetry) katie nunn (fiction) betsy alter (art) isabel owens (photo) WEBSITE DESIGN tanya zhong SPREAD PHOTOGRAPHER sierra warshawksky PUBLICTY MANAGER fiona deane-grundman ADVISORY COUNCIL lindsay webb-peploe sarah morgan emmanuel williams 6
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contributors alexandra reinecke (’18) elena koshkin (’18) brigitte jia (’18) tanya zhong (’18) fiona deane-grundman (’18) sierra warhsawsky (’18) stella burford (’18) jessica gerson (’18) david gomez-siu (’18) adam frost-venrick zoe del-rosario (’18) emma quimby (’18) margot armbruster (’18)
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food for thought from the campo review editorial staff
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untitled by zoe del-rosario
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teeth by margot armbruster bracing April morning, before dawn: your father lumbers to the barn, picks up the saw. the cherry tree on the lawn is rotten. no more do its pale flowers flutter through your window. you watch as he hews away at its trunk, as a cloud of sawdust drifts above his head. you are eight, towheaded and lanky. careless. your father jerks at the saw. to you, he is more than mortal. only a moment elapses before his hands, damp with sweat, slip from the tree. the saw follows. with terrible force it bites into your skin, it lays bare your flesh with its silver teeth. you had never known that bone was so white. and now you writhe on the grass. your father, crumpled with panic, harrowed by indecision, gapes at your wrist. the hand missing there. a sudden searing of loss. you learn to write with the other hand. but always the throbbing, the pangs that ghost your stub of an arm. they gnaw like fangs, sharp and cold. do you remember the saw? its metal edge still claws you. do you remember the teeth? silver teeth?
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color-chrome by zoe del-rosario
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jelli by sierra warshawsky
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american scream by seth t. “My God.” “My—” “Calm d—” “God. Oh God. What if—” “For God’s sake—” “What if I’m next?” “What if I’m next?” “Careful—” “What if I’m next?” “Steady. You’re drivi—” “What if they come for me next? This country, I tell you. That’s what it is—it’s this country. But it wasn’t always this way for me. Certainly not when we got here. Did I tell you the story about Dorothy DeLay?” “Yes, many—” “Four days after your father, his friend Tim, and I landed at JFK, we dodged foreignsounding pretzel hawkers and construction barricades and crazed cabs in the Manhattan streets until we came to the glass doors of Juilliard—we had heard of the school, you know. We asked for Dorothy DeLay. We had heard of her, too. The receptionist, surprised, since we hardly spoke English, told us DeLay’s room number. When we found it, the walls embellished with portraits of her famous proteges, students were streaming out, and she was just rising from her desk. Tim, the violinist among us, asked if he could play for her. She was startled, but she said yes! And he played Vivaldi for Dorothy DeLay. Just like that. Do you know who Dorothy DeLay was? Do you know that she taught the world’s best violinists? Do you know what kind of a figure she was? Do you—” “Yes, yes, calm—” “Nowhere else would a titan like her listen to a street mouse like him. Not in Russia, not anywhere else. Only here, in America. God, now look what’s happening to me in this country now—” “Careful, stop—” “What if I’m next? Fifteen years. Fifteen years! What if I’m—” “Stop beating the steering wheel!” “What if I’m next? Oh dear, what if they come for… well, we did work hard. We finished school. Went into science, did breakthrough research. Made something out of ourselves. Fulfilled the American Dream, so to speak. But when Papa started a chemicals company, the first one, the one he lost—God, there’s the American Dream for you! His first investors—do you know what they did? Well?” 16
campo review ‘17 “No.” “They voted him out of the company. The American Dream: achieve something great. Its reality: see it stolen from you. Do you know who enlisted those investors for him? Do you know?” “No.” “Verinsky.” “Verinsky?” “Verinsky. Verinsky, who now takes you up to his million-dollar downtown loft. Verinsky, who now gives you rides in his Ferrari. Fifteen years, my God, fifteen years—” “Sl— “What if I’m—” “Slow down! There’s a sharp turn. It’s getting dark.” “I know there’s a turn. I know this turn. I’ve turned here every day for fifteen years. And I know what’s just past this turn. It’s a Safeway, with a parking lot, with a bus stop with a— there, there he is. I see that man every day, when I drive to work in the morning, and when I drive from work in the evening. He sits on that same curb by the stop, hair disheveled, wearing the same—” “Slow—” “—fraying sweatshirt and tattered cargo pants, leaning forward, looking down at his gloveless hands in his lap.” “Slow down! I’m sliding all over the place!” “There. I’ll slow down. I’ll slow down so that you can take a good look at him. Do you see him? Well?” “I… I see him. He’s shivering. But he’s not looking up.” “He’s never looked up. I’ve seen him twice a day for fifteen years. Never has he seen me. Fifteen years! God—” “Stop screaming. Calm—” “How can I calm down? How can I calm down, if, for fifteen years, I’ve observed this man’s life ticking away? Will I end up like the man by the bus stop? Next to him? That’s why we all kiss up to our bosses, here in America. That’s why we kiss up to our bosses. Because we fear ending up next to the man by the bus stop at the Safeway parking lot.” “You won’t—” “I won’t what? Why won’t I? Even if I won’t, I see it all. Today they came to Radhey’s cube, next to mine. In the middle of the day. He was working on the same projects that have earned the department its awards. Do you know what they did? Do you know what they did to Jack Radhey? Jack Radhey, author of countless patents and publications? Jack Radhey, who’s also worked there for fifteen years? Do you know what they did to him?” “They’ve been letting people go. It’s in the new—” “They threw a trash bag on his desk. They told him he had fifteen minutes to collect all his items from the desk where he’d worked for fifteen years. And then they chucked Jack 17
campo review ‘17 Radhey out like a mongrel. Not just him. Many, many other good people, too. People who are very, very good at what they do. People who are much, much better than the bosses for whom they slave away. The bosses who fire them. People who have worked for this organization for years, done influential things, are jettisoned for money—” “Don’t scream—” “I have worked at the Company for fifteen years, like Jack Radhey. God, fifteen years ago I was—” “Please don’t scream—” “—pregnant with you, son. I passed up an offer that would have led to an academic career, a career free of bosses. Of corporations. Of trash bags. I passed up a happy life in the Dream because I was pregnant with you. And now you tell me not to scream.”
hands by sierra warshawsky
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diamente by brigitte jia note: can be read from top or bottom 1.
Death We endure, even as we know That we are still breaking, disintegrating. Hope, a solution, a past, until the darkness pours over, despairingly realize Our lighthearted sins, that we are paying for dearly. We want The light that shines through the holes in A single life
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Dreams Are soiled and broken when found, dusted off, breathed upon. They should be discovered, re-crafted through the skilled eyes of a sponsor, A savior for a sinking, wretched salary. An aspiration Is worth saving, and will bring riches and thoughts of Wealth
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Faith Hands lift in a silent, soothing prayer of Joyous exclamation, gruntled thoughts, bitterness fleeing as
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campo review ‘17 Daylight takes over, chases the smooth velvet of darkness away with the night, in Fiercely burning, piercing flashes of harsh, brightened Gold, melted rivers of happiness flowing as The hands of Providence creates 4.
The painter Pushes his dirtied, grime-covered dime towards Those ragged, impoverished souls who are less fortunate than he and Stops and stares into the distance, seeing, pained, A poor man chained to his labors of servitude, The waiter
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Children’s laughter Sweet tinkling bells, like the soft sound of The sunset glowing behind the tall, winding church tower’s Rooftop, inhabited by soft white birds, flying through the skies, merged into Drifting clouds over the high arching bridge next to the Rising mountain slopes
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Memories Are rare things, and precious Wrecking havoc on minds, calming fluttering souls, they Churn with the thousand voices of a mighty sea, waft along with the silken morning breeze Sending shivers down a spine, colliding with mindsets, the endless lyrics of songs Clashing, indeed, they are 20
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mustard mudroom by alexandra reinecke Callum Reed is a fiction writer with two families. The first of his families he created as an undergraduate at Dartmouth, the second during a sabbatical trip to Dublin, Ireland, and while it might be pleasant to maintain that he loved both equally, anyone who spent more than an afternoon in Callum’s company would tell of his favor for the former. It is a rule that things of substance, be they project or child, are conceived during periods of tumultuous emotion, and so it happened with Callum’s first family. So, too, did it happen— though in a lesser, more muted way—with his second. The first family constitutes a boy and dog. The boy, Aaron Hill, is part young Callum Reed, part Huck Finn. He has dark hair and gray eyes and once told a classmate that he’d rather bury himself than the duffle of Wilson lacrosse sticks they’d plundered from a local sporting goods store. It wasn’t that he was opposed to horsing in itself, but rather that the defiant nature which allowed him the horsing refused, afterward, to conceal it. The dog was an Irish setter named Nepomucene, after the saint who’d refused to defy the confessional, because he was Aaron’s sounding-board. Nep, he was called for short, because Callum kept his coat shining, and because he had a clean look, a regality sort of English which called for such oddity, for his reputation of being otherworldly. He first appeared in Callum’s collegiate novel, What You Left Inside. In a most-criticized plot point, he is described as rescuing a sleeping Aaron Hill from a fraternity fire: “Trotting into the quad, house-slipper in mouth, his coat shone as though reborn from the tragedy’s heat” (What You Left Inside, p. Little Brown Press, pg. 6). The second family is a woman and child. She is a woman who frequents oversized fisherman’s sweaters in stone colors. She went to Harvard without lifting a hand for it and finding academia a mahogany coffin—the ever-present pressure, the always-pursuit—she took to simplifying her husband’s plot-points instead of conjectures, and to raising a hell-seeker instead of raising hell. She uses her law degree as a coaster. Except in sleeping she conceals her eyes behind gigantor tortoise orbs she’s assumed as costume for a lifetime of trading Jack for Jackie. The child, now five, is a package of eyes and overalls. He has father’s coloring and his mother’s composure; he loves pumpkins and vanilla bean frosting, snow-fights and the pearl earrings he fumbles at in his mother’s ears. Callum, like any man with two families, practices the dividing practice of separate houses. The second family lives in a rundown Victorian in Burlington, Vermont, the first in a barn-converted-office a ways off, on the same property. The space between the house and the barn, between his two respective lives, is lined with oaks and acorns. 21
campo review ‘17 At the entryway from the first world to the second is a mudroom the color of mustard. Callum’s wife Victoria designed the room after her favorite novel, Tuck Everlasting, which features an immortal family. A vanguard, she’d explained to Callum, so that no one should trespass on our eternal family. What she’d failed to recognize was that such eternality adhered, for Callum, to his first family as well as to the one they shared.
II. For Halloween, Joshua Reed was a firefighter. Aaron Hill, in a costume with originality better suited to print, was Roger Federer. Victoria, adopting a hair clip and gingham shift to accentuate the disguise she already wore daily was Jackie O. Callum was JFK, which is to say he dressed like himself. Briefly, over cornflakes and Williams Sonoma “rustic pumpkin pancakes” Callum had used his rudimentary Spanish to ask if he could be a JFK con sangre, a request Victoria both burned a pancake over and shot down for being in poor taste. In the afternoon, Victoria took Joshua to t-ball. He was to play in the local “Bats and Bats” Halloween game. Or, as Callum later described the event, despite having visited it only in his imagination, as “One of those events for which the parents drawing up signage at Kinkos expend more energy than do the littles—still, graham-dusted—said to be TAKING THE FIELD” (“Dead Day,” The Saturday Evening Post, pg. 59). Callum spent most of the day in his office. Most exciting of the day’s events was Callum’s misfortune at finding Nepomucene gorging himself on a salad bowl of trick-or-treat minis. Bits of caramel and what appeared to be 3 Muskateers were caught in the stagmalites of his teeth. “Goddam it, Nep,” Callum said, at the scene. He returned the bowl to the desk atop the draft of “Dead Day” he’s been drawing up on a yellow legal pad. “Would’ve done better with Reece’s,” said Aaron, who was smoking a Camel cigarette on the barn’s settee. He had on a white sweater, a Nike sweatband, and the tennis star’s famous equanimity. Nep coughed in the corner. “Might want to check that,” said Aaron. “Oh, I might?” said Callum. He went over to the settee and pushed Aaron’s feet off where he’d concealed sneaker-clad feet beneath a cashmere throw. “And what would you be doing, Mr. Einstein?” “Riding a Camel.” “Funny.” Callum dislodged a wrapper-clad Snicker’s minis from the left side of Nep’s mouth. With his wrist already lodged in the dog’s jaw, he proceeded to pick bits of caramel, nougat, and chocolate-tinted slobber from the bone slopes of his teeth. “You better rest up,” Callum said to Aaron as he first shed chocolatey slober from, and then proceeded to wash with maple soap, his hands in the barn’s farmhouse sink. 22
campo review ‘17 “You’ve written me into a party for tonight,” said Aaron. “Read my mind,” said Callum, pulling a towel over the paddles of his hands. He sets the towel down and turns to the door, swinging it ajar. “You’re not leaving yet, Dad?” “I have to set up for their party before I—” “Fuck it.” Callum sits beside Aaron on the settee. “Fuck what?” “This, Dad. You. You don’t—” he pauses. Stretches across the settee to put out his Camel on a glass tray kept on the sill. “You love me don’t you, Dad?” “Of course.” Callum stands. “More than Josh?” says Aaron. Callum pauses before the door. “You’re my son.” “That’s not what I asked,” Aaron says, settling back into the settee, like a boy, with the cashmere blanket pulled up to his chin. “I have to go set up.” And Aaron lets him, but he does so starting a new Camel, eyes posed intently on the sweater and corduroy form of his father, exiting the barn. III. As Callum passes back into his second life he passes the accompanying clutter which marks its reality in the mudroom. When Josh was an infant it was easier. In those days his wife and child, his second life’s entirety, has been an altar he visited dutifully, daily, but always on loan from his first. He presided over Josh in his crib, as though priest at altar. He slept with his wife, but in dim lighting, with herb-smelling candles. Now that Josh is a child and not an infant, a small person with feelings and thoughts, the mudroom has changed from being singularly his place of transformation to a catch all for his child’s developing life. There are plastic t-ball stands and small Patagonia raincoats. There are mittens and rainboots with ladybug faces. Phosphorescent tennis balls and friendship bracelets with cubebeads fornicate in the leather bowls of baseball gloves. He had touched his second life as an extension of his first, but now his second was pouring into the space between. Now his second child was causing his first to question where his father’s loyalty lied. IV. There was a knocking at the barn door. Callum put the pencil he’d been writing with behind his ear, shrugged on his cashmere sweater, and welcomed the autumn bitterness inside to answer it. “Joshua,” said Callum. He stepped back.
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campo review ‘17 His five-year-old son entered the barn. He was wearing a flimsy plastic fireman’s hat and a jacket which appeared to be made of liquified licorice. It had fluorescent yellow stripes across the chest. “Dad,” he said. “Sit here, bud.” Josh sat on the settee. The cashmere throw blanket was warm against his boy-calves, and possibly mistaking the sleeping form beside him as one of his father’s friend, or some strange extension of the barn’s rugged interior—he’d never been inside before and all, the workman’s table, the galvanized metal manuscript buckets, the grate stove were new. Nepomucene, however, as he stood on rickety legs, either produced by the stomachache or by the unfamiliar child, began to howl. Years afterward, Joshua Reed maintained that he’d been bit by a dog in his father’s barn. Callum’s second family said he’d blamed a branch-scrape on the dog from one of his father’s stories; the first Reed family said nothing at all. When Josh arrived at Andover in 2012, he mentioned to his roommate something about a bloodthirsty dog. There was a scar up his left hand punctured too deep to have been perforated with o
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untitled II by zoe del-rosario
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5F by adam frost-venrick When he wakes, the first thing he hears is the sound of rain pattering down the window. He can’t remember when it started. It wasn’t raining when he When he what? Where was he? He looks around and sees. His eyes adjust to the dim light quickly and he sees that he’s in a poorly lit apartment. The paint is peeling from the walls, the fluorescent lights now bathe him in shades of red and green, like horrific Christmas lighting. No, scratch that. Two more shades. Blue and yellow. Someone’s been having fun with the lighting. He looks around and sees the shape hunched against the wall. “Hello?” He says desperately. The shape turns to him in surprise and lets out a little yelp. He sees that it’s a human woman. She falls backwards a little bit from her position, and he sees that she’s been on a couch. He looks down and sees that he’s been sleeping on a love seat. But why is he here? The woman falls into a patch of yellow lighting and he sees her face clearer. She is a woman of about his age (which is to say in her twenties.) They are both silent for a second. She speaks first. “Do you know where we are?” She asks, undoubtedly choosing the question that seems most pressing. He looks around the apartment. “No,” he says. “Do you?” “No. Are you sure you have no idea?” He glares at her. “If I knew, I’d tell you.” They are both silent for a second before he decides to press on. “Who are you?” “Nina.” “Nina who.” “Tell me your first name first.” “Why?” He asks. “Because I don’t trust you.” She says. “Come on. Just say it.” “It’s Jordan.” He says. “Now tell me your last name.” “Is it really Jordan?” She asks, and gives him a quizzical look like she somehow doesn’t believe him. “Yes.” He promises her. “Here, I’ll tell you my name. I’m Jordan Danford. Does that make you happy?” She nods. “Okay. Kennerman. Nina Kennerman.” “Nina Kennerman. Okay.” 26
campo review ‘17 Nina Kennerman stands and looks around. “I’m sorry by the way,” she says, “I didn’t mean to scare you.” “Don’t worry about it.” He says. “I think I scared you even worse.” She sighs. “Now where are we?” “I don’t know,” he says. “This looks like some kind of an apartment, but I can’t figure out why…” He stops. She’s staring at something. He turns and sees what it is. There is a third person in the room, another man in a chair finally starting to stir. Nina Kennerman’s eyes widen. She takes a few steps back and looks to Jordan Danford. He looks just as scared as she does. Slowly, the man comes into consciousness. “Help him, Jordan.” Nina says. “I think he’s a little out of it.” He bends and looks at the other man. The man’s eyes widen at the sight of an unfamiliar face and he pushes Jordan away. “Where am I?” He says. “It’s okay.” Nina says gently. “There are others here.” “Where’s here?” The man says. He opens his eyes and looks around. A look of utter terror comes across his face. “What is this? Some kind of hotel room?” “We think it’s an apartment.” Jordan says, trying his best to stay calm. “How the hell did we get here?” “We’re not sure.” Jordan answers. The man stands, not an easy task as he still seems etherized. Perhaps, Nina Kennerman thinks to herself, he was the last one of them to be taken. If they were taken. She can’t remember anything. And that’s the worst part. The not remembering. The whole situation reminds her of the plot of some stupid B-horror movie. And it chills her to think that maybe that’s what this is. Maybe none of this is real. Or better yet, maybe it’s all a dream. She looks across to Jordan and sees that he must be thinking exactly the same thing. “Who are you?” He asks the man. “What?” “Who are you?” Nina repeats for him. “Shawn.” The man says. “Shawn Rogers.” “Shawn Rogers.” Jordan repeats. “That’s right.” The man who calls himself Shawn Rogers says. “What don’t you believe me?” “It’s just kind of a tricky situation,” Nina Kennerman says. Shawn Rogers nods. “Well,” he says, “have you all actually tried to find a way out yet?” “No,” Jordan says, “we both just got up a minute ago and we’ve been playing the name game ever since.” “Well have you actually tried the door yet?” Shawn says, gesturing to the chipped wooden door at the other end of the apartment.
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campo review ‘17 Their glances travel to it. “I hadn’t seen it.” Nina says, and begins to walk towards it. Jordan beats her there, and tries the lock. It won’t budge. “Mother fuck.” He says. “We’re locked in.” Nina looks at the doorknob. “Well wait,” she says. “Maybe we’re not. Does it feel like there’s a deadbolt?” Jordan tries to lock again. “No,” he says, and looks into the crack of the doorway. There is no deadbolt. Jordan reaches down and tries the little latch on the doorknob. It clicks, and the door is unlocked. “Well,” he says. “That was easy.” He twists the knob slowly, and the door opens with a creaking noise. The hallway is illuminated with a dimly glowing fluorescent lights. It appears unobstructed. “Is it clear?” Shawn asks. “Yes.” Jordan takes the first step out into the carpeted hallway. The carpet is thin and the sound of his shoes echo. “Come on,” he says. “Slowly at first.” Nina nods and follows him with Shawn right behind her. The light above flickers, making their shadows inconsistent. They say nothing. Words held in like breath, all the time waiting for their captor to materialize. But they do not. Jordan sucks in breath through his mouth and exhales steadily through his nose as he turns the corner. It is empty. A hand on his shoulder. He lets out a little yelp. It is Nina. “I’m sorry,” she says. “Is the coast clear?” He nods. Shawn too peaks around just to see. “Do you see an elevator?” Shawn asks. “Or some stairs?” Jordan cranes his neck a little bit more, and when he does, he sees the small illuminated sign. “There.” He says. “Elevator.” The three walks towards it at a little bit of a faster pace. Only Shawn looks behind to make sure they aren’t being followed. Jordan presses the down arrow, but it doesn’t illuminate. Nothing moves. “It’s empty.” Shawn says. And as they look, they see that it is true. The crack in the door is slightly more vast than it normally would be, and through it, they look down and see an empty elevator shaft. “Shit.” Nina says. “Let’s keep going.” Jordan says. “Come on. The stairs are just a little bit further.” He takes a few steps forward, when Nina’s hand juts out and stops him. “What?” He asks. “Look.” Nina says and points to the wall. The flickering, fluorescent light casts a fourth shadow on the wall just ahead. It is almost human… but no, as it materializes more they see that it is not human. Not human and not quite animal. And as the three stare forward in awestruck wonder, they sees from behind the corner, a monstrous, talon-like claw emerging from the other side. The shadow moves forward. 28
campo review ‘17 The monster behind the wall has pale skin, and its irritated eyes are peeled back like onions. That’s all they see before they turn and run. They do not turn back until they have returned to the apartment. Jordan slams the door behind them and locks it. “What the hell was that thing? Nina screams. “I don’t know.” Jordan said. “But it fucking couldn’t have been human. Right? We all saw that.” Shawn nods. “Some kind of animal.” “No animal I’ve ever seen before.” Says Nina. “Well then what is it? Some kind of monster? Some kind of freak of nature?” “Maybe.” Nina says. “The apartment number.” Jordan says suddenly. “Did anyone see the apartment number?” “I did.” Shawn says. “As we were running back. It’s Five-B.” “Five-B?” “Right.” “You’re sure?” “Yes.” “Because we may need to run again, and if we do, and that thing is still there, then I want to know where shelter is.” “It’s Five-B.” Nina says. “I saw it too.” She is patting down her body thoroughly, as if she’s a police officer. “What are you doing?” Jordan asks. “I’m checking for my phone. I don’t have it. Check and see if you guys have yours.” They check. Neither does. “Shit.” Shawn says. “Shit, shit, shit, shit…” “Maybe none of us had our phone when we were taken.” Jordan offers. “That’s not true.” Nina says. “I have my phone day or night. I sleep with it by my bed, and it’s in my pocket pretty much all the rest of the time. I work at an ad firm, I can’t not have my phone.” “You work in an advertising firm?” Sean asks. “Yeah. Pierce and Kennerman.” “Holy shit.” Jordan says. “You’re that Nina Kennerman.” She sighs and slumps down on the couch. “Guilty. I’m that Nina Kennerman, you found me out, Jordy-cakes, good for you.” “Which Nina Kennerman?” Shawn says, a little puzzled. “Are you stupid?” Jordan asks. “Do you honestly not know that name?” “I don’t know your name.” Shawn says. “You know my name, I don’t know yours. I know hers, because apparently she’s the goddamn advertising queen.” “I’m Jordan Danford.” He answers. “Really?” 29
campo review ‘17 “Are you calling me a liar. Shawn Rogers, that sounds way more made up than Jordan Danford.” “Boys, boys,” Nina says, “you’re both pretty, but let’s get back to the matter at hand.” “Wait,” Shawn says. “First, who is this Nina Kennerman?” “You really don’t know?” “I only moved to New York a couple of weeks ago.” Shawn says. “From North Carolina.” “For what purpose?” Nina asks. “You first.” Shawn says. “Who are you?” “My father owns one of the biggest and most expensive law firms in New York. It was started years and years ago by my great, great grandfather. I’m…” “She’s an heiress.” Jordan finishes. “She’s an international traveller. When you said you needed your cellphone for work, you might’ve meant actual work. Not maxing out daddy’s credit cards.” “Fuck you, asshole, what the hell do you do?” “First,” Jordan says, “Shawn let’s hear from you. We asked you first.” “I’m an architect.” “An architect?” “What’s wrong with that?” “Not a goddamn thing.” Jordan says. “Just wondering why you wouldn’t go to Chicago instead of New York.” “I didn’t want to be that farm away from my mother.” Shawn answers. “Aw,” Jordan says in a mock southern accent. “Good old Shawn didn’t want to be too far away from his sweet little mama.” “Shut up, you piece of shit. What do you do for a living, panhandle under the freeways?” “Not exactly.” Jordan says. “I’m a writer.” “A writer?” Nina asks, suddenly intrigued. “Like a novelist?” “Not exactly.” Jordan says. “I write for TV.” “Is that right?” Shawn asks. “I used to be on TV.” Jordan says. “As an actor. But I couldn’t keep finding work, so I decided I’d apply for a writing job for talk shows. I’d really like to host my own one day.” “And how is that less important that architect?” Shawn asks. Jordan holds up a finger. “I never said it was really that important. I just said I did it. And I didn’t say being an architect wasn’t important. I just asked why come to New York.” “And then berated me for the answer.” “I can’t help that that’s an aspect of my personality, Shawn, I am what I am.” “Please!” Nina suddenly screams. “Shut the fuck up and can we please concentrate on a way to get out of here?” They turn back to her, both feeling rather foolish. “Now,” Nina says, seeing that she has the floor, “first question is whether or not we think that that thing put us in here.” 30
campo review ‘17 “I say no.” Jordan says. “That thing didn’t exactly look like some brilliant criminal mastermind.” “But it could’ve.” Nina says. “Although I doubt it.” “So do I,” Shawn asks. “That thing shouldn’t even exist biologically. But it does, and we’re stuck here dealing with it.” “Can we kill it?” Nina asks. “I guess we could.” Jordan says. “You can kill just about anything. But I want to see just what it is we’re going to try and kill. Maybe if we rushed it, we could just run down the stairs, that would be a lot easier than actually trying to fight it.” “I agree.” Nina says. “But since we don’t have our phones, and for all we know, that thing could be outside the door right now, what I suggest we do is try and find some other way of signaling for help.” “Good idea.” Shawn says. Jordan tilts his head and notices the window. There is a layer of metal bars in front of it, but the glass would be reachable. “There,” he says to Nina. “We can break it and yell for help.” She nods. “Good idea.” Jordan looks around the tiny apartment, and finally spies a small ceramic container on the counter which looks as if its been there for a while. He approaches it, picks it up, and stares at it for a minute. “What?” Shawn asks. “Do you think it’s a bomb?” “No,” Jordan says. “Doesn’t sound like it. But there could be something in here.” He opens the canister lid. It is empty. “Anything?” Nina asks. Jordan shakes his head. “No… but I’ll bet it could shatter glass.” He walks over to the window and throws the canister full force. It hits the bars and falls to the floor. “Shit.” He says and bends to pick it up. He inspects it for a minute. It hasn’t broken, thankfully, and so he reaches it through the bars with great ease, and begins banging on the glass with it as hard as he can. Finally, there is a cracking sound and the glass gives way, with shiny shards and the canister raining down onto the pavement below. Jordan wastes no time before forcing himself up to the bars and screaming: “Help us! Help!” The night air carries the screams, but not far enough to reach anyone’s ears. He crouches there for a minute more, and the other two bend down next to him. All three scream until they are horse, but to no avail. Well, at least not from the outside world. There is something from the floor beneath them. A voice from a window just under their own. It is a woman’s voice. “Is someone there?” She calls. “Hello?” “We’re here.” Nina says. “Do you know where we are?” “No.” The woman says. “Do you?” “No.” Jordan calls. 31
campo review ‘17 “How many of you are there?” The woman says. “Three of us.” “There are five of us here.” “How long have you been here?” Nina calls. “I don’t know.” The woman says. “It feels like it’s been days. But it can’t have been that long. Several hours at least.” The three draw back from the window. “Who could’ve done this?” Nina asks the two men. Jordan shakes his head, and then glares at her. “You were the first one up.” She shoots the glare right back at him. “You cannot be trying to blame me for this.” “Well, I’m just saying. How do I know you were ever asleep?” “I don’t know that you were ever asleep.” Shawn says. “Either of you. You could both just be trying to confuse me.” Nina sighs. “Forget this. I’m going back out there. I’m gonna see what we’re up against.” And suddenly, Jordan feels concern. “Nina, wait.” He says. “Don’t go alone.” “Look who’s suddenly being selfless.” Shawn says mockingly. Jordan rolls his eyes. “We should all go together.” He says. “We’ll be safer that way. And if we have to run, we can go diagonal. That thing can’t go after all three of us.” “If it does go after anyone, how do we know the other two will help them?” Shawn says. “Because we will.” Jordan says. “Fuck you, asshole. I don’t trust you.” “I don’t trust either of you.” Nina says. “But for the moment, we don’t have any choice. We don’t have any weapons, and at the very least, it would be good to know what we’re up against. If it’s just some little shrimpy thing, it may not be anything to worry about.” “She’s right.” Shawn says. “But for all we know, that thing could be out there right now.” “Let’s check.” Jordan says. “You do it.” Nina says. “Fuck no.” “Fuck yes.” Shawn chimes in. “Just do it, Jordan.” Nina says. “If it’s out there, we’ll help you.” Jordan sighs. “Fine.” He says. “But if I die, I’m going to kill both of you.” Nina smiles. “Understood.” Jordan takes a deep breath and unlocks the door. He exhales slowly, his toes anchoring in his shoes as it opens. There is nothing outside. “It’s okay.” He says. “We’re alone.” Nina nods to Shawn and the three step out into the hallway. Now all of them have their breath held and are walking on tiptoes. Still, the sounds of their footsteps echo slightly on the floor. Each one a possible death sentence. They turn the first corner and look at the abandoned elevator shaft. The monster is not present. 32
campo review ‘17 Shawn holds a finger to his lips and the three continue onwards, slightly more hurried, to the stairs. And then, there it is. White and horrible. And running fully at them. It is the size of a large man, letting out strange screams, with wild, lidless eyes, and moves quadrupedally at a surprising, galloping speed. And they are screaming, running back through the hallways, and the sound of the monster behind them is incentive enough to not slow down. Jordan slams the door shut just in time. The force of the monster against it almost overwhelms him. It takes the added weight of Nina and Shawn to keep it closed. As they are fighting with the thing at the door, Nina reaches across and locks the door. “Holy shit.” She says. Their hearts are pounding. And more sound from downstairs. “What the hell’s going on down there?” None of them answer. There is scratching at the door. “We’re fucked.” Jordan says slumping down on the couch. “We’re gonna die.” “Maybe not.” Nina says. “We just need to think. We need to find out who’s doing this and we need to find out where we are.” “I know where we are.” Shawn says. “What?” Jordan says. “I know where we are. I noticed it when we all screamed out the window. I know where we are.” “Where are we?” Nina demands. “It’s some apartment building called the Marilisa… no, the Marileana. I pass it on my way to work in the morning, but it’s been closed down for years. Foreclosed and slated for demolition.” “Great.” Jordan says. “So we’ll all be stuck here when that bomb goes off.” “No.” Nina says definitely. “No, we won’t. We’re gonna kill that fucking thing next time around. I can promise you that. Because we know what we’re up against, we can kill it. It’s the size of one of us. And we can kill it.” “With what?” Shawn asks. Nina eyes one of the wooden kitchen chairs. “With this,” she says and grabs the chair. She pushes it down onto its side and stomps on it. One of its legs snaps off. “We kill it with this.” She says defiantly. She tosses the stick to Jordan and then returns to the chair. She stomps on it two more times until there are two identical weapons, one for herself and one for Shawn. “Okay,” Nina says, “now what we’re going to do is-” She is cut off by the thundering of footsteps running down the stairs, and a second later, horrified screaming. “For the love of shit!” A woman’s voice calls. “What is that thing?” “Who’s that?” Shawn whispers. 33
campo review ‘17 There is silence on their end. And screaming on the outsider woman’s. “Is anyone here?” She is screaming. “Please, is anyone out there? Please!” She is pounding on the doors to apartments, each pound drawing a little bit closer. Finally, she is pounding on their own. “Is anyone here?” “We’re here.” Jordan says and starts to say more, but Nina cuts him off. “We’ve got to let her in.” Shawn says. “We can’t let that thing in.” “But the woman…” Nina is silent. “Hello!” The woman is screaming. “Please, is someone there? It’s after me!” “Go away!” Nina suddenly screams, approaching the door. The woman is throwing her wait against the door, and screaming in frustration. “Please!” She screams. “Let me in. I don’t fucking want to die!” “Just run the other way. Keep running down the stairs.” Nina says. The woman persists. “Open the door, you bitch.” Shawn takes a step towards the door, but Jordan pulls him back. He sees what Nina means. And now Shawn does to. “Christ!” The woman screams again, and pounds furiously on the door. There is the sound of what appears to be bone cracking, and the woman falls back screaming. Then, there is a loud, grunted slurping sound. The screams become something else, a frenzied grappling fight. Then one last, agonized scream and silence. Inside the room, they are panting. There are screams from the floor below and for the first time, there appear to be screams from the floor above. “Now.” Nina whispers to the men. “We’re going now.” “It’s still out there.” Jordan protests. “Then we’ll kill it.” Nina says. “Right off the bat. Maybe we can save that poor woman.” “I don’t know.” Jordan says. “She sounded pretty dead to me.” “What the fuck’s wrong with you?” Shawn says. “Nothing,” Jordan says. “I’m not the heartless bitch that left her out there to die, am I, Shawn?” Nina glares at him. “I hate you.” She breathes. “Guess what, princess,” Jordan says, “the feeling’s mutual, but let’s not let that stop us from getting out of here.” Nina stands and stares at him. “I want something clear first,” she says. “Your cruel, demeaning tone is not gonna fly in the outside world, Jordan. And one day, you’re gonna wake up to find that you’re seventy, ugly, riddled with arthritis and completely alone because you’ve alienated away your friends, family and anyone who could help you. Is that gonna make you happy?” “What about you, princess? Does your old man’s money keep you warm at night?” 34
campo review ‘17 “Both of you shut up.” Shawn says, and they both do. “I’m sick and damn tired of fighting. If we stay here, we die. And I’m not going to let that happen. And we have a better chance if we go together.” “Are we sure we have no other way out?” Jordan asks, looking at the window. Nina sighs. “No. We don’t. We’re going to have to fight it. Kill it if we have to. And then just run.” Jordan nods. “Okay.” He says. “You’re right. Let’s open the door.” Nina nods to Shawn who unlocks the lock once again, and slowly opens the door. He peers out into the hallway, and finds that the monster has retreated and is no longer in sight. “Anything?” Jordan asks. “Notta.” Shawn takes the first step out and almost immediately draws back. “What?” Nina says. “I stepped on something.” Shawn says. He looks down. On the ground below him, is a severed human finger, the nail, chipped, but painted blood red. He clamps his hand to his mouth to suppress the screen welling up in his throat. Nina bends down and looks at it, her mouth hanging open in a wide-eyed, guilt-ridden expression. Finally, she says: “Come on.” They step over the finger and out into the hallway. As they approach the first corner, they see the corpse of the woman, slouched in the corner. All three stop for a minute. “I wonder who she was.” Jordan says. The other two say nothing. They don’t have an answer. And then, they turn the corner. The hallway appears to be empty. The monster is gone. Jordan takes the first step towards the staircase. Nina follows and then Shawn. Their footsteps suddenly thunder towards the staircase. They don’t notice the thing clutching onto the edge of the shaft. With catlike strength, the creature lifts itself out of the shaft and into the hallway. It grabs the first moving piece of flesh in front of it which happens to be Shawn. Shawn falls to the ground and instantly raises the hand-made club. It thumps against the creature’s head, and the creature gives a moan. It is not enough. The creature sinks its teeth into Shawn’s neck. The man looks up at his two comrades and makes a gurgling sound, which is reminiscent of “Run!” Nina and Jordan need no further prompting and begin running down the stairs. The monster runs after them, with blood coating its mouth. Their feat try so hard to outrun its gallop. It does them no good. It leaps, and tackles a running Nina. She screams and Jordan turns, and slams his club like a spear against the monster’s head. It falls over backwards, and Nina stands. The two run again down the stairs and onto the next floor. Jordan takes two steps out before the monster grabs him. He falls to the floor. “Nina!” He screams. He and the monster roll for a few feet, and Nina turns in time to see them both head 35
campo review ‘17 towards the elevator. She turns back and runs towards Jordan and the creature, both struggling on the floor. Jordan’s eyes turn to the open elevator shaft waiting for him. The infinite blackness below. Some man he is. He hasn’t been scared of the dark since childhood, and yet, here he is. And suddenly, he feels a change in motion. A cracking sound from Nina’s club crashing down on the creature’s skull. It is as if the creature has let go of him. The rolling has stopped. The creature opens its tongueless mouth and lets out a hiss as it struggles to its feet. Jordan is faster, and sends out a rough kick. The creature screams as it loses its balance. Nina slides in, the club delivers a nasty left hook and the creature stumbles backwards, losing its grip. It stretches out its arms to steady itself, and Nina throws the chair leg club at it. Its arms reach out to stop the blow, and the balance ends. The creature falls backwards, disappearing into the blackness, with a final gargling scream. There is a crash. And then silence, which is broken by Jordan. “I guess I should say thanks.” She shrugs. “You saved me first.” And then, they hear the whimpering. It is coming from just around the corner. “Jordan, don’t,” Nina is about to say, but Jordan is already looking around the corner. Nina follows him, wishing that she still had her club with her. She wishes it more a minute later when she sees the thing around the corner. It is another one of those things, or something just like it. Only it is not as shriveled. There is something oddly human about it. It looks up at them with woeful eyes and opens its mouth. Its tongue has been severed. And it mouths the word: “Please.”
“We found the bodies.” The police officer tells them before they are loaded into the squad. “The woman –still trying to get an ID on her –and your friend Mr. Rogers. And we found the man in the elevator shaft.” “Man?” Nina asks. “Man.” The officer answers. “What it turns out happened is that whoever did this to you had been using the apartment for his sick little play chest for years. He cuts the tongues out of some of them, and then, from what the one you two found wrote out, he had them drugged out of their minds so that they’d sort of become guards. Tragic thing is, they were probably just trying to ask help from the people that died. That woman, your friend. They were killed more or less in selfdefense.” “Do they know who did it?” Jordan asks. “Not yet.” The cop says. “But we’re working on it. We found rooms and rooms of dead bodies. Some of them have been in there for months.” “Jesus.” Nina says, and repeats it quietly under her breath.
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campo review ‘17 “We’re gonna get you to the hospital.” The cop says. “Don’t you worry. Everything’s going to be alright.” Jordan nods. The ambulance door closes. Nina reclines and lets out a heavy sigh. She turns to Jordan about to say something, but decides against it. He appears lost in thought, and she decides that that’s maybe for the best. She let’s herself become lost in thought too. As a matter of fact, Jordan is lost in thought. He’s thinking of the room, with its many lights, blue, red, green, yellow. And the complete, infinite blackness of the elevator. It’s funny, he thinks. It’s just like being a kid again. First you’re afraid of the light, bright as it is. Then you’re afraid of what you don’t know. Then you’re afraid of monsters. And now, you’re afraid of the dark.
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mirror by sierra warshawsky
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untitled by renee bunszel 1. In the midst of chaos, there stands one girl apart from the rest. Feet deeply rooted to the ground unmoving but with a heart steadily beating. She does not speak, nor blink. She hardly dares to let out a single breath and she refuses to inhale the toxic air around her. Flames engulf the crumbing building which she stands in. Screams, desperate pleas for help and distant sirens are drowned out by the static noise in her head. When the world comes into focus again, she hears only her name, shouted from his lips. When she finally gains he courage to move, she too is crumbing to the ground. 39
campo review ‘17 And he sees, that she too, has been engulfed by the flames. 2. do you remember when we found sanctuary among the Monarchs and the Swallowtails? when the old isolated bench, between the blossoming trees, was the only home we knew? when we would watch the inattentive mothers turn their backs on children mistakingly becoming murderers as they step on the wings of a butterfly how can such innocence create so much destruction? when the winged creatures danced upon our fingertips so we could hold them in our delicate hands, and smile as we set them free? and do you remember how I was not smiling as I set you free? 3. a melody passed through her lips a beat pulsed through her body her eyes held ballads of simple joy though the world only played her sad songs 4. alice was a robot her controls inside her chest he built her up and played with her until she had no power left
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campo review ‘17 5. spider climb spider rise spider fall to your demise 6. love me she said and he said okay so he loved her and left her by the end of that day 7. run through the gates of hell after all, they are the finish line 8. loving you feels like a thousand butterflies in my stomach but their wings are made of glass and when they fly they cut up my insides until the blood fills up my lungs and i can no longer breathe 9. we cannot save the lost souls of yesterday nor bring them peace in resting for we tether them here in our memories and let no one escape from this life we cannot guide the new souls of tomorrow nor provide them with comfort for we know they are coming but not what they will bring the souls of the present cannot live nor can they forget for they are bound to the past and the future and bypass the now 10. It was supposed to be a joke. A classic prank. Harmless. 41
campo review ‘17 No, that is wrong. If they wanted harmless, they would have chosen a different victim. They had seen it in the movies. Steal her clothes from the locker room while she was showering. Just leave her bra and underwear. They were white, lacy and elegant. Screaming innocence. That is what she was. Innocent. She wore them now. Down the halls. All the students staring with their backs pressed to the walls. Shoulders pressed together. Everybody tense. Nobody laughing. They were supposed to be laughing. Her long, black hair was wet. Water dripping down her face. Down her back. Down her exposed body. The only sounds were the drops hitting the floor. Echoing. And her feet on the cold tile. One in front of the other. Arms wrapped around her, below her chest. No one saw the object hidden under her arm. She was shaking. Trembling. Cold. Wet. It looked like walking down that hall was the hardest thing she had ever done. It was not. She would have been beautiful. No, she was beautiful. But her green eyes had no light. Her freckles had faded. And her plump red lips were chapped and bitten. But the worst was her pale skin. It was covered, so much of it was covered. Words were written everywhere. 42
campo review ‘17 No, not words. One word. Again and Again. No, not written. Carved. Cut. Engraved. Burned. Tattooed. All very permanent. One word. Again and again. Worthless. Worthless. Worthless. It is what they called her. It is what they thought of her. It is what she thought of herself. Worthless. Worthless. Worthless. Different sizes. Jagged and smooth. Everywhere. Worthless. Worthless. Worthless. They now understood why she always wore long sleeves and long pants. They now understood why she never fought against the names they called her. They understood. She keeps staggering down the hall. One person. She is looking for him. He is there. At the end of the hall. Back facing her. Her clothes in his hands. He turns as she stumbles closer. He sees her. Every inch of her. 43
campo review ‘17 He sees what he did. The tattered clothes fall to the ground. He watches her. She comes closer. Only a few feet away. She stops. He feels what he did. And he hates himself for it. The words he called her on display. Her skin was no longer smooth like he remembered. Like when he loved her. Except he still loved her. Because the love was always there. It was just hidden behind all the hate. But the hate was slipping away. It was gone. She looks him in the eyes. The boy she loved. The boy she will never be able to stop loving. She whispers. I am sorry. He does not understand. He is sorry. He asks why. Because I know what it is like to lose someone you love, and someone who loves you. He understands. It is too late. She pulls out the object. A knife. No one moves. They can’t. She grips the handle with both hands. She smiles. I love you. She plunges the knife into her stomach. Her back arches outward. Blood covers her hands as they fall to her sides. She coughs red. She falls to the floor. She is still smiling. 44
campo review ‘17 Blood is everywhere. He runs forward. Tears streaming down his face. His mouth open. Screaming. She lay on the floor. Eyes open. Her skin slowly changes. Every mark, burn, cut. Every word. Fades. Vanishes. Her pale skin is clear. Except where it is smeared with red. Because the words are no longer true. They no longer believe she is worthless. Because they see the girl beneath the scars. And they love her. And they want her back. She no longer believes she is worthless. And she loves herself. And she is okay. Just for a moment the light returns to her eyes. Her full lips stretch. Her hair is haloed around her head. And he is bent over her. And she is so beautiful. And then. She is gone.
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color-chrome II by zoe del-rosario
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aubergine by margot armbruster you bury your hands in the dirt, bring up loam and broken roots it’s October, and everything is dying the old man’s voice has a gentle lilt his hands are scarred and rough lacerated by a century of salt and smoke he doesn’t take sugar in his coffee, only cream and as he wakes up choking and you begin to run towards him you see that he’s reaching for you (aubergine bruises lace his forehead) so you clasp his shaking shoulders but still it only takes three minutes for all the breath to go out of his body
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aubade in rented car by margot armbruster Austinsville. Virginia imagine/we have passed/through a mountain/to find only another mountain. imagine the poplars/and the oak trees/bending in the warm air. imagine we are driving home to my mother/who still cannot pronounce your name. the foreign diphthongs/too soft for her tongue. your skin/the color/of the new rice/in the country/you want to show me. whose music/you lent me. the same country/my grandparents say/was so dirty. where the trains/and the buses were all/so loud. I have not yet/heard them, but if they are half/as quiet/as you are now, driving us/into the horizon, which we/will pierce like/a shell, they/are quiet/as hummingbird wings.
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audrey by sierra warshawsky
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rigor mortis by margot armbruster I I am told to drink blood because I do not have enough. This adolescence is mostly gossamer: undyed hair drifting strand by strand onto linoleum, silk crop tops my mother won’t let me wear to school. One of my classmates keeps caffeine pills in his backpack and hands them out to anyone who asks. I feel like this is illegal, he laughs. We don’t do anything illegal. We don’t drink or smoke but we pop one once a week to stay awake in calculus. Most of us joke about overdosing on them, oblivion as ultimate antidote, a prescription never asked for, always implied.
II Our biology teacher tells us the body stiffens after death, assimilating itself to the wood which will soon become its cradle. The corpse, sapped of strength, can no longer relax its clenched muscles. Cannot release itself, full of charged calcium, compulsive contraction.
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campo review ‘17 III. I am inundated with calcium. My legs have begun to twitch unpredictably, fish flopping after they are gutted. I have passed through tiredness and into a body of chalk, of tinfoil. I fall asleep hollow and awake hollow—not reed-hollow, flute-hollow, but the hollow of a cornhusk after all the kernels, all the sweetness, have been removed.
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