purgatory
1
table of contents i’m sorry by kate uesugi (picture by kate uesugi)
(pg 4)
memorial by raiana ferrer
(pg 6)
through her eyes by fiona rutgers(pg 7)
undying by kelsi teramae (picture by fiona rutgers)
(pg 8)
jump by kelsi teramae (pg 10)
cover art by kayla economou table of contents art by kate uesugi back cover definition by apple dictionary
brian clark by kayla economou (picture by sarah li)
(pg 11)
walk alone by keekee broadwater (pg 12) (picture by kate uesugi)
letter from the editors island pacific academy’s literary magazine strives to showcase extraordinary art and literature, encourage quality writing, and strengthen the confidence of our artists.
zine created by kelsi teramae, fall 2012
Dear Abby, The haunting sound of the wind at night takes me back to that summer. Everything does now. Sometimes I think I see you: in a crowd, at the lake, across the street. I can’t shake the memory of you. That’s what I hate the most—the memories. I remember when we were kids. I remember those sunny days we would spend by the lake, eating pastrami sandwiches and talking about how much we hated school. Sometimes, we would act all fancy and talk in British accents. “Abigail, isn’t this tea simply divine?” I would say, as I held up my too-sour lemonade. “Why yes, Penelope. Now don’t forget to raise that pinky,” you would reply as we giggled and sipped from your mother’s expensive porcelain teacups. I remember the sleepovers we had and the amazing grilled cheese sandwiches your mom would make us when we came home from school. But they’re not all good memories. I remember storming out of your house after a fight or how I made you cry when I said that you wouldn’t be able to make it on the homecoming committee. “Only the pretty and popular girls make it on the committee. Is that what we are? No, I don’t think so,” I had said, as I watched you slowly cross out your name on the sign up sheet and put away your pen. You had cried when you got home; I know because Sandra Walters, who used to be your neighbor, had told me. I remember being jealous of how wealthy your family was. Every time my mother would try to buy cheap fast food and pass it off as a homemade meal made me think about how you would never have to eat off the dol-
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lar menu or share a greasy cheeseburger with your older brother. You were an only child. You never had to share anything; all of my clothes were hand-me-downs. Your parents spoiled you; mine had made me share my room with my four other siblings. Your life had seemed so much better then mine, with your brand name clothes and your diamond earrings. There is nothing I remember better then last summer. I hadn’t seen you since we graduated high school and now that we were done with college, we could finally catch up. It had started when you had invited me to go camping with you. It would be just like when we were younger. I met you by the stream on Thursday, my oversized backpack filled with supplies. It was only the two of us; walking along the water, surrounded by the millions of towering trees. We had set up camp in a nearby clearing. Everything was fine. Everything was perfect. And then it all happened. I’m sorry. I’m sorry that they’ll never know what happened to you and that they’ll never find you. I’m sorry that you’ll never be able to read this letter or that I’ll never be able to show it to anyone. I’m sorry that I hadn’t taken my medication that day. I’m sorry that you had to beg for your life as I held the gun firmly to your head. And I’m sorry that you aren’t here anymore. And that it’s all my fault. Your friend, Penny
i’m sorry kate uesugi
5
memorial
raiana ferrer
6
through her eyes fiona rutgers
undying
kelsi teramae I realized I was in love with you one day, like really in love. Not just the simple kind of love that I could have for anybody--I realized I had fallen for you. I fell in love with you the way you wake up one morning and realize it’s Friday. I fell in love with you and it felt like I had snuggled under the covers of my bed, like the idea of being in love with you was warm and comfortable, and enveloped me and held me close. I fell in love with you one day, and I honestly couldn’t tell you which day, when I looked at you and we were laughing because it was just so easy to be around each other and it was like when your eyes focus on those 3D optical illusions, and everything turned from a big blurry mess to something that was so clear to me. I fell in love, and I was in love with the fact that I had fallen in love with you. I fell in
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love with you like it was meant to happen, like every day we had spent together was leading up to this one moment. I realized I was in love the way you realize the answer to a really hard math problem or the way you realize that the breeze has started blowing and made the air the perfect temperature. I fell in love like waves washing over the shore and burying your feet in sand. I fell in love like the sun shining through a square in the window and illuminating dust motes in the air. I fell in love and waited for you to fall in love with me. I fell in love with you, and wished I hadn’t. I fell in love with you, and wished you hadn’t.
“i wished you hadn’t found your father’s gun that day” I wished you hadn’t been home alone that day. I wished
you didn’t have to feel like there was no way out. I wished you hadn’t found your father’s gun that day. I’m sorry I wasn’t there for you. I’m sorry I didn’t get a chance to tell you. I’m sorry that after I knew I was in love with you I also knew that you had blown your brains across your bedroom wall. I’m sorry, and I will never be un-sorry, but I will also never be un-in love with you. I love you in the present tense. I love you and I will never stop loving you; it’s involuntary, like blinking or breathing. I love you and it’s like remembering those happy days we had together, and our last good day together, and everything in between. I’ve since been in love with other people, I’ve even been in steady relationships with some of them, but dear God it’s been five years and I’m still falling in love with you.
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kelsi teramae
People always used to ask me if I had ever heard about Brian Clark. He was one of those nondescript guys that blended in with the office walls. No face. No expression. Nothing worth seeing. I think all of this as Brian holds a gun to my head, screaming about how I need to die first in order to live forever. All those years spent paying taxes and subsisting off of life in a cubicle really got Brain down. Hell, it’s downright depressing if you let yourself think about it too much. And that’s what I do—just not think about it. My temple aches where the barrel of the gun pushes against my flesh. I don’t bother to talk to him; I know what this is really about. Freedom. From life or the monotony of the nine-to-five, I can’t say. All I know is that I’ve given up all hope. I am going to die today and I’m okay with that. This was freedom. Losing all expectation and any kind of hope was freedom. You’re not really going to die, he tells me, while pushing the mouth of the gun even further into my skin. You’re just a fake, I think, but don’t say aloud. Brain was a phony and nothing in his life was real anymore. Just like mine. I think what Brian wanted was to become a legend: to be remembered. Suddenly, I feel overwhelmed. What was the point to anything? You learn to do a job for the rest of your life and then you just die. You don’t need to understand exactly what it is you’re doing, just that it needs to get done. All that stress and tension for work. My chest heaves in undulating waves, racking my body incessantly. I realize I am laughing. The sound of the safety clicks off in my ear. This is freedom I remind myself; this was going to be my vacation.
brian clark
kayla economou 11
It’s scary how many people you have pushed out of your life, that losing yourself now seems like the death of you. It never started out this way though. It wasn’t you. It was the yelling and screaming of her parents. It was the little girl lied to by her father that everything was going to be okay. It was the short days and long nights filled with loneliness and not knowing. It is not nightfall that brings out all evil, It is the moment when we think that the light will stop anything. We are dumb to the fact that evil will stop at nothing. Fighting in your jeans, running away from the sun. ‘Cause the only fear of nighttime that scares you Is the moment when sun rises above the horizon. And the real monsters are released One by one Exiting their big fancy homes, like it’s routine. Money isn’t everything. Didn’t they know that? Practice what you preach, ‘cause what goes around comes around. For what you are put through, you do not deserve.
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You are merely in the middle of a battle field you had not intended to be on. But it’s not your fault. You were not planned to be there. You walked away from the crowd to make your own path. In the events of not knowing where you were headed You had found yourself surrounded by beauty To create a new life, Not knowing you fell in the same footsteps as that little girl. The little girl we will never see again. It’s not your fault though. For her life was not long lived, but it goes on forever. It wasn’t you. You can not run from your fears. You can not hide nor act like they are not there. You can not act like you have no fears. You can not act like there is not a worse situation. You can not cry. You must have control. ‘Cause if you don’t, fear will take over your life and then we will lose you Like we lost that little girl.
walk alone
keekee broadwater
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purgatory |‘pərgə,tôrē| noun ( pl. purgatories ) (in Roman Catholic doctrine) a place or state of suffering inhabited by the souls of sinners who are expiating their sins before going to heaven. • mental anguish or suffering: this was purgatory, worse than anything she’d faced in her life.