Pandora's Box Winter 2021 by Pandora's Box Creative Magazine

PA ND OR A’ S

Pandora’s Box Creative Magazine Winter 2021

Cover Photo: Sunset Big Island, Hawaii, 6/15/2021 Eileen Fang

I am proud to say that the Winter 2021 issue of Gunn High School’s Pandora’s Box Creative Magazine has been published! Letters from the Editor-in-Chief are optimistic in general, and so is this one, but I am also going to be honest: publishing this year’s issue was a struggle since our entire staff, including myself, was brand new. With the help of our previous Editor-in-Chief, Lillian Fong, and our club advisor, Mr. Dunlap, we were able to overcome all challenges. I would like to highlight the dedication of our officers and members; we would not be here without them and their hard work. Lastly, I would like to thank our contributors for their fabulous submissions, and our readers for their interest in each issue. This edition features over 70 pieces of writing, photography, and art created by Gunn students. I hope you enjoy reading the Winter 2021 issue of Gunn High School’s Pandora’s Box Creative Magazine. Yours, Nimisha Sivaraman Editor-in-Chief

Table of Contents photography Untitled Jasmine

pinecrest lake Kyra Xue Crimson Cut Zoë Wiederhold Lavender Bee Siddharth Belwal African Leaves Eric Wang Bracelets Shiven Bewtra shadow Siena Tacy Hawaii Abby Kuang Overthrown Austen Cho F1 Car 2 Shiven Bewtra Gunn Bol Park Jasmine 4x5 portrait Alex Peters Origami Crane Anonymous Grace Zoë Wiederhold Photo Class Vibes Rohan Koncherla wandering Anonymous

Untitled Eileen Fang

Pumpkin Pinhole Ankitha Raman

13 14 15 18 19 20 21 22 23 24 25 26 30 32

Untitled Eileen Fang The Heart is a Mussel Fiona Li finally rainfall Zoë Wiederhold Tunnel Vision Alex Peters CA-85 at night Alex Peters Withering in the Winter Carolina Bazoco-Vazquez GunnPalmTree Siddharth Belwal Hanahaus Siddharth Belwal Shape 1 Joshua Kim Sharad_Parukelar_Awsomeness Sharad Parulekar Fight Against Yourself Zach Pennington Cross Country, Cross Boundaries Yoochan An Untitled Jasmine Tree Kailana Baker-Matsuoka Pagani Mirror Alex Peters Artificial Darkness Rachel Gold Mirror Man Kate Wilson Sunset In Downtown Siddharth Belwal Untitled Anonymous Enlightened Jessica Wang

35 36 37 38 40 42 48 49 50 51 52 56 58 59 60 62 63 64 65 66

Water Splash Siddharth Belwal victorpositive Victor Vasilevskiy

Untitled Anonymous

Lumen Print Anonymous

Leaves

Yuvan Sharma

Rhythmic Leaves Natalie Smith

Untitled James Lambert

Airport Lights Anonymous

BRACElet Filippi Montes Pinhole Arjun Raja Flight Morgan Montovani Untitled Anonymous Look at all those chickens Jasmine Into the Woods Kimi Sato View from the Eiffel Jessica Wang lumen print Zoë Wiederhold

83 84 85 87 88 90 91 93

art

aerial silks Ruhani Suresh hands Nimisha Sivaraman

Fish

Syma Chan

poetry Life Goes On Julia Kang

Hush

Jessica Wang cafe con leche* Matsuko Estrada Nakamatsu Dejalo Como Esta* Matsuko Estrada Nakamatsu Yo Soy Mas Mosca* Matsuko Estrada Nakamatsu Welcome to My Graveyard Jessica Wang

27 28 29 68

prose A Poor Man Righteous Representative Arise! Righteous Representative Forest Sickness Mei Knutson Beef with the Bureau The Prose Train

42 51 79 92

*These poems are in Spanish and are part of the author’s poetry collection El Barrio Fino

Untitled Jasmine

pinecrest lake Kyra Xue 10

Life Goes On Julia Kang

Life goes on without you It’s kind of sad to know That what I thought was everything Turns out to be forgettable to everyone else No one speaks about you And I’m weird for doing so Are your feelings hurt? Mine surely are Is it that you are insignificant? Or is it that my memories are dismissible? Regardless, I’ll remember you so that we can meet again

Crimson Cut Zoë Wiederhold

Even with a macro lens I still had to get close enough to where I could hear a faint “ya like jazz?” Lavender Bee Siddharth Belwal

African Leaves Eric Wang

Hush Jessica Wang

Hush, say the ashes Just ashes, just ashes Locked in a faraway place He lies among stardust and broken Dead things, temple where sacred Words sing. His voice is a whisper and hollow Of meaning, of words he once said No more. It’s his language, our language Has roots through The sea, but I—I was born On the shore. Softly he passes No thoughts, just a sigh, Silently passed long ago My father, forgive me, for not reaching Out, for the parts of you I’ll never know. My father, console me, tell me It’s alright; I forgot what it felt To feel. I’ll carry your dreams And this whisper of mine I miss you, I love you, I’ll heal. 16

So on shiftless wings They stole him away No hazel, no laughter, no light Left me with ashes An empty sea yearning Asleep in the wandering night.

Bracelets Shiven Bewtra

shadow Siena Tacy

Hawaii Abby Kuang

Overthrown Austen Cho

F1 Car 2 Shiven Bewtra

Gunn Bol Park Jasmine

4x5 portrait Alex Peters This photo was taken using a large format camera (very old technology) and some photo paper. I set up the camera settings, but a lot of other work, such as developing and activating the shutter, was done with the help of my friends in photo class (Alex Andrei, Isaac Zou, Ian Chan and Yuvan Sharma). This was one of our first good shots we got out of that camera, and we’re very happy with how clear it turned out.

Origami Crane Anonymous Crane go brrrrrr

Grace Zoë Wiederhold

cafe con leche Matsuko Estrada Nakamatsu En el barrio si te levantas temprano estarías en primera fila…. pa’ cualquier cosa… especialmente su café con leche, que Doña Rosa siempre preparo lo recibirás caliente, siempre me dijo “Nena lo prepare con amor, now run off home!” the cafe con leche was for my dad, i always had to get him his coffee, i ran as fast as my little legs could go so the cafe won’t get cold before i walked through the door, i took a little innocent sip the warmth of the rich caramel liquid entered my body i felt a gush of heat go through my soul Papa looked at me and laughed, i had cafe on my lip “El café con leche no solo un bebida nena es, sabor , amor , y emoción”

Dejalo Como Esta Matsuko Estrada Nakamatsu Dejalo como esta, There isn’t anything you can do, He won’t change for you, Déjalo en el pasado, Ya no hay amor, Solamente desesperación, Dry your tears and move along, El no vale tus lagrimas, All you have to do is, wish him well, While karma does its job What goes around comes El mundo rodea como un pañuelo Nena you have to strive and move along Clearly he hurt you… So Dejalo, Como Esta

Yo Soy Mas Mosca Matsuko Estrada Nakamatsu

Ser mas mosca… Es callar pa’ que no te metes en problemas Mami siempre me dice eso si es que me meto en algo ajeno And i listen to her, porque pa’ que meterme en algo que no tiene nada que ver conmigo desde el principio... no es mi sitio. solo observo y pienso antes de que las palabras salgan de mi boca y la gente lo transforma, en algo que no dije desde el comienzo yo soy mas mosca Yo Solo Oberservo

Photo Class Vibes Rohan Kancherla

wandering Anonymous

Untitled Eileen Fang

Pumpkin Pinhole Ankitha Raman

Untitled Eileen Fang

The Heart is a Mussel Fiona Li

finally rainfall Zoë Wiederhold

Tunnel Vision Alex Peters I took this photo at one of those pedestrian bridges that goes over the highway. I got the fences to be all blurred by zooming in as the shutter was open (I believe it was open for 3 seconds). The blurred sides and lines pointing towards the center really give a sense of “tunnel vision.”

CA-85 at night Alex Peters This photo is called “CA-85 at night,” so yeah, it’s CA-85 at night. I just took a long exposure of the traffic down below the pedestrian bridge I was on.

Withering in Winter Carolina Bazoco-Vazquez

A flower is a pure, beautiful and bright thing. A flower goes through the process of life. A flower sprouts and blooms, then it withers. We bloom to show our growth and our beauty within. It is not what people see on the outside but on the inside. We are flowers. A flower stops blooming when it begins to wither. Just like flowers that wither in winter. 43

A Poor Man

Righteous Representative A grand theft took place. Two men were involved, Mr. Poorman and Mr. Richman. Mr. Richman accused Mr. Poorman of grand theft. Law enforcement that showed up believed Mr. Richman and took Mr. Poorman into custody. They were to appear in court the next day. For Mr. Poorman, who was in chains and locked up in a prison cell despite having his life savings stolen, each second was a day. For Mr. Richman who continued to live a life of luxury despite stealing Mr. Poorman’s life savings, every day was a second. Mr. Poorman, who was fettered in shackles and wearing a prisoner uniform, was escorted into the courtroom by the police. Mr. Richman, who was dressed in an expensive suit and a fancy tie, was escorted into the courtroom by a group of lawyers he had hired. “Now let us commence this case. Mr. Poorman, why did you try to steal from Mr. Richman?” asked the judge at the start of the trial before any evidence had been presented. “Your Honor, I believe Mr. Richman was the one who stole from me.” replied Mr. Poorman. “Liar! Poor people sure have a natural tendency to lie. Now Mr. Richman, please present your evidence to prove that Mr. Poorman was the thief.” exclaimed the judge angrily. Mr. Richman’s attorney presented several pieces of “evidence”. They based their reasoning on their faulty evidence, which the judge believed and were quickly able to convince the judge that Mr. Poorman was the thief. “Now what do you have to say, Mr. Poorman?” taunted the judge. “Your Honor, the evidence that Mr. Richman’s attorney presented were all -” “Oh stop spewing out nonsense, Mr. Poorman. You are guilty, and you know it. You are charged with first degree felony grand theft, considering the amount of money you stole from Mr. Richman.

The sentence is thirty years of prison.” interrupted the judge. Those words fell on Mr. Poorman like thunderbolts. “Your Honor, you are mistaken! Mr. Richman stole my life savings!” “Oh stop it, Mr. Poorman. Stop trying to tell baldfaced lies when you are so guilty. If you continue your poor behavior in court, I will have to also charge you with misconduct in court. Now take him away!” “No, your honor, you are mistaken!” shouted Mr. Poorman desperately while he was dragged away. Mr. Poorman lived through his prime of life in prison. When he was thrown in prison, Mr. Poorman was a promising young adult. Fifteen years later, he was by then already a middle aged man. In the outside world, social standards were changing. One day, a prison guard approached Mr. Poorman in his cell and said, “The judge that had sentenced you has now been considered biased. Do you want a retrial?” “Yes! I want a retrial!” Mr. Poorman was elated. “The retrial will commence next week,” said the prison guard. A week later, the retrial commenced. Mr. Poorman, who has been locked up in prison for the last fifteen years, was broke, so he had to represent himself. Mr. Richman, who only grew richer during these fifteen years, was rich enough to afford the best lawyers. Due to the lack of evidence which would have found Mr. Richman guilty, Mr. Richman was never convicted. Instead, with his team of top lawyers, Mr. Richman was easily able to convince the judge that Mr. Poorman was guilty. “Before I must go back to prison, your honor, please answer my question. Why should the outcome of a case be affected by personal factors that aren’t related to the case? I am broke, so I can’t afford a lawyer, while Mr. Richman can afford a team of the best lawyers. Why am I broke? I was locked up in prison for fifteen years! A retrial should be conducted on the basis that the two sides are battling on even

grounds. During a retrial, neither side should be affected by the results of the last trial. The reason I don’t have a lawyer to represent me is because I lost the last trial. I lost, so I was sent to prison, where I became completely penniless. There is no way I could hire a lawyer for myself. Your honor, during a retrial, neither side should be assumed guilty unless proven so with no reasonable doubt.” The judge was out of words. He pondered what Mr. Poorman had said for a long time. “Mr. Poorman, I will try my best to bring you a lawyer. Next week, this case shall have another hearing.” A week passed. This time, Mr. Poorman had a lawyer to represent him. The trial was intense. With his lawyer’s support, Mr. Poorman was able to win the case. The following day, he was let out of prison only to find himself homeless and destitute. His family had abandoned him, and his friends had long forgotten him. Even in prison, he had shelter, food, and a few friends he has come to meet over the years. Mr. Poorman was hopeless. He sobbed, “Why must I have endured this? Even though I am free, my life has been utterly ruined. I am morally against stealing, but why must society force me to do such disgraceful acts? If I get caught, I will once again be in prison. Why must I be thrust into this horrible cycle? I am free, but will I have to go back to prison?” His cries echoed far and wide, ringing through the crisp morning air. Even so, he received no answer in return.

12/5/21, 3:02 PM

Ruhani-aerial silks - Ruhani.png

https://drive.google.com/drive/folders/1tKPJ1bK0tB3UoaTThU7QIkAg2btkuaVv

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aerial silks Ruhani Suresh 47

Gunn Palm Tree Siddharth Belwal

Hanahaus Siddharth Belwal

Shape 1 Joshua Kim

Sharad_Parulekar_Awesomeness Sharad Parulekar

Fight against yourself Zach Pennington

Arise! Righteous Representative For a long time, the village of Low had been a peaceful and thriving community. One night, a couple of lone villagers were taken hostage by a hungry vampire. He woke up the villagers and demanded that someone be sacrificed to ensure the safety of his hostages. He gave the village until sunrise to decide who they were going to give. The fact that no one wanted to die was as clear as day. The residents lived satisfying lives, and most of them had bright futures in front of them. Finally, as the sun was rising, an old villager came forth. He confronted the vampire and, without even the slightest hint of regret, said, “You can take me, but do not hurt anyone else! I will know if you broke your promise, even after death!” “I will not break my promise,” replied the vampire, with a bit of smirk. “Arise! You must not sacrifice yourself! The village needs your wisdom as a guide. You are an essential member of our society!” cried the village chief. “I am honored to know I am of such importance to the village, but even if I live, my days are numbered. Look! Most of you are in the prime of life. You all have so much possibility awaiting you. My life is almost over, and I wish to create as much value as possible for the community. This is my chance. The village will definitely lose some members, regardless of your actions. The people I save today will benefit the community much more than I could for the rest of my life. Now vampire, proceed with what you are going to do with me!” The villagers watched as the vampire started to suck in Arise’s blood with tears in their eyes. The sun knew the vampire would not keep his promise. For a quick moment, it directed all its rays towards the vampire. The unknowing vampire was still drinking the blood when the sunbeams hit him. In an instant, he had completely

evaporated. Arise rose to Heaven for his heroic deed. The people were crying tears of joy and sorrow with feelings so conflicted. The lone villagers captured by the vampire expressed their gratitude to Arise by building a statue showing Arise in his ascent to Heaven. Such is the story of Arise, a man so physically weak yet so mentally strong. His mind was so pure, filled only with thoughts of heroism, truth, and virtue. On the plaque below the statue were the words, “Shall the people live to learn from the exemplary Arise! Shall the people arise!”

hands Nimisha Sivaraman

Cross Country, Cross Boundaries Yoochan An Cross Country is more than just running - it is an escape from the boundaries that you hold down. Only one who enjoys the sport with one’s heart will fully understand the feeling of freedom that comes with running nonstop.

Tree Kailana Baker-Matsuoka

Untitled Jasmine

Pagani Mirror Alex Peters This is a photo of a red Pagani Huayra (not a real one, just a toy). I got the car to appear black by messing with the black and white settings in Photoshop. Also, I got the mirror effect by having the car rest on an iPad against a monitor that had a checkerboard pattern displayed. I’m really happy with how well it turned out.

Artificial Darkness Rachael Gold

Mirror Man Kate Wilson

Sunset In Downtown Siddharth Belwal

Untitled Anonymous

O’ahu Hawaii

Enlightened Jessica Wang

Water Splash Siddharth Belwal

I was inspired by behind the scenes product photography videos on YouTube to create this picture. I tried to emulate the look of the studios professional product photographers use but with basic household items: two small whiteboards, a glass of water, an ice cube, and a younger sibling forced to drop the cube in.

Welcome to My Graveyard By Jessica Wang

Welcome to my graveyard Please, take a seat I’ll give you the ghastly tour from Hair to twitching feet. Here I lay in the Doctor’s chair When they told me I was wrong They poked and pinched And prod me apart And shredded up my gums. Holding up the bloody file They said I needed work Just months, they promised So I signed the form By the eye of the sneering clerk. Here they screwed fourteen Metal hooks into fourteen Of my permanent teeth Poor baby, they said with Laughing eyes and I prayed They’d come off in my sleep.

Here at the sink You’ll find the remains Of my blood and DNA Here I hacked up clots, Clots and spit, and in disgust They looked away. They stretched my lips and blamed my tongue Left me wizened and dry Said I had “spaces” between my teeth Invisible to the naked eye. Here with others, here I lie We paid the price for a smile Subscribing to standards we never believed It was here we died.

Fish go zoom Fish Syma Chan

victorpositive Victor Vasilevskiy

Untitled Anonymous

Lumen Print Anonymous 74

Leaves Yuvan Sharma

Rhythmic Leaves Natalie Smith

Untitled James Lambert

Forest Sickness Mei Knutson

have you heard of the ponderosa pine? you may recognize it by its bark, curling and bug-eye amber, but it’s most famous for its scent. you see, if you lean in close and press your face into the bark, you’ll smell it. nobody can seem to decide what it smells like. my friends think it’s vanilla, but to me it smells exactly like butterscotch. ponderosa pines are the reason why the air in the mountains always has the slightest strain of sweetness to it, beneath the scents of loam and foliage. when the sun is ripe in the sky and beads of sweat trickle down my skin and i think i can’t go on any longer, the faint scent of the ponderosa pine welcomes me home. i haven’t gone hiking in a while, though. and on july twenty-eighth, i head into the forest for the first time in six months. just an easy hike, i think. to get me warmed up. but the forest has changed since i was last there. it’s not supposed to be so humid, i think, not even in summer. and then it hits me. the air is sticky with the smell of butterscotch. like smoke from a fresh forest fire, what was once pleasant has curdled into something acrid and sickly and all-consuming. the yellow jackets and the bluebottle flies feast on the diseased ponderosas, gorging themselves on the sulfur-yellow sap until their abdomens grow swollen and heavy. it’s all-youcan-eat, and they eat all they can before their insides burst. their legs are still twitching well after. the ones that are left loop lazily around the entrails of their brethren.

and the tourists have come, chattering in tongues i don’t recognize. they press their faces into the swarming bark. the flies and the yellow jackets are crushed against their lips. they sting, but the tourists don’t mind- they just rub more calamine lotion into their pores until they’re covered in algae blooms of medicine-pink. i don’t hike there anymore, and i don’t think i ever will. i’m too afraid that i’ll collapse, unable to dredge up enough oxygen from the poisoned air. and when that happens, i’m afraid i’ll wake up with flies in my mouth and my nostrils. i’m afraid my body will be unable to move, stiff and swollen from yellow jacket stings. i’ll be choking on feelers, my mouth sealed shut with sap. the tourists will point with calaminecovered arms and laugh, and the last thing i’ll see will be their cameras, clicking and clicking and clicking and

Airport Lights Anonymous

BRACElet Filippi Montes

Flight Morgan Montovani

Pinhole Arjun Raja This is a pinhole picture I took of a Chinese Teacup

Untitled Anonymous water from a drinking fountain

Look at all those chickens Jasmine

Into the Woods Kimi Sato

View from the Eiffel Jessica Wang

lumen print Zoë Wiederhold type of photo is a lumen print

Beef with the Bureau Fiona L, Janus T, Eileen H, Ciara C, Amann S. M, Emily Z, Helena S, Langston W, Jane F, Irene H, and Irene T

Last night, I dreamt I was a cow again. I was standing knee- deep in a field of soft grass waving in the wind and munching away while cars whizzed by on the highway. I had heard of people having the same dreams again, but this was the fourth time. Nothing weird ever happened in the dream, yet it felt important since it kept repeating itself. At breakfast, I told my parents, “Want to know a really weird dream I had? I dreamt I was a cow, but this is the fourth time that’s happened.” I laughed, hearing how silly it sounded when I said it. I had expected my parents to laugh too, but they shared a curious look. “What?” I asked. “Is something wrong?” My parents took a deep breath and said, “Nothing’s wrong, but Ellie, there’s something you should know about that dream.” “What?” “It’s not a dream.” “Then what is it?” “It’s… complicated. See, we aren’t your real parents.” A blinding flash. And in front of me were two cows, one with my dad’s flimsy glasses skewed on its nose, and the other with a blond wig. It hit me like a speeding truck. I wasn’t… human? Then what was I? What monstrosity was I? The cows turned their heads to look at me properly. “We’re your aunt and uncle, actually. Your parents disappeared not long after you were born. We’ve been looking after you, under the guise of normal humans.” This was making my head spin. “Wait so… you’re still related to me? I’m a cow?” “A half-cow,” my ‘mom’ corrected, “I think an equivalent human phrase would be… were-cow? Mer-cow? Cow-taur?” She then nodded, as if that explained everything.

“I… you… I have a lot of questions.” “Understandable,” my ‘mom’ said gently. “Is the rest of our family… ?” “The rest of us are either animals or weres, yes,” my ‘dad’ confirmed. He looked amused. “Your favourite cousin is a goat. Your least favourite cousin is an alpaca.” Right. Why not. Setting that aside, I took another deep breath. There was something more important I had to ask. “My parents. Why did they disappear?” Silence overtook the room instantly. My ‘parents,’ if I could even call them that, glanced at each other, conversing through their now cow-like eyes. “What?! Why are you being so weird?” Then they said it… “They were… killed,” my uncle said, taking off his glasses and somehow managing to wipe them with a handkerchief in his hoof. “I’m so sorry.” He regarded me somberly, his calf-brown eyes glistening. “Whoa,” I said. “Yeah, that’s, um… wow.” My breath stuck somewhere in my throat; I erupted into a fit of coughing. “W-why?” I managed to stutter out as my esophagus closed up. My aunt and uncle exchanged a glance. My aunt finally stepped forward, some sort of nonverbal agreement between her and her husband having been made. “It was, um… ” she began uncertainly, glancing at her husband before turning her eyes back to me. “I’m so sorry, this is just kind of… uh… hard to phrase… ” She swished her tail nervously, shifting her full-moon eyes to either side of me. I held my ground, my eyes locked on her expectantly. She let out a cough before trying again. “Um, okay. They… that is to say, your parents... were unusually flatulent cows.” “Excuse me?” I said indignantly. I might not have been the biggest reader at my school, but I was pretty sure of what that word meant. “Their farts were stinking up the atmosphere,” my uncle said dryly.

“Your parents and their farts were so powerful, they could have drastically increased the rate of climate change. The force of their flatulence would have brought the world to its knees, had they not died when they did.” I collapsed as my legs gave out underneath me. My parents were killed… because their farts were too intense? “Who killed them? Where are they buried?” I sputtered out. Not meeting my eyes, my aunt muttered, “It was the FBI. After seeing the methane levels jump up, they started the Anti-Methane investigation. After realizing 90% of the methane level increase was due to your parents, they discreetly killed them off. No one knows where or how your parents were killed.” I was shocked; my entire world had spun around itself and landed face-first in cow dung. I went through the process of all children who realize their parents are dead, or that they’re adopted. Would personal incertitude lead to a midlife crises or not knowing them not affect my relationships? Although, of course, my relationships must change considerably now that I knew we were all animals. “What if… What if I joined the FBI?” It sounded stupid the second I said it, and my uncle and aunt stared back at me with huge, globulant eyes. And yet nobody stopped me. From that day forth, I’d devised a plan. It was a long, complicated, and tough road that lay ahead of me, but my mind was set. The rest of the world seemed almost irrelevant from that moment onward. The only thing that coursed through my were-cow’s brain was finding the truth, the truth about my real parents.

Several years passed though it only felt like seconds from the moment I set out to join the FBI. The rest of high school was a breeze, and I passed through college with flying colors, all the while keeping my were-cow secret to only my family and me. After my acceptance into the FBI’s training program, I knew I was getting close. I studied for weeks on end of

every single technique, every single case, every single lead, searching for a sign of how and what happened to my parents. Alas, not a single thing pertained to a case of a pair of flatulating cows until I stumbled upon a lead, an intriguing one at that. I was working with Detective 00M, or Double O M as I like to call him. As his student-in-training, I’d gotten quite the opportunity to work alongside him during his work. I’d also gotten to understand his very particular eccentricity: Double O M loved all things cow-related, despite being, I was pretty sure, a human being (I sometimes wondered if he could see through my guise of a were-cow acting as a full human, given his bovine propensities). It was evening as I was departing from the office that day. I noticed a folder, a dark brown one, laying upon Double O M’s desk. The likes of such a folder were unusual as most were a bright tan in comparison to such brooding color. I approached his desk… I heard a loud mooing behind me. Darn it. I had to work quickly. Based on the volume of his mooing, Double O M was almost here. I hurriedly flipped to the ‘Methane’ section of the brown folder and scanned the materials. Some of the words read, “... a couple responsible for 90% increase in the Earth’s methane gas… To get rid of… as the leading researcher and the head chief, Detective 00M took the case of… He declared it was best for the world to have the two were-cows removed from existence.” Hold up. What was that? But it was too late for further investigation. Double O M had already come as far as the office door. Despite my wellexecuted drop-roll-and-hide skill, Double O M could easily spot my curly cow tail sticking out among the books. He was not happy. “Moo! I gotcha.” I peeked my head out and gasped when I saw that Double O M had turned into a cow! I had thought he was simply a fan of all things cow, but he too was a were-cow.

How many more were-cows were in existence that I didn’t know of? When I looked back down at myself, I realized I too had turned into my bovine form—yet Double O M did not seem surprised. He sighed and took off his cowboy hat with a hoof. “I knew you were a cow before you even arrived here,” he said, answering my unasked question. “You see, I need to tell you something. You should sit down for this.” (I sat.) “Everyone in the FBI is actually a cow. You have to be a were-cow to even be considered for the job. In fact, the entire government is all were-cows.” That explains why the government is so udder-ly useless, I thought. But Double O M was still going off on a tangent. “Why do you think you did so well on your tests in school? Our brains are simply larger than human brains—” “Why did you kill my parents?” I interrupted. “I knew this day would come, and all I can offer you is the truth. Your parents were FBI agents—valuable ones, to be sure—but they were simply too flatulent. If we had allowed them to continue to exist, they would have revealed our secret. Imagine the carnage that would’ve happened if we had let the humans find out the government was responsible for climate change. No, that was a choice that we couldn’t choose. For what it’s worth, I’m sorry. But if it hadn’t been me, it would’ve been someone else.” Right then and there, I decided I would bring this government down. Even if I had to start from the grass roots up; even if I went down with it. My parents deserved this revenge, and the world deserved to know the truth: The government is cow-rupt.

Winter 2021 Staff

Editor-in-Chief: Nimisha Sivaraman Vice President: Langston Wu Layout Officer: Fiona Li Publicity Officers: Abby Kuang and Eileen Fang Managing Officers: Julia Kang, Fiona Li Club Advisor: Mr. Dunlap Rotational Layout Members: Katie Shih, Abby Kuang, Eileen Fang

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Pandora’s Box Creative Magazine has been a part of Henry M. Gunn High School’s student community for over 25 years. We are a student-run literary and creative magazine, featuring work by student artists, poets, writers, and photographers. Pandora’s Box provides an outlet for students to explore their creativity and showcase their talent.

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Pandora's Box Winter 2021

Articles inside

Pandora's Box Winter 2021