K A L E O O K A M A N A O La Pietra Literary Magazine 2018
Kaleo O Kamana’o
In Dedication to Dr. Josh Watson Thank you for a wonderful first year, here's to many more! Advisor: Ms. Lesnick Senior Editors: Lanihuli Gilbert, Catherine Middleton, Tehara Anata, and Mia Birk Assistant Editors: Ava Dodhi, Gillian Hall, Melia Hardin, Kaya Heimowitz, and Malia Goldstein Art Director: Talulah Skilling
Catherine Middleton
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Table Of Contents 4. An Imitation Of “The Guild” - Dynah Tuia’ana 5. Blasphemy- Cecelia Holland 6. Sleep, An Imitation of “L ove” By Billy Collins - Mia Birk 7. The Meadow - Savannah Ames 8. The Library Book - Riley Jackes 9. Nature - Maddie Lee 10. Poem- An Imitation Of “a plausible finish” By Charles Bukowski- Anonymous 11. Ode To My Haku - Makenna Kinsler 12. Reverie, A Response To “Mediation” By Charles Baudelaire - Gretchen Felten 13. Alive - Kaya Heimowitz 14-15. The Bird, An Imitation Of “The Fish” By Elizabeth Bishop - Catherine Middleton 16. Key, An Imitation Of “M irror” B y Sylvia Plath - Arisa Ching 17. Flash Fiction - Sirena Spurrier, Catherine Middleton 18-20. The Refined American Entrance Examination - A satire, Anela Donachie 21. Blackout Poem - Ku’ulei Elms 22. The Peace of ‘I’ - Liahona Ta’ala 23. The Beast - Lanihuli Gilbert 24. Blackout Poem - Catherine Middleton 25-26. Emerald Notebook - Zoe Welch 27. “Body And Land Are Not So Different, An Imitation Of “ The Patriot” By Christopher Davis - Talulah Skilling 28. Blackout Poem - Sirena Spurrier 2
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29-30. [
] at the zoo, 2003, Imitation Of “photo with faceless, 2006” - Grace Grange
31-35. It Was Just Denial - Catherine Middleton 36. The Good Boy Game - An Ekphrastic, Tommianne Brockert 37. Blackout Art - Melanie Dee 38-40. A Sensible Suggestion for Standardized Tests - Emily Pham 41. Six Word Stories - Grace Grange, Iris Riverstone, Melanie Dee, Sirena Spurrier 42-44. The Longest Yawn - Aaron Sekulich 45. Blackout Poem - Sirena Spurrier
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Imitation Of “The Guild” Dynah Tuia’ana Every night as my grandfather sat somewhere very far from here,the blanket like hold of his arms, his voice warm and soft, yet firm, scolding fondly through the cries from the other child, his face full of worry, a young boy sits, miles and years away, sniffling in the corner of an apartment, quiet as a mouse, dark brown matted hair from his adventures outside, his young, smooth face and body covered in painful, eggplant-colored spots, another daily lesson given by his mother. This was his son, who had a father-sized gap, days out alone, he found his own poison, the snake was the neighborhood gang, who filled his gaping hole, and he drank as they did, not quite fitting, with his small body, and young curls, but definitely filling in, one day, he would outgrow what he once couldn’t fit one day, he would shed his youth and become the King Cobra, that young boy, my father.
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Blasphemy Cecelia Holland Blasphemy, a word of offense or impurity. A word with many uses. A replacement for foul words used by millennials today. A word when called on will build a wall To confront opinions, but safely express heartache and anger. It’s strong beginning would seem to catch any stranger's ear. With the second syllable like a soft landing. Together they portray assertiveness but also pain and disbelief. Blasphemy, a sacred word by it’s meaning.
Kayla Nguyen
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Sleep
An imitation Of “Love” By Billy Collins Mia Birk The little boy in the stroller Was staring off into space, Legs gently swinging, eyes frozen and glassy, When the stroller stopped rocking Making his eyes open in surprise And abruptly clear of their stupor And his head twisted upward Towards his mother, A request to keep rocking written on his face. He looked like the placid sun slowly setting As his head rested against the blanket bunched up and spilling onto his shoulder As the light glowed softly fluorescent And the IV bag lazily Dripped drops of fluid into his arm. I try to remember and write this down In the long hours as the blue light rests on my face Because I watched as sleep toyed with him that night, And as the stroller kept rocking, The fluid kept dripping, And the light kept glowing, I watched as his eyes faded, Lids drooping, dipping into exhaustion, like the very last scene of a film When the colors dim and dwindle Until all is endless black, Black as the night sky whose stars are absent.
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The Meadow Savannah Ames When I was 6, My life revolved Around a meadow. No exotic beach, or Tropical forest came Close to resembling As much beauty as My picturesque vast field. I would run around As my feet touched the Vibrant green grass. Rain had just fallen Making the ground Cool and refreshing to the touch. The sweet aroma of honey From all the vibrant Red suckle flowers Lingered through the air. The meadow gave Life to everything. Tehara Anata Ginger flowers Spread everywhere like A wildfire among Parched trees. I’d listen to the birds Chirp wonderful melodies As they worked together With bees among The city of flowers.
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The Library Book Riley Jackes To the book on the shelf. Waiting to be picked up, Opened and explored like a map. Longing for the days when it used to be read And with every passer, every reach, still it sits. Waiting for the time when it will get picked up again Days, maybe months, maybe years will go by between the reads The only source of warmth shining on in its worn spine. I am too old, do I have too many pages? Am I not interesting enough? It wonders and waits But only if they knew… The stories inside of me, the adventures we could have, The cliffhangers, and the heartbreak, The pain, but the success, What fills my pages. Waiting to be discovered, waiting to be read. And when the day comes, Ah, at last. A reach, a touch, a quick skim of the back A keeper at last Would you take the chance?
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Nature Maddie Lee An orange glow coated the sky, so clear Across a bright light blue with wispy white. You can hear the bird songs that disappear Or maybe gaze the moon in broad daylight. The flowers and leaves grow to touch the sun Below the rain that floods and flows the Earth Encompassed by the mystical Ocean It is as old as time, with bountiful worth With aging time, our world fruitfully grows I love this world that is our home, and I love this wise old Earth that frankly knows More than all humans living on Earth’s land. Love is forever and love may live on Yet nothing lasts, what you love can be gone.
Talulah Skilling
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Poem An Imitation Of “a plausible finish” By Charles Bukowski
Anonymous I blink and a thousand images flash before my eyes, open. the man’s face is warped and twisted, the corners of his mouth sagging, pulling down on his premature jowls, wrinkles running through his skin, like rills in the dusty earth. everything you say goes straight through these thin walls; I hear chickens clucking from across the street, and mormons yelling downstairs about drinking coffee. as a child I forced myself to eat a bunch of green, unripe mangoes. they were bitter and chalky, not yet even sour. I convinced myself they were nutritious, and I suppose that these mangoes may have been to me in the moment as god is to those who have faith in him, but perhaps faith does not wane as much. I feel the gentle pulsing of my heart, see the sinking of the moon in the early morning sky. as the glowing white melts into clear blue, the springy clouds beneath my feet guide me towards bliss, ideas escalating into beliefs intangible. though I think it may just be alright, because the longer I wonder, the more I realize I don’t need a heaven.
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Ode To My Haku Makenna Kinsler My Haku Lei Blooming out Of every corner. Showering the scent of delight. Tied down to the spine. As fragile as a baby Ladybug. Blossoms, Looped in leaves, Magnetizing your eyes, With its vivacious flowers. Pink, purple, yellow, Settling between Green. Dancing on my head. More dazzling than A princess’ crown.
Jodi Onoye
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Reverie A response To “ M ediation” By Charles Baudelaire Gretchen Felten Take it easy friend, it is I Sadness. Settle down. I have come this evening. Now, it’s time. I’m here. My sickening vapor has swept over you, It fills some with serenity, others with remorse. I see how those groups of beings waste their lives filled with unsatisfying regret that tightens around their necks and how they drown me out in lavish partying, I will take your hand, it is I Sadness. You will lead me out, my spirit will linger still. I see how those years have been unkind; you with your threadbare clothing, you tried to reach the Promised Land. If you go to the depths, I smile, for I am still there. The sunlight still tries to break through the clouds above, and, Sadness can’t cover it, I can’t stretch my hand over the earth. It is I Sadness, I don’t need you to dismiss me anymore.
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Alive Kaya Heimowitz Alive, as if we always would be, As if we’d planned out our days for eternity, Sans fear for the future, We chased our concepts of perfection, We sacrificed our lives in the present.
Ten Kusaka, ‘20
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The Bird
An Imitation Of “ T he Fish” By Elizabeth Bishop Catherine Middleton The grass was green at the park. My feet were hitting the pavement, I was running. The bird’s head was bobbing back and forth, back and forth. Its head was shiny and red like latex; its feathers were gone, stripped back and somewhere in the trees. I stopped and grimaced at its ant-infested body still warm and rising the innocence stripped away with its skin. I tried to find its eyes that were barely there - they were round and beady, supine and black, with whiteflies - scattered ashes falling to the ground. I wondered as I knelt felt too much remorse to cry, what could’ve happened? I cupped my hands under its warm chest, spread its feeble wings bony and brittle 14
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with my straight thumbs. There was no noise the bird was silent. Its head bobbed back and forth back and forth, contorted, a contortionist. The ants fled to my sweaty palms drowning in their river. I brought the bird’s chest to mine. Our heart beats synced. We walked and mom drove. The bird fluttered and twirled and brushed my nail beds with its deficient feathers dirty and riddled with bugs. Its head like a jack-in-the-box in and out back and forth. I handed it to the woman behind the desk her face was sunken and her eyes went wide. I let it go bobbing.
Ferrari Hiraga
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Key An Imitation Of “Mirror” By Sylvia Plath Arisa Ching I am keen and precise. I have no ammunitions. Whoever they see I let them see, Clear as clear can be, unlocked by selfishness or greed. I am not inhuman, just myself, The guardian put in place for a little angel, cool and sharp. I dream within cluttered walls, waiting. It does not have eyes, only ears. It has listened to me and I to it through the ticking. I believe that we are one. Pale hands and dark clouds separate us again and again. I am gleaming with pride now. A child reaches out to me, Clutching on, to what? I would never know. She then looks onto tears and fear, Masquerading as her trustful guardians. I see her tears, terrible and sweet, and gleam on truly. She responds to me with dust bunnies and moss, Keeping me with her, night after night, As I assist her with this bittersweet journey. It is I who she seeks, months and years, And I faithfully respond with a click.
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In third or fourth grade I cheated in a game of UNO that I was playing with my grandma, and the guilt has never left me Sirena Spurrier She’s in the bathroom Now’s my only chance I peek at her cards They’re bad I will win Still pure in her eyes
You know how when you make fruit smoothies, forget to put the lid on, and the result looks vaguely like war? Catherine Middleton You stare in horror, the red on your hands in the beds of your crusty wet fingers, berries coating you.
F errari Hiraga
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The Refined American Entrance Examination - A satire
Anela Donachie It is a disgraceful act to walk through the land of free and not know about the national sport of the home of the brave, to not know the of the sport that becomes an annual celebration across the nation during the championship game. America is so adept in this sport that we are in fact the only country to ever have won continuous Super Bowl Championships and titles. With so much pride, history, and honor distilled in this sport, the only downfall seems to be the controversy surrounding the special treatment given to football players when they apply to colleges that they would otherwise not be accepted in to were it not for their athletic abilities. This perceived unfairness in the admission of football players into top-ranked colleges stems from the fact that football players are admitted into these colleges based purely on their level of skill in the game of football, completely independent of their academic standings and achievements. As someone who has had friends who have dated dumb football players who got into academically competitive colleges across the nation, I know first hand the frustration and unfair feeling many non-football players feel when confronted with the inequity of our modern day world. This proves to be especially provoking for women who have supposedly been granted full equality in collegiate sports under Title IX, however the absence of a female football team in any college and the absence of a professional female football league in the nation sets up the female sex for disappointment when her male counterparts are able to make a career out of this sport while it is still unavailable for many womankind. While the inequality of this issue at the national level is at the moment in our current position too distant to remedy, I propose a simple solution that will at least solve the issue of biased college admissions that favor football player. This solution of mine is to be installed across the country at a national collegiate level in order to give everyone an equal entrance assessment. A standardized entrance assessment, which I propose, will allow colleges to view their prospective students on an equal platform
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and will eliminate any concerns about student's academic abilities. The usage of this standardized test will be used to determine whether the candidate is qualified to apply for the college and how many scholarships the student will receive. In order for the refined college entrance examination to be effective, colleges must admit students based purely on their results of the examination, regardless of past academic and athletic achievements, gender, sexuality, and financial history. The newly standardized college entrance examination will be composed of multiple arrays of specialized assessments used to test the range of diversity of a candidate's skills. No accommodations will be provided to accustom the sex of the testee as the purpose of this test is to evaluate everyone equally. The test shall be composed of four parts, the first three will evaluate the strength and endurance of three different parts of the body: arms, core, and legs. The fourth part of the test will be a test of overall endurance and cardiovascular fitness. An appropriate administrator of the test will conduct the examination, and ensure that all equipment required is provided for. Based on knowledge of human anatomy, the examination is designed to test the subject's fitness to the most of their ability. The first part of the examination is the arms component, this will comprise of as many push-ups the subject can do within a minute, how far the subject can throw a football from a standing position (measured in yards), and how many pull-ups the subject can do in under a minute. The core component will be comprised of how many sit-ups the subject can do in under a minute, how many v-ups the subject can do in under a minute, and how many leg raises the subject can do in under a minute. The legs component will be composed of how many squats the subject can do in under a minute, how long it takes the subject to push a 150-lb. push sled starting from the 0-yard line and finishing behind the 20-yard line; the heaviest weight the subject can squat will be taken into accommodation. To test endurance and cardiovascular, the administrator of the examination will time how long it takes the
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subject to run a full mile, and how long it takes the subject to run the length of a football field at their top speed. With this refined test, colleges will finally be able to objectively admit potential students in a fair way, without having to deal with the hassle and complexness of also taking into account their academic record. As someone who has personal experience with the unfair acceptance of collegiate athletes, myself and many others wished for a test that would allow everyone to be portrayed on an even playing field without having to take so many other factors into account. Hopefully, with this new test, the American people and college executives alike will be able to properly evaluate what type of students they want to be represented at their college, and whether they want their college to be more known for either true academic accomplishments, or true athletic accomplishments. Talulah Skilling
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Ku’ulei Elms
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The Peace of ‘I’ - Ka Maluhia O Ka ‘I’ Liahona Ta’ala Peace be with you, All my Peace. O Ka Maluhia no me oe, Ku`u Maluhia a pau loa, The Peace that is “I”, the Peace that is “I am”. Ka Maluhia o ka “I”, owau no ka Maluhia The Peace for always, now and forever and evermore. Ka Maluhia no wa a pau, no ke’ia wa a mau a mau loa aku My Peace “I” give to you, My Peace “I” leave with you. Ha`awai aku wau I Ku`u Maluhia ia oe, waiho aku I ku`u Maluhia me oe Not the world’s Peace, but, only my peace The Peace of “I” A`ole ka Maluhia o ke ao aka, ka`u Maluhia wale no, Ka Maluhia o ka “I”
Maddie Bee, ‘21
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The Beast Lanihuli Gilbert It is an interesting phenomenon, Observing the old creaking structure move, And twist, And fall, And then stand stagnant. As if we are expected to find Some kind of comfort in its rhythmic movement, To see our childhoods emerge again. Well, mine was not dressed in visions of orange elephants and lilac toucans, One emerging, One retreating back. But rather written in the blackened soot that stains the floors of homes, Far away, towards the crescent mountains that bear no love for frivolous creations. And as I stand atop the hill, I look down on the spinning sight, And I wait, And I listen for the sounds of children, Emerging in the distant meadows, Gasping for their chance, to ride the beast: That which I did fear to ride.
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Catherine Middleton
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Emerald Notebook Zoe Welch It was just a regular day for 26 year old Casey Copeland. She was all on her own now, wandering the world, waiting for opportunities to come. And as she looked down, one appeared. A notebook. It was roughed up, like it had been there for many years, tossed and turned. It was an emerald green. It possessed a personality, like a person had lived in that book. She looked around. She was at the end, or the beginning, of a long, long field. And this notebook was at the very edge of the line separating the grass from the dirt. Like the person who owned it had barely made it to the end of the trail. This was amazingly intriguing to Casey. She wondered long and hard about what was in that notebook. Finally, she picked it up. So eager to get into it, she ripped the page. It flew away in the wind, like it could not stand to be in the book anymore. The page went wandering across the field, trying to send a message. It twirled in the field, like a feather above a fan. She followed the page, believing that it would lead her to happiness. As the wind grew, Casey had to run faster, and faster. Eventually, she was in the middle of that gigantic field. She hit herself on the head for looking down the whole way, not knowing where she was going. She finally grabbed the page, and let out a sigh of relief. She picked up the page of the mysterious book and read word by word, over and over again, trying to make a little sense of it. The page said… Friday, September 2nd, 1995 “What is the point of life, if not to live it? Have the gods above doomed me to a future of madness and sorrow? What did I do wrong? Am I supposed to study grass and make a profession out of it? Grass and grass and grass and grass! I might go color blind with this beige-ish color surrounding me. “ Casey flipped to some of the last pages. Some day, Some month, Some year
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“I remember nothing but the day I parted with my humanity. As it said goodbye to me at that hellish thing of a gate. How was I supposed to know? Was there a sign there that said, “Do not pass if you have a happy life”. Gee, thanks, but I must of missed that. “ Casey looks at the grass. What she saw was what she would always see. Nothingness and grass. The grass had this special life to it. A life that she could live with and benefit from. A life that would sway with her direction. A life that she could live for. Catherine Middleton
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Body And Land Are Not So Different An Imitation Of “The Patriot” By Christopher Davis Talulah Skilling All three of them have crooked teeth And ill-fitting shoes Skipping school to sit Like statues of druids On the still warm hood of a Ford truck. Found On Roadside Dead, he recalls Silent and waiting For something to break up their own yearnings Each nursing the ache in their stomach In the setting sun The lake glints a sheer oil slick purple Unsafe to swim or drink The shores are dotted with refuse Dripping and stinking it way Slowly into the polluted soil And the beer was the same temperature As the thighs it had been cradled between on the drive up “Like drinking sweat” she said and laughed As the first night birds began to howl In the trees surrounding them The water bubbled quietly to itself He pulled a blanket from the backseat And they breathed in the night air and the scent of each other’s skin Waiting for morning to bring its clarity.
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Sirena Spurrier
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[
] at the zoo, 2003
Imitation of “photo with faceless, 2006” B y Elisa Luna-Ady Grace Grange sometimes i wish i could unearth memories, ones where the mother’s eyes hold kindness and not nothing. i am hanging from the window of the cluttered attic, there is cat hair strewn across the bedroom floor and it smells like alcohol thirty years stale, my head is shaved down dull, i am unnamed and on the brink of seeing the faceless for the first time. i cling to my mom’s arm and the figures in the brick houses turn away from me. there’s something empty about this town, but i wash the paint off and i scatter my dead dog and i walk old streets that feel new. there’s a point where it stops snow- ing and i can hear the cries and laughter down- stairs, ghostly and faded through the wood floors. standing in the middle of the unfamiliar room i try not to think about how i don’t know the voices or how when i revisit old buildings my mind can’t remember where my feet used to stand, like some- one took a pen and scratched out the footprints my child’s size shoe made more than a decade ago. i think i remember what it’s like to be whited out, to be wiped away, flailing, until your words fail you. mostly though i’d like to think i was placed down gently. in the early morning i tell her, i promise to make a half-dead thing come half-alive again. i promise to walk miles tomorrow, exploring the icy city, feet crackling over the pavement as if it were plastic, vapor-breathed with delight. yes, mom, i promise to pick up the phone when / if she calls. 29
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i swear i see her- whatever her name was before- but that night i realize i was looking at myself in the pictures on the wall, wrinkled forehead and scraped knees and flat black eyes. later, i will think we are not so much different. later, i will realize that maybe i held the pen. so often my memory fails me, but never when i remember a girl in a bedroom, on the sun-faded porch, the pendant charm lost from her neck, telling me that she doesn’t believe our parents in a tone that whips and settles over me like fine dust. i believe that somewhere there was a failure of language. or was it touch? or was it god / time / man / mother / the shadow that was once one instead of two? i can never remember it right. Irene Schemadovits
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Catherine Middleton
It Was Just Denial
Gabriel gingerly navigated through the dirty brick alleyways of the city- hands in his pockets, head down. It was the fastest way to get to The Bazaar. Little remnants of previous rain pettered on his dark coat and he accidentally stepped in a puddle, drowning half a pair of Oxfords. He cursed to himself and moved on, his left foot now sloshing in cold water. He looked up at the sky and through the telephone wires saw a canvas of slate gray. The alley opened up to a large, bustling courtyard filled with open tents. Gabriel knew he had reached The Bazaar when a school of pixies whizzed past his head like colorful bullets. They returned to dance around him like flies and he swatted them away, irritated. A voice called out from across the market, “you know that’ll just excite ‘em more.” The market was busy that day. He haphazardly observed the flow of movement across the cobblestone streets. The interesting thing about this place was that it served as a forum for species of any kind; where a relative class-system was followed throughout the city, The Bazaar was a little bubble where they all came together to mingle and exchange delicacies. In that moment alone, Gabriel caught a whiff of sunflowers and gold- a scent only the fae could afford- and glimpsed a minor demon trying to haggle a warlock. Business was business in the art of dealing magic and secrets- as long as you had the money, there usually wouldn’t be a problem. He shook his head and strode over to Izzy, his go-to vendor. The old witch was grinning, new wrinkles forming at the creases of her eyes. Gabriel returned the smile, but his was different. He never smiled from ear-to-ear, rather, more softly lifted one of the corners of his mouth in an effort to convey an emotion that he didn’t really feel at the moment. “The usual?” Izzy asked as he approached. He nodded and pushed up his glasses. She pulled out a couple jars of liquids and spices- Izzy usually made potions in front of her customers, probably to establish a semblance of trust and an opening to come back for more. Before Izzy began she rested her worn hands on the wooden station and looked into his eyes, really looked. “How’s she doing?” She asked. Gabriel exhaled loudly and hugged his arms, suddenly uncomfortable. He didn't really want to talk about it. “Pretty much the same,” he said, breaking eye contact. She sighed and began putting things together- crushing bright red substances with those of other colors, liquidating it with something bright electric blue. He was mesmerized by the whole process, though he didn’t really want to be a witch. “It’s only the second day,” Izzy said. “Don’t give up hope.” “Believe me,” he started. “Ever since the cure came out for this thing, all I’ve been is hopeful.” He concentrated on his shoes, deliberately looking away from Izzy, When Izzy looked at you, it felt like an invasion of personal space. It felt like she was seeing you naked. “I don’t want to see you naked.” At that, he did genuinely smile. Just a little. She poured her concoction into a thin vial, careful not to let the contents spill over. He held his hands out and she folded them gently over the container. “I’ll see you tomorrow?”
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He nodded. “Same time.” Gabriel grunted as he shoved the door open. Tricky hinges. He made a mental note to fix that eventually. He walked into his apartment and closed the door behind him, trying to mute out the various...lively...noises from the neighbors. He took a moment to assess the less desirable qualities of where he lived- the dingy furniture, the faint smell of mold. It was easy to forget how to take care of yourself when the person who typically did it for you couldn’t anymore. He fished the potion out of his pocket and shrugged his thick jacket off, letting it fall to the floor. He turned on the TV for background noise and moved to the entrance of the bedroom. Placing his hands on the cool brass doorknob, he walked into the room, the potion swirling in his left hand. If you didn’t know who it was, you would've thought there was an angel on the bed. Diana laid there, her pale blonde hair sprawled across the pillows like rays of sunshine. Her hands crossed over one another on her stomach and her nails were perfectly polished. Gabriel switched on the light on the mahogany bed stand and knelt next to her. “Hey there, Di,” he said, stroking her pale cheek. “This is the third dose. Three more to go and you’ll heal just like the rest of them.” He opened the glass bottle, cradling it in his hands like a delicate bird, and topped the contents into Diana’s mouth. There was no reaction. There hadn’t been one yet. T hree days, h e thought to himself. Three more doses. After about half-an-hour he closed the bedroom door behind him and moved to open the fridge, the news channel sputtering away in the living room- “-It has been approximately two weeks since the cure was found for the Somnus Plague outbreak that has been ravaging the cities of the United States for nearly two years.” The words grabbed Gabriel’s attention and he abandoned the thought of food, instead sitting on the firm cushions and gluing himself to the broadcast. “As those afflicted fell into comatose states for up until a month before dying, healer witches and warlocks alike banded together to find a cure. You can find said cure at any Bazaar distributed by a certified heale-” Gabriel pushed the button on the remote and the screen went dark. He let his head fall to his hands and sighed in frustration. Diana had gotten Somnus only a week before the cure was found for the disease that only affected mortals. He and his wife had managed to somehow avoid it beforehand, but it snuck its way in like rats on a ship. By some miracle, the cure surfaced a week or so later. He just wished that she’d heal faster. A dose per day for six days felt like an eternity. The next day, he decided to leave work early to retrieve the next dosage. You never knew what delays there could be with heavy rain. Since he had to drive to work because it wasn’t walking distance like The Bazaar was, he had to make his way down to the parking lot and brace whatever traffic may lie ahead. The lot was dim and grungy, as all of them are. When he rolled out the brightness hit him like a truck, momentarily searing his vision. In that moment, something flashed in his line of sight and all the world seemed to tilt. There, right in front of him as clear as water, stood a figure in blue with dark shadows cast across her eyes. Silvery locks were pasted to her face in the downpour and she looked sad, almost mournful as she stared right into Gabriel’s eyes.
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“Diana?” It was then that a piercing noise roared in his ears like a lion, making the figure disappear- “Hey, buddy! Wanna move anytime soon?” Gabriel shook himself out of a daze when he realized that the sound was incessant honking and he turned to see cars lined up behind him with angry faces in the interior. He drove the rest of the way in a trance, not quite trusting himself. The water pounded on his windshield like thousands of tiny bullets, jolting him with every drop. Finally, he stopped and pressed a few coins into the parking meter, nodding to the watchful eye of the gremlin police officer. He wondered how gremlins supposedly caught bad guys when they were so tiny. He marched through puddles, forgetting to care about his soggy socks and ran to Izzy, waiting for him under the protection of a tent. She smiled at him and he noticed that she had already been preparing the mixture. “What’s wrong?” Izzy asked. “You look like you’ve seen a ghost.” “Something like that,” he muttered. She began rambling on about her day and how he should take better care of himself. It would all be fine and well if it weren’t for the splash of blue and gold in his periphery. Through the raindrops in the nearby alley she stood once more, Diana, he knew it, extending a hand towards him. “-and anyway this guy totally just pulled his pants down in front of every-” “Thanks,” he said, snatching the finished potion and darting to Diana. “Diana!” He called. But when he reached her it was as though she melted into the air, falling away into mist. He gasped and began to dry heave, failing to empty the lack of content in his stomach. He heard Izzy call out to him from some yards away, but he wasn’t interested in talking. He was running. Cars were slamming their brakes as Gabriel jumped on various hoods, crossing the streets like a parkour madman. The rain was still coming down hard; there wasn’t a spot on his body that wasn’t drenched. His lungs felt like ice, as though a thousand needles were sewing into them when he took a breath. He had never been a track star, but he had a feeling that recruiters would offer him a spot if they saw him like this. Within minutes, the tall red brick apartment complex rose up in its gothic glory. He heard blaring sirens in the distance and blanched as he saw one approach through his fogged up glasses. As they entered the building he hesitated, hoping it wasn’t related to Diana but somehow knowing it was. He darted through the final crossing and, rather than waiting for an elevator, sped up the fire escape steps leading to his home- leading to Diana. When he approached the landing, he flung open the shoddy window to his apartment only to be greeted by four surprised faces. “Excuse me, sir, who are you?” He glanced to the open doorway to the bedroom and dashed towards it, only narrowly catching a glimpse of the interior before being apprehended by the cops. He caught the faint outline of a body under the veil of a white sheet. “Di-”
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One of them snarled as they pushed Gabriel to the floor. “Sir, you need to calm down! Who are you?” “She’s my wife!” He cried. He struggled as the weight that was smashing his face into the wood floors lightened. He awkwardly grappled for something, sliding here and there from being drenched. Finally he faced the shocked faces of the cops as they shared looks of confusion. “Sir-” “What did you do to her?” A s he demanded this he launched up, only to be forced down again. “If you calm down, we can figure this out.” Tears leaked out of the corners of his eyes as he tried to relax, just as confused as they were. One of the cops with green scaled skin nodded to the others and moved behind Gabriel and he felt the sharp metal cuffs around his wrists. “Just to make sure,” the cop clarified. They settled and he tried to slow his breathing, his heart beat pounding like a drum in his ears and down to his fingers. “What’s your name-” “Why are you here?” Gabriel interjected. “What did you do to her? W hat did you do to my-” “SIR!” He stopped exclaiming at that outburst, comprehending what the cop was trying to say. “Your wife,” said the one with the green scales. “She’s dead. And from the looks and smell of it, she’s been dead for weeks.” He shook his head violently, intentionally not understanding what they had told him until something soft and warm came to his cheek. He turned and saw her there with an expression of sorrow so deep you could bury a million bodies, and the world went dark. He woke to fluorescent lights and rough sheets. As he got up he noticed whispered words a few feet away that halted as he rose. As his blurred vision cleared he noticed the cop from earlier with someone else in a dark suit. Gabriel tried to stand. “Where’s Diana?” The one in the suit hurried to his side, motioning for him to sit back down. “Gabriel-” “Where’s Diana?” The suited man glanced sympathetically to the cop then back to Gabriel and sighed. “Your-” he started, pausing to look for the right words. “Your wife has been dead for three weeks. From the looks of it, though Somnus usually takes a few weeks to take someone’s life, her immune system was too weak to fight it off for that long.” Gabriel furrowed his eyebrows together. “But- how did you-” “Your neighbors, ah-” the man gestured with his hands, looking to the cop for support. “Your neighbors called regarding the, uh, smell.” He glanced to the side awkwardly. Whoever this was clearly had a miraculous sense of bedside manner. “That’s not possible. I had the cure, I had-” “By the time you got it, she had already passed.”
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As they continued to explain, continued to try and calm him down, Gabriel slowly dissociated. The world blurred; the sounds muffled. He tried to grapple with incomparable grief, but he still couldn’t comprehend what was happening. As the men jabbered away, he felt a slight pressure on his hand and as he turned, he saw her once more. She leaned in and pressed her lips to his forehead. He tried to reach out but it was like trying to catch smoke. She was gone in an instant.
Artwork: “A Friend in Need” by C.M. Coolidge
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The Good Boy Game - An Ekphrastic Tommianne Brockert
All rounded and ready for the good boy game, played by gods on a fur so green, outstanding the fur they wear. Breed by breed there is no top brood of the bunch, all craving cola instead of lunch, surrounded by chips, red, white, and blue. The low red glow, not sinister enough for the untruthful mood, there are only gray areas during the good boy game. Course colorblind eyes slit through each tobacco filled breath, but maybe you're studded neck was a good enough distraction, for as the clock ticked, to your left, the club made a trade, under noses making poses, pretending they are unafraid. Winner winner chicken dinner, no more begging boys, tonight. 36
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Melanie Dee
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A Sensible Suggestion for Standardized Tests Emily Pham It is a tragic and inescapable fate that the students face nowadays. There first comes the ten years of compulsory education. After these ten years students may feel tempted to drop out, but for the majority, it is another three more years of high school. All of these high school years are an extreme struggle. Their suffering is unbearable, but they courageously push forward. Despite all this time, their whole educational career is summarized in one single point: the standardized test. I understand the issue students face, and I only wish to find the best solution for them. As a college counselor, I have a deep understanding of this problem. I have spent millions of hours talking to students and helping them through the college application process. I have dedicated my career to understanding every detail of this process. By doing so, I have been able to identify the best path for each student to take. In each unique route, I have found one universal crux: their standardized test score. That score is the most important thing out of their whole college application. Therefore I present the solution that came from my many hours of work. In order to combat the issues, students should be required to take a minimum of 30 standardized tests a year. By doing this all the problems will be solved, and there will be a beneficial effect for all of society.
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Firstly, the increase in tests will change the general stigma given to standardized tests. There is an immense amount of pressure placed on these tests. This pressure will be easily allieved by the increase in tests. I have a minor in psychology from my years at university, so I guarantee that this approach will work. It will be an excellent lesson for the students because they will learn to deal with the stress. After the first ten tests, if they have not been able to deal with the stress in their own way, they will become desensitized. Although this may sound wrong, it will fix all the issues of pressure. Secondly, my solution will boost the economy. Since these standardized tests will have to be provided by the testing companies. with the increase in testing, they will surely feel a boost in their already large profit. With this, there will be new jobs for graders and writers. Many others will get to partake in the profitable effects of implementing this solution. Additionally to all the effects that I have previously listed there is still one more I would like to address. The students themselves will become better prepared for the real world, and employers would be able to quickly judge if the student is a good fit. Their tests will be able to accurately represent the student's education level and qualification. The use of multiple choice questions in standardized tests allows for this perfect representation because it eliminates excess variables. For example, free response questions allow for variables like creativity and critical thinking. These variables are not necessary and create an unrepresentative score. I realize that some may still disagree with my solution. I have one student I helped last year that has proven that this test taking strategy allows for exceptional success. She had about
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average test scores when she came to me. After discussing with me she took the SAT twenty-five times. She was able to get into her top college due to her SAT scores. When asked how she felt about her scores she replied that she was "very satisfied." If there are those who still refuse my solution I ask that they commit their time to this as I have. They should speak with the students and witness their horrible disposition. If after this experience they still feel that my solution will not be sufficient I challenge they should come up with an exceptional idea, an idea that exceeds all of the good effects that I have listed. I would then humbly accept it as a fitting solution. Talulah Skilling
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6 word stories:
Grace Grange Fireworks. The limbs are flying everywhere. Iris Riverstone Laughter lies buried, crushed by expectations Melanie Dee Oh no, these birds eat fries. Sirena Spurrier College education, Master’s degree, still unemployed.
Cecelia Holland
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The Longest Yawn Mr. Sekulich
Today I woke at dawn and wished the night was not yet gone. I rose from bed and commenced to yawn. I yawned at breakfast and then at lunch. I yawned some more and had a hunch today the yawns would come a bunch. Afternoon came and with it chores. No naps for me with splendid snores. The yawns came plenty to the point of bores. I mowed the lawn and yawn, yawn, yawn. I even yawned while in the john. I washed the car and cleared the trash. I yawned at the ATM while getting cash. Then I saw my neighbor Shawn. He waved at me and saw me yawn. I waved at him and made him yawn. A yawn is bad to look upon because it really moves on and on from one to the other and makes him yawn. Now Shawn is a pawn of my yawn. At the grocery store I met Jamaican John. He smiled at me and said, “what’s up man? How’d you get that silly yawn?” He must have seen my face was drawn. I steeled myself and tried to smile. If only my lips could go that extra mile. But in my mind it was just a con for the smile it produced was a great big yawn. John looked surprised. 42
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His mood was dwarfed as the smile on the kind man’s face was quickly morphed. I felt regret for Jamaican John for he’s now also the pawn of the world’s worst most nasty yawn. Soon customers on left and right yawned at each other and began to fight. The courtesy clerk began to tell his regular customers not to yell. They yawned back at him and told him to go to . . . well. The rest of the time at the store was just a blur as I pondered how much trouble a yawn could stir. Bananas were flying and bread was flung. The mob was crying to have me hung for only that would cure my yawn. But my will was strong to live on. I ran through the store with a mob on my heels grabbed a shopping cart and was hell on wheels. I bowled over customers and cleared the door. As I sprinted from there I heard a tremendous roar. In unison the customers yawned then fell on the floor. Somehow that night I made it home yawning my way through the legions of Rome. I locked all the doors and turned out the light yawning and hoping to live through the night. I hid in the dark and yawned in the bed, thoughts of yawning stuck in my head. What if it never ends? I thought with dread. . . Through the long night I yawned and yawned. When one yawn ended another yawn spawned til the sun finally rose and the new day dawned. I prayed to God my soul to keep and finally slipped into yawnless sleep. Four days I slept and slept. 43
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Still not dead. . . apparently my soul was kept. Then. . . a buzzer was buzzing off and on. When I opened my eyes and looked in the mirror I smiled at myself and it couldn’t be clearer The Yawn of the Century was finally gone.
F errari Hiraga
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Sirena Spurrier
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