Myriad 2016

Kendyl Yonamine

Angela Fuentes Randy James Alexa Findlay Renaissance Marie Austin Analiz Castillo Christopher Raya Ashley Labayen Camille Hove Samuel Choi

Itzania Castro Tatiana Owens Megan Guerra Charlene-Mae Gupit Stefi Marie Rubio Abner Gonzalez L.L.J. Writes Daniel Callejas Derek Armstrong

Sequoia Ruth Shelbylyn Allen Emmanuel Peralta Eugene Chang

Leann McElhaney Jose Tobar Josie Macias Diannet Lujano Christina Ip Jose Holguin Jessica Sanchez Sheri Berke Saul Sanchez Devin Landgren Gaius Roberts Megan Guerra Julian Marasigan Jacquelyn Romano Miyung Kim Jimenna Sanchez Kyle Mitchell Bittman David Kirby Rabya Zuberi Rocio Escareno Kelvin Manjarrez Samuel Choi Robert Ngyuen

Creative Arts Journal

MCS

Katia Sarroca

MYRIAD 2016

Colin Hyde

Daniel Alvarez Ayala

El Camino College

Shelbylyn Allen

Clarence Davis IV

EL CAMINO COLLEGE CREATIVE ARTS JOURNAL

Diamond Swoope

MYRIAD 2016

Editors Shelbylyn Allen Megan Guerra Colin Hyde Nicole Ivery Lottie Jones Justina Rodriguez Tracey Shankweiler Kayla Stark Diamond Swoope Kendyl Yonamine

Faculty Advisor Peter Marcoux

Design and Production Stephanie Guerrero Faculty Advisor Joyce Dallal

Mission Statement Myriad showcases poetry, short stories, artworks and screen plays from students of El Camino College. The journal, edited by English 98 (College Literary Magazine Editing and Publishing) students and designed by Art 143 (Digital Publishing Fundamentals) or Art 99 (Independent Studies) students, strives to reflect the multifaceted diversity of the community and is committed to provide equal opportunity for all individuals regardless of ethnicity, religion, age, gender, sexual orientation, or physical/mental disability.

Acknowledgments The Myriad staff wishes to thank the following people for the commitment and support of Myriad.

Joyce Dallal Stephanie Guerrero John Fordiani Claudio Vilchis The Union Newspaper Staff and Faculty Advisor The Humanities Division

J oin uJoin s usnnext exyear... t ye ar...

MYRIAD 2017 2016

THIS THIS IS IS YOUR YOUR OPPORTUNITY! OPPORTUNITY!

You May Submit: • 3 pieces of artwork • 3 poems You may submit: • 1• short story of artwork 3 pieces (less 500 words) • than 3 poems • 1• screenplay 1 short story (less than 500 (one scene) words)

Submissions will be collected midway through the spring semester during week 8.

Submissions will be collected midway

Please include yourstudent full name, Please include your IDstudent number, ID, title of work(s), and contact title of work(s), medium, and contact information. information.

submitted in .doc All artworkinmust All artwork mustformat. be submitted .gif, be submitted in .gif, .jpg, .bmp, or .png .jpg, .bmp, or .png format. Resolution format. should be at least 300 dpi.

through the spring semester during week 8. written entries must be typed and All submitted in doc. format.

All written entries must be typed and

ww w. m y r ia d e c c .c om www.myriadecc.com

Table of Contents Poetry

22 ............................................................ Diamond Swoope..............................1 Poetry Police........................................... Kendyl Yonamine..............................2 Inside Out ............................................... Shelbylyn Allen..................................4 The Insecure Writer ............................... Angela Fuentes..................................5 A Dummy’s Vent ..................................... Randy James......................................6 Unidentified ........................................... Alexa Findlay.....................................8 Escape...................................................... Renaissance Marie Austin................10 Embers..................................................... Analiz Castillo ................................12 Envy and the Heartless............................ Christopher Raya.............................13 Before I Sleep.......................................... Ashley Labayen...............................14 Ephemeral................................................ Camille Hove................................... 17 Corrupted Compassion ........................... Samuel Choi....................................18 The Thief ................................................. Colin Hyde......................................20 No You Nor I .......................................... Itzania Castro..................................23 Forgiveness ............................................. Tatiana Owens.................................24 Talking Without Words .......................... Megan Guerra.................................26 Foolish .................................................... Charlene-Mae Gupit........................28 The Shadow That Haunts Me ................. Stefi Marie Rubio.............................29 The Other Side ....................................... Abner Gonzalez..............................30 Damn ...................................................... L.L.J. Writes.....................................32 The Stable Boy and His Fair Maiden ....... Daniel Callejas................................34 My Summer Days ................................... Derek Armstrong.............................35 Will I Die? .............................................. MCS ...............................................36 Hoarder .................................................. Sequoia Ruth...................................40

Artwork

Look Through.......................................... Daniel Callejas................................41 Sturgis, South Dakota ............................. Shelbylyn Allen................................42 Chocolate Splash..................................... Emmanuel Peralta............................43 Oasis........................................................ Eugene Chang..................................44 Guiding Light........................................... Clarence Davis IV............................45 Time’s Touch............................................ Daniel Alvarez Ayala.......................46 Escape...................................................... Katia Sarroca...................................47

Wishes Dripped Away............................. Leann McElhaney............................48 Eyes.......................................................... Diannet Lujano................................49 Can You Keep A Secret............................ Christina Ip......................................50 Purification by Fire.................................. Jose Holguin....................................51 Good Bye................................................. Jessica Sanchez...............................52 Endless..................................................... Sheri Berke......................................53 Meter’d.................................................... Gaius Roberts..................................54 City Prism................................................ Jose Tobar........................................55 Hope in the Dark..................................... Josie Macias.....................................56 Everything is Lost..................................... Devin Landgren...............................57 Coronus, The Terminator........................ Saul Sanchez...................................58 1873......................................................... Megan Guerra.................................59 Palm Breeze............................................. Julian Marasigan..............................60 Memories ................................................ Jacquelyn Romano...........................61 Bikes........................................................ Miyung Kim.....................................62

Short Story

Becoming the Anti-Hero......................... Jimenna Sanchez.............................63 No Time or Reason.................................. Kyle Mitchell Bittman......................67 Felix......................................................... David Kirby.....................................79 Get Out................................................... L.L.J. Writes.....................................82 Endlessly.................................................. Rabya Zuberi...................................84 Plagued by Memories.............................. Rocio Escareno................................90 What About Us........................................ Kelvin Manjarrez.............................98 Who We Were......................................... Samuel Choi..................................102

Screenplay The Girl Who Ran.................................... Robert Ngyuen..............................106

Myriad 2016 Biographies.................................................................................................... 117 Your Turn....................................................................................................... 121

22 Diamond Swoope

Myriad 2016

1 El Camino College Creative Arts Journal

Young and Black in America Ain’t no worse crime Looking over your shoulder every other second Just to pray you make it out alive Worried who is around the corner Could it be another brotha That’s not a positive sign They’ll shoot you in the back too Just as fast as the White officers do And all you want to do Is live past 22

Poetry Police

Myriad 2016

Kendyl Yonamine

Censor everyone!

Here come the Poetry Police.

Marching here and there and everywhere They brandish their weapon of choice.

Pen, pencil, and even markers are held.

One wrong word or slip in rhyme, You’re gone and arrested for your crime!

Treason!

El Camino College Creative Arts Journal

2

The law-abiding prose joins the chants.

Treason! Treason! Treason!

Poets take shelter in their homes.

Children crowd the alleys.

All watch the march of poems: Brave, proud, stubborn, and more.

Too many, just too many to say.

Some days pass as the poems rot in jail.

A peaceful riot gathers outside the prison.

“Release the barred poems! Arrest the free prose!”

So begins the Rhyme Riots.

“You can’t hold them for treason!”

“Innocent, until given a reason!”

Treason!

Poetry Police 

3 Kendyl Yonamine 

The towns are all monochrome.

Not a poem left behind.

Everyone is suspected.

All stand before the perfect judge.

Biased and fair.

Everyone acquitted.

The tattered clothes and pages Shuffle through the streets.

Do not feel.

Do not think.

Shuffle back to the beginning.

Inside Out Shelbylyn Allen

Myriad 2016

Have you ever wondered what you’d look like from the inside out, rather than the outside in?

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What if fiery anger from within singed and burned— bright enough to see?

Or skin went numb when the heart turned cold, eyes rotted with envy and coal hearts, beat in smoke.

What if love thawed and souls dripped drops of red pain washed away by warmth?

Bodies composed of oceans blue, surrounded by hearts bleeding at sea, Souls bathed in darkness— a cloud of putrid smoke, their only identity.

Have you ever wondered what you’d look like from the inside out rather than the outside in, Your Soul’s delicate horrors worn like tattoos?

I have.

So please, Let me in.

Come peel back the layers of my decaying skin.

The Insecure Writer Angela Fuentes

These words are dry like chapped lips: cracked and bleeding Myriad 2016

5 El Camino College Creative Arts Journal

A Dummy’s Vent

Myriad 2016

Randy James

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I chatter when he puts his hand under my shirt and rolls my eyes, opens my mouth.

It makes them laugh.

The lights make him sweat.

His soggy palm soaks the fabric of my shirt that smells when he forgets to do the laundry.

Once, a guy with a great gap between his teeth gave us the chance to make our biggest audience laugh, but we blew it.

I could not speak in time with his words and he kept my eyes closed.

Our shirts dripped.

7 Randy James

I tag along, though I don’t say much.

Not that I mind— I only wish he’d do the laundry more often.

A Dummy’s Vent

When it was over, the silent crowd clapped, the host rushed a thanks and stage lights dimmed.

All that’s left are old folks’ homes, kids’ parties, empty glasses and half-empty bars.

Unidentified

Myriad 2016

Alexa Findlay

El Camino College Creative Arts Journal

8

The sounds of guns shooting Bombs exploding in the musky air Voices of the dying and injured Dry dirt flows through the dead air Bodies lay unidentified throughout the plains Blood soaks beneath the wet rural ground Fighter planes soar through the stormy sky Soldiers duck under cover for their independent lives Deep holes lay throughout the deathly grounds Each soul soaks in agony as they load their guns Soldiers cover their lifeless faces as they inhale smoke Suffrage strikes the soldiers like a billion bullets Rain slips through the grey clouds like lightning Tanks begin to shake the muddy floor into grand earthquakes Men begin to reload their rifles as they wait for their

9 Alexa Findlay

Flames begin to light up the atmosphere like fireworks Mud covers each body as if wanting a hug Helmets crack as they fall hard to the Earth’s crust Minds wander as they redeem their pasts Bravery shouts as each independent life fights for freedom.

Unidentified

opposing enemy to strike back Stiff and unseen men hide behind the brittle walls Dog tags rattle through the wind like rattle snakes Whispers of the sergeants lurk through each ear drum Hearts begin to thump like overbearing thunder Bones, weak and brittle, tremble as each footstep comes closer and closer

Escape Renaissance Marie Austin

Myriad 2016

Wouldn’t it be better to be a dog?

Or a hummingbird that suspends in the air and flutters its wings minding itself with beautiful things

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Or a shovel picking up dirt instead of constantly shoveling hurt and pain All that is disdain and grief If only I could take a brief moment to breathe a moment to heave Wouldn’t it be better to just leave?

Although time never allows leaving to actually be conceived and living only retrieves humanity from that fantasy place If I could only find my pace find a moment to waste I would be ok

Wouldn’t it be great to just stay?

If you could love someone, to be attached to actually be loved back Escape

11 Renaissance Marie Austin

Wouldn’t it be?

Better it is to be a tree where the leaves have no trials and the flowers have not tribulations and the oranges have no humiliation The apples have no pain only the coolness of rain And the sun never has to explain why it warms the shivering skin and comforts the cold heart.

Embers

Myriad 2016

Analiz Castillo

El Camino College Creative Arts Journal

12

I wish My heart would just give up on you Who told it to pick you?

How dare you light a fire at my feet?

And walk away I burn in vain I call your name to no avail The wind will carry my ashes I hope they fog your glasses And clog your lungs I hope the embers burn holes in your sweater And the breeze that whispers my name Always leaves you cold

Envy and the Heartless Christopher Raya

Envying those who can love Why should they have all the fun?

Pale embers of Love’s first glow Have long died and turned to coal

I’ll never be free from you You leave flowers in my hair I am infected with you You wish you could somehow care The lonely heartless lovers Disappear into the night In this black-hearted city Under the starless eon

13 El Camino College Creative Arts Journal

All that remains is now gone Only this moment exists Our empty hearts intertwine A moment of carnal bliss Frees the heartless and forlorn

Myriad 2016

Under the starless eon In this black-hearted city Lusting for your affection Bleeding for loveless pity

Before I Sleep

Myriad 2016

Ashley Labayan

El Camino College Creative Arts Journal

14

The night I watched my mother making herself dizzy around smoke rings, She was counting petals and asking for the same useless things That I had heard her ask numerous times and numerous nights before; It was the same night I realized, although I was too young and incapable to understand But I knew.

I knew too much---than I should have, that it became unbearable for a child to keep inside Without breaking and losing the innocence of that small fragile mind So I often lied, just to keep sane behind a straight face, literally fooling myself the same as I was fooling everyone else around me Who seemed to think there was something wrong.

I knew she deserved more than shit Like this shit-hole apartment, so closed-in, locked up and small that it slowly suffocated her.

Often she’s tried to leave but always seemed to love others more than herself And he knew that she’ll be coming back, anyways.

Because she always had.

Despite her children, who laid awake on edge and pretended to sleep; All she wanted was to be okay and let go.

Yet she belonged to the world that blinds her, She wanted most to keep her family together clean and patched up neat, hiding the mess of painful wounds that left scars

Before I Sleep

15 Ashley Labayan

She partly helped create; as she made herself up behind a mask of make-up While she waited for Daddy to come home That night.

But this I knew, among other things To which I knew, had unfairly lead me in lament to all those unkind; Things I couldn’t help from seeing; although I closed my eyes.

He wasn’t ready to love her for the same reasons that he wasn’t ready to be a father.

Never would he ever be, he was not mine.

He didn’t belong to me.

He was too sold and far out by all his own damn afflictions; falling low after every high Delusional infection seemed to counter off indisposition.

Fatherhood was Confliction and contradiction. Helped no one, not even himself.

Yet he belonged to the world that blinds him, Filling what he thought he wanted most, convinced to propitiate through purge and rage By righteous time of his rites to binge, devotional cold forty ounce Old English Brand “800” malt liquor tall cans, And snorting hot rails of glass, unbroken shards in lines; crystal method, ritual awakening.

But worst of them all was your driven incline, lewd without conviction; I buried my fears inside Your cold soul. Had you known,

Before I Sleep Ashley Labayan

16

Keeping all the rest of us, waiting to be collected sterilized clean?

Along with the dirty-stains on laundry sheets where my parents laid and conceived my entity.

The night he came home, my mother was no longer alone Although she tried to fight his force, defenselessly lifting her already brittle and unsteady arms as shield.

By untwisting her limbs, he let himself in and she gave out those tired cries. Like familiar chimes, Echoes of the night.

A cry I have known, the kind I’ve heard before but never had my eyes watched her tears fall down; same as rain, I guess.

That night, I understood what it meant to hate close enough to death. Or be dead, by this point I wished I was.

Solemn I knew, this part of my life, told young Childhood, prosecuted youth Was mutilated and desecrated by kindred hands.

Time wouldn’t end here, not like this, Not tonight. Was the same night, so desolate Yet I belonged to the world.

Blind. With closed eyes, I’ve forgotten what it is to Sleep.

Ephemeral Camille Hove

“Thailand” Was often on your lips Red Ripe

Bursting (tomato guts on the sidewalks, seeds

splayed open) From Your

17

Tongue Did we touch, our Kneecaps, elbows and

Open mouths “California”

Was soft on my skin, smooth like cream in your hands

Effervescent between my legs

Ephemeral beside my blood A visceral scream When you left A groan like a dying elephant (slowly bending to his knees, skin wrinkled with agony) When I flew home

El Camino College Creative Arts Journal

Only here, in Australia,

Myriad 2016

Corrupted Compassion Samuel Choi

Myriad 2016

I am a monster disgusted by other monsters.

El Camino College Creative Arts Journal

18

It is still a man’s world. Man can walk without fear, women cannot. Man can walk without the worry of being harassed, women cannot. We were given power, and instead of sharing it, we dement ourselves with our appetites. I have blinded myself and I walk around as a judgmental behemoth, and my own walking stick has turned against me. Is it too late to save myself? Will I never be able to see past the face and into the soul?

I cringe at cat-calling because in every catcaller, I see myself. The carnal desires that drive the men to turn against themselves is also alive in me. I wish I could say I have yet to stoop so low, but like I said, I am a monster disgusted by other monsters. When we see angels walk around, we forget where they come from: all we see are their breasts, legs, hair, and whatever divine attributes they have been blessed/cursed with.

We only see our own satisfaction. The divinity goes through our monstrous eyes and turns to our own gluttony.

I forget to see their eyes. I forget to see the wings on their back and the halos on their heads. I forget they can give me so much more than an orgasm. I forget to see that they can save me, that underneath their breasts are breastplates. Armor that they have created over a lifetime of exposure to monster’s like me.

And a heart that reminds me that I have one too.

I remember loving a girl because of her. Where my love could not be pinpointed to any single part of her, no... just her.

I think I’m starting to glow.

19 Samuel Choi

I remember my mother. I forget myself. I remember my aunt and my sister. I remember when I was a kid, before I sharpened my fangs and grew my claws.

Corrupted Compassion

We forget they are loved. We forget they have fathers, mothers, brothers, sisters, lovers. . . hearts. I forget.

The Thief Colin Hyde

Climbs into the shower – stares at his wounds.

Ashamed of his reality – his colostomy bag now removed.

Myriad 2016

He watched his body purge the waste from the hole in his side.

He watched Life wash away what was left of his pride.

The sickness stole his childhood – He refuses to accept this as truth.

A thief in the night, The Sickness stole his youth.

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The surgeon stole his intestine trying to save his life.

Couldn’t save him from the monster left stapled inside.

The sickness stole his identity – The sickness stole his heart – an insatiable kleptomaniac tearing him apart.

Now, a ghost in Purgatory – his eyes fixed on the school hallway floor.

Snickering kids stole his confidence – a boy too young to ignore.

Heart

Home

Broken The little boy was lost.

The 12-inch scar down his stomach – not the final cost.

Once, a child full of life – Now, he feels completely alone.

He begins to self-medicate to escape the reality he cannot own.

But, the – now – young man is ignorant of the thief The Thief

inside – and all he will lose on this

21

d r

Colin Hyde

a g o

n

r i d e

Life turned to darkness as the beast stole his soul.

The deceiver shook Kharon the Boatman’s hand & paid the young man’s toll.

They found the boy blue on his friend’s bed.

The mother’s heart shattered – MY BABY IS DEAD! Flashing lights rushed to save him from eternal sleep, The Thief

while the Angel of the Bottomless Pit

Colin Hyde

22

dragged him deep.

As I entered the emergency room – my brother convulsed into a permanent tomb.

That monotone voice

That heart monitor

That final groan

on my knees sobbing Please don’t leave me here alone…

Like a cat with a mouse – The Roaring Lion let my brother go.

Now, the dragon had tasted my soul – appetite continued to grow.

My naïve mind overjoyed – Chase had a second chance.

But, The Angel of Death always returns for the final dance.

I wanted to believe my brother – I’m done with it, I swear!

But, I saw the Father of Lies from inside his empty eyes I’m not going anywhere…………

No You Nor I Itzania Castro

Myriad 2016

23 El Camino College Creative Arts Journal

Would you judge me if I told you I follow no religion?

I’m not Muslim nor Christian and have nothing against them, besides the division in human vision.

I simply follow what’s already written in inscription.

Do you judge me because I do not follow your tradition?

Why should my mind be held in a prison?

Why should I have to alter the way I’m living?

I’m not part of an institution, not a product of the system.

I’m just myself and follow my own rhythm.

Then you ask me, “Well, do you believe in a God?” And I turn to you and reply…

“Well, how else would birds be able to fly?

How could flowers blossom and the sun set and rise?

Why is the first thing we do when we are born, cry?

See, if there was no moon, there would be no ocean tides.

If there was no God, there would be no you nor I.”

Forgiveness Tatiana Owens

Myriad 2016

I am trying, I am DYING, dying trying to forgive her.

I’d be lying, I’d be lying if I said I didn’t resent her.

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Convinced myself it’s her fault for disrupting the life I envisioned, Constructed reasons to hate her, reasons that stuck with no revision.

“No compassion, no respect, such neglect to show some grace” Pit myself against her in some twisted, painful race, For the heart of a man who proved unable to be honest, Who was far more to blame than her for the end that fell upon us.

She wasn’t an intruder, but an invited guest And how could I blame her when it was him that failed the test Of loyalty, selflessness A slave to all his flaws A servant to his selfishness, which led to our downfall.

Far too hurt to accept that someone could love him like I did, In a world based upon soul mates, he’d managed to fit two in

What happened to ONE true love? Is it all just a myth?

“If she just stayed away, I’d probably still be with…”

25 Itzania Castro

I’m not there, but I’m close I can taste the peace of mind, And I no longer use my hours wishing time could just rewind, I decided hatred and my soul will no longer be entwined.

She’s gone on leading her life and like her, so will I. I will not waste my days on those who only dim my shine.

Forgiveness

I stop and stare at that statement, that defined my view for years That poured out of my mouth as my eyes poured out my tears, But what a silly notion, an ignorant thought to believe That a man who was truly ready could be tempted with such ease To tell lies and be selfish It’s not her, it’s him It was a broken person I’d found myself a relationship in.

Talking Without Words

Myriad 2016

Megan Guerra

El Camino College Creative Arts Journal

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The first time you kissed me I was just two decades to your 24.

It was night and the stars were in the sky still like the glaciers of your eyes.

The first time was after sushi dinner, after work, after picking me up from home.

It was after you sat next to me, and you let me have a sip of your Japanese beer.

We shared the plates on the table and I bumped my leg into yours.

It was talking without words.

It was after hours, and it was laughter, and it felt right with you.

You knew it then.

You knew it before.

We were in your car, and I was two minutes from home,

Talking Without Words

27 Megan Guerra

but we didn’t want to leave.

So we sat and you killed the ignition and you looked at me.

And I looked back and in your eyes I could see my reflection, and it made me nervous.

I buried myself in things but you dug me out, gentle about it.

You were discovering me for the first time.

Seconds passed, heart beats, and your words sounded like something I could get used to.

I was two decades and the stars were out and you kissed me.

It was talking without words.

It was everything up until that point all at once.

It was the beginning of the end.

Foolish

Myriad 2016

Charlene-Mae Gupit

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It’s funny…

How something small has the potential to grow big, How something that isn’t important to you, Can be important somewhere else, How things can lead into one another, Like dominoes falling in a chain reaction.

Every how, what, when, who, where, and why can be asked.

What if this?

And what if that?

“Buts” are the beginning of excuses, And excuses are useless.

Then you find out that people lie.

Yet, “it was all just a misunderstanding,” they say.

So cliché.

What lovely discomfort and pain.

Next thing you know, Loved ones become things of the past.

And it is no more of the things we had; You start to believe that you are foolish, Foolish as a human being can be.

The Shadow That Haunts Me Stefi Marie Rubio

Is it wrong to miss you, to think of you, even though I’m with him?

Myriad 2016

Can I still leave a space for you in my heart, even though my heart belongs to him?

29

Is it wrong to think this way?

To feel this way?

Your footprints are left in my memories.

My feelings for you still wash over me.

Even though I’m with him, even though I trust him with my heart, even though I’m creating new chapters with him, is it wrong to see you in the background?

El Camino College Creative Arts Journal

Is it wrong to think of the good days, to have my heart beaten because of you, even though I’m with him?

The Other Side

Myriad 2016

Abner Gonzalez

El Camino College Creative Arts Journal

30

Drowning... Insanity...

Falling in a pit of darkness that is clouding my reality.

Trying to make sense of what’s in front of me.

What does it all really mean?

Is it deception or authentic?

For not all definitions are cemented to a fate of single purpose, It just appears so on the surface.

So tell me then, what am I? No longer a twinkle in my father’s eye.

Nor am I my mother’s baby boy who’s youthful spirit brought her so much joy.

The truth is, I don’t know what I’ve become.

There’s a stranger in the mirror, and I don’t know where he’s from, who he is, what he wants, or why he’s here.

I just wish he’d disappear.

So I can regain what once was mine, So that I can have my time to shine instead of wallowing in misery every time I look upon my history, Only to see clearly the mistakes that I’ve made, Draining and causing my successes to fade.

But I don’t want to die.

31 Abner Gonzalez

I just want to know that I’m alive, That one day I will reach the other side of this darkness that’s consuming me, And finally, finally be free to become the person I was meant to be.

The Other Side

It aches my heart to feel so little, For failing to solve life’s complicated riddle.

I live haunted by the fear, Multiplied by the passing years, That my future is uncertain.

Is it even worth it to continue living through this lie, Or is it easier just to die?

Damn

Myriad 2016

L.L.J. Writes

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I take you into my hand, And stare at what a beauty you are.

It’s the connection; only we share it – for a short moment of course.

I need you right now.

I want you the most out of the bunch.

Tonight what we consummate is our secret – what brings my life longevity.

I want you unwrapped…

As I take you into me…

Delicious flesh slides across my tongue; slowly I close my mouth – torture for you no doubt – My warm mouth waters.

Saliva drips, drops, falls; down onto the tile…

Anticipation creeps into my spine; what I’m about to do to you – you have no idea.

Patiently, I wait, Pressure builds; satisfaction – delicious is what you are.

33 L.L.J. Writes

If anyone disagrees, Well…

Damn them all…

I Love A ripe banana

Damn

With a soft tug, You come undone.

Pulling away; Chewing I moan –

The Stable Boy and His Fair Maiden

Myriad 2016

Daniel Callejas

El Camino College Creative Arts Journal

34

Evening muse! Light my darkness with your star’s light Upon thee I call to fill my mind with Nothing but heaven’s pure delight I hath seen a beauty worth of myth Creature beyond this realm, her beauty has caught my eye Evening muse! This maiden’s heart do I wish to implore To reach her heart with words from up high And her heavenly presence to explore Beautiful God sent grace; milk and honey are your words I knew not that thy grace and beauty was walking art Tender eyes as big as pearls, smooth lips softer than silk mock the treasures of lords And among the gardens of mansions a bright rose art thou and delight you give my heart Morena Hermosa! The scent of your lovely breath is so much sweeter than wine Oh! A poor fool like I can just enjoy such heavenly scented smells Romancing an angel like you makes my humble eyes shine Another for me there be not, for I look ahead and hear the sound of bells

My Summer Days Derek Armstrong

Few changes in this place, Only my busy bones.

All we are is but a face, With all to atone.

My time is not my own.

I don’t write the story.

Any way out is unknown, Lifeless in glory.

My summer days are done.

My summer days have fled.

No more time to have your fun, This is where I’m led.

35 El Camino College Creative Arts Journal

I cannot be myself, When time leaves me behind.

I am a book on a shelf, Nameless on the bind.

Myriad 2016

My summer days are done.

My summer days have left.

California keeps the sun, Heat takes cold in theft.

Will I Die

Myriad 2016

MCS

El Camino College Creative Arts Journal

36

Will I die in my twenties young and carefree looking for my place in this world being naive and resilient patriotic The epitome of a New Era? Or Will I die in my thirties an adult wondering if I made the best of my life if I am on the path I created looking for the motivation to keep going that drive that gave me adventures that drive that gave me reasons to keep fighting to continue to fight until this war is won?

Or Will I die in my forties asking myself, if this is it is this all that I am worth and valued does my life have purpose am I supposed just bare children raise them send them off in this world?

Or

Will I die in my sixties ready to retire losing my only purpose to continue to live trying to find my reason just to get out of the bed to see what else is left for me to travel before my hour glass shatters to be able to say that my life was Colorful Virtuous Lively full of pain enriched with happiness

37 MCS

Or

Will I Die

Will I die in my fifties trying to maintain a reality that isn’t real anymore to keep myself alive to fight suicide to drink my pain away asking myself is this it?

Is this all that I will have to live for am I closer to death?

Am I closer to my torment?

Myriad 2016

Or

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Will I die in my seventies spoiling my grandbabies because I failed as a parent hoping to do better with my Klan preparing my death this last chance to make it right make it better while I die painfully and slowly to let it all be meant for something something big and important?

Or Will I die in my eighties Alone Hated Broken asking is it my time to go my time to go to heaven my time to go to hell my time to stay in purgatory repeating all my mistakes all my choices the good the bad

Will I Die

the twisted am I ready to look back at my life and say this life, my life I’m proud to live the life that I’m glad to have I will lay there and close my eyes Will I die today?

Will I die tomorrow?

Will I die?

39 MCS

Hoarder

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Sequoia N. Ruth

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There’s a corner in a room of my mind you found too soon where hollow feelings latch and linger on to thoughts that they once knew.

Your presence stirred them still, dug them from their cradled tomb, ripped the cord that took them safely through their life-sucking womb.

They created this deformed part of me installed fear where it shouldn’t be and made confidence mouth-watering to consume.

Treated like a cluttered closet, constant new hires attempt to clean but never do.

By now it’s just something I am used to.

Know that leaving is the only punishment that could see the damage through, when you send me back to my room.

Wilson Callejas Photography

41 Look Through

Sturgis, South Dakota

42

Photography Shelbylyn Allen

Emmanuel Peralta Photography

43 Chocolate Splash

Oasis

44

Photography Eugene Chang

Clarence Davis IV Photography

45 Guiding Light

Time’s Touch

46

Photography Daniel Alvarez Ayala

Katia Sarroca Photography

47 Escape

Wishes Dripped Away

48

Photography Leann McElhaney

Diannet Lujano Photography

49 Eyes

Can You Keep A Secret?

50

Photography Christina Ip

Jose Holguin Digital Painting

51 Purification By Fire

Good Bye

52

Black paper on white pencil Jessica Sanchez

Sheri Berke Photography

53 Endless

Meter’d

54

Photography Gaius Roberts

Jose Tobar Pen on Paper

55 City Prism

Hope in the Dark

56

Mixed Medium Josie Macias

Devin Landgren Photography

57 Everything Is Lost

Coronus, The Terminator

58

Photography Saul Sanchez

Megan Guerra Photography

59 1873

Palm Breeze

60

Photography Julian Marasigan

Jacquelyn Romano Photography

61 Memories

Bikes

62

Photography Miyung Kim

Becoming the Anti-Hero Jimenna Sanchez

I

63 El Camino College Creative Arts Journal

serious. Please don’t laugh,” I said exasperatedly, but my voice just drowned out in the waves of laughter. It must have taken at least seven minutes before the teacher could muster enough air to call the class to attention. I motioned for the next slide containing the names of several different countries to be shown and stated, “These are all the countries on my hit list.” Once again the room was brimming from corner to corner with hearty laughter; the rest of my presentation proceeded in this unusual manner. By the last slide, my audience was well entertained and I was very downhearted at its reception. This moment, as lackluster as it was compared to the grand scheme of things, proved to be only the first chapter in my total world domination.

I am not what you would consider your typical super villain, and I understand that. For starters, I didn’t have your typical super villain back-story. I didn’t swallow chemical X, I didn’t I have a secret mastermind agenda Y, and most

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had considered the idea for some time now, but I still wasn’t completely sure the world was ready to hear it. Do it! Do it! Do it! said the little voice in my head, sounding just like a childhood friend pressuring you to do something stupid—the type of something stupid that you’d probably end up warning your grandkids never to do. The sparse, monotonous clapping signaled the beginning of my presentation and finally, it was time to unveil the unprecedented. Many eyes glazed over my body as I made my way gracelessly to the front of the group. Vaguely aware of the dead silence that had befallen the classroom, I faced the unsuspecting audience with an awkward smile.

“O-o-over the next twenty years,” I began cautiously, my body shaking slightly, “I w-would like to take over the world.” The mood shifted so sharply from empty silence to contagious laughter that it cut through the air and made me jump back a bit.

“Hey, you guys! I’m being

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disappointingly, I didn’t even star in my own comic book series. The world perceived me as a short package of adorable awkwardness, destined to live out her days as whatever it is that short packages of adorable awkwardness tend to do. Like that one time in the fourth grade when I stole a cookie from the teacher’s desk, and nobody believed me when I fessed up to the crime. Or that other time in sixth grade I took the blame when my class started a paper airplane fight, even though I didn’t do it, and the whole class just laughed.

World domination shouldn’t have been on my agenda, especially since I couldn’t even steal a cookie successfully, but I craved for it either way. Surprisingly, my super villain back story didn’t start after I drew up the plans to my secret lair in kindergarten, but it actually started when I looked into my reflection in the mirror.

In the pages leading up to me coming out of the secret super villain closet, I was completely and irrevocably obsessed with my reflection in any mirror, shiny window, camera lens, or puddle of water. I stared at myself, scrutinizing every little detail as if searching for something that wasn’t physically there. I was so pathetically average; I had to trace my way down this reflection of me the same way some people would follow a small road on a map with their finger because

their eyes kept getting them lost.

One by one, I would count off my features: the small lips that caged an equally small voice, a small hunch that never straightened even when I knew that I wasn’t being watched, and the thinnest ankles that made me wonder how they kept me upright. Nowadays, you might say this narcissistic habit is normal for any young person, but the problem wasn’t the reflection itself, but the question behind it that troubled me. It was a question that kept me up late into the hours of the night, haunting my thoughts in those rare moments when the world is silent and all you really hear is the soul nestled between the steady breathing of your lungs and the beating of your heart.

Thinking back to all those times I stared into my reflection heavily conscious of my mortal features, I kept asking myself if this really was all there was to me—maybe the abyss was somehow shallower than I expected.

The person I felt I could be, despite all the opposing constraints, oozed confidence and charm. In fact, she was extremely arrogant, selfish, and ambitious; a slightly inhuman combination. She was a super villain; not for malicious intentions but for the way she held the universe in her hand and toyed with it like a cat playing with a barn mouse. When I brought this creature to life, the difference was so outstanding and I was

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65 Jimenna Sanchez

finally freed. Standing in my pink important character milestone. In bedroom, I pushed back my stuffed fact, I almost spontaneously broke animal collection so I could get into an off-key musical number, but a better view. Finally, the girl I I tripped on the sidewalk so instead saw in the mirror was exactly I resorted to just power walk away who I was supposed to be. In a like nobody’s business. black, monochrome outfit and red Almost every character, hero, lipstick, the ties between reality and super villain alike experience and imagination were severed the moment when they reach deep placing the world on a different inside them and finally become frequency. aware of their true potential.

As I walked down They finally get the the street, the suncourage to save the shine didn’t quite city, get the girl, or strike the ground the dare to make the same way, the birds world a different were chirping a difplace. After taking ...become aware ferent song, and the the bold initiative of breeze was pushing writing my own story of their true me in infinitesimal (a comic book would potential. directions. Every fear have been much I had vanished as I cooler but this is an strutted down the essay for a reason) sidewalk, hand in my perspective hand with my newshifted. I began to found confidence. treat others with I no longer questioned every patience, even with the little things, movement of mind and body because they are also developing like I used to. I told my dad off their own story. My father was for making my mother cry and constantly flipping through the defended her against the empty pages of his own story from the accusations. I asked the lady at impoverished beginning to the okay the bus stop where she was going last line. He was angry that his own and commented that it was very mother never appreciated anything nice there in the spring. I even he would do for her and he would complimented the cute librarian at purposely pick fights with my mom the library telling him he was cute. to let off some steam. After all, his Somewhere in the middle, I began own mother’s story didn’t have to ignore the questioning stares many pages left, and a ‘thank you of people passing by, and instead son’ didn’t seem very likely to be realized that I had just reached an written. The lady at the bus stop’s

Becoming the Anti-Hero Jimenna Sanchez

66

story was currently in the chapter where the grandson she raised on her own would disappear for days at a time, and come back with either another warrant or another tattoo. She was taking the bus to nowhere in particular because she was desperate to forget, and maybe, in the process, lower her severely high blood pressure. She couldn’t tell her doctor what was keeping her up late at night. As for the cute librarian, he didn’t say much. He just blushed cutely and muttered ‘thanks’ as he rolled away quietly shelving books. Anyway, the point is that I would never have realized what was hidden between the lines of these stories if I didn’t bother to break out of mine.

As for my story, I’m still working on taking over the planet, but I traded the black monochrome outfit for a sensible cardigan and red lipstick for chapstick.

However, in odd moments throughout the day I’m always thinking of new ways to get myself to another country, contemplating adding a sunroof to my evil lair, or anticipating the next time I come across a story and uncover what lies between its lines. I also developed a fondness for the page that started it all and marked it forevermore with a post-it note. In paragraph one, their fingers pointed towards me as if spotting the anomaly, and I was left exposed as if on a pedestal to be judged.

In paragraph two, I resisted the

urge to let my cheeks burn and my knees go weak. In paragraph three, I just smiled mischievously and bowed.

No Time or Reason Kyle Mitchell Bittman

H

67 El Camino College Creative Arts Journal

Thirty-three cents?! Are you fuckin’ kidding me? “She dug through all those coupons for thirty-three cents?!” Horace shouted. Then he saw the old woman pull out a small coin-purse then begin to pour an assortment of coins into her palm. He couldn’t believe this, he was running late and this old woman looked like she was going to die before counting all the right change. He hated waiting.

“Okay, that’s it! I ain’t waitin’ for her no more,” Horace loudly announced to the clerk. He then pushed the old woman out of the way. A shower of pennies and nickels fell to the floor as the woman hit the counter hip first.

She cried out in pain as the clerk rushed over to help her.

“All I need’s the sandwich,” Horace explained as he held up his food and began to walk to the exit, “Mr. Lincoln right there should cover it and you guys keep the change. And she’ll be fine, just walk it off like the rest of us.”

“Ma’am, I’m so sorry!” pleaded the clerk. However, the clerk did

Myriad 2016

orace wasn’t sure how long he’d been standing behind what had to be the oldest woman alive in line at the check-out stand of the local grocery store. As the cashier scanned each of the twelve cans of various fruits and vegetables, the old lady pulled out a messy assortment of papers clipped from a newspaper or magazine. Jesus-fucking-Christ, Horace thought. He hated waiting.

“You know, you guys really oughta’ have a self-checkout or an express lane! I got places to be, dammit!” Horace shouted at the checkout clerk who rolled her eyes.

He checked his watch and started to tap his foot. In his hands, he held a pre-made sandwich from the deli counter and a five-dollar bill. There are just too many damn people these days… And these people are always taking their damn time everywhere they go…

Horace thought as he sighed loudly until the clerk scanned the last coupon. “Alright, Ma’am, your new total after savings is now $9.65.

You saved $0.33.”

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not chase after him. Horace simply shrugged while the clerk yelled, telling him to come back.

Horace left the market briskly and kept walking to his car without looking back. As he got out of the store he checked his watch. He saw the clock change from 2:55PM to 2:56PM. When he looked back up at the parking lot in front of him, he saw a woman pushing her shopping cart toward the grocery store suddenly freeze in her tracks.

He stared at her for a few seconds before looking around. He saw a man holding his bag in the space between his cart and the trunk of his car; completely still. Cars were immobile. Horace’s mind had no idea what was going on but thought it could be an elaborate prank. Once Horace looked up to the sky and saw that even the birds were suspended in air; mid-flight, his mind had given up. Time stood still before Horace. He stared in utter disbelief at everything around him, from the man at his car to the fly that was inches from his head to the smoke emitting from the embers of a man’s lit cigarette. The smoke was solid. Horace stared in silence. He blinked. *OOMPH* A shopping cart had suddenly hit Horace.

“Hey, I didn’t even see you there! Watch where you’re going!” shouted the woman pushing the cart. It was the woman he had seen a minute ago when she was frozen and several yards in ahead

of him. Horace was speechless and disoriented. Everything was different after he blinked. The cigarette was shorter, the birds were far away, and the man’s trunk was closed. The woman in front of him rolled her eyes and pushed her cart around Horace and he remained bewildered. He looked at his watch again. 2:57PM. What happened to 2:56? What the hell just happened? Horace’s body shook in fear, but he quickly collected himself and started walking to his car. Must have been a head rush or something, he thought. He kept looking around him to make sure the cars and birds were still moving around him.

Horace got in his car and quickly drove off from the parking lot. He turned the radio to an AM talk station and listened to see if there were any reports about the strange occurrence. He doubted there would be, but he kept switching between radio stations to hear if anyone would start talking about it.

He was approaching an intersection and the light was already yellow. He pushed his foot down on the gas pedal and accelerated from 35mph to about 55mph. The light turned red seconds before Horace’s car’s tires had passed the crosswalk-line.

Horace was then thrust forward by a great momentum. His head slammed right into his steering wheel. He felt that his car was no

No Time or Reason

69 Kyle Mitchell Bittman

longer in motion and assumed he changed from 3:02 to 3:07. Horace had hit another car. When he came was instantly shocked by the to, he looked around and saw no enormous volume that disrupted such collision. All the cars had the silent atmosphere. He looked at simply been frozen. Oh shit. No. the intersection and was astonished Not again… Horace thought with by its complete transformation. The fear. He checked his watch. It was laughing man was gone and all the 3:02PM. Horace exited his car and frozen cars had been replaced by looked around. He stared at the different, speeding ones. Horace frozen drivers in their cars and the soon realized that his own car pedestrians crossing the street. appeared to be nowhere in sight.

He put his face Horace was entirely within inches of othconfused and at a “Hey Horace, I’m ers’ and they did not loss for words once tied up right now. more. He ran up move what soever.

Horace paced around one block to see if Giving little Joey the intersection worhe could spot his a bath here. Call riedly for what he was car, but had no such sure must have been you back in a few luck. It didn’t appear at least two or three to be anywhere, so minutes!” Justine Horace pulled out minutes, but every time he looked at his finally said before his cellphone to see watch, it was still only if someone could quickly hanging 3:02PM. He walked help him. to the center of the inI gotta’ figure up. tersection and stared out what’s going blankly at his empty car. He ran over on here… Horace thought as he to a young man who was laughing looked through the contact list of as he was crossing the street. his cell phone. He scrolled through Horace took hold and shook the and could not find the right person man; however the smile across his to call. Growing anxious and face never moved. impatient, he stopped scrolling “Why? Why is this happening and landed in the J’s, on his older to me?! What did I do?” Horace sister, Justine. He pressed the ‘call’ shouted out as loud as he could. button.

Horace looked at his watch “C’mon… pick up the damn again and saw it was 3:02PM. Still. phone….” Horace mumbled to He walked back to the corner himself as he listened through the of the intersection and stood on second and third rings. the sidewalk. He desperately “Hey Horace, I’m tied up right reexamined his watch and it finally now. Giving little Joey a bath here.

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Call you back in a few minutes!”

Justine finally said before quickly hanging up.

Horace was furious. He did not like being hung up on so he called her back immediately.

“Hey, I said I’ll call you ba-“ Justine’s voice cut off. Horace was about to yell at her but the silence had felt odd.

“Hello?” Horace asked “Justine?”

The line was dead. Horace looked around and realized it.

Everything around Horace was stopped; the cars, the birds, the people. All was completely still.

It had happened again. Horace looked around in a panic and wondered how long he’d have to wait this time. He hated waiting

••• Horace wasn’t sure how long he had been walking. He thought it had been about an hour. He checked his watch and it still said 3:08pm. I’ll be there in no time…

He thought to himself, annoyed by the irony of his own joke. After his brief phone call with his sister, Justine, Horace had figured he knew what he had to do; he had to go see a doctor. Not knowing exactly what happened to his car, he decided to walk. He didn’t have any time to waste.

Horace stood at the street corner across from the Westfield Medical Center. He stared at the sides of the immobile automobiles in front of him. There were several

cars frozen in place that were passing through the intersection.

Behind the cars were a red light and “Don’t Cross” notice displayed on the crosswalk sign. Horace thought to himself: Do I just… go? I could get killed… I’m not gonna’ get hit if they ain’t moving…

Horace couldn’t figure out what to do. Timid and embarrassed, he pushed the button to signal the crosswalk. As his finger pushed the button all the way in to the pole, he was startled once again by the loud sounds and the fast visuals of his surroundings. He could feel the wind blowing again. The sensation of the breeze on his fingertips excited and relieved Horace. More so, the cars were driving, engines were humming, and birds were flying; time was moving again.

Horace couldn’t believe it. Yes! Yes! Yes! I did it! Horace waited for a clear passage in the street and ran across, too excited to wait for the light to change.

On his way up the driveway of the medical center, Horace quickly checked his phone and saw that there were eight missed calls, three voicemails, and fourteen text messages; all from Justine. His phone displayed the first sentences of a few of the messages and they read: “Horace?” “I didn’t mean to snap.” “Horace, are you okay?”

“Horace… C’mon.” Horace put his phone away, deciding he would get to that later. Talking to a doctor was his only priority. Horace had been

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71 Kyle Mitchell Bittman

here before so he knew he had to see a doctor! Please, please, go up to the third floor. He walked please!!! Can’t you see this is an right past the main lobby’s check-in emergency?! I need a doctor now!!! desk and straight to the elevator.

Please!!” Horace exclaimed as he He pushed the button several times became flustered and banged his and looked above the door to see hands on the desk. that the elevator had gone from the The nurse gave Horace seventh floor to the eighth. an extremely troubled and Horace decided it would be sympathetic look, before saying, faster if he took the stairs.

“Uh… Okay, sir. Just in one of Shortly after exiting the stair- these chairs for me, okay? I’ll be well, Horace arrived right back…” at the general physi“Okay… Thank cian’s office and you,” Horace said opened the door. He as he slowly pulled approached the himself together and Horace finally check-in desk and moved over to the looked up at the said, “I need to see a chairs. He sat down doctor. Right now.” and buried his face television. MY “I’m sorry, Sir. in his hands. They’re CAR! That’s my Our office closes at getting a doctor…

5pm. Walk-in’s must Just gotta keep it car!!! be here by 4:30. If cool… Just gottayou’d like to set up Horace’s thoughts an appointment for were interrupted as tomorrow, I can-” his ears caught the “What? What?! What do you mean, noise emitting from the television in 5pm?? Let me see a doctor! It’s upper-corner of the waiting room. only…” Horace trailed off as he no“And we now go live to Darcy ticed the wall clock behind the Jones on the scene for a story nurse’s head. He read the hands of you viewers-at-home might not the clock. It was 4:52. believe,” said the newscaster on “4:52… Oh, fuck… it can’t be the television. The feed cuts to an 4:52… I only… Shit… I… please, on-the-scene report of a car crash you gotta’ get me in, lady.” downtown.

“That’s Nurse Hudson to you, “That’s right, Mark, thank and please don’t curse in here. you. Darcy Jones, here, live in And I’m sorry, sir. I don’t make Downtown on the corner of 4th the rules. You’ll have to make an and Washington, where a fourappointment.” car crash happened here almost “Forget the rules! I need to two hours ago. Authorities don’t

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know who to blame, because wrong?” there appears to only be three “Doc! Time… it keeps… drivers involved. From what we’re freezing. Or skipping. Or both. told, one car has no driver. How I’m not sure. One minute they’re strange!” there, the next they’re not. The Horace finally looked up at the next they’re different. They’re all television. MY CAR! That’s my in different places. Everything car!!! changes! But then I move, no one “Authorities say the car is regis- moves,” Horace started explaining tered to a Horace Waller. They’re at a quick pace. reporting the car as stolen, al“Whoa, whoa… Slow down though there have there. What do been no successful you mean ‘time?’ attempts in finding a Are you sure you culprit or even conmeant to come to tacting the victim.” the doctor’s and not “You think you got Horace stared in Walden’s Watch me… you think disbelief. According World on Second to the report, he was Street?” The doctor you’re clever? only four blocks asks with a halfWell whoever you serious face. away from his car when he decided to “Doc… You are, you’re not.” walk. The car must gotta’ believe me… have moved along Something ain’t right with everything else here.” during the time-stop.

“Okay, sir. Let me Just then, the nurse came back in to ask, are you on any medication?” the waiting room accompanied by “No.” a doctor.

“Have you had any history of “Sir, the doctor will see you.” dementia or schizophrenia?”

Horace jumped up and “No…” exclaimed, pointing at the “Has anyone in your family?” television, “Look, see!!! I’m not “Doc!! I’m not crazy! I’m not crazy! That’s my car! It’s on TV! making this up! You gotta listen!

Look, Doc, look!!”

Oh, you just gotta listen. Please The doctor stared blankly. listen!!!” Horace said standing up, “Alright, sir… I believe you… Now grabbing the doctors by shoulders. let’s just step into my office…”

Horace was about to shake the The doctor showed Horace to man, but he lost his momentum his office and began questioning and fell straight on to the doctor. him. “Alright, sir. Now, what’s Horace hit the doctor hard and fell

73 Kyle Mitchell Bittman

wasn’t exactly alone, but what good are people if they might as well just be dolls?

Horace’s environment was stagnant. It had been 4:56pm since he left the doctor’s office.

The lack of change had gotten to Horace’s mental state. The wind wouldn’t blow; he felt nothing on his fingers. The birds wouldn’t chirp; he heard nothing in the air.

The beautiful twilight sky of dusk, with its magnificent gradient of blue, pink, and purple clouds, brightly illuminated Horace’s entire world. The setting sun was half way down past the horizon and there it remained. Horace hated all of it.

The pink sky was driving him crazy.

He just wanted the sun to set and for tomorrow to come. He wanted to feel the wind. He wanted the people to move. He couldn’t wait any longer.

Horace stared at a flock of birds suspended in the air. He thought about how they were suspended in both space and time. He wished that at least just one of those birds would unfreeze and flap its wings for him. If anyone, or anything, even one of those damn birds would just start moving already, Horace thought, then maybe I wouldn’t have to go through with this. But Horace knew nothing, not even a bird, would move. He had come to terms with his situation: that he was an animated anomaly in a still society.

“You think you got me…

No Time or Reason

to the floor. What? Horace stood up and looked at the doctor. The doctor was frozen solid. No… no…

I didn’t…

“Wait… I didn’t mean it, Doc!!

Wake up! Or get up! Or whatever!

Move! Do something!” Horace shouted at the still doctor. Horace stared in horror. No matter how many times he had seen this phenomenon happen, it was still always impossible for him to believe. He then grabbed the doctor’s stethoscope from around his neck and put the buds in his ears and put the other end to the doctor’s chest.

Horace heard nothing; absolutely nothing. “No! Fuck!

No!!!” Horace shouted as he ripped the stethoscope from his ears and threw them at the wall. Horace continued shouting. He started pulling on his hair and sat down on the floor and he began sobbing uncontrollably and banging on the doctor’s leg.

“Why? Why?! Why?! Just give me one more chance, Doc! You were my only hope! I’m sorry!”

••• Horace wasn’t sure how long it had been. Days, maybe.

Maybe even a whole week. But for Horace, every second, every minute, and every hour was all the same. No measure of time was any different from another because it seemed there was no more time.

Time was dead and Horace was left to live alone. Well, Horace

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you think you’re clever? Well whoever you are, you’re not,” Horace shouted out to the world as he overlooked it from his elevated view on the edge of Nakatomi Tower’s rooftop.

Horace was standing on a ledge that surrounded the perimeter of the roof top. Horace’s feet were planted firmly on the ledge as he looked below. The view was steep from the top of a thirty five-story building. Horace could feel his palms sweating profusely as he grew nervous. He stared at the frozen people below.

“You… You people down there… All of you… Time, God, whoever… you’re all making me do this, y’know?!” Horace proclaimed.

“You think I’m just gonna’ sit around here and wait forever? Well I’m not! I found a loophole in your sick, little game here.” Horace laughed maniacally.

“Yeah, you can kill my spirit, kill my dreams, but you can’t kill me! Only I can kill me!” Horace shouted, laughing and screaming.

Horace took his final step off the edge of the tower, but quickly retreated his foot. He had second thoughts about ending his life. I can’t wait any longer. I just can’t. I won’t… but what if…

Horace looked down again at the way below. For a second, the people started moving. But they immediately froze once again.

WHAT?! WHAT WAS THAT!!! AM I LOSING IT HERE? WHAT WAS

THAT?! TURN BACK ON!!! MOVE! PLEASE! Horace stared down with frustration for a little longer. Horace brought his head up and was intensely startled by the sight of a black bird that was suspended in mid-air right in front of him.

“AHHHHHH!!!” Horace shouted as he completely lost his balance. He began to wobble as he was teetering on the ledge trying not to fall. He didn’t want to fall off the top of a building; he wanted to jump off it. Horace wanted to take his own life instead of dying from an accidental slip. He wouldn’t let it end this way. Horace tried to turn himself around and jump back down onto the rooftop’s surface.

He was able to throw one foot over the other but when he put his weight on the ball of his foot, he slipped down off the ledge. Horace started falling backward off the side of the building.

Horace was able to catch himself and grab on to the ledge’s edge with his hands. Horace hung hopelessly. His sweaty palms and the woozy feeling he was getting made him uneasy. He started to slowly pull himself up. As he looked up, he saw the ominous black bird begin to move. He let himself down and looked back down below at all the people.

They remained frozen. He looked back up at the flying bird that was now slowly lowering itself down to the ledge Horace has holding on to. What in the name of Christ…

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75 Kyle Mitchell Bittman

Why is this bird moving and not schal beon iblescet.” everyone else?

“English, you dumb little The bird landed on the ledge bird!!! Speak to me in English!” in-between the grips of Horace’s Horace shouted as he became strained hands. The bird perked its uncontrollably angry with the head and looked down at Horace. talking bird. Horace was sweating The two made eye contact. all over as his arms grew tired of “What are you looking at, you holding his weight. “Please, please stupid bird?!” Horace asked. Wait a help me, little guy!” Horace tried minute… I’m not crazy… this is a with a new tone. stupid fucking bird. Why am I askThe bird was silent and again ing it questions? stared directly into “Shoo!! Get! Go Horace’s eyes. on, get out of here!!”

Horace couldn’t The bird continwait for this bird any ued to stare intenselonger. l y i n t o H o r a c e ’s “SAY No sky, no birds, no SOMETHING, YOU eyes.

It opened its beak people. Just white STUPID BIRD! FOR and began spouting THE LOVE OF GOD, everywhere. out words that DO SOMETHING! seemed like GibberHELP ME!!!” Horace ish to Horace. shouted at the stoic “What?! You can bird. The bird slowly talk?! What the hell brought its head are you saying, bird? a little closer to Are you some kind of black parrot Horace and continued to stare. or something?!” Horace asked as Horace was looking at the bird, the bird kept talking, “Well, don’t but couldn’t help but notice when just sit there and yell at me, then! the sky behind the bird had started Go get me some help!” to change. Horace believed the “And te tide and te time þat tu sun was finally setting. Before he iboren were, schal beon iblescet,” could react and say something, the black bird continued, “And te he noticed it was getting dark but tide and te time þat tu iboren were, an unusual speed; it was night schal beon iblescet. And te tide time within about ten seconds. and te time þat tu iboren were, What… the hell… thought Horace. schal beon iblescet. And te tide The sky and time of day kept on and te time þat tu iboren were, speeding up exponentially. The schal beon iblescet. And te tide nighttime blackness turned to the and te time þat tu iboren were, dawn of early morning to midday

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to afternoon to evening, dusk, and midnight all in just six seconds.

From twilight to twilight, the time of day cycle sped up and up until it became so fast that it almost seizure-inducing. The flashing light from the ever-changing colors of the sky was happening too fast for Horace’s mind to comprehend.

“WHAT THE HELL IS GOING ON?! WHAT HAVE YOU DONE, YOU STUPID BIRD?!?!” Horace screamed as he began sobbing.

The colors sped up even faster and were now just one static, vibrating gray blend of color. It lasted for six seconds. Horace closed his eyes as he shocked and blinded by the immediate change; all the color had disappeared and only white remained in the sky.

Horace was bewildered.

“What happened… what have you done?” Horace asked the bird.

Horace then looked down below where he was hanging and became even more horrified; everything below him was gone. Below him were no other people, streets, cars; nothing. He looked around him and saw no other buildings either.

No sky, no birds, no people. Just white everywhere. Horace, the mysterious blackbird, and the thirty five-story skyscraper were the only things that seemed to be existent in this odd, strange new world Horace found himself in.

“Time and tide wait for no man, Horace,” said the blackbird.

“What?! Excuse me? Did you

just say my name?!”

“How did it get so late so soon?”

The bird asked Horace, changing its voice to a bizarre cartoonish voice, “How did it get so late so soon? It’s night before its afternoon.

December is here before its June.

My goodness, how the time has flown. How did it get so late so soon?”

“What do you mean...”

“Der einzige Grund, denn die Zeit ist, so dass nicht alles auf einmal geschehen,” The bird replied in what Horace believed to be German. The bird continued speaking its riddled speech with, “Like as the waves make towards the pebbled shore, so do our minutes, hasten to their end.”

Horace just stared at the bird.

At this point, he knew none of his questions would be answered so he chose to remain silent.

“If time and tide wait for no man, and no man is an island, then why do you sail upstream against the current in the river of time?

If patience is a virtue, then what does that make you, Horace? If the time you enjoy wasting is not time wasted, then why waste your time trying to avoid wasting time?”

“I’m… I… I’m not… Uhh…” Horace tried to reply but didn’t know where to start.

Horace was confused by the overload of proverbial questions.

He started to mumble words, but trailed off as he felt himself suddenly moving slowly.

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“What’s going on? What’s are the hare chastising the slow, happening?” asked Horace. The steady tortoises of the world. You bird simply broke his stare with can’t learn to coexist with your Horace’s eyes and looked down. fellow man. You think everyone to Horace did the same and saw be weak and useless as you pass that the thirty-story building he was them by with your quick pace. hanging off of was moving. It was But you are wrong. Patience and hard for Horace to comprehend time do more than strength and what was actually happening. passion. Ironically so, I have lost Horace would’ve thought to say my patience with you, Horace. I’m that the building was simply lower- done waiting for you.” ing into the ground; “What… what are however, there was you talking about? no ground. The Who did I… Who“Time must leave building wa s just what are you?!” moving downward “I’m the stupid you now. You are and its base was just bird who won’t free. No more disappearing into the answer your vast, white nothingquestions. I’m the lines, no more ness below. Horace elder at the grocery people, and no looked back up and store. I’m the four the bird and asked o’clock traffic on more waiting. again, “Where are the highway. I’m the Goodbye, Horace” bus that’s always we going?!”

“You will find out running late. I’m when we arrive,” the the long lines of the blackbird replied, speaking simply food court’s lunchtime rush. I’m the and calmly this time. intrinsic value you refuse to search “Tell me now, you stupid bird!” for. I am Time.”

Horace demanded impatiently.

“Time… What do you mean?!”

“Well that’s just classic Horace Horace shouted. The bird stared. for you, isn’t it?” the bird retorted.

Horace felt his feet touch “Excuse me?” Horace replied. something. He was no longer The bird finally has his full hanging off the side of a building; attention. he was standing on his own two “That’s just the thing. I’ve tried feet. He watched as the building to teach you, Horace. I’ve tried lowered beneath the grip of his time and time again. You just don’t hands and sank completely into learn, though, do you?” the white. Horace and the bird “Learn what? What did I do?!” were all that remained. The bird “You’re impatient, Horace. You did not flutter its wings, but simply

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levitated up to Horace’s eye level.

The bird remained in front of Horace as he stared blankly into its eyes.

“Time must leave you now.

You are free. No more lines, no more people, and no more waiting.

Goodbye, Horace,” the bird said as it nodded its head to Horace.

“Goodbye?! What?! You can’t just leave me here! You wouldn’t…

Please, no… Take me back home!

Don’t leave me here. I’ll wait! I’ll be patient, I promise… Just take me home, you stupid bird!” Horace pleaded desperately while sobbing uncontrollably.

The blackbird pondered Horace’s request. “Okay, Horace,” the bird replied, “You will wait?”

“What?”

“You said you’ll wait. Will you wait for me?”

“For how long?”

“Will you wait for me?” The bird repeated itself.

“Yes! Fine! I’ll wait, I guess, just take me home!” Horace stubbornly agreed.

“Okay. Wait here,” commanded the bird. “I will return in due time.”

“Where are you going? There’s nowhere to go!” Horace asked, but the bird offered no reply. The bird slowly started to flap its wing and hover above Horace’s head.

As the bird ascended, its shadow appeared. Horace saw the shadow by his feet but was puzzled as to its artificial nature. There’s nothing to cast a shadow… How in the world

is this possible?

The blackbird’s shadow enlarged as it went up. The blackbird flew over Horace’s head and its shadow began to stretch out and enlarge as if it were a trail being left by the bird. Horace turned around and watched the bird fly off into the distance. He watched as its shadow grew and grew, engulfing all of the whiteness that had conquered previously. The blackbird had flown so far away, and there was so much of its shadow everywhere, that Horace could no longer see the bird. Horace was left alone with nothing but the shadows left behind by Time.

Horace began to walk but there was nowhere to go. He had no place to be. He was lost; lost between minutes and hours, between sunrise and sunset, between yesterday and tomorrow, between impatience and serenity.

Horace stood between time and space with too much of both.

Horace waited for the blackbird to return.

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But there is no sun. No delightful smells. No caring villagers. There is nothing for you here but misery. You know where you need to go, but even a fully prepared soldier would tremble at the brutality you are about to experience. The town is empty, yet you are deafened by more noise than ever before; the wind slamming against shutters, the rain pelting the pavement, and the thunder raging close-by.

You weren’t welcomed in this small town when you first arrived.

The residents tried to drive you out, threatening you with weapons and shouts of aggression. If it wasn’t for the young girl who took you in, you likely wouldn’t call this town your home, or perhaps be alive at all.

She found you in her barn.

She was retrieving the saddle for her horse when she spotted you, huddled in the corner, sound asleep. Your hair was matted and your bones trembled with weakness. She took you inside, bathed you, and gave you a small pillow and an empty room which

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he sun is fading away as the darkness gives rise to grandiose shadows from the clamoring townsmen below. The roads beneath where you’re lying, once smooth and inviting, are being bombarded by a sudden, unrelenting onslaught of rain.

Puddles of mud and waste are forming barricades for those wishing to stay dry. If not for the shingles protruding from the roof, you would be just as cold, miserable, and depressed as the earth around you.

This is where you spent most of your afternoons. The sun would usually warm your bones and the smells from the neighboring bakery would delight your senses.

The townsfolk, while often strange and incomprehensible, were very pleasant towards you - often offering small rations of leftovers when you seemed especially hungry. The panoramic view was perhaps your favorite part, being able to observe the occurrences of the quaint village while remaining distanced any conflict.

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you came to call yours for the takes hold of you. You rush down next few years. Since then, the the hill uncontrollably, being hurled townsfolk have treated you as one against several objects which of their own. you cannot discern, but you now If only one of them was here understand as painful. Your sense now. of direction is failing as you spin The rain is only becoming stron- down the rapids to your ultimate ger and the wind is starting to carry demise. You gasp for air, but the droplets sideways. The roof is swallow mostly rain in the attempt. no longer offering you protection After coming to your senses, and your body is overwhelmed you notice that home is not far. with a piercing cold.

The houses next You jump down from to you look similar your once homely to the rest: small, p e rch t o t h e we t run-down mobile ground below, landhomes and delicate The lovely flowers ing with less grace shacks. Crackles of than would be exhanging from the light dance from pected of you. The their windows, and windowsill seem path home was you hear muffled bl o c ke d by la r g e voices echoing in beautiful... b o d i e s o f w a t e r, the streets. which had seemed At the end of the much smaller from street, however, is a high up. house much grander After traversing than the rest. Thick, many gigantic puddles, you stare marble-white columns support down the long road ahead of you, a grand balcony which shelters at the end of which is comfort the front door. The lovely flowers and warmth. The road, however, hanging from the windowsill seem is behaving much more like a beautiful and tranquil despite being river, with water rushing down the bombarded by massive pellets of decline faster than you could run, near-frozen water. The clear wall twisting and turning with every on the second story was lit with curve in the road. Your legs are an orange glow which resonated becoming numb as you cautiously throughout the village. This was approach the top of the hill, home. looking for another way down.

Before long, you approach the Just then, thunder suddenly giant mansion from the back, as howls through the night, frightening you always have. The door made you into the strong current which especially for you is swinging open

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and closed, letting frigid air into the warm abode. You bolt through the door into the backroom of the home, rub your throbbing head, shiver off the cold from your bones, lick the fresh wound on your leg, and suddenly - peace.

It was left just as you remember it. The long bed, which had been used for reading, is adorned with a comfortable, unused quilt. There is a dusty book lying on the adjacent table with a cup of moldy hot chocolate, and in the opposite corner is a small typewriter which hadn’t been used since you started living here.

As you shake dripping water from yourself, you stare out of the large glass windows which separate the backroom from the mysterious night. While the storm is thrashing outside, you can hear nothing but the crackling of the fire upstairs.

You rejoice at your new-found solitude, curling up with the small pillow which is now your most prized possession.

This is where you spend most of your nights. This is your sanctuary from the harsh reality of the outside world. This is your home.

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he door slammed, rocking its wooden frame. Jason sat on the couch, eyes blank as he watched the wall behind the television. His mind blank, as his arms and legs grew numb.

He knew the room was full of air, yet his lungs felt as though they were collapsing in his chest. His heart hurt as tears burned hot in his eyes. Welling up, he forced them to stay where they were. He didn’t want to cry, though Lord knows he had enough tears in him to last days before he would stop due to dehydration. He was shaking apart and he couldn’t control it. A scream so loud it ripped through his throat and pierced his ears, forced its way through his trembling lips.

The empty house gave no comfort to him in his greatest time of need. Alone, he eased his way down to the floor where he rested his cheek on the cool white carpet beneath him. Snuggled between the crystal glass coffee table and the leather sofa, he cried for a few seconds before berating himself for

getting the stark carpet dirty with his senseless tears.

Standing slowly, Jason walked down the hallway to his room where he closed and locked the door behind him. His phone buzzed in his pocket, he pulled it out and read the short text. He powered off his phone and walked to his window to stare out over the lawn.

The lone weeping willow smiled at him and he reached out to it, fingertips pressed to the window glass. Pain had been seeping its way into his bones for months now.

There were times when it felt like things were looking up and life was on a better track, but today the lies that he’d tried to tell himself were thrown into his face in the cruelest of ways.

Those tears were back and this time Jason didn’t fight them.

He embraced them, allowing his memory to drag up the worst of moments to flash into his thoughts. His knees gave out from under him as he leaned onto the window ledge. His palms sweat as

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he gripped the ledge with all his might.

Time sped as he leaned there, staring out the window, eyes trained on the weeping willow. It was his favorite tree. The willow stayed true to itself and hung low as though it carried all the despair in the world, but doing so ever so graciously and beautifully.

It was dark now, and still no one was home. Jason stood – legs creaking as he walked outside.

He marched to the tool shed and grabbed some of his father’s rope.

He made his way to the willow, and looking up, Jason smiled through the tears.

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couldn’t believe it had been a year since I had seen you last. I saw you in the random people I would see. One of the regulars at the café had hair dyed the same shade of green as your eyes. The boy across the street would always be blaring songs of your favorite band when he would drive past.

I remembered when I used to see you every day, sitting at the same corner table in the same café.

You were always drawing, looking up every minute or so. It was mesmerizing how concentrated you were. I always wanted to see what you were drawing, and then one day, a month later, I saw you get up and walk towards me. I had daydreamed about this moment so many times before. At first, I couldn’t tell if I was imagining it, but you had actually taken a seat in the chair in front of me. Without a word, you put your masterpiece on the table. I was speechless. All this time you had been drawing me. I never thought that you had even noticed me, let alone you would have been drawing me. After a

few minutes of me staring at the drawing, you finally spoke. You apologized for drawing me without letting me know. You said you usually did landscapes and that you had planned to draw the view the first day you saw me. You thought it would be easier to draw someone who didn’t know they were being drawn. You then asked if I liked it and I told you I loved it. You signed your name at the bottom and wrote your number on the back and gave me the drawing.

The rest of the day, I stared at your number, wondering if I should call you. I didn’t know what I would say. I ate dinner alone and thought about why you would want to draw me out of all the other people in the café and how you knew I would be there again at the same time, sitting in the same place. You had said you had just hoped that would happen and if it didn’t you wouldn’t finish your drawing; I didn’t know how you could start something without knowing how it would end.

The next morning, I finally

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coming from behind apparently didn’t see us and crashed into us.

My brother was in a coma for four days until he passed away. I still had a big scar on my arm fifteen years later. You asked if that was why I always wore long sleeves.

I didn’t like people staring at it.

You asked to see it. I hesitated but slowly pulled up my sleeve. Your finger felt like ice as you traced it.

That night I thought about your sad green eyes and freezing fingers. I wondered if you were asleep or if you were drawing. Or maybe you were thinking about me. We had barely met but I felt like I knew you. I could feel myself falling for you. I wanted to be able to make your eyes shine like they should. You didn’t have to be alone anymore.

We met at the café again the next day and you asked if I wanted to go somewhere with you. You took me to the beach near where you lived. We walked in the sand and you told me stories. I loved listening to you talk. You could read me math equations and I wouldn’t care. Your voice was so sweet and soothing. After a couple hours we went back to your apartment. I had barely gotten any sleep the night before, so while we were watching a movie I fell asleep.

You poked my cheek which woke me. I felt bad about falling asleep when I woke up, but you said the movie had sucked anyways. You made me coffee and then it was

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decided to call you. The phone rang three times and I was about to hang up when you answered. It was 10:30 so I thought you would already have been up but you had been asleep. You loved to sleep, almost as much as you loved to draw. You said that we should meet at the café at the same time we always went. I didn’t know if this was supposed to be like a date or if we were just going to be friends.

I decided on a long purple dress which was simple but cute. You told me purple was your favorite color when you saw me. We talked for hours that day. You told me how you were the youngest of four children and the only boy. Your parents had died when you were five and you still cried once in awhile when you thought about them. Your sisters had been amazing but now they were all married and didn’t have time for you. You were grown up too but you still wanted someone caring for you. You hated being alone. It made you think. That’s why you would draw. I told you that you had me, now.

I told you about the time my older brother took me out on his motorcycle when I was eight. No one was home and he needed to go see someone. So he put me on the bike and made me promise I wouldn’t tell anyone; our parents would kill him. Our parents did find out but they weren’t the ones that killed him. A huge truck

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even better than the one at the café.

It had gotten dark out so I decided to go home. You drove me home and walked me to my door. Before I went in you grabbed my hand and kissed me. You barely touched my lips, but I was frozen. I didn’t know what to say.

I said thanks a few seconds later and went inside. I watched you from the peephole, though. You stood there for a few minutes. You wanted to knock; you even brought your hand to the door a couple times, but turned around and walked away.

The next two months went by the same. We’d meet at the café, and then spend the entire day together. We went shopping, watched movies, and went to amusement parks. We did everything there was to do in our town. I noticed the difference in you since I had first met you. You were now always smiling. One afternoon we were at my house. I was cooking for both of us and you were watching me when you told me you loved me for the first time.

That was probably the best day of my life.

I had been applying to jobs those past few months, but no one called me back. I didn’t have enough to pay the rent. You asked me to move in with you. You had been selling your old paintings and had been getting a lot of good feedback. And a lot of money. A

gallery owner had even talked to you about displaying some of your work. I wasn’t sure if that was a good idea. We already practically lived together; when I wasn’t home, I was either in your apartment or somewhere with you. After a while you convinced me it would be fun and a good change.

A few weeks later you got a job at the art gallery that had one of your paintings as a show piece. It was one of my favorite paintings.

I didn’t really understand what it was but it had a lot of green just like your eyes. You had given it to me when I used to live alone and I had hung it in my room. When the gallery owner saw it, he also knew it was your best work so I let him put it in the gallery. It had been years since you last painted. You only drew now. Once you told me that I should draw you. You went and sat in a corner of the living room and stared at the wall. You wanted me to draw you the way you had drawn me. I was terrible at drawing, especially drawing people. I drew you as a stick figure and when you saw it, you laughed and hung it on the wall. According to you it was the best piece of art ever created.

Living with you was the best decision I made. It was like a sleepover with a best friend who was also your lover. We would stay up watching movies and talking but I’d force you to get up in the morning to go to work. We

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barely went to the café where we out a ring from your pocket and I met anymore. We only went on realized what was happening when special occasions like our birthdays you asked me to marry you. Tears because it was our special place. filled my eyes as the word yes Instead, I would make you coffee escaped from my mouth. I didn’t in the morning. One night some of believe in soul mates but if they your friends from work came over existed you were definitely mine. for dinner. They thought that we We set the date for a month were married and that we had a later. I was really excited. I had relationship with each other they dreamed about my wedding since all wished they would have too I was five. Twenty years later and it with their spouses. was finally coming Yo u didn’t tell true. My parents flew them that we weren’t into town once they marrie d. A b out a heard and my mom week later you told went dress shopping I told you that I me to meet you at with me. On the day the café after you got loved you and that of the wedding as I out from work. It was about to leave to I would love you started to rain while I go to the wedding, was waiting for you. my phone began endlessly.

I watched the rain as to ring. I saw your I thought about seename on the screen ing you for the first and smiled. But it time and talking to wasn’t you who had you for the first time. called.

I couldn’t believe that it had I pulled off the white dress, not been so long, almost a year. We caring if it ripped and changed into got our coffee and I asked you something else. Then I ran to the if you remembered the first time hospital they had taken you to. It you saw me. You took my hand in wasn’t that far and I didn’t have yours and smiled. We had known time to call my parents to pick me each other for a while now and up. On the way to the wedding you loved me so much. You said some idiot who was on his phone you couldn’t imagine living without crashed into you and now here me and that I was the best thing you were. You were in a coma that ever happened to you, that I and there wasn’t a good chance of was an angel who came and fixed you surviving. Memories of sitting your broken life. I told you that I next to my brother in his hospital loved you and that I would love room came to mind. I remembered you endlessly. Suddenly you pulled how the doctors had said the same

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thing about him not having a good chance and I had prayed and tried to believe he would survive. I stayed there by your side for the three days you were in a coma. My parents begged me to go home and rest but I couldn’t. You were scared of being alone and I had promised I wouldn’t leave you.

On the fourth day you opened your eyes. The doctors shoved me out of the room as they began doing tests on you. By the fifth day you were doing a lot better.

Your arm was the only physical damage you had. You also couldn’t remember anything. You didn’t even know who I was. When you asked me who I was I had to leave the room. I couldn’t believe this. I showed you the drawing you made of me, I told you about our time together but you didn’t remember.

You tried but you couldn’t. Once the doctors let you out of the hospital, your oldest sister came to take you with her. Even though you didn’t remember me, you remembered her. The doctors said it was because you had known her and your other sisters your whole life and had only known me for a while which made me more vulnerable to being forgotten. Your sister didn’t seem to like me. You had told all your sisters that we were getting married but none of them had come. When you ended up in the hospital they still never came. I wanted to take you home and help you remember everything

you had forgotten but the doctors said you should live with someone you remembered.

Going home without you when we should’ve been going on our honeymoon was the hardest thing I had to do. In the beginning, I just sat in my room crying. The similarity of your accident with my brother’s brought out so many emotions I had pushed inside.

The scar on my arm was a daily reminder for that but I tried not to think about it much. I had now lost you too in almost the same way I had lost him and I felt helpless. I wanted to get hit by a car too.

In the months after you left, I fell into a deep depression. I had never minded being alone but now the loneliness felt like it would eat me alive. I decided to stay in your apartment and my parents sent me money every month. They had tried to make me go back with them but I couldn’t leave. I slept in your pajamas on your side of the bed but soon your smell started to fade. I called once and when I told you who I was you called me the girl from the hospital. I cried and hung up. I couldn’t call again.

Hearing your voice was too painful when you didn’t remember me.

You never called either.

I was also full of anger. I was angry at the world. Why did this have to happen to me? Why didn’t people pay attention when they drove? Why were my brother and my love taken from me? It hurt

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believe my eyes. This had to be some dream. But you were really there, standing in front of me. A few weeks ago when you woke up, you were confused. You were supposed to be getting ready for your wedding but you were in a random bed in your sister’s house.

She told you everything that had happened. You wanted to talk to me but you were nervous. You even called my parents. They told you how horrible I had been in the beginning but now I had picked myself up and had tried to fixed myself. You needed a few weeks to process everything but now you were here. I didn’t know what to do so I just hugged you.

I’m fixing my dress in our room and your oldest sister comes in.

She was a makeup artist and had offered to do mine for our wedding. I wipe the tears from my eyes before she starts. We’ve been through so much together and I’m glad this day is finally here. This time when my phone rings I get a little worried at first but it’s just you calling to tell me that deciding to draw me was the best decision you ever made.

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because you were alive and you weren’t that far away. I hated your sister at first but I understood her. If my brother had lived and the same thing had happened, I would have wanted him to be as close to me as possible and not with someone he didn’t even remember.

Slowly I started to go outside and tried to get over you. I couldn’t depend on my parents’ money forever and decided to get a job.

I got a job at the café. At first I thought it would remind me too much of you but I still lived in your apartment so it wouldn’t matter.

I hadn’t been there since the day you proposed to me which felt like just yesterday. If only it had been yesterday and my only worries were about the wedding. I missed your green eyes and I wondered if they still had a smile in them.

A year passed and then another passed. I thought about you every day. I still loved you but I had accepted the reality that you would never be mine again. I wanted to know how you were doing but I couldn’t bring myself to call you.

You would have forgotten the girl from the hospital by now too.

The café was about to close one night when someone walked in. I was in the back when I heard the voice. It was your voice. I dropped a mug and you came rushing in with one of the new employees behind you who didn’t know about us. I told her that it was ok and that I would close up. I couldn’t

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’m shrouded in darkness.

I can’t breathe.

It takes me a second to register how cold I feel, and this sharp shooting pain seems to emanate from everywhere, yet nowhere at the same time.

I don’t want to open my eyes.

Why can’t I breathe?

It feels as if I’m in that halfasleep state, and when I finally come to and open my eyes, it all starts making sense. It is my head that feels like it is just minutes away from exploding. And I have sunk to the bottom of the lake.

How did this happen? When did this happen?

I don’t know how long I’ve been down here and I won’t have enough time to reach the surface.

By now my lungs are giving out; I won’t be able to hold my breath much longer.

I can feel myself drifting away.

I look up towards the surface of the water and notice the light falter just before the darkness closes in around me.

•••

I briefly looked at the strange faces around me after expelling the water from my lungs before blacking out again. At least that’s what I was told.

I am lightheaded. I can’t focus on one thing for too long before feeling dizzy.

My head still hurts and the bright lights aren’t helping.

A doctor soon walks in and asks how I’m doing.

How do you think, genius? I wince in pain.

“Could I possibly get something for the pain? My head is killing me.”

“At the moment we can only give you ibuprofen. We need you to be coherent in order to run more tests.”

I sigh and nod my head.

For the next few hours, people come and go, constantly asking how I’m doing. It’s beginning to get annoying, but I’m in too much pain to notice.

Finally, the doctor returns.

Accompanying him is my psychiatrist. Oh great.

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The doctor speaks first. “Your off, “and I figured I’d visit. Pay my psychiatrist has been brought in.” respects. It is our birthday after She takes a step closer to me all…” before speaking.

She gives me a sympathetic “I’ll be here to consult with the smile and pauses before she doctor and staff on your case. As continues her interrogation. well as talk or listen, if you’d like, “Did you happen to go out by of course.” I try my hardest not to the dock?” respond with a sarcastic remark.

“I must have.”

So predictable. I happen to land “What do you mean?” myself in the hospital and they “I mean, that I definitely bring in my shrink, remember driving w h o imm e diat ely there. Once at the tries to reel me in lake, I’m only getting “I hate to be so with her psychobabflashes here and ble. there.” blunt about this, I feel as if I am Why is she giving but you’re saying being treated like a me that look? It’s as child. if she doesn’t believe you don’t know I hate it. me. how you actually “Bennett, do you I’m not lying. know why you’re “I hate to be so made it into the here?” blunt about this, but water?”

“Yes. I was told I you’re saying you drowned. And judgdon’t know how you ing by the pain in my actually made it into head, I hit my head or something.” the water?”

They look at each other, and “I just remember this panicky at this point the doctor excuses feeling and the sensation of falling. himself. Good riddance.

After that, it’s pretty much blank.”

“I’d like to talk to you about the “Well, I was told that you did course of events that took place sustain quite the head injury. before your accident. If that’s okay According to the tests you have a with you?”

Grade II concussion.”

“I suppose.”

“Must’ve been quite the fall, “Okay, well how much do you then.” remember?”

She gives me her best straight “I remember driving out to face—as she is now accustomed the lake. We use to spend so to my snark—before giving me this much time there.” She gives me look of disbelief and tells me she’ll a knowing look as my voice trails be right back.

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I sigh in annoyance as she walks out, unable to do much else.

After a few minutes, I start contemplating what they meant, and it all starts making sense: the constant supervision; nurses constantly walking in and out, just “checking in on me”; the restriction of painkillers. They think I just tried to commit suicide.

These turbulent thoughts send my head spinning, and I try to make my way to the bathroom, but I’m too dizzy to do so. Instead I grab the ice bucket and expel the contents of my stomach.

The doctor and my psychiatrist choose quite an opportune time to walk in, as I am not quite finished.

As soon as I’m settled and I’ve explained most of what happened, leaving out my inner turmoil, they say I’ll be under observation for a few more days.

Those ‘few’ days could not come soon enough.

••• My stay at the hospital was not a memorable one. Except for the loneliness I felt, and the complete isolation, I was fine.

I am fine.

It seems to me that they must be under the impression that this loss of memory I am experiencing is a blessing.

It is not.

After my leave from the hospital, the days seem to pass by in a blur.

Nothing seems worthy enough for me to remember. I’ve been

requested to attend daily meetings with my psychiatrist. How fun.

She keeps asking me about that day on the lake and I still can’t remember. I want to, but it seems there is some discordance between myself and my mind.

She also brings up my brother constantly, but I can’t bring myself to talk about him; I walked out of our session 15 minutes early that very first day, she quickly learned to bring him up at the beginning of the meeting. She just loves to remind me that I can’t walk out of mandatory sessions.

A part of her still believes that I tried to commit suicide. And to be honest, she’s making me start to believe it, as well.

I just wish she’d stop talking about Sammy. She knows what happened—my father told her— but she wasn’t there. She doesn’t know what we felt. What I felt.

Much less what I experienced.

I still remember that day quite vividly. We were at the lake where my family spent most vacations.

Summer vacations always were our favorite. We owned a house near the lake, while most other families rented properties.

So many families with their children frequented the lake; the sounds of kids playing, splashing, laughing, just having a good time, encompassed you.

My identical twin, Sammy— who was a few minutes older—and I were out by the lake, on the

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dock, to be exact. We were playing dock, and the place where Sammy around, chasing each other, as kids had fallen in. usually do.

From a distance, we could still We did everything together; I see his arms flailing, but once we think, as most twins do. We mostly made it to him, the waters were kept to ourselves, rather than calm. He was nowhere in sight. mingle with the other kids our age.

My father told my mother to Our mother told us not to play take me away, and she did. near the end of the dock, but we As she carried me away, I made didn’t listen. The dock on this lake the mistake of looking back. happens to stretch far enough out I shouldn’t have done it, but I that anyone would couldn’t help myself. be completely subI saw my father From a distance, we lift Sammy’s lifeless merged, even if they were standing upbody from the water could still see his right. and onto the dock. arms flailing, but As I was chasing I remember a few S a m m y, I g e n t l y parents rushing over once we made it nudged him, but this to help, attempting to him, the waters to revive him, but it was enough to send him off kilter, subsewas all in vain. He were calm. He quently falling into wasn’t coming back. was nowhere in the lake.

And I knew. I I immediately knew he was gone. sight. p a n i c k e d .

Once in the I didn’t know what house my mother to do. I was just a kid. reduced herself to nothing but a I couldn’t swim. But, neither weeping ball on the floor. could he.

She was crying, and I didn’t He was screaming my name, know what to do. screaming for help.

I couldn’t comfort her, I didn’t “Benny! Help me! I can’t get know how. out!”

I was only seven at the time.

But, I was frozen. For the And just like that I lost a part of longest time, I could not move, me. almost as if I did not have control I lost my brother. over my own body.

Things were never the same Finally, I managed to bolt from after that. my position and go get help.

My parents couldn’t bear to look I ran to my parents and they at me. Their neglect only made hurriedly made their way to the things worse.

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After Sammy’s death, my a day in November. parents decided it was best if we all As I walked in through the got help. doors, I could smell traces of hard I had been assigned a liquor that seemed to come from psychologist who worked primarily my father’s study. I thought it best with children, until I was assigned to avoid him altogether and went a psychiatrist. Merely talking upstairs for a coat. wasn’t enough to help me. This As I made my way to the top, psychiatrist saw me through all of my father—who was clearly my downfalls. wasted—motioned for me to come My teen years were mostly a back downstairs. blur; I was diagnosed Although I am with clinical depressharp-tongued, I sion, and had almost learned from an always been on antiearly age to bite depressants.

As soon as I neared my tongue when it It was the only came to my father. the end of the way I could function.

For the most part, At first, I thought he was a belligerent dock, all those they couldn’t stand drunk. He was memories came my presence or the always throwing mere sight of me things carelessly, flooding back. solely because they sometimes objects, blamed me, but it but usually his was mostly because I words. was a reflection of He aggressively my brother. Looking at me would put his arm around my neck and he only break my mother’s heart. reeked of alcohol.

My father though, he did blame “You know Sammy would me. still be here if it weren’t for your He told me so once when he cowardice. He wouldn’t have had gotten drunk on my eighteenth drowned had you gotten help.” birthday. I hadn’t been at home all By this point, I could not keep day; over the years, I found it best quiet. to avoid disappointing my parents “I did get help.” with the reminder that Sammy “Not quick enough.” was gone. I always dreaded my He shoves me and I stumble, birthdays for that reason. grabbing onto the staircase railing.

I had come home early because I am livid, but I don’t show it.

I had not prepared for the cold That’s what he wants, an excuse weather that typically accompanies to respond with violence.

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recommended I go into the routine to try to remember, even though it hadn’t been working.

Prior to my next session, I thought about what she said, and wondered if physically retracing my steps would somehow trigger the memories of my drowning. I couldn’t stop thinking about that, and figured it wouldn’t hurt to ask.

I did just that on my next visit to my psychiatrist. I asked if it would be a good idea to revisit the lake.

Maybe then I could start piecing things together.

She was surprised with my initiative.

“I think that is a great idea, but only if I accompany you.”

“I don’t need a babysitter.”

“You’re right. You don’t, but I would just like to be there in order to gauge your reaction.”

After mulling it over, I just shrugged and we were off.

••• The drive to the lake was dead silent. I didn’t want to talk and she could tell; I’m glad she didn’t push it.

Winter was beginning to die down, but it was still cold and gloomy, especially at the lake. It never snows here, but the freezing temperature would’ve made you think otherwise.

Once there, I started making my way over to the dock, slowing down once I sensed her hesitation.

“Aren’t you going to ‘gauge’ my reaction?”

Plagued By Memories

I would never give him that chance, though, and he knew it.

He starts yelling that Sammy is dead because of me. In between his belligerent comments and swearing, he said that I killed Sammy.

I stare at him in disbelief. I became stuck, unable to respond.

He became angry at my lack of response and threw the bottle of Jack I hadn’t noticed he was holding. It smashed against the wall beside me, shattering.

At that, my mother came downstairs begging for him to stop, reminding him that I was their son too. That wasn’t enough for him, though. He brushed her off and I left, never to return again.

We were identical in every way physically, and seeing me only reminded them that they had lost a son. Although I was still here, they couldn’t see me for who I was.

They could only see who I was not.

For a while, I couldn’t bear to look at myself either. I knew it wasn’t my fault. I didn’t mean for him to fall into the lake, but if I hadn’t panicked, he might still be here.

••• On several visits with my psychiatrist, she had tried to make me mentally retrace my steps, but it was useless. I couldn’t remember, and it was beginning to aggravate me.

On our last session, she could definitely sense my frustration, and

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She nodded and followed after me.

As soon as I neared the end of the dock, all those memories came flooding back: all of the vacations with my family, that day with Sammy, the day I most recently ended up in the hospital.

The images and emotions all came violently surging back, and I froze in my tracks.

My reaction must have worried her because, immediately, she was by my side.

“Are you okay?”

I kept silent.

“Bennett?” Her voice trailed off.

“I remember.”

“What do you remember?”

I thought about what to tell her, whether I should leave anything out. I figured she’d already seen me at my worst, might as well let it all out.

“The day I came out here—“ “Was your twenty-first birthday, yes, I know.”

I gave her a look of annoyance and she motioned for me to continue.

“Well I figured, I’m of legal age.

I bought some drinks, a lot of them.

I grabbed whatever I could find; hard liquor, beer. And then I began to make my way to the lake.”

“Were you drunk before or after you got to the lake?”

I didn’t answer her question and took a deep breath before continuing.

“I started drinking once I got

to the lake, and only made my way over to the dock once I had mustered up enough liquid courage. By that time, I wasn’t drunk, but I was pretty intoxicated.

I had brought a few bottles with me, and set them on the floor beside me. I couldn’t stop the tears from falling, and out of anger, I threw the beer I had just finished into the lake. I was suddenly overcome with such sadness, remorse, and rage.”

She tried to speak, but I wouldn’t let her.

“I’m not finished. Don’t you want to know what happened?” I run my hand through my hair and turn away from her before speaking again.

“I attempted to kick the bottles off the dock, and since my motor skills were compromised, I slipped.

As I slipped, I hit my head on one of the posts just before falling into the lake. I immediately felt the pain and felt my body hit the water, but I didn’t have enough time to react. I felt myself sinking, but I was already beginning to lose consciousness.”

I turn to face her now, blinking away the tears trying to fight their way to the surface, taking a long pause before continuing. “I thought about my brother and how this must be how he felt. Cold.

Hopeless. Heavy. As I began to register the pain and how cold I was, I began to think that this was only fair. I figured, I’d let myself

our heads. And in our blind attempt to rid ourselves of them, sometimes we become the very thing we were fighting against…We become the monsters themselves…

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sink; I had never felt heavier than in that moment but then I panicked.

A million thoughts crossed my mind. This wasn’t how I wanted to go out, but by then it was too late.

I could feel my lungs start to give out and I wouldn’t have enough time to reach the surface. So I just stayed there. I looked up towards the surface of the water, just staring at the sun. It really was quite beautiful. I saw something block the sunlight just before I blacked out.”

“A young man jumped in after you and pulled you out with the help of his family.”

That explains the blockage of light.

“Towards the end, when you decided you didn’t want to die, you still gave up. Why not try to fight your way to the surface?”

“I didn’t think it was worth it.

My life has been a mess ever since that day, plagued by the death of my brother, carrying the weight of guilt and remorse. I was plagued by memories and thoughts of what could have been. Ultimately, I just gave in to circumstance.”

It was then that I realized that for the longest time, I was consumed by my own thoughts. I gave in to the monsters within my mind.

But the saddest thing of all is that we spend so much time chasing monsters—trying to put a face or a name to them—that we lose sight of the fact that they’re in

What About Us Kelvin Manjarrez

Myriad 2016

“

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Y

ou were the last person,” the lawyer pressed her for an answer with the characteristic smile that lawyers are known for.

As she tried to answer with a witty deflection, the lawyer quickly interjected: “But you did read the note, did you not?”

“He asked me to,” she answered nervously realizing her next few words would likely leave her, a 17-year-old high schooler, in jail.

“Tell me exactly what happened,” the lawyer yelled out in front of a tentative jury.

“Fine, I will tell you,” she announced aggressively with a new found contempt for the authority the title bestowed him.

“He did not talk to anybody, and he skipped class to sit up in the bleachers where everybody likes to ditch even though he had to give a presentation on Frankenstein for third period. He was probably up there all day,” suddenly her voice cracks and a single tear starts to run down the right side of her face as the images came to mind; but after a few seconds, she composed

herself and continued, “The highest bleachers are hard to see from down below.”

“Wait. You said it was a favorite place to ditch? Why was there nobody else on those bleachers with him?” interrupted the lawyer.

“We had an Awareness assembly in the auditorium; we even had a guest speaker, and the entire school was there. I helped organize the whole thing since I am the Student Body President.”

Just as her voice began to dance in the ears of the audience and jury, the ignorance of a much older generation asked her to elaborate on the details, because his Ivy League education, did not afford him the knowledge that comes as easily and cheaply to a younger mind.

“Well, we try to create an environment where every student can feel secure. We make sure that we do not let skin tone, gender and sexual identity, religious background or ethnic background affect the way we view ourselves as students. We don’t judge. We have

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climbed all the way up, up to the very top. She trampled over fences and quietly made her way up to the stadium.

Yellow caution tape covered the gruesome site. She remembered the fall. She remembered his eyes meeting hers as he walked to the ledge. She remembered the sincere smile as he pointed to the note sitting soundly behind him. He said nothing. He only smiled at her.

Now, she stood on the edge from the highest bleacher as he did. She took a deep breath and repeated those three words to herself over and over again looking straightforward and never down.

Because if she looked down, the stains that cloaked her high school in dread would be revealed to her.

Besides, all her life she was taught to be an optimist “Never look down Claire”, she could almost hear her Mom’s words echo in the dark-dewy stadium.

Nobody in school knew him very well so the news of his death, although sad, was not by any means tragic. The flag was flown at half-mast for about a week, and even still, after all the news reporting, and all the school announcements, some students still did not know who he was.

She had looked at it in all the possible ways answered all of the lawyer’s questions and offered a beautiful eulogy at his funeral out of respect for his family. And despite all of that, one unanswered

What About Us

built a safe space in our school.”

The jurors’ heads nodded in quite admiration while the lawyer continued to cross-examine the last witness of the day, ‘Now, will you tell the jurors once more how you found the body?”

Her body started to shake in a nervous gaze, “It was after school, around 6 pm, when I got a message from him; he told me to meet him at the bleachers, and I thought it was weird because he never usually spoke to me.”

“Then how did you have his cell phone number,” asked the lawyer.

“Everyone in our senior class has my number because I answer all calls related to prom and all other senior outings,” she answered with a now composed confidence.

“Did you go right away?”

“I did.”

“What did the letter say?”

“It only had three words written on it.”

“What did it read?!”

“What about us?”

“That’s it?”

“Yes.” “Why?” the lawyer, in all his infinite wisdom, in all his decades of experience, in all his legal victories, was left all without words.

And so, three months flew by; it was a straight suicide they said!

But a day before her graduation ceremony, she visited one last time. It was about midnight when she reached school grounds. She

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questioned lingered in her mind like the unshakeable shackles that imprison the most dangerous criminals—she felt like a prisoner, a prisoner of her own mind. What did he mean by “us”?

With no answers, she finally looked down, even though the prospects of looking up was far more satisfying than whatever she would hope to find on the solid ground. On the ledge, the lone stain was now very small. The pond of yesterday had become a lone drip, not a stain but a drip.

Memories of all the times he had spoken to her started to flood her mind as she stared down into the depressing scene more and more closely. All the casual hellos that bombarded her brain seemed endless and pointless. All the times he opened the door for her through the years gave her no answers. The deeper she dug into the hole, the less useful and meaningless the site became. He was a good person.

Suddenly, their casual encounters reached childhood memories. How happy he was!

She could almost picture him with his green dinosaur T-shirt swinging on the left swing, which was always the closest to his 4th-grade classroom.

And by coincidence, the puzzle had been solved, three months of legal proceedings could not have foreseen the truth one 4th grade girl possessed. As quickly as she was reminded of that innocent memory, she was taken by surprise

so much that her body completely froze as if locked under key.

Moments passed, and her body remained lifeless; her eyes had no soul, and her body was motionless.

Time did not move nor did it wish to be moved.

After a few more seconds passed, she slowly whispered, “I am sorry,” to the winds that carried her message far through the school campus and farther off into the silent yet limitless sky. Then she cried, but it wasn’t like any usual cry. Her soft checks only bore one tear on each side descending slowly—yet evenly—to the ends of her chin. Their descent was almost beautiful to watch, as they lingered on her face for just a little longer.

They fell below landing only inches from the stain. She remembered it all.

“Why are you crying Johnny?”

Claire asked.

“Nobody wants to play tag with me.”

“Why do you say that Johnny?” the innocence in her words awoke in him a trusting sincerity.

“Because Jaime told the entire class that I am ugly and fat and that ugly and fat people are not good at tag.”

“Well, are you good?”

“No,” Johnny answered; as though he had lost his right to cry in front of her, and he could no longer bear to look her straight in the face.

Before Claire could answer with any words of consolation, Johnny

on a river bead. She did not mind it at all. She would not let Johnny be tormented anymore.

…Never, look down Claire?

--END—

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“Johnny stop crying already,” she pleaded, restraining herself from tears of her own, “Please stop it, I’ll make sure your teacher gets all of them in trouble.”

“It will make it worse Claire.”

“Why?” “Because now they will never play with me for sure, and I will have no friends.”

Johnny, what about us?

As the memory passed through her mind, bringing her back into the present, Claire began to notice the full moon’s shine slowly seep inside the earth’s pores so as to create a perfect union between the Earth and the Universe. Nothing would disrupt the flow of energy emanating from nature’s firm ground and the cosmos’s loose sky.

Beautiful.

And tomorrow, she would give a speech highlighting her years of academic achievement.

Tomorrow she would have an enormous smile covering up the blemishes of profound sadness, of profound truth. Tomorrow, she would have gone off to one of the most prestigious Universities in the country. Tomorrow, she would have graduated. Yet, tomorrow, they, will, all, find, her, gushing, pond, next to a single drop.

What About Us

ran so fast across the playground that all the kids took notice. The appeal was so large that their immediate response was to laugh at him and his green shirt, Claire did not like that at all. In fact, she ran as fast as she could to reach Johnny, but he was nowhere to be found. Claire ran straight into Mr. Martinez’s classroom, and he wasn’t there. She ran to the nurse’s office, not there. She moved to the deep ends of the school where the custodial staff had all their equipment, no. He was in none of the nearby fleeing locations that most students chose to shelter their emotional or physical wounds.

Suddenly, she heard a silent cry echo from the auditoriums’ rooftop, as she disappointedly walked away from the Janitor’s hall back with Jeannie and Rebecca—her two best friends.

She knew it was him instantly, but could not piece together a way to justify her desire to get up and console him. They did not know each other well enough, after all—at least not enough for her to go out of her way to show that kind of interest in him. From his vantage point, he could not see down below because his decision to stay up top, looking straight into the sky, with gushing rivers running down his eyes, meant he wanted to be alone.

Yet, once there, she ran up to Johnny hugging him so tightly that his tears started to run down her shirt like cascades shooting down

Who We Were Samuel Choi

Myriad 2016

I

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t was raining that day. It was raining that moment. I know, because I remember our clothes being damp from running together in the rain to reach a bench. It wasn’t too spacious or anything. It was just a bench shadowed by a green ceiling on raised cement. The wind blew relatively hard, so rain still came in from the sides. The bench was wet, we were wet, but we liked the rain.

The rain came as a surprise, so we didn’t have any umbrellas. I was wearing a simple t-shirt, and she was wearing a work suit.

Her hair stopped before her shoulders, so it didn’t help that the water would accumulate at the ends and drip down onto her suit.

She parted her hair to the sides, and so, that day, I could see her face very well. She didn’t wear a lot of make-up. She was older, but me being taller, and her looking up at me with her face wet from the rain, she seemed younger. . . innocent.

She was a woman in every way.

She was 27 or 28 years old back then, and I was about 20, but the

rain washed all that away.

We had known each other for about a year, and she always treated me like a kid. I didn’t mind it at first, but, somehow, over a couple of months, she became special to me. I wanted her to see me as a man. Not some boy in college, but a man that she could rely on, someone she could be vulnerable to. Now she wasn’t sick or anything, whenever we saw each other, she would always be gleaming with a smile. But after a month or two, I realized that her smile wasn’t always natural. You could tell by the way the smile would travel through her cheeks to her eyes. If they didn’t reach the eyes, then it wasn’t real.

But I could never ask what was wrong, she would never let me.

She would always ask about my day, and by the time we finished talking about me, it was time for her to leave. And we always talked at the same park, she liked it there.

Somedays we would walk, and somedays we would just sit down and watch the people.

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Somedays we wouldn’t talk the end of the four months, she at all. Our meetings were very became a memory. Someone who random. would forever be remembered with We met at a market, and we just warmth and affection. And then it happened to be going the same happened, she texted me. way home, so we walked and talk“Park. 4:00 pm. Bring some ed back together. The second time drinks~” this happened, we went to the I was still 20, but I guess she park, because she bought some ice thought I was of age. I still had cream for us to share. She was a kid class that day, but I decided to skip. like that. I had a lot of fun that day, I had to see her. and then at the end When I got to the of our walk, surprispark, it was already ingly, she asked for sunset. We always m y n u m b e r. O f met at the bench, course I gave it to and so I started on I still had class that the path to go there, her, but she joked with me and told me day, but I decided but after a couple not to get the wrong of steps it started to to skip. I had to idea. We texted each pour. It started to other on and off. It pour hard. So I ran, see her. was usually to meet and as I got closer up at the park. It was to the bench I saw very frequent at the her running from beginning but as a the other side. I couple of months chuckled to myself, started to pass, she became busy and I ran harder, even though the with work and I took a lot more beers I brought in the plastic bag classes. We stopped contacting were probably going to be ruined, I each other for almost 4 months. ran as hard as I could.

At first, I kept hesitating about We got to the bench at the contacting her. I wanted to ask her same time, but we were out of about her day and tell her about breath so we both had our hands mine. Whenever I got a B on a test, on our knees, and didn’t look at I would grab my phone and pull each other. We were breathing up her contact info and fantasize pretty hard. I saw her feet. She was texting her and ranting about how wearing black heels, and the tip B’s were the bane of my existence. of her shoes were brown from the I wanted to show off. I wanted to running. I looked at her legs, her show her how much I had grown. stockings were wet from her ankle But time went by, and by to her knee, and she was wearing

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a grey mini-skirt. Then we both looked up. She was still breathing hard from the running, and she parted her hair to the side, and smiled with her eyes.

“Hey. . . How have you been?”, she panted.

Her smile made me smile, and I was still out of breath so I uttered, “Good. . . you?”

“Never better. . . haha”, but her smiles didn’t reach her eyes.

We both stood up. I looked at her. Her grey jacket and white shirt were also soaked by the rain.

If it was a normal day she would have looked good, but the rain dampening her hair and clothes, gave her a more innocent look, it made her look beautiful.

Then she grabbed me by my shoulders and shouted, “Wow, you look good! I like what you did with yourself. So manly. . .haha I bet the girls are going crazy over you!”

This next part surprised me as well, I grabbed her by the shoulders and brought her into myself. I grabbed the back of her head, and the middle of her back, and this must have surprised her too, because it took her a while to hug me back. When she finally did, I whispered, “I missed you” and she replied, “Me too.”

We separated and after talking about the rain and how much time had passed, I finally brought her up. I asked her what was wrong.

There was a short silence followed by a “Nothing, don’t worry, now

tell me about your school!”. She tried to cover herself up with a smile again, but I only looked at her eyes.

“Seriously, what’s wrong?”

“Nothing.”

“It’s okay, you can tell me now.”

“No, I’m okay, really. . .”

She looked away for the first time. Her cheeks turned red from the cold, and she looked across the park at the trees and grassfields. I grabbed her cold red cheek that was turned away from me, and brought her eyes to mine. She stared at me for a while. I looked at her face.

Her eyes, they began to fill with water. She had bags under her eyes, and she seemed tired, worn out. I looked at her lips too, and she was wearing a light plink gloss that made them appear oddly lulling, but my attention came back to her eyes.

I had never seen this look on her before. Before, she was always smiling, and her eyes were always playful. However, this time, she looked at me with a sincerity and an innocence, like that of a lost child. Her eyes screamed for a shoulder to cry on, her lips begged for an ear to talk to. I realized she was as lost as I was.

I was in school, but I did not know why I was there. I mean sure, to get a degree, to get a job, but I didn’t know the real why behind anything I did. And since my reasoning was so unknown to

heavier, our souls were free. I opened my eyes first and looked at her. She still looked mature, but her smile gave her closed eyes a youthful ambiance.

I drew closer to her face, and I brought my hand close to her bright red cheek. With her eyes still closed, she opened her mouth.

“You really have gro--” I didn’t hear the rain anymore.

It was just our lips. She opened her eyes in shock, but we closed them together.

She smiled and placed my vacant hand on her waist, and she placed her hands on my chest. We were lost, but in that moment, that kiss, we found ourselves. She was 27, I was 20, but together we were brand new.

Who We Were

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me, a B or anything that seemed sub-par made me realize my own delicate world. And I saw that it was the same for her.

The emotional distance between us was gone. She was no longer hidden from me.

I grabbed her chin, and I smiled with my eyes, and I said, “ You okay?”

A tear fell down her face. She leaned her head in towards my chest and landed on my wet shirt.

She began to cry. I just held her.

She began ranting painfully and inaudibly through her sobbing, and I just hugged her tighter. And then, I couldn’t smile anymore.

Tears began to stream down my face, and I buried my tears in her wet hair. And just like her, I began to inaudibly rant about my pain through my own sobbing.

After a few minutes of talking over one another with complaints, we began to laugh. I guess thinking about how we looked outside was a funny image to the both of us.

She started to laugh first, her face was still buried in my shirt, and I followed shortly afterwards. We laughed and laughed about our problems, and began to list off people who stressed us out, and we laughed about them as well.

Then another silence came in.

We didn’t look at each other this time. We both had our eyes closed, and listened to the rain falling around us. Although the rain had made our clothes considerably

The Girl Who Ran Robert Nguyen

INT. AIRPORT - NIGHT

At the far end of the lobby, swarms of people emerge from the back door and all head for the baggage claim. Among them, a woman walks immediately towards the exit, ignoring the crowd of people waiting for their luggage. Her name is JOHANNA. As Johanna walks towards the exit, she sees that a small boy, maybe six, is lost. She looks indifferently at him, as a group of security guards escort the terror-stricken boy asking for his mother to their offices in the back.

EXT. AIRPORT - NIGHT Johanna steps out of the doors of the airport to the sound of car horns and heavy rain. The air smells of burnt rubber.

The airport pickup area looks like a sewage pipe. There are pieces of trash all over the floor, which goes into the building. The pouring rain makes the place look like an over clogged toilet.

There is a line of cars waiting, their hazard lights blinking, making the whole area look like a firework show.

Johanna looks around, she sees a familiar face. She sees the face of HARVEY, an old business associate of hers. He is lighting a cigarette while leaning on his car. Johanna walks up to him noticing some of his features: his greasy unkempt short black hair, a poorly shaven beard, and a scraggly body. His clothes seem worn out as well, looking as if he hadn’t washed them in months.

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Johanna walks outside.

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There is an assortment of people scattered across the lobby, all of whom look sickly. Many of them waiting for their luggage and looking blankly at the conveyor belt.

As she draws closer to him, he notices her and smiles.

HARVEY Hey, Jo how you doing?

He proceeds to shake her hand.

JOHANNA Fine, let’s get out of here.

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HARVEY Alright, then.

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EXT. CAR - NIGHT Harvey’s car leaves the airport and enters a freeway. The rain seems to get heavier.

INT. CAR - NIGHT

HARVEY

So, I’ve set you up in a small place in downtown, it’s a bit crappy, but it was the best I could do, with the little money you gave me.

JOHANNA That’s alright; I don’t need that much space.

HARVEY So, did you bring anything else?

You seem to be traveling light.

JOHANNA This is all I brought.

HARVEY I see... is your stay gonna be short?

JOHANNA

No, I think I’ll be here for a while.

HARVEY Alright, then.

Johanna watches as Harvey pulls out of the freeway and into the side streets. She looks at the giant skyscrapers that tower over the city, they are emitting bright lights.

She examines the buildings that they are passing. They all seem desolate with only a few lights being lit. However, she also she observes the vast crowd of people walking up and down the street.

EXT. APARTMENT - NIGHT Harvey’s car pulls up to a crappy small apartment, with dried paint and graffiti spread across the building.

INT. APARTMENT - NIGHT

She walks around to see that there is a mattress on the floor with an indescribable stain on it.

She sets down her bags and takes a seat on the mattress.

Later Johanna wakes up to the sound of knocking.

JOHANNA Who is it?

She hears no response. She walks towards the door and looks through the eye hole. There’s no one. She opens the door to see a letter on the floor.

She picks it up and opens it. It’s a letter from a familiar name, Braddock.

The letter tells her to visit Braddock’s club, The Scorpion’s Head.

Johanna notices that the rain has stopped; she picks up her coat and leaves her room.

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A door opens, Johanna enter into a small one room apartment with little to no furniture. Both the kitchen and bathroom are only a few meters away from each other.

The Girl Who Ran

She looks the roofs of the buildings and watches as smog is emitted from them, covering the entire city.

EXT. THE SCORPION’S HEAD - NIGHT Johanna exits a taxi, where she comes to an old rundown warehouse.

The windows are boarded up and the paint is peeling off, it looks like decaying skin. She walks towards the entrance where a big man, sevenfeet tall, stares at her with a surprised look.

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BOUNCER Hey, Miss Jo. It’s been awhile.

JOHANNA Yeah, busy night?

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BOUNCER Yeah, the usual. Mr. Braddock beens expecting youse.

JOHANNA Alright, I’ll go in. Is Dalton in?

BOUNCER Yup, he’s here. Welcome back, Miss Jo. He opens the door into the building. Johanna walks in.

INT. SCORPION’S HEAD Johanna enters into a large dimly lit room. The only sources of light are from the candlelit tables spread across the room, the blue neon lights from the bar, and the spotlights from the stage.

She sees that there is a band playing on stage with a singer, who looks to be still in her teens. The light only focused on her. She seems to be in a trance, her eyes are close.

Johanna walks to the bar, at the same time she notices that many faces are looking at her with surprise. She reaches the bar, where she finds DALTON is preparing a drink with his back towards her.

JOHANNA Hey, what’s on tap?

Dalton pauses and turns around to look at Johanna.

DALTON Well, you know... crap. What do

you wanna drink?

JOHANNA You know... the usual.

DALTON Alright, Jo. Dalton proceeds to elaborately mix a black concoction that eventually lands in front of Johanna.

JOHANNA Well, I’m back. Just arrived today.

DALTON Oh? Staying long?

JOHANNA Yeah, I got a message as soon as I arrived; it said to meet him here.

DALTON Well, Mr. Braddock should be at his usual seat.

JOHANNA Alright.

As Johanna heads for the center table of the room, eyes from the other guest that she passes only stare at her. As she passes them, they proceed to converse.

When she arrives, she sees that BRADDOCK is staring at the singer with his back towards her. He is wearing a sleek purple suit and holding a cigarette holder with his index and middle finger. His hair is neatly combed over with a lot of hair gel spread across it. With a closer look, it

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JOHANNA Don’t know, maybe

DALTON Well, welcome back. I heard Mr. Braddock was expecting someone, didn’t think it’d be you.

The Girl Who Ran

DALTON (CONT’D) Haven’t seen you in a while. Heard you weren’t coming back.

seems to reflect light.

Johanna walks up the seat next to his. Braddock looks at her with a startled look.

BRADDOCK Well, nice to see that you got my message.

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JOHANNA Yeah, how did you know that I was back?

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BRADDOCK Oh... I hear things. What do you think of the singer? I just found her the other day.

JOHANNA Talented, young though.

BRADDOCK Yeah, her father owes me some money, so he gave her to me.

Said that she sung like a bird.

JOHANNA Right... well what did you call me here for?

BRADDOCK What, old friends can’t catch up?

JOHANNA Funny, what do you want?

BRADDOCK Well, I just wanted to know why your back. After all, you did leave without telling anybody.

JOHANNA What, I can’t get homesick?

BRADDOCK (Stares at her) Fine, I’ll leave it. ...Are you planning on staying long?

JOHANNA Don’t know, maybe.

BRADDOCK Alright, I heard that someone picked you up from the airport?

May I ask who it was?

JOHANNA It was Harvey.

JOHANNA He may have some rough spots, but he’s a good guy.

JOHANNA No, what?

BRADDOCK Oh, I hear that he’s doing a report on the mob.

JOHANNA Really? Good for him, I guess.

BRADDOCK Dangerous work, writing about them. You worried about him?

JOHANNA ...Nah, what he does isn’t any of my concern.

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BRADDOCK Right...well it’s been a couple of years since you’ve left. People change. Including Harvey. You haven’t heard what he’s been up to lately, have you?

The Girl Who Ran

BRADDOCK Harvey? You still hang around with that piss pot? All he does is drink all of my booze and bug my guests.

BRADDOCK Yeah... are you going to be working again?

JOHANNA No, not now. I still need some time.

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BRADDOCK Fine, then.... Nice of you to accept the invitation. After all these years I thought you’d still be sore about it. Do come by soon.

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JOHANNA (Sarcastically) Right...

Johanna gets up from her chair and leaves the club. She goes back to her apartment.

INT. APARTMENT - MORNING A loud and sudden ringing from the phone wakes up Johanna.

She picks it up.

JOHANNA Yeah, I’ll be there.

She hangs up.

EXT. POLICE STATION - MORNING Johanna is met at the entrance of the station by two patrolmen.

They guide her in.

INT. POLICE STATION - MORNING One of the patrolmen opens a door to an office where they sit Johanna

down. They leave her alone. The room is almost silent. The only noise is the muffled voices of the cops outside the room.

Immediately, the door opens. A big man, in his mid-forties walks in. This is FRASIER. He takes a sit at his desk and looks at Johanna.

FRASIER (cheerfully) Good morning, Johanna.

JOHANNA (awkwardly) Hi, Frazier.

Johanna can only nod. Frasier stands up and goes to a coffee machine behind him.

He makes a quick gesture to the pot of coffee in his hands to Johanna.

She nods. He shrugs his shoulders.

FRASIER (CONT’D) I must say that it is good to see after all these years.

He takes a sit and relaxes himself.

JOHANNA (uncomfortably) Good to see you too, Frasier.

Frasier smiles.

FRASIER Seeing as you’ve been back in

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FRASIER (CONT’D) It’s always good to start the day with a cup of coffee. (realizing) Oh!

The Girl Who Ran

FRASIER You must be wondering why I’ve called you on this beautiful Tuesday morning.

town for about a week, I take it you’ll be staying long?

JOHANNA Yes. FRASIER (smiling) Well that’s why I’ve called you, Johanna.

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He takes a drink. His smile suddenly fades and he sternly stares that Johanna.

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FRASIER (CONT’D) You see, the last time I saw you, I believe you said that you’d stay away from this place, that you’re done with everything. You asked me to help you. And yet here you sit.

JOHANNA I think I have a right to go where I please.

FRASIER You do, but all the trouble it took to get you out of here. Why come back?

He takes another sip of his coffee waiting for a response.

JOHANNA (sarcastically) I missed home.

Frasier laughs at her reply and quietly stares at her.

FRASIER To tell you the truth, that wasn’t the only reason why I’ve called you here.

JOHANNA (surprised)

What?

Frasier picks up a file in front of him and tosses it at Johanna.

Johanna opens it; she sees a photo of Harvey on the floor covered in blood.

She shows no emotion.

FRASIER They found him last night. One shot right between the eyes.

FRASIER Weren’t you friends?

JOHANNA Not really, just a co-worker.

JOHANNA (shocked) You don’t think...

FRASIER It’s what everyone thinks.

Johanna stares at Frasier in disbelief and breathes for a moment.

JOHANNA I didn’t do it.

FRASIER (happily) We’ll find out soon enough.

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FRASIER Really? Though you guys were close... Well anyway, it’s strange, you know. That right when you come back, Harvey ends up dead.

The Girl Who Ran

JOHANNA Why are you telling me this?

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Editor Biographies

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Image Credit to John Fordiani

Editors Shelbylyn Allen grew up in Redondo Beach, California.

She admits to loving dogs more than humans, wearing her heart on her sleeve and living with her toes in the sand. She is grateful for all she has learned this semester with Myriad, and hopes to eventually pursue a career in editing.

Nicole Ivery I was born in Manhattan, New York on January 14,1969. My family and I moved to Compton, California in 1976. I acquired a taste for expressing myself through writing at a very young age, in order to escape from life’s issues. I am a daughter, a mother, a sister, a friend, a Nana among many other things that this short bio will not allow me to express but in short I love writing and creating.

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Colin Hyde is originally from Baton Rouge, Louisiana.

He moved to California to escape the socially stagnant culture of the South. He plans to attain his PhD and teach creative writing at the graduate level. He wants to spend the rest of his life writing social critiques in the form of novels, short stories, and poetry.

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Megan Guerra feels things and then writes about them.

She grew up in Redondo Beach, California, and can’t imagine living anywhere else. She loves reading, writing, and dogs. Don’t show her your pug. You will never get it back.

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Lottie Jones spends most of her time with her dogs, Benji and Nolan, and watching her two turtles Big Momma and Little Poppa. She spends most of her time writing; reading when she can. Born and raised in SoIL, fishing is a way of life... like writing stories and taking naps.

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Justina Rodriguez is awesome. She is an English major hoping to go into book publishing. She loves cats and food but hates birds and puns. She is the coolest nerd you’ll ever meet, and that’s all you really need to know.

Tracey Shankweiler grew up in the South Bay and spends all her time with her friends. She loves reading, writing poetry, listening to music, and roller skating. She hates sports and is a big fan of Austin Powers. Her favorite food is chicken burritos. She has two dogs, Petunia and Crowley, and a cat named Bast. Her favorite music is rock and punk.

Kayla Stark grew up in the South Bay and lives off chocolate. She enjoys bugging her cats Tigger and Gypsy with cuddles and watching her Beta fish Mosaic try to fight everything. She plans to be an author and editor and/or possibly creative writing teacher and is debating on film where her focus would be editing and screenwriting.

Diamond Swoope has been writing ever since she can remember. She spends her time working on her own stories and reading everyone else’s. She plans on being a published author, with dreams of having the next best seller. Keep a lookout for her, she’ll shine bright.

Stephanie Guerrero grew up being mocked and compared to Frida Khalo since grade school. She was an average fill in drawer and collected stickers. Tons. So guess the eyebrows were to blame. She moved to the South Bay in 2008. Now, she aspires to obtain a BFA in Graphic Design and eventually lead her own adversing agency. Ps. She loves Chihuahuas, Morrissey, and cute stuff. Just saying.

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Graphic Designer

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Kendyl Yonamine Is an undergraduate student that is working towards a degree in English and aspires to become a well-published writer and poet---long way to go. Prone to writing boring personal bios that reveal little about the individual behind the picture and/or works. Aloof, but somehow present. Cheers! Zzzz…

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Your Turn

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