Penchant09 by The Penchant Literary Magazine

THE

PENCHANT SEVENTY-FIVE TO ONE-HUNDRED I instinctively jerked my hand back, alarmed as the skin of my fingertip slowly peeled back from the frigid glass. I rubbed my fingers uneasily, a shiver making its way down my spine.

WITH RAIN COMES SHINE by anousha sannat

DEAD END by lily yang

RAIN OR SHINE

by rory conlon

the penchant Irvington | creative writing club EDITOR IN CHIEF Tianhui (Lily) Yang CONTENT EDITORS Pia Parekh Sashrika Pandey Athena Xue LAYOUT EDITORS Jaime Wang Tianhui (Lily) Yang COVER CREDITS Desiree Ho CONTENT Sowmya Balakrishnan Pooja Bale Anika Bansal Chaiya Chatkara Irene Geng Sachi Huilgol Desiree Ho Rachana Jukanti Shivani Manivasagan Roxana Shahmohammadi Shreya Venkat Catherine You

LAYOUT Sushrut Borkar Chandu Garapaty Anikait Rao Steve Skala

Irvington High School’s Creative Writing Club is a student-run, interest-based club dedicated to providing a welcoming environment for writers of all kinds to convene and share their ideas outside of an academic setting. Members get a taste of publication through submitting to The Penchant, our online literary magazine. Meanwhile, monthly prompts, in-club competitions, and major writing contests are provided to allow members to explore the implications of writing, improve on their own techniques, and receive feedback from their fellow peers. Overall, our collective mission is to enable the students of Irvington to write what they wish and have their voices heard. All images used are either submitted to us or public domain, CC0 photos. All rights remain reserved to their original owners, for those that have specified such guidelines. Creative Commons Photos: Cover, 10: retrieved from Pixabay. To learn more about us, go to penchantlitmagblog.wordpress.com/. To see our submission guidelines, click on the “Submit To” tab on the menu bar, or follow us on facebook @penchantlitmag.

foreword Too often does something go awry in the worldâ&#x20AC;&#x201D;families severed, blood spilled, and futures shattered. Too often do we look up into the sky and see nothing but the darkened clouds glaring back at us. Too often do we grasp so tightly onto whatever twine we crafted in the past, hands bleeding from the friction of merciless forces trying to deprive us of what we treasure. The world is forever against us. It is no oyster nor stage, but a battlefield left unattended. It is a place where violence dances across the souls of every living remnant and hatred gushes through every vein and crevice. Avarice and Hubris are the true rulers, and we are but just a speck in a scattered chaos of eight billion that dwell in their empires. But even in this narrative, we have overcome. We have reached so far and are in the process of learning to accept our differences. Even in the stirring storms and endless feelings of being left over, we have bravely as a civilization stepped into the unknown and laid our fears to rest. And in times in which we could not find the light in the dark, we created our own. We held our passions and molded them into a torch to lead the rest of us forward. In rain or in shine we are one. And as one, we shall prevail.

february 2018

TABLE OF

CONTENTS

21 rain or 1

shine

24 3

5 FEATURED 5| With Rain Comes Shine By Anousha Sannat “A few months ago, I’d broken up with him. He didn’t like at all. He started telling everyone that he broke up with me and that I had had a mental break-down”

13| Seventy-five to One-hundred By Rory Conlon “The frown had etched itself deeper into my brother’s face, twisting his features. And then, his eyes… they began darting all over the place...”

21| Dead End By Lily Yang “Just like how she held your breath, Your attention, She is now holding your only valuable thing left.“

PROSE

POETRY

PHOTO/ART

Anonymous, 2, 3, 7,11, 14, 15, 26 Meher Mehta, 23, 30 Felicia Mo, 28 Anchal Nair, 27 Lily Yang, 18, 24 Annika Yong, 5,19, 21, 25, 29

PROSE

BARREN

by sashrika pandey

tree

It’s worst when the rain hits.

The seasons are defined by the weather, but also by the others. When I was young, I remembered seeing spring as the welcoming of friends—both the trees and the birds. Summer was the warm gaze of the sun as the birds greeted us in the morning and the crickets accompanied our dreams late into the night. Fall was a romantic time, where we all said goodbye—but not in sadness, since we all believed in a new world come spring. And sometimes, yes, we lost a few. But they were never really gone, because by spring, there would be a new, naive sapling eager Usually I don’t mind whatever to hear of the past and carry their duty into water I get - the trickling of the drops once the future. used to be comforting to me, as the soft I don’t like remembering winters. taps would remind me that the sun would The winters are cold and harsh come soon, along with my friends, who and horrible—but not because of the would bring stories about the far off lands chilled air or the clouds blocking the sun where they chased the light and fled from from greeting us. the cold. They’re horrible because I have I can’t run, of course. It used to absolutely nobody to tell me that things bother me when I was just a sapling, that will be alright and to keep fighting. All I all my friends would leave me. But the have is hope, and that’s gone now. others that were rooted down reminded It is a cruel thing for the world to take me that they would always come back, and away everyone you have ever loved. It is so perhaps the wait was worth it. even worse to see them in front of you but And anyways, we all had each to never really be able to say goodbye. I can other. see the first trees who welcomed me into the world and those who had been born in I don’t have anyone anymore. the same spring. Over the hill I can I’m older now, not old enough to recognize the elders who had survived be considered wise and aged, but old quite a few ordeals and had lived for a few enough to have experienced enough of the decades. And past the riverbank are the world to know that it isn’t always kind. others whose cries I had eagerly listened to When the rain hits, I cower under the because even though their words were leaves and remember the friendly sparrows those of sorrow, they were still words. I and reeds that once frolicked by the remember them all. But no one will riverbank and would visit everyday to talk remember me. about that evening’s gossip. But they grew older, and the visits became less frequent, It’s worst when the rain hits and soon, I saw them purposely flying because it’s a reminder that my friends are overhead in order to avoid me. I kept all gone. The birds have moved down the saying that it was alright, of course, since I riverbank—the last swallow I saw said that was used to being alone. they were all moving because of some It turns out that I’m not meant to rumblings from nearby that said that some be alone. horrible creatures were coming this way. That was two years ago. The rumblings

have subsided now, but I still don’t see many others. I call to the cicadas in the summer, but not a single one of them came nearby to give me company. That’s alright, though. I’m used to being alone. This morning, a stray reed asked me for directions. She’s searching for another reed, one that promised to come back for her after spring would return, but she couldn’t wait. I told her that it wasn’t safe for a bird as young as her to fly in the cold, but she wouldn’t listen to me. She came back in the afternoon, though, her wings trembling even as she rested on my branches. She took shelter among the remaining scraps of leaves that adorned me, and I worried for her health. The reed hasn’t moved in hours. I’m truly worried that the last living creature who has spoken to me may not live. Perhaps I’m bad luck. Perhaps that’s why I’m all alone. Maybe I’m destined to be alone. The pattering of the rain woke me. I immediately noted that the reed was gone. As she should be, I reminded myself. She had places to go, and it would not do for me to grow attached to company again. I had, time and time again, survived without it. Granted, it was a difficult and wretched way of living, but I had grown accustomed to being alone. Anyways, she had wings. She wasn’t tied down. She could always leave. The reed returned at sunset and apologized for leaving without a word. It turns out that she had been searching for food and hadn’t been able to find any other creatures in the nearby land. I affirmed that sentiment, explaining that I was possibly the last living creature here. I eventually realized that the look she gave me wasn’t one of pity—it was one of sympathy.

PANDEY

ANONYMOUS. 2017 The winter has been drawn out this year. I shiver without the constant presence of leaves, and my exposed bark is constantly damp. And yet I attempt to give the reed as much shelter as I can until she will eventually leave. But I rise on a daily basis only to see her returning from her routine morning search for food. She finds insects from time to time, and recounts the adventures she has. She tells me about her home, and how she misses it, and how another bird once convinced her to leave it only to leave her. I don’t tell her that I know what it’s like to be left.

All I have is hope, and that’s gone now.

Saplings grow from the earth and have absolutely no recollection of their past selves. In the past, the other trees and I would teach the young saplings, tell them of ages long past and how the seasons cycled and our dear friends, the sun and the birds and the insects and the occasional animals who never stayed for long but always were boisterous company. So I told him that he was of a new kind, borne from trees in another land. I asked him if he was okay with being taught by a stranger like me. He wasn’t the least bit hesitant. In fact, he reminded me of my past self.

One day, the reed returns from her daily scavenge in an absolute frenzy. She shoves aside my concern to explain that she has seen others. Other trees. I refuse to believe her at first, but she is too excited to be lying. At first, I feel a glimpse of hope. And then I remind her that it doesn’t matter—I cannot visit them, and they cannot visit me. It is in my nature to be alone. I am forever rooted to this land, and will never find others like me. The reed is dismissive of this notion, but I remind her that she has wings that let her soar across the heavens. I will forever be bound to the earth. I try to keep my cynicism at bay, but eventually I must remind her that some creatures are destined to never move.

Every time it rains, I retell the story of the reed. The sapling is older now; we both understand that the reed gave him to me as a blessing. The sapling thinks it was a blessing as well, even though I cannot begin to understand why he would prefer being with me over being with his own kind. But he does delight in my company. And I could not survive without his. It’s worst when the rain hits, but it’s only because of the elements now. It is bearable now because, even at my worst, the sapling will remind me of the stories I told him just a few months ago. He will recount the stories of the blistering sun, the singing of the crickets, and the visits of the birds. He speculates about the reed as well. I tell him speculation has no The reed is gone. fruition—it never has—but that is the one She has been gone for five days point which we continually disagree on. now. I haven’t been counting, obviously. It Sometimes I win, and sometimes he does. I just so happens that her departure want him to be right, because I know deep coincided with the first glimmer of down that he is. sunshine. Spring is coming. Not that it The rain isn’t as bad anymore matters anymore. Spring has always been because we both know that it’s just the time that my friends return. Now it will temporary. The sun will break through be, once again, the time that my friends again, a bird may come by and tell us about leave me behind. their own travels. But most importantly, I But that’s alright. know that the sapling will be standing right I’m used to being alone. beside me, ready to shelter me from the I thought I heard a voice the other rain when the time comes. day. I must have been dreaming, of course. I am the only one here. I noticed the sapling a few days later. He greeted me cheerfully, asked why I was so glum. I explained that leaves take a while to return for trees like me, then casually asked him what he was doing here. He didn’t know. Of course, he was a sapling.

FEB 2018||The penchant|2

PROSE

WAIT FOR IT by pooja bale

She sits on the grass. The sky is painted blue. The dew dots her legs. "I shouldn't have worn light shorts today," she thinks. The daisies have begun popping up, white and pure. Almost as white as the sun glinting off the wet roads. "The rain has been good to them." She tears one from its roots, its fleeting life extinguished. She stares up at the sky, at the magical white cumulonimbus clouds left behind after last night's heavy rain. She holds the flower up to the clouds and closes one eye. The petals blend into the folds.

The sun's glare is softened by the chill in the air. It's too cold to wear shorts.

She lowers the daisy, staring at the ground. The mud has softened, forming patches of brown in the green. Bitterness consumes her. She hurls the flower down, the dampness of the air settling on her furrowed face... How melodramatic. The dark tones stain the petals. Her mind fogs as she dwells on how the dark clouds have drained. She wishes they were over her now. She wishes she could once again experience the thrill before a storm, the uncertainty, the fear, the wonder. She wishes she could feel something once again.

She looks off into the distance. The rain is coming again. Great wisps of water extend down from bands darker than black. They stretch across the sky, obscuring what was once the fresh blue of sky, inching closer with every passing minute. She can feel it. A big one. Terrifyingly beautiful. Her soul connects. She feels like one with the display in front of her. What most would consider a freak of nature, but a scene not uncommon to be seen.

In frustration, she crushes the daisy into the mud. The petals crumple under her hand.

The storm strikes fear into her heart again, as she grins with delight. She feels the refreshing rush of adrenaline fill the void in her limbic system.

"Why can't I be as electric as the clouds?" she screams inside.

She stands up and faces it. Her shorts may be green, but her face is flushed red.

HOPE SPRINGS ETERNAL

It starts with one seed, alone and asleep in the smothering darkness. It has one chance to glimpse the warmth of the light. There is one curled-up spark of life that may unfurl to challenge the skies. No risk is more dangerous than to awake. It does not know where it has fallen. Once it leaves the protection of the darkness, the world will be pitted against it. Animals will feast on its tender leaves, insects will gnaw holes to suck the sugar from its stem, and microbes will invade where there is any crack in the fortress. It will compete against trees for light and weeds for water. It will struggle fiercely against its own brethren, if it is accompanied by any. When it emerges, it will be chained to the ground from which it was born, anchored to the earth by its own roots. One day, it may grow tall enough to see the greener grass on the other side. A seed may be blind, but it is wise. It waits until winter has passed and the ground has frozen and thawed.

Most never break the surface, though and they did nothing wrong. They bravely fought the bitter odds and lost against chance, shriveled and spent and once again laid to rest in the darkness. One is free in the blinding light. It grows leaves that suck the sun out of the sky and roots that harvest the rain from the clouds. It may be fixed to its birthplace, but it is malleable and will forever adapt. If the sun beats down brutally, the leaves grow small and thick. If there is shade, the branches stretch up and the leaves are broad and thin to steal dapples of light. If the season is dry, it closes its sunken pores and rolls its leaves. If the soil is waterlogged and drowning, it clears snorkels in its roots. An extravagant display in the fall boasts its sacrifice as .pigments find closure in fiery colors. It freely sheds the tireless leaves that have fueled the yearâ&#x20AC;&#x2122;s endeavors and triumphs. Magnanimous, it returns to the darkness what it took from it. It so firmly believes that it will endure the cold winter months and thrive when the light shines again. A tree may be complacent, but it is wise.

It swells and awakes in the smothering darkness. The lifeless stone stirs to desperate panic as it begins the race against time. The root splits the walls that had once confined its growth. It cannot retreat back into the comfort from which it hatched. It is painfully alive and it is hungry and thirsts for rain. Grasping deeper into the darkness and daring to hope for an oasis in the void.

Unseen are the thousands of buds that have already taken shape in the scars of the fallen, protected by scale, ready to swell and burst open at the first hint of spring. A tree can outlast every challenge but time. So every year, it releases a billion prospects and a sends out a million promises with the hope that one will take root.

And then a hunched pale stem, climbing up. Daring to hope that it has the strength to reach the golden light.

by desiree ho ANONYMOUS. â&#x20AC;&#x153;EAST EGG DAISY.â&#x20AC;?

FEB 2018||The penchant|4

WITH RAIN open and close. Mom heads out, and I know where she’s going. “I’m going to work.” Work. Please. She’s going to see Mr. Adams. Our picture perfect family isn’t all what it seems. Dad drinks, and Mother cheats. Downstairs, Father switches on the T.V. and drifts off to sleep. I creep out of my room and leave. The Adams house is a block away, and I can see them meet. I see things that nobody else sees. I leave the house to go see my real mom. I pick up a bouquet of pink roses. They’re her favorites. My parents are divorced. Finally, I reach. I tell her everything. Soon, it’s time to go. Tomorrow is school. I can’t imagine what I’m going to face. I wake up. School. I throw on a sweater and a pair of jeans. After eating breakfast, I grab my bag and head for the door. I don’t bother telling Step-mother. She doesn’t care. I was just a chore to her. When I finally reach school, I’m an hour late. I walk into the classroom and take a seat in the back. Heads turn, and was a good friend, and he used that to his murmurs start. I sigh. I knew this would happen. Class takes forever. Finally, it’s advantage, I realized. A few months ago, I’d broken up lunch. I sit alone at a corner table. At least I get more space. I look around, and with him. He didn’t like that at all. He started telling everyone that he broke up put my head on the table. Someone walks up to me. Of course, it’s the girls who with me and that I had had a mental ‘loved’ and ‘cared for’ Anthony. They break-down. I went up to him and slapped him. All the people who believed think I did it! I ignore them and continue eating my lunch. How the hell am I them were drenched with a bucket of ice-cold water. I couldn’t take it anymore, supposed to get through this for the next 3 years? Damn high school. Finally, the and I snapped. Luckily, we weren’t in fakers get bored and leave. After a few school, so no trouble. He didn’t tell his parents and nor did I. Not like they would more hours of pure torture, school is over. Weeks go by. Winter comes. One understand. Summer was ending, day, a guy walks up to me. though. I’d have to go back. “Are you Adelyn?” “Adelyn?” I shudder and realize “Yea, why? What do you want?” where I am. “Hi. I’m Ash.” His name “Yes, Ms. Adams?”“Funeral is over, describes him perfectly. His shaggy honey. Are you going to stay here for a reddish brown hair falls on his blood-red while?” “Yes, please.” I hand a flower to eyes. He dresses in black. He’s bold his mother when I say goodbye. I glare at enough to go up to me, of all people, and introduce himself. I like him. “Wanna the coffin when she turns her head. I hang out?” follow my mother to the car. She I try my best not to sound overly unemotionally pats my back. We head home, and she goes up to her room, and I eager. “Sure.” “K.” He sits down, and we start go to mine. On my desk is a picture of Anthony. I pick it up and throw it away. I talking. A bunch of fakers turn in ultimate shock. I love the looks on their never loved him. The floor rumbles. Father has come home. I run to faces. We walk home, and he’s not that my door and lock it. Father has a bit of an far. I stay over a while; no one would notice. We listen to music, and when I alcoholic problem. I hear the fridge door mean

COMES SHINE

Pitter patter. The rain falls outside

Pitter patter. The rain falls outside. It’s no longer summer. I get dressed into a black dress. I look at myself in the mirror. How did this happen? My mother and I head to the funeral. “My condolences.” I say and fake-shed a tear with their family. My mother opens a bottle up and pours a little bit out in your memory. I call out your name, but you don't call back.“He was such a good boy! How did this happen?” Apparently, he had been in his car when it blew up from overheating. Apparently, his car overheated by too much driving. His mother mourns for her son. My mother pats my back, “I can’t imagine what you must be feeling.” I let my mind drift off.. We were three years old. We played around a lot. My parents were doing everything they could to move away from our place, working over time always. So, he and I sat up in my grandma's building, coloring and playing around. I’d been ignoring him for the past year. He’d been acting so fake. I heard the comments he’d say behind me. I was just waiting to slap him in the face. I trusted too many phony people when I was still young. I gave them the benefit of the doubt; I was so wrong. He’d been trying to kill my name for some fame. I

FEATURED

SANNAT

by anousha sannat

I knew all those girls he ‘hangs out with.’ I was just a pawn of his, and he didn’t care.

YONG, ANNIKA, “NEW YORK SMOKE.”

Listening, I mean singing at the top of our lungs to rock music. I have a blast. Ash awkwardly asks, “Would you change your name, if you could?” “I guess.” Adelyn wasn’t really the most common name. It was always misspelled, and mispronounced. I used to have people call me ‘Addie.’ “I guess I would change it to... Hmm… Ember. I think fire’s really interesting, and it’s like a little spark.” “Ember and Ash. I like it. We’d be fire. Literally.” I laugh at that bad attempt at a joke. I stay for a little longer than expected. I look at the time. “Woah, I’m so late! Gotta go!” “Hey... Ember? Pick you up at 7? You know, with your parents, and all.” “Ya, actually. I would like that.” I like that he actually cares. Unlike Anthony. He was so fake. He would tell me he loved me, and go ‘hang out with his bros.’ Please. I never believed any of his lies. To be honest, I would be fake with him too. Tell him I love him, go trash-talk him to girls. So much for top couple. I broke up with him because I was exhausted with lying with him. We were so fake. I was sick of his lies. I told him to just leave me alone. I knew all those girls he ‘hangs out with.’ I was just a pawn of his, and he didn’t care. I reach home. It’s dark inside. I should’ve known; it’s a Friday. Mom is with Mr. Adams, and Dad is at a bar. I go to sleep. I check to see if my parents are home. Neither are. I call Ash up. I change into flannel, shorts, and black boots. Ash knocks on the door 10 minutes later. We explore the town, and we talk around. I have a great time. When we’re walking to my house, I tell him about my family. He understands. His family isn’t near perfect, he says. I reach home. Spring comes. Mother and Father fight a lot. They live in different houses now. They don’t talk about this with me, though. I’m not a little kid anymore, I say. I stay over at Ash’s. The fakers have stopped toying with me. I love Ash. I tell him. He says he feels the same way. I smile, for once in so long! The storm inside me clears up. It’s been a good year so far. Better than the last fake one. Now I have someone to talk to, who actually truly cares. I stay with Ash. It was a rainy year, but without the rain, there would be no rainbow.

FEB 2018||The penchant|6

PROSE

ANONYMOUS. 2017

SINCERELY,

SHINE GOODWEATHER

Dear Diary, I’m bored. Tell me something Interesting? Sincerely, Lily Dear Lily, Hello. by felicia mo 7

Don’t be alarmed. I know it’s not every day your diary talks back to you. Please don’t tell anyone about me, okay? Think of it as a secret between us. As for something interesting, there’s only one thing I can think of right now. I suppose it wouldn’t hurt to tell you at this point. But be warned, should you tell anyone about me or my story, I will burn this diary to ashes.

Oh, and I forgot! My name is Shine. Nice to meet you. For starters, I was part of class 610. Think of it as a classroom with thirty students at a school called the Weather Station. There are multiple stations, each with their own purposes. The Space, Disaster, and Weather Stations are the biggest. Every year, Station Staff selects a handful of the dead and puts thirty in each station. Yeah. I’m dead. I died a long time ago. Class 610 was divided into two teams; the Goodweathers and the Badweathers. We were each given a title and a side. They dubbed me Shine Goodweather. Don’t ask me why; I don’t glow as bright as you think I do. We were at war day and night. Usually, it was just games of speed, of wit, of courage and bravery. But twice a month, it was a game of life or death. I’ll spare the details because they revive painful memories, and I doubt it appropriate for your age. Leave it to your imagination. The purpose of these games? Control of the weather for a full 24 hours. I was especially good at them; my partner Sunny Goodweather and I came out at the top six weeks in a row once. That’s why California is so bright all the time. But Sunny and I had our own problems. Sunny had something called allergies every year that messed with his performance, so we would temporarily hand our position on the rankings to the second Goodweather team, Windy and Cloud. During our temporary breaks, Sunny and I often sat on the sidelines and watched the other teams compete. Windy and Cloud didn’t always maintain a winning streak, and there were times when Drought and Dry Badweather stole the highest rank. Drought and Dry liked to play dirty and rough; it was just a matter of time before things got out of hand. An “unintentional” accident sent Mist Goodweather to the hospital. Station Staff fired her the next day. I say unintentional because Drought and Dry got away with it. Our superiors didn’t tolerate weakness and being dismissed was basically the end of your second life. Death. Mist’s partner Foggy was devastated and went delirious; I will never forgive Drought and Dry for that. When Sunny was back to full power, we crushed the Badweathers and reclaimed our post. It was like this all year round; we dominated, we rested, then we chased Drought and Dry off and went back to dominating. But Mist was just the beginning of a long line of painful memories. As the year

progressed, our numbers were reduced. I can still remember the order of their dismissals; Blizzard, Snow, Tornado, Typhoon…. A wise man once told me the only victory in war is losing less horribly than the other guy. The Badweathers suffered a greater loss than we did. Does that call for some sort of celebration? Somewhere in the middle of the year, Station Staff made a visit to give an announcement. Because of the imbalance of Goodweathers and Badweathers, they decided to introduce another Badweather to even out the competition. His name was Rain. Two days later, Drought was added to the dismissal list. We were all shocked. Ever since his appearance, Rain had been swiftly climbing the rankings. And, apparently, there was a rumor that he planned to overthrow Drought and Dry in a challenge—a challenge that sent Dry to the infirmary and Drought to the grave. I wouldn’t call it fate, but when Dry went to the infirmary, Foggy, still being unstable, was the only one there to keep him company. It started out as brief exchanges and hostile words; Foggy was still sore from Mist’s death. But both had lost a partner and, as the weeks went by, they realized they had more in common than they thought. Dry recovered and ended up staying in the infirmary to help Foggy cope with her mental state. And she did. I forgave Dry the day Foggy left the infirmary, a fearless and renewed smile on her face. And I suppose, at the end of the year Retirement Ceremony, when the two held hands and beamed at each other, Foggy did too. Either way, I should’ve sensed something was fishy when Drought died. Cloud was next. I had been waiting for the other teams in front of the classroom door one day when I heard voices from within the room. No one should’ve been back from the Games yet; I couldn’t help but take a peek. There were three people; Cloud, Sunny, and the last one was Rain. I managed to picked up words like “retirement” and “Station Staff”. Cloud looked kind of angry. Sunny had him pinned against the wall with an equally pissed expression. Rain was as calm as ever. Now that I think of it, I’ve never seen Rain mad before. A minute or two later, Cloud spat at Sunny, pushed him away, and headed for the door. I would’ve looked suspicious if

Windy hadn’t returned from the Games just then. I quickly engaged in a conversation with her and watched Cloud storm away in my peripheral vision. ANONYMOUS. 2017 What had happened in there? Why were Sunny and Cloud so mad? And how come Rain, a Badweather, was with them? Those questions bombarded my thoughts, and I proceeded to confront Sunny about them during lunch. Of course, he offered no solid explanation. Cloud was found unconscious the next morning. Further investigation said that he had been poisoned overnight. Two suspects immediately came to mind: Sunny or Rain. And I knew Sunny long enough to know that poison wasn’t his style. I kept my eye on Rain Badweather for an entire week. I watched his face when people around him talked about Cloud. I made note of his movements, his tone of voice when he talked. And I looked at his eyes. Eyes never lie. But I had no way of proving Rain was guilty. Until that fateful morning everything changed. The Game Room exploded. Most of us were already outside, but Sunny, Windy, and Rain still hadn’t finished their game yet. I ran in there without a second thought. There was fire everywhere, the flames spreading rapidly. Smoke filled the room and I was running around blind, calling their names, “Sunny! Windy! Rain!” Yeah, even that Badweather. It was the scariest moment of my second life. I kept tripping over debris and tables and chairs until finally, I stumbled and fell onto something soft. And sticky. I cried then, because I never thought I’d see my proud and strong and most trusted friend so tattered, defeated, and lifeless on the ground. The stickiness was his blood and I remember there was a time when I thought he couldn’t possibly bleed because Sunny was so invincible. Windy’s body was nowhere to be found. Probably blasted to bits. I sobbed and choked and I would’ve suffocated to death in the smoke if Rain hadn’t appeared out of nowhere and lifted me by the arm. “Get up, get up! We have to get out of here!” I heard him yell above the roar of the fire. He half dragged, half ran with me through the flames until we found

FEB 2018||The penchant|8

the door and stumbled out of the smoke. The others immediately surrounded us and called for water and stretchers to the infirmary. But I wasn’t about to leave just yet. Suddenly, everything made sense. Drought, Cloud, Windy, and Sunny were high ranking Weathers. And all of them were dismissed after Rain showed up. He was the only other person who was in the Game Room during the explosion. And he wasn’t dead. I lost it then. I pointed at him and yelled, screamed, cursed, even punched him I think. People held me back, told me to calm down, and said it wasn’t his fault, it was just an accident. But I knew the truth. He was there during Sunny and Cloud’s argument. He challenged Drought and almost crippled Dry. He beat down every high ranking Weather so he could steal that position for himself. And I was next. But I wasn’t going to go down that easily. And in my rage, I challenged him. If he were an assassin, I’d say I walked right into his knife. Revenge both boosted and hindered me during that fight and, blinded by my anger, I made some stupid mistakes that ultimately led to my defeat. Rain became the highest ranking Weather. If you search online, Lily, you’ll find that California had a period of heavy rains, flooding, and mudslides that devastated entire neighborhoods. That was Rain. It was a brutal beating, and it landed me in the infirmary. It’s where I found Windy. I was in the bed next to hers. She slipped in and out of consciousness, and the nurse told me, with great sorrow, that she was dying. Once, she woke and mustered up the strength to smile at me. “It’s alright, Windy,” I said to her. “Rain won’t get away with this.” “Rain?” she murmured. “What about Rain?” “He did this to you. He killed Sunny and Cloud and Drought-” Windy’s next words changed everything. “He saved me.” For a second, I thought she was fading back to unconsciousness but her eyes were as clear as ever. I told her it wasn’t possible. “We were the only ones left in the Game Room,” Windy explained. “I know about Cloud and Sunny’s fight. When Cloud died, I knew Sunny did it. Cloud was like a brother to me. I accused Sunny of murder and he denied it, so I challenged him. Everything went downward after that.”

“What happened?” I asked. I still have trouble believing Windy had the guts to do it. “I was no match for Sunny, of course,” she laughed bitterly. “You might not know, but Sunny plays rough sometimes too. He would’ve beaten me to a pulp if Rain hadn’t stepped up to fight him for me. “Sunny said he’d been waiting all along for Rain to challenge him. Just to see who the real king of Weather was. The battle was long and merciless, but eventually, Sunny broke a game machine and the whole place exploded. Sunny died instantly. Rain got me out of there.” I didn’t know what to say. And the next morning, Windy was gone. When I was able to walk again, the first thing I did was find Dry. He was sitting in the back of the classroom, reading a book. I remember thinking ‘Badweathers read?’ before tapping his desk. He shrank a little at the sight of me. Dry had been losing bits of his confidence ever since Drought was fired. Too bad, because that was who I’d come to talk about. He sighed, closed his book, and told me the truth. Rain did not challenge them. Rather, it was the other way around. Drought wanted to make it clear to the new Badweather that he was the one in charge. Rain ended up killing Drought only because the latter would’ve done serious harm to Rain’s partner. Dry also told me about Cloud. When Weathers retired after their year of service, they received retirement bonuses based on their rank. These bonuses were the difference between living in a ghetto and living in a mansion in your second life. When Station Staff first gave me a tour of my castle, a voice deep inside me kept saying, ‘Their blood built you a living’. I still feel guilty about it. But Cloud wanted that castle for himself. He wanted the highest rank. “He told me he had everything planned out,” Dry said. “All of the games were set up for his opponent to lose. His idea was to make you, Sunny, and Rain die in an accident, like Mist did, so with you guys out of the way, winning would be easy. I said I wouldn’t do it. “Go talk to Rain,” he advised. “He was there during that argument, right?” So I went and found him. He was in the lounge room, watching TV. He looked at me when I walked in but didn’t get up from the couch. “Tell me the truth,” I said. “Would you believe me?” Rain replied, eyes on the TV screen. There was an image of a car being washed through

muddy waters in a flooded neighborhood. Then it switched to people on lifeboats wearing yellow vests, helping stranded civilians that stood, waiting, on their own rooftops. This was the damage that he caused. And he was watching it like an entertainment show. “Yes,” I said, barely resisting the urge to punch him again. “Doesn’t sound like it.” I sighed. “Look. I’m sorry about what happened after the fire. I accused you of a lot of things when I didn’t fully understand what was happening. I didn’t even thank you for getting me out of there. And Windy.” I looked at the side of his face. “So thank you. For that.” Rain continued to watch a mudslide cripple a mountain house before turning off the TV. He took a deep breath and finally met my eyes. “I was waiting in the classroom for the rest of you to finish your games,” he began slowly. “Cloud came along to offer me a deal. That he would make me the highest ranking Badweather if I did him a favor. I asked him what the favor was. He said, ‘I want Sunny and Shine dead. Can you do that for me?’ “I told him, ‘Easier said than done.’ He said he would have all the games rigged so I would win. I’m not fond of cheating but he insisted, he pleaded, he almost got down on his knees and begged if Sunny hadn’t showed up. Frankly, I wouldn’t have minded if he’d kissed my shoes, but Sunny somehow caught wind of Cloud’s plot and confronted him. That’s where the argument started. “You may not think highly of Badweathers like me. But I wasn’t going to just sit there and watch him get people fired. So, in the middle of the night, I poisoned Cloud in his sleep.” I stared at him. Rain busied

VOLTAMAX. “WRITING.” 30 MAY 2016.

himself with poking a pillow on the couch. For the second time that day, I was speechless; partly because I’d never have suspected Cloud, and partly because I couldn’t believe all of this escaped my noticing. So I did the only thing I could think of. I slapped Rain. And then I hugged him. You know, I kind of wish I could see the look on that Badweather’s face. When we parted, his expression was neutral like always. But his eyes were wide and betrayed everything. Eyes never lie. “Shine, have you ever gotten tired of being in first place?” he asked me suddenly. I frowned and shook my head. “Great, ‘cause I’m handing the title of highest ranking Weather to you again.” “What?” Was he losing it? “Why?” “To be honest, I don’t really know,” he shrugged. “Guess I’m just bored of seeing people drown all day and was hoping that when you show up, they’ll go blind instead.” “Very funny,” I said. I smiled. “Haha,” he said. “I’m not joking though, the place is yours.” He swept a hand to indicate the lounge and the TV and headed outside. “Sayonara, Shine.” And he just left. Both of us made it to retirement. Rain was later promoted to Station Staff. They offered me the castle. It’s where I am now, writing all of this to you. I guess that concludes my story. Also, just to give you a heads up, once you’re done reading this, you have sixty seconds to get rid of this diary before it burns up. I know you didn’t tell anyone about me, but what I said in the beginning was a lie. Sorry about that.

Sincerely, Shine Goodweather

PROSE

I thought it would all work out for me in the end, but it seems I was wrong.

HIGH TECH PRIMITIVE MAGICIANS by shamita bhattacharjee 11

BHATTACHARJEE

“Get out now!” my mom yelled as she threw my stuff at me and pushed me out the front door. Her face was full of pure fury and disappointment and shame—and I could sense that she had no remorse. “Wait! Please, just let me explain!” I protested. I had never seen her look like that in my entire life, and I wasn’t liking it. I hated it. I wanted to clear things up with her. I wanted everything to be like it used to be, when we were happy. “NOW!” She slammed the door in my face. It was clear that nothing would ever be the same again. I dragged myself down the cement steps and away from my house correction, my old house. I was leaving my mom, my dad, my brother, and everything I have ever known, but it wasn’t really my choice. I thought it would all work out for me in the end, but it seems I was wrong. Where could I go now? I no longer had a family or a place to call home. I deserved this. For everything I’d done. It couldn’t get worse than this. And… once again I was wrong. Yep… it’s exactly what you’re thinking. It started raining. In a matter of seconds it was pouring. I ran around, looking for protection from the downpour. I found a covered bus stop and just collapsed there. I was so tired from walking all that way in the rain. My legs felt like lead. I’m not sure how long I spent alone on that bench, but it must have been hours. Soon, my eyelids started feeling heavy, and the droplets of water faded into black.

ANONYMOUS. “DIVISION.” 2017.

Everybody other than me, that is.

... At this point, you must be super confused, so let’s start from the beginning. Because of our vast knowledge, I have heard about your universe. It is one that I wish I could be a part of, but sadly, my world is very different from yours. You see, the people of our planet, Earthia, are divided into two groups—or as we refer to them—species. Now I would like to point out that all of us are still human (duh), we’re just so different that each group can’t bear to have any interactions with the other, so we don’t consider ourselves to be the same species. The two species are called the Magicians (or Magis for short), and the Technologists (or Technos). Technos and Magis aren’t that different though. We’re all just normal humans, with no special powers or anything like that. Our world works a little differently though. Here, a person can learn magic and obtain powers. Anyone can learn magic, but the Technos despise it, which is why we’re shielded from magic. The Technos think magic is too unpredictable and old-school, and the Magis think technology is unreliable and that it could malfunction any second. These species are constantly at war. There haven’t been any attempts to stop the fighting or attain peace because both species hate each other too much. Kind of childish, right? That’s what I like about your world: you raise awareness and fix any problems you have. You guys can even work together. It’s different for us. Now let me explain more about how these species work. You are born into a species. You’re either Magi and Techno, and that is decided by birth. Your parents are born into the same species, your grandparents are, and so on. You are not allowed to befriend, marry, be in a relationship with, or even know the name of somebody of the opposite species. At no point in time can you switch species, because that’s decided by birth. To ensure this, the Magis live on the east side of Earthia, and the Technos are on the west. Each species runs themselves differently. They both have democratic governments and schools and other common stuff like that, but they’ve got a lot of other differences. Everyone that has ever lived on Earthia has followed these rules and abide by them undoubtedly. Everybody other than me, that is. My name is Andre Toshis. Yes, that’s really my name, and yes I’m a boy. I was born into the Techno species. Everything we do is related to technology. Most of us have never even seen paper before. We’ve got Tphones, Tpads, Tpods, Tglasses, you name it. If it’s an electronic, we’ve got it. I learned

That you have similar devices called iPhones, iPads, iPods, and Google Glasses. Anyways, the point is, we like technology. The Magis however, are our polar opposites. They use magic and paper all day, and most have never seen an electronic before. I’m different because I’m not content with being a Techno. I want to be a Magi. Yes, you heard right, a Magi. That’s what makes me unique. I’m not content with the species I was born into. But I know I can never be a Magi. We have to learn about Magis in school so we can hate them like our parents do, so our teachers portray them in a way that would make us loathe them. But something about them just fascinates me. I don’t know if it slipped out or if my teacher didn’t cover it up well, but I found out that the Magis have a lot of fun. Instead of going to school all day, and then other classes after, they learn cool spells, spar, hold competitions, and do a bunch of other great stuff. All we do here is study, learn how to program, and repeat. That’s the main reason I want to switch. I’m no good at any of the stuff a Techno needs to know, so what’s the point in trying? I’m not sure how, but my parents figured out about my secret ambitions. That led to the catastrophe you witnessed at the beginning. You see, having a rebellious kid was the most embarrassing thing that ever has or ever will happen to them. I had brought them too much misfortune, so I was kicked out. Anyways, back to where I had left off. Oh yeah, the water droplets faded into black. Later, when I started gaining consciousness, I noticed I was in a different place. I didn’t have enough energy to open my eyes, but through my closed eyelids, I could feel a very bright light pointed directly at my face. I felt a soft warmth on my cheek and immediately jolted awake. I saw in front of me the prettiest girl in the world. Finally, I thought. Maybe the sun will finally shine on my rainy world.

To be continued … FEB 2018||The penchant|12

SEVENTY-FIVE TO ONE-HUNDRED by rory conlon The rain drummed against the windshield in a steady rhythm, slowly putting me to sleep. I watched through half-open eyes as the drops would patter, stick, and then streak down the sides of the car in little rivers. The car radio hummed softly in the small, warm car, reminding me of the jazz music in my grandfather’s house every Christmas Eve. It had been about six hours of nonstop driving at that point, and I sure was feeling it. Despite this fact, I didn’t want to miss one moment. I figured the navy blue sky would be gone within the hour, and after that, the freeway would be jammed with L.A. commuters on their way to work. The night was uncertain and unusual; it felt like a once-in-a-lifetime opportunity to enjoy it. As a result, whenever I was in danger of dozing off, I lurched forward to fiddle with the radio or jerked my head up towards the streetlights, forcing, forcing, forcing my eyes to stay open. If that didn’t work, I simply turned and observed my brother, who had been driving for three hours with very little sleep. My panic at the sight usually did the trick. Most people get their driver’s license when they are seventeen; my brother got his when he turned nineteen. I always laugh when I consider this; he seemed happy to have my father

chauffeur him around for the whole of high school… what a dork. As a result, he’d only just received his license before we zoomed out of Fremont. I can only trust him to a certain extent. He, by nature, is a calm person that does things by the book; really, the only thing that scares me about his driving is his accidental recklessness. For example, during his first driving test, he got squirrely and promptly ran a red light. And, in a rather embarrassing story we never tell, he got us all pulled over because—get this—he didn’t have his headlights on. Pretty mortifying. I was surprised when my mother sat in the back seat and let me sit in the passenger. Considering my brother’s debatable driving record, it seemed downright foolish. I watched as the yellow of the passing streetlights glinted off the frames of her glasses in the rearview mirror. Gritting my teeth, I tried not to comment as she folded, unfolded, and re-folded her arms for the thousandth time. For an hour, she had rambled on and on about how she would sit back, close her eyes, and get some sleep while my brother drove, but I don’t think she cared at all about doing any of that. She preferred to stay awake and attentive; she could never seem to take herself out of the action.

Despite my brother’s—well, questionable, to say the least—driving skills, there wasn’t much he could run into on that empty freeway. Every so often, I would pick a car to watch. Without fail, they took an off-ramp within the span of two exits, I mentally calculated. To the left of the car, a hard green mesh stood on top of the short, concrete divide; to the right of the car, there were three wide, unoccupied, lanes. And, let’s face it, he was maintaining sixty-five miles an hour on the smoothest, quietest part of the drive. I was glad that my mother drove the first four hours; I wouldn’t have trusted anyone else with the task. Pacheco Pass was undoubtedly the most challenging part of our journey; my mother bluntly told my brother to get in the back seat as we approached the exit. Once you got on it, you had to stick it out to the end. It was nothing but a winding, two-lane road, with no space to turn around and only your headlights to see by. Alarmingly, only a dull yellow stripe protected us against the cars racing in the opposite direction, and, being a small car, we often got pushed to the outside of the lane by monstrous trucks. As our car wheels bumped along the gravelly part of the road, about a foot from the dark grass of the surrounding landscape, I found myself focusing intently on our surroundings. For most of the drive, there was nothing but dark fields racing past, blotting out the craggy mountains. But then, just as you were about to exit back onto the freeway, the mountains were interrupted by a wide lake, with water that gleamed a dull black in the barest trace of the moonlight. Alone in the night, the same thought crept repeatedly back into my head: One inch, and any those trucks could slam right into us… I jerked my head up, watching my brother out of the corner of my eye. His eyes stayed glued to the road, back pressed straight against the seat, his hands clenched tightly on the wheel. He reminded me of those diagrams from the driving manuals, save for the fact that the posture seemed natural on him. Though my brother was stiff, he was never anxious; he never twisted his hands, never froze, and never seemed out of sorts. He did exactly what he needed to do, whenever he needed to do it, which I had never called into question. Suddenly, a thick beam of light flooded the car, soft at first, then brighter. It swayed and then narrowed in with razor focus. I cringed as it reflected off every single piece of glass in the car, especially the rearview window, blindingly bright.

FEATURED

I was glad that my mother drove the first four hours; I wouldn’t have trusted anyone else with the task.

ANONYMOUS. “SAN FRANCISCO.”

CONLON

My mother cursed. “God,” she spat, “I hate those new lights.” “Why are they so bright all of a sudden?” I asked dumbly. “It’s those new headlights the cars have,” she explained. “The yellow ones are fine, but these—” she shook her head “—these cause accidents.” I nodded, squinting against the painfully bright headlights. My skin started to itch as I saw a sort of fog start to spread around the car, obscuring everything around us. My brother frowned a little, visibly considering whether he should change lanes. “Rory, make sure the windows are closed,” my mom demanded. I fumbled for the switch and quickly rolled it up; you learned to listen whenever my mother used that tone. She cleared her throat and spoke again, as though trying to convince herself of something. “I heard they’re doing construction on this road. It’s probably that… We don’t want the dust coming into the car.” The pearly white fog—or the dust, whatever it was—continued press against the windows. After a while, growing increasingly bored, I touched the window, meaning to draw little shapes on it, but it was bitterly, unbearably cold. I instinctively jerked my hand back, alarmed as the skin of my fingertip slowly peeled back from the frigid glass. I rubbed my fingers uneasily, a shiver making its way down my spine. The frown had etched itself deeper into my brother’s face, twisting his features. And then, his eyes… they began darting all over the place. The white light from behind us brightened even further. I fought the urge to cover my eyes… My brother had gone completely still. His eyes just about popped out of his head, and— We careened across three lanes of traffic. Three. Within a period of one second. My brother struggled to regain control of the wheel, frantically twisting it in an attempt to stay on the road. I collapsed back into my seat as the sharp turn had thrown me against the car door. I could hear my brother’s panicked breathing as his hands shook on the wheel. My mother leaned forward and clenched her hand on the back of my seat, turning to my brother. “What happened?” she demanded. “T-t-there was a car,” he stammered. I balked, fixing him with an incredulous stare. My brother never stuttered. I had thought it an impossibility. “I-I saw it coming over the divide! It was going to hit us!”

ANONYMOUS. “TRAFFIC.”

My mother studied him carefully, eyes narrowed. “Are you sure? There was that fog...” My brother nodded, eyes glued to the road. “Yes, mom. I saw the outline of a car coming over that divide. I’m absolutely sure of it! See how there isn’t any more of that green mesh up?” I looked to my left, and, lo and behold, he was right. My mother turned to me. “Rory, did you see anything?” I cleared my throat. “No, I didn’t,” I replied weakly, my voice cracking. I could feel my pulse beating at my throat, right under my chin, thumping, thumping, thumping. I swallowed nervously. We all sat silently for a long, unbearable moment. Suddenly, my mother lunged for her purse, breaking the silence. “I have to call this in. Turn down the radio.” I pressed the off button quickly, my motions jerky and

uncoordinated. To think… we had the radio on as we shot across traffic. There had been three whole chances we could have hit someone. We had the radio on as we drove through the fog. One second, death was the last thing on our minds; the next we could have been the victims of a car accident. A car accident with three fatalities... I couldn’t believe it. We had the radio on as we glided down the expressway one minute, and we would’ve had the radio on as we died the next. In the night, I held the thought of that possible future close to my racing heart, willing myself to never forget. I came to understand that luck is endlessly important. Probability helps you to do the right things and make the right decisions. Luck, on the other hand, comes out of nowhere when you’ve taken the wrong bet. It comes out of nowhere when you are in the darkest, most unpredictable

moments of your life... I came back to myself. “Yes,” my mom was saying, her voice surprisingly steady. “Yes, that’s correct. My son—he was driving the car—he saw it. Yes, right near the Santa Ana checkpoint. Near Chula Vista.” She paused, listening to the operator on the other end of the line. “Okay… okay… thank you.” She ended the call and immediately dropped the phone back in her purse. I tensed as she leaned towards my brother and ordered, “Pull off at the next exit. I’m driving.” My brother may have returned to his usual, upright position, but I still saw his little sigh of relief. “Okay,” he said levelly, putting up no fight. As I glued my eyes to the road once again, I noticed something odd. The white light was all gone.

CONLON

The white light was all gone.

From time to time after that, I found myself mentally rehashing the incident. I watched the news religiously for two weeks, listening to see if there were any accidents on the Santa Ana Expressway. Day after day, nothing came up. I started to convince myself that my brother, in a sleep-deprived stupor, had imagined the car coming over the divide. But every time I tried to dismiss the incident, I thought of the white light. That was real. And the fog… I was sure I couldn’t have imagined that. And last but not least, I thought of the missing mesh on the divide. It couldn’t have been a coincidence. My brother isn’t spooked easily—heck, neither am I. My mind went wild with theories. Maybe there was a construction vehicle on the road—that would explain the fog. Or maybe someone had merged into our lane, and it looked as though we were going to hit them. Heck, maybe a car stood in our lane, having already jumped the divide, and we narrowly avoided it. In that case, I thought, my brother had saved our lives. His hyperawareness, his posture, and his calm demeanor had prevented a head-on collision. And that dead freeway that people got off of within fifteen minutes? If it weren’t so empty of cars, we could’ve killed several people that night in the process of trying to save ourselves. A year later, we found ourselves driving down the opposite side of the very same freeway. Construction vehicles sat motionless by the divide, so traffic was diverted to the remaining two lanes. Perhaps my suspicions were correct, I thought, as I narrowed my eyes. “Hey guys,” I said, my brother in the driver’s seat once again and my mother alert in the back. “Do you remember that night? Did you… did you end up hearing about any accidents… ” “I did, actually.” My brother spoke slowly, his eyes shifting once again. “They said the highway patrol reported an accident near that same place two weeks earlier. Someone jumped the divide. Killed someone on the other side. That’s why they’re building on top of that concrete.” I raised my eyebrows, trying mask my complete intrigue with polite interest. “What do you think happened that night?” I asked, pinning him with my eyes. By then, we had left behind the construction site, and I watched as cars began to merge into the third lane. My brother clenched his hands on the wheel, refusing to look at me. “There was something that came over the divide that night, Rory. I didn’t imagine it. And, the thing is…” My brother hesitated, swallowing.

“What?” I asked, my voice hard even to my own ears. He rolled his shoulders, taking one hand off the wheel to massage his forehead. “I kept looking into the side mirror, you know, the one that the lights didn’t shine into? And…” “What?” I demanded, impatient.

“And, I swear, there was not one car behind us.”

FEB 2018||The penchant|16

PROSE

Everything is going to be fine, I told myself as my feet slowly made their way over to the end of the court. Inhale and exhale is what I told myself. I watched as the world felt sluggish around me when I bounced the ball, preparing to pass it in. She stood there, waiting, with . I watched as she had her feet slightly more than shoulder width apart, and slightly bent down. Her arms were bent in an obvious gesture motion of readiness that everyone could read. Everyone watched, not knowing if I could make this happen. Everything seemed felt distant; . A all I could feel was the ball in my hands, bouncing up and down into my hands. , while everyone watched my every move. I looked down at the orange ball, the one that always seemed familiar and , something I always recognized as something warm when I played. But I jolted back to reality. It just felt like a rough ball, it didn’t feel like home, it didn’t even look ORANGE. As I glanced looked up, the game felt unfamiliar., I felt like I was going to fail. EI realized that everyone was yelling, and I made the sickening realization that I hadn’t passed the ball in over a minute. In this moment of hopelessness, When this sensation of hopelessness hit me, I blindly launched passed the ball to my teammate, but it the sphere soared out of my hands and flew launched into her face. As my teammates rushed towards her, I stood there in shock, watching as she revealed a face covered in blood. I had hit her nose. As my teammates rushed towards her,When people reached towards her, they turned to me with looks of hatred and disgust on their faces.

The next thing I knew, I was running out of the building, looking for a place to fall, or someone to fall to. Tears poured down my face as I fell to the curbside and sat down, as the tears poured down my face. The dark clouds hovered above me. Every year I would try out for the team, wanting to get in. Miraculously, this year I did. But as I stood on that court, my mind had told me that I couldn’t do it. Deep down, the fact that nobody liked me, felt like something that might still hit me on that court. I heard footsteps reaching me. I looked up at the sound of approaching footsteps, seeing the face of my boyfriend, the secret that we had kept from everyone. I was afraid that everyone would start treating him differently if they knew he was with me. Or that they would just become my fake friends, because he was one of the most popular guys in school. He was fine with telling everyone, but I shuddered at what might result from everyone knowing. When he sat down, I leaned into him and silently cried. Earlier on, I had already confessed my fears about playing on the team. At that moment I knew that he wasn’t going to say anything just then, because that’s just the kind of thing that he would do. The gray clouds broke out and drops of water H2O began hitting my face, mixing began mixing with the warm tears rolling down my blotchy face. What had seemed like a bright and , hopeful day, had turned into a dark disaster.

But as I stood in that court, my mind had told me that I couldn’t do it 17

JUST

A GAME

by anonymous

YANG, LILY. â&#x20AC;&#x153;REFLECTIONâ&#x20AC;?

She looked in the mirror Mannequin girl Head held upright With a sewn-on smile. Hooks bore into her face, Exacting plastic smiles from her chapped lips Forcing her spine erect, digging in painfully Indeed, they were her Captains Puppeteering her voyage Anchoring her in place. But one day, she learned to wrench The hooks from her flesh Abandoning ship Becoming a Castaway Lost among the sea She found herself again, No longer astray Red rain fell thickly over milky white As face upturned at the crimson sky Soft sunlight made tomato juice glisten Artificially sweetened, naturally bitter Their grip loosened, and her lips fell slack Gone was her smile. Relief taking its place. Gratefully, she finally leaned in And unraveled.

MANNEQUIN GIRL by sowmya balakrishnan FEB 2018||The penchant|18

POETRY

YONG, ANNIKA, “SONIC.”

Leaving us in

THE WRATH OF THE SKY

forbidding darkness

The purple wrath of the dark blue sky Strikes the earth. Raining down upon us, Sparkling weapons That take away our warmth and light, Leaving us in forbidding darkness

EMBRACE THE RAIN

Where even the moon will not show its face, For it hides behind the silver wisps.

But once the clouds have cleared away, We embrace a vibrant, blue sky, And bask in the sun’s warmth again, Suddenly grateful for its gift.

A raindrop kisses my nose, Caresses my cheek. Embracing me Is an icy wind That leaves me wide awake.

This light drizzle is thrilling to me, But some despise the rain For the dreary clouds it brings, Like silver blankets that cover up the sun. But the rain washes away sadness, Cleans the streets, And clears away the clouds. Silver skies hanging above us, Will not disappear until the rain is satisfied. So let us allow this rain to pour over our world, To chase away the clouds, And wash away the dirt that has collected in our hearts. For we must move on, The way the dull, gray skies have,

And give our lives color 19

again.

nicole xie

WHETHER TO

RISE OR

FALL by vox nihili The wind once blew my dreams away, But the sun brought them back. And now I stand here, In the pouring rain. Wondering when it all changed. Oh, how the sun no longer gives me strength, And the rain no longer brings me joy. But the dark clouds that hang over my head, Are the ones that sometimes bring me the most pain. The sun doesnâ&#x20AC;&#x2122;t need to shine, When I can see the light in the midst of darkness.

I am lost In a sea of voices. Drowning, Suffocating. I am lost In a wave of darkness. The black void pulling me down, Deeper and deeper. I am lost In the depths of my mind. Kicking to stay afloat, Just barely. I am lost. But I remember What sunny days brought before, Now clouded by my thundering storm. I am lost But in that moment, It appears to me. There is no greater contrast Than rain and shine.

The clouds donâ&#x20AC;&#x2122;t need to burst into tears. For it all to be clear. Thunder and lightning need not strike, For me to hear the war raging inside.

LOST by tammy shen

FEB 2018||The penchant|20

YONG, ANNIKA. “BRIDGE STROLL.”

D EAD END The worst Feeling is walking into a dead End. When dreams taste sweeter than Reality. When delusions Cook themselves golden Brown. When hallucinations hang like The Sickly Beautiful Wafting scent of a life lived too fast. Trapped in a heart-wrenching Tear-jerking Body-shaking Disappointment. Forever reaching for whatever light so Bright. So far Away. So far. So far, no chance has admitted itself. So far, there’s no way of getting out. So far, turning back will only lead to getting more lost. So far... Too far. But too close are your fingertips from touching the forbidden Sun. Too close from escaping the claws That eat away at every raw Emotion At every chance That floats themselves to the Surface And sink Sink down Down Down To the depths below before a hand could Retrieve it.

Living in a cycle of meeting Hope In all her gallant glory And musical ecstasy But every time, watching her take off her mask And then reveal the bloodied Scythe that her now gnarled hand Grasps. Just like how she held your breath, Your attention, She is now holding your only valuable thing left. At least, at last, you wouldn’t have to live in that Cycle Ever Again. Nor would your thoughts and dreams Ever Cycle Again.

FEATURED Again cycle ever cycle Again. Again, you realize itâ&#x20AC;&#x2122;s nothing but a Dream. A delusion. A simple Hallucination. And you are left back at Square One. Not even one. Zero. Because the dead are Ended. And the end is Dead.

But in the End Too close Close Enough for you to obtain.

But I implore you to look back up at the sky. Watch every Single Drop that drips with ease from the canvas of the Clouds That so dares to block your Light. Feel the pelts of wrath coat your face and mix with your Tears. Wrap yourself with the foreboding biting Cold That the world has to offer. And stand up. Stand Up.

And you canâ&#x20AC;&#x2122;t help but wipe away the salt stained marks On your Face And face the sky and Smile Because you were right all along.

Because no end exists forever. A period can be followed with Sentences That speak volumes more. Succeeding generations keep the long Gone Alive. There is always a Next That follows an end.

by lily yang

YANG

A chance disguised as a dream, A cycle created to force you to Think. To care To believe That there is something waiting So far, Too far,

And once you forget about the Strain The endless, throbbing pain that seeps from your Heart, That sun which Felt so Distant Will feel so Warm.

the best feeling is walking into a

dead End. FEB 2018||The penchant|22

POETRY

ESCAPE THE RAIN Dreary clouds loom over the town Here I am watching the rain pour down Filling my heart with sorrow Counting minutes till tomorrow With a brand new beginning And my heart will soon be singing For the clouds will part and give way to the light So I can spread my wings and take flight Away from the pain of yesterday And towards the open doorway New opportunities

by serene ng

More uncertainties Once a lost bird in the storm Will fly towards the sky airborne Because I know there is no rain above the clouds

SORROWS OF LIFE A toddler age three Cried over a scratch on her knee A girl at age seven Wished to be eleven A girl at age eleven Missed being seven A girl at age fifteen Now a drama queen A girl at age nineteen Made a big scene A woman at age twenty Overwhelmed by unpaid fees

MEHTA, MEHER. THE RAIN SPLATTERED ON THE GONDOLA AS IT ROSE AND GAVE US A PERFECT VIEW OF HONG KONGâ&#x20AC;&#x2122;S SHORELINE. TAKEN ON JANUARY 5, 2018.

Twenty years later Same thing

YANG, LILY. “DAMPEN.”

A TIME OF

RAIN CALM

A TIME OF

by shreya venkat

I walk outside, I hear light, I hear darkness Then, the rain starts to fall, I look to the sky I shut my eyes, crystal drops fall on my eyelids Not gently, enough to soak me as I cry. It streams down, washes my hair It streams down, soaks my jeans and top It streams down, and I soon walk on water I am cold, sad, but I don’t want it to stop. I don’t move, I stay where I am For what do you do when there’s nowhere to go? The rain calms me, it cleans my mind I open my eyes, I am okay, spirits no longer low. Then the rain stops, the sun comes out Drops of light shine on my eyes, I look up once more Bright sunshine falls, creates rainbows and delight I am still wet, but I have something I can smile for.

For what do you do when there’s nowhere to go?

FEB 2018||The penchant|24

POETRY

RAIN

In the dead of night, When little creatures quietly sleep, Maybe they are counting sheep, Or dreaming of another world,

by sri

Where light shines through dark clouds, The cold rain falls upon your stained face, Stained with the wet tears of the sky, Crying inconsolably. You wish you could assuage its broken heart, Though you wouldn’t be able to hug it, You could do something, And all it would take would be a word. Go apologize to whomever you’ve hurt, And the sky will stop crying And start smiling a sunny rainbow at you, For in that moment, You have made someone happy. So if you feel regret, Or you hurt someone’s heart, Rain or shine, if you apologize, The sky will forgive, And you will everlastingly be In sunshine.

And all it would take would YONG, ANNIKA. “GLOWING ORBS.”

be a

word. 25

ANGEL & DEMON by jenny hou You are worthless. Don’t listen, that’s a lie. You are nothing. No, that isn’t true! You don’t matter. Stop, don’t believe the demon! Hah, like you’d ever listen to the angel. … You will listen to me right? … I’m sorry... I don’t know…

You aresdf helpful You are somethiiii ing You doiimatter

See angel? No point in trying. Well I’m going to try anyway. You are helpful. You are something. You do matter. Don’t listen to the demons. They’re not here to help. Only to bring you down. Shut up angel you’re not going be able help so stop trying. NO! I will not let you hurt them anymore. You get out. Nope, I’m not leaving. What’s your negativity going to do anyway? It’s not going to make things better. It’s not like you’ll ever be able to convince me to do anything. Alright fine just stay there then. Listen to me. Please stay strong,

Because rain or shine, Everything will be

fine. ANONYMOUS. “PLACID NIGHT.”

FEB 2018||The penchant|26

PHOTO/ART

ANCHAL NAIR 27

FELICIA MO

PHOTO/ART

“ROTATING HORSEY.”

“TOILET DRIPS.”

“TIME FLIES.”

ANNIKA YONG

MEHER MEHTA

“THE CLOUDS.” THE GONDOLA ENTERS THE HAZY CLOUDS WITH ITS OCCUPANTS ANXIOUS OF THE OMINOUS SURROUNDINGS. HONG KONG, JAN. 5, 2018.

THE COUPLE LOOK AT THE REFLECTION OF THE SUN WITH AWE; IT GLISTENS ON THE CLEAR WATER LIKE PRECIOUS JEWELS. CARMEL, NOV. 25, 2017.

“PLAYING.” TWO DOGS SPRINT TOWARDS THE WAVES TO REFRESH THEMSELVES AFTER A HOT DAY ON THE BEACH. CARMEL, NOV. 25, 2017.