Follow the Trail By: Raiana Ferrer
Acknowlegements
I would like to thank everyone who submitted to this zine and the wonderful support during its creation. Special thanks to my friends and the LitMag class.
Front Page: “Run� By Kate
Table of Contents Reflection by Brieanna Sundberg
Heirarchy by Gina Bacal Solitary Life and Stellar by Sarah Li The City by Erica Machida
Page 1 Page 2
Page 3 Page 4
Traveling is a Dangerous Pastime by Vivian Bentley Page 5 The Look Out by Kate Uesugi
Page 8
Reflection
By Brienna Sundberg
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Hierarchy
By: Gina Bacal I remember a mad dash towards safety. Being prey was not fun. I sat in the darkness of my burrow, waiting for the harpy eagle to stop circling my home. It sucked being at the bottom of the food chain−a rabbit. It can’t be healthy being prey; having your adrenaline spike and drop all the time. I peeked out of the burrow. The eagle was gone. I took a few hops forward and stood on my back legs, scouting the area. Content, I set off to find food. The moment I lowered my guard, I found the lower half of my body inside the mouth of a wolf. In my next life, I was a wolf. In that life, I realized that the chase was more exhilarating than the run. The chase was my livelihood. A cold wind blew past me, winter was approaching. It was time to hunt. My nose led me to the scent of flesh. In an open field, I saw a beautiful sight, a lone elk. Elks don’t go into the open at this hour. Was it old? Sick? Abandoned? I didn’t care, it was food, and I couldn’t be picky. I crouched into a low stance and pounced. I licked the blood off my paws and stretched out. The elk was more than enough to last me two weeks. With a full belly, I stood up. As I turned to leave a searing pain exploded within me. I collapsed to the ground and the last thing I saw was the figure of a human. I am currently a human being. I sat in my house watching TV. What did I want for dinner? I had so much to choose from: meat, fruit, vegetables, takeout? The possibilities were endless. I just grabbed an apple and continued watching the news. A surfer had been eaten by a shark, and the shark had been killed by fisherman. I turned off the TV. No longer hungry, I threw the apple away and began preparing for bed. Humans were the only creatures I knew that could fit in the bottom, middle or top of the food chain. 2
Solitary Life By: Sarah Li
Stellar
By Sarah Li
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The City
By Erica Machida With eyes that have yet to slumber What lies under that sky of a brilliant hue Or greys that cannot interpret emotion Is a garden full of lights Under the bright moon Or a maze full of towers Reaching for the sun Holding that aura of power It changes like the seasons It dies like the trees It lives like the animals It exist like the seas Like everything else that is a part of nature Attracting your eyes that have yet to slumber It lies to you all until its tongue is blue For it is nothing more than a shell of people’s creations Ideas and abominations And while it stands, the trees die And all that nature holds dear Is slowly drawing nearer To its devastation
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Traveling is a Dangerous Past Time By: Vivian Bentley
Last week I made the worst decision in my short life. It all started with a trip to France. I was planning on doing it the economizer’s way: fly using a discount ticketed one-way ticket, staying at a cheap hotel, buses and trains for transport, and only buying the least expensive local food. After I first got off the plane there was a buzz of excitement through me, I was finally traveling. What many people aspire to do I am actually doing. With my currency already changed to Euro I caught the first bus to my motel. My bus stop approached quickly and when I got off I noticed a puppet show, I quickly hurried over to get a closer look. The puppet show was too old for me. The puppets were brightly colored and the jokes were in French, but it was so interesting to see something like that in a modern world full of electronics. After I was done watching I reached for my bag to give the show a tip but my purse wasn’t there. I looked around and neither was my baggage.
Someone had stolen it.
Everything I needed was in that bag, how was I supposed to get back to America now? I knew I should’ve taken my parents advice to try and not look like a tourist. But I got so caught up with everything: The smell of all the food vendors, the smiles of other tourists, the colors of all the shops, and even the familiar golden arches. Now I was on my own, the only items I still had was my phone—thank god—and my passport which I kept in deep the pockets of my bootlegged jeans. I tried to keep from panicking in the middle of a crowd. The last thing I wanted everyone to know is that I didn’t have any money or means, or place to stay or go. It would attract the wrong people. My mother had been worried about me flying alone from the beginning even though I was 20 years old; I guess she was right to be worried. I didn’t want to call and 5
confirm her fears, I was sure I’d be out of their in no time. I have been working at a job for a few long weeks trying to get enough money to get out of this place, but here’s the thing. I’m not getting paid—they keep on putting it off. Making excuses. I had a basic understanding of French before I left now I am getting better every day and something is very fishy. The work is moving boxes into a big loading truck. It’s grueling work. Box after box the monotony is killing me. I’ve been keeping track of how much they owe me and it’s almost enough to get my plane ticket out of here. If I work this last day, these last few hours I’ll have enough. Then they’ll have to pay me. I’ve been working from early morning to late at night. I have to work until all the boxes are put into all the trucks. I have no idea what’s in those boxes but they do smell a little weird hopefully, it’s not drugs or anything illegal. If so then I’m out of here, right after I grab my paycheck. A man bursts through the doors, I recognize him as one of the guys who hired me. He has dark curly hair and angry eyes. I hope I didn’t do anything wrong, I just need this last day. “Where’s your phone?!” he yelled in French grabbing my wrist. “I don’t have it, you took it away from me remember, that way I wouldn’t be distracted on the job,” I said. So I couldn’t call for help I thought to myself. “I know you have it someone tipped them off. It was you! Is it because we weren’t paying you? Well now you won’t get paid ever! Hand me your passport.” He snarled in French I could now understand.
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“No,” I objected. I needed to run, I just didn’t know where. I wasn’t familiar with this area or really anywhere in France. My hope for payment had dulled me against how dangerous this was, how bad a decision it was to take a job I knew little about. It wasn’t this bad at first, and before I knew I was a frog in boiling water. This is when I heard the police sirens, I am safe. They are coming to rescue me. They will understand. I am American I’m not involved in whatever business this is. What a relief. My smile is growing the first one I’ve had since I’d gotten off that plane. “Get in the truck,” he said shattering my dreams by shoving me inside the half-loaded truck. I struggled, but even the strength I’d gotten from the weeks of hard labor wasn’t enough. The door shut with final metallic thud, I was trapped in the dark. I’m not saved. I thought as the truck began to start to some unknown destination.
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The Look Out By Kate Uesugi
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