Stuck in the Library December 1, 2014 by Stuck in the Library

SSTUCK TUCK

IN IN T THE HE

LLIBRARY IBRARY

D DECEMBER ECEMBER 1, 1, 2014 2014

Brooklyn Brooklyn College’s College’s Foxiest Foxiest Literary Literary Magazine Magazine

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DECEMBER 1, 2014

Our Staff: Yaakov Bressler President Shifra Shine Vice President Akiva Fleisher Editor in Chief Chana Gekht Chief of Publications Yoni Akerman Treasurer Dovie Eisner Senior Editor Merav Kraitenberger Senior Editor Dassy Heinemann Senior Editor Rebecca Najjar Associate Editor Amanda (Elkie) Lanter Assistant Editor Kami Salman Associate Editor Moshe Bressler Associate Editor Jillian (Ariella) Lanter Assistant Editor Carolyn Aboudi Assistant Editor Dania Masood Assistant Editor Iqra Nadeem Assistant Editor Karen Shaefer Assistant Editor Nisha J Nusrath Assistant Editor ReneĂŠ Esses Assistant Editor Faike Khalid Assistant Editor Ari Ziegler Senior Member of Event Committee Courtney Takats Senior Member of Event Committee Effie Klestzick Associate Member of Event Committee Yocheved Strum Associate Member of Event Committee Daniel Bressler Assistant Member of Event Committee Gitty Davidson Assistant Member of Event Committee Kristina Markovic Assistant Member of Event Committee Mohammad (Chomio) Nasrullah Assistant Member of Event Committee Shalom Lichtenstein Assistant Member of Event Committee Yoni Stern Assistant Member of Event Committee Lena Farraj Chairperson of Awards Committee Ariella Nagel Associate Member of Awards Committee Lauren Fink Associate Member of Awards Committee Rechan Meshulam Associate Member of Awards Committee Constantine Onishchenko Chairperson of Stuck in the Cafeteria

Prompt 1: The New World PAGE 4

Prompt 2: Unlimited Funds PAGE 9

Prompt 3: Anonymous Letters PAGE 17

Stuck in the Library aims to facilitate a space where creativity can flourish by creating a magazine which publishes often and encourages its enthusiasts to meet its contributors, resulting in a thriving literary sphere in Brooklyn College.

CONTRIBUTING WRITERS: Chuck Testa

Moshe Bressler

Faike Khalid

Robert Feinstein

Irina Manasherova

Tanzina Nawrin

Lena Farraj 2

STUCK

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DECEMBER 1, 2014

Dear Readers,

YAAKOV BRESSLER President

As the semester nears its end, I glance at the thickening stack of magazines on my shelf and am awed at how amazing this publication has become. I may sound like a broken record when I say that Stuck in the Library began as a small idea among four or five friends and grew to what it is today based off the support and interest of you readers. But it’s true. Big ideas come from smaller ones and it’s important for you to know that if you have ideas, keep holding onto them. Surround yourself by incredible people (use the list of our staff’s names as an example) and listen to their advice. There are times when the future may look dim (as it did at times for us), but with a supportive team you’ll surely overcome your adversities. According to Linus Pauling, “The best way to have a good idea is to have lots of ideas.” I would like add that the best way to have a good idea be actualized is to rest it on a supportive frame of friends and enthusiasts.

SHIFRA SHINE V ice Pres id ent

AKIVA FLEISHER Ed itor in Ch ief

On that note, I want to point out that none of Stuck in the Library’s operations would be possible without its hardworking staff. The front of the magazine is largely backed by dedication and skill from our staff. More specifically, I would like to thank our Editor in Chief, Akiva Fleisher, for being patient, attentive to detail, and exceptional at what he does. I’d like to thank Senior Editors Dovie Eisner, Dassy Heinemann, Merav Kraitenberger, and Kami Salman for being exceptionally hard workers and sensitive and careful editors. Our awards would not have had happened without Lena Farraj’s leadership and our events without Shifra Shine’s. To those whose names are not here, I will be thanking you in private — there simply isn’t enough space in this thin column. With a smile of appreciation, I wish you the best of luck on your finals. Welcome to the glossy pages of Stuck in the Library.

CHANA GEKHT Ch ief o f Publicat ions

YAAKOV BRESSLER President of Stuck in the Library

CONTRIBUTING VISUAL ARTISTS: Constantine Onishchenko Kristina Markovic Merav Kraitenberger Mitzi Tena Mohammad (Chomio) Nasrullah Sanjida Bintekamal

CONSTANTINE ONISHCHENKO Chairp erson of Inst allat ion Comm ittee (Stuck in the Cafeteria)

Prompt 1: Humans are no longer the most dominant species on Earth.

FOREWORD: Some say it was something that came out of the forest, a product of nuclear radiation, or a result of GMOs in our foods. Others blame it on a government conspiracy. Whatever the case, itâ&#x20AC;&#x2122;s a reason to hide in a dead bolted bunker, terrified of what lurks out there. Humans have lost their hold at the top of the food chain. They are no longer the most dominant species on Earth. Flip through these pages to see what our contributors suggest this world might look like.

HE NEVER SHOULD HAVE SEEN THAT MOVIE By: Robert Feinstein He emerged from the theater shaking all over. It had not been the first movie he had seen about an invasion from outer space, but this one had been particularly frightening and he vowed never to put himself through such an ordeal again. Making his way back to his apartment via dimly-lit streets, he would periodically stop and glance around in order to reassure himself that he was not being followed. Then, he would chastise himself for acting foolishly. Yet, it was impossible to forget what he had just experienced. The terrifying thoughts would return. Could there really lurk, somewhere in the universe, such dreadful creatures? Upon arriving home he quickly locked and chained the door. Feeling safer amidst familiar surroundings, he began to calm down. Nevertheless, his fear had been so intense that he was enveloped by an icy chill. A nice cup of hot tea seemed appealing and he sipped it with considerable pleasure. Soon, he began to think of sleep. He had to be in the office early in the morning and he needed rest. Much to his disappointment, he found that sleep eluded him. Perhaps some soothing classical music might ameliorate his shattered nerves, and he turned on the radio. But all he could get was static. Disappointed, he turned it off with one of his upper tentacles and slithered under the blankets.

TECHDOMINANCE By: Irina Manasherova I get a new phone, the next day it's no longer â&#x20AC;&#x153;new.â&#x20AC;? With every day comes another technology that everyone wants to own. Update, upgrade. There's always something fresh on the market. It's tech-stress, trying to keep up with the most recent. We always want the newest products. But why? Talking on a phone for a while, It rings, because the battery is low. Like a ninja, I run to my room to grab the charger. Never have I run like that before. Out of breath, I barely make it. Phew, good thing my phone isn't dead though... Walk around with friends in the winter. Whoa, my friend just slipped and fell. I couldn't stop laughing, then I helped her onto her feet. I can't even imagine my phone slipping out of my hand, My heart races in panic, Is my phone okay? We say that we have full control of our phones, The powerful piece of technology in our hands. It's the phones which run our lives, We humans no longer dominate. We're constantly on our phones, For no reason to be found. Whether we are texting, surfing the web, playing games or taking selfies. Our lives revolve around these phones. Like brainwashed little kids who can't find another hobby or activity to do, Nothing at all. Will it continue dictating our daily lives? Only if we let it. Let's snap out of it! Take control. Go for the crazy ride we call life. No technology needed! 6

DRAGON SLAYING WARRIOR By: Moshe Bressler

of a nice lazy kill,” muttered Mellow into the night air.

KRAAAWWWWW! echoed throughout the valley, sending shivers down Mellow Tailfeathers’ spine. She knew that at the top of this great tangle of mountains lay a fierce and cold-hearted beast, the Northeastern Firebreathing Dragon. Mellow struggled up the steep crevice and thought of how she missed home. She pushed the thought out. Home was a place of the past; there was no home for a dragon-slaying warrior.

Warrior Knight of Yorksenlithe Tailfeather bared her sword, knowing this was going to be a dangerous battle. Her eyes flicked back and forth nervously, waiting for the dragon to makes its first move. She somehow knew that this battle was worth more than the other; she could sense there was going to be some sort of reward when this was all over. The dragon licked its chops. The faint shimmer of a thought — lunch — rumbled throughout his lazy stomach. “Eeeeeasy moneeeeeeeeeey!” shrieked the dragon. “Firrrrrhhhhhhhh Roaaasssssssts herrrrrrrh!” emanated from the belly of the dragon as he flexed his massive wings and kicked off the cliff.

The raging sun beat mercilessly upon Mellow’s back, the Kevlar pack on her back already heating up unbearably. Squinting, she was able to make out the familiar distant silhouette of an evil dragon taking its midday nap. “Perfect, all I need to do is get a little closer and the kill is mine!” she muttered under her breath. Suddenly the dragon stirred and pointed its spiny ears towards Mellow. Its eyes fluttered open and stared right at her. “Confound it! Why do I have to be so cliché just like every other dragon slaying warrior in every book ever? Why can’t I just be stealthy and quiet? Now I need to fight for my life instead

The dragon began to circle the tiny warrior. From the great height the great firebreather could faintly make out a yellow cape. Curse my ancestors for not interbreeding with birds, he thought. His throat rumbled as he kicked on the fire and his esophagus began to heat up.

Steam escapes the airborne dragon. Mellow Tailfeather shielded her eyes from the sun. She could see small wavy distortions in the air as the dragon’s fiery breath warmed up. She thought of how she might slay the dragon before the sharp teeth touch her body. Her fireproof clothing made her feel safe as the dragon circled lower and lower.

It is hours, days, even weeks before Mellow Tailfeather comes to. She has no clue what time it is. The moon is shining bright and full. She looks around. The mountaintop looks confusing and scary in the long shadows of the night. Her head feels squeezed by a too tight of a helmet and her legs feel weak beneath her. She tries to recall her memory but all she can remember is searching for a dragon at the top of this mountain.

The dragon took a swift dive towards Mellow and opened his fierce jaws. Mellow assumed the warrior position and braced her sword to slash the dragon’s throat. Faster and faster the dragon built up speed, his wings acting as fins slicing through the air. Eyes streaming and teeth outstretched, hungry for a human lunch, the yellow cape glowing closer and closer in his eyes. Mellow Tailfeather heard it before she felt it. The sudden crash followed by blackness.

It isn’t until the morning that she spots the dead dragon. No further than 70 paces of where she stood lay a crumpled dragon corpse. It is stacked vertically, almost as if it had been dropped nose first from the sky in an attempt to swallow the whole mountaintop. Surrounding the corpse is a crater, earth scorched black.

The Boom followed by the formidable sound of crumbling rock ricochets throughout the valleys. The earth trembling and trees shivering. Waves rippling and growing across all the nearby lakes and oceans.

Slaying Warrior Tailfeather grabs her sword, cuts out the heart, and extracts a tooth to add to her collection. Her mind is already on the next dragon as she makes her way down the steep crevices of the mountain.

Prompt 2: A man/woman hands you a credit card just before s/he shoots and kills him/herself. As you look at the card, it quickly changes to your name.

FOREWORD: This creative challenge focuses on the question of limits. What if you were provided with an unlimited cash flow? What if the limit was your life? What if your limit was fear? Would the credit card mentioned above be of value if the limit was an ultimate one? Deep questions like these can be and are appropriately answered through creative expression. Take a look at our contributorsâ&#x20AC;&#x2122; works and gain some understanding of your credit card.

FREE CREDIT? By: Faiza Faike 3.2.1. BANG! It happened. It happened again. Another innocent soul just blew up their skull in front of me again. I'm late once more to their rescue. This time it was my girlfriend, Eugenie, five months ago it was my aunt, eleven months ago her colleague. This vicious cycle is never ending. Surprisingly I've become quite immune to all the suicides, but then...why are these tears flowing again?

excusably swiping it on my next trip to the pharmacy and it worked! In other words, I can probably buy a car with this empty card. I never even knew this kind of magic was real in this world as I know it. Or perhaps this is just another “getting rich” dream? Maybe not. Since when did reality blend with vagary? I think, standing outside as I breath out the cold air of December. It's simple. If I don't want to be cursed by whatever’s in this card and then be brought to suicide (like the others) then I ought to shred and bury it. I get home and insert the card into my shredder but it doesn't even scratch it, on the contrary the blades in my machine actually twist in misery. At that moment I forfeited the idea of cutting it and without delay proceeded to burying it in some graveyard. Upon nightfall, I snuck into my car and drove to the only graveyard I was aware of, two miles from my place. The police would probably turn me over if I dug up anything during the day and they would most likely never listen to my reasoning.

All this drama is caused by a single plastic card. That's right, something that we call a “credit card” is the sole killer of all these precious souls. I walk up to my girlfriend’s corpse and pick up the credit card she dropped before unwillingly dialing for the hospital. Her name was carved into it and right before my eyes the letters transformed into my own. EDMOND SETHOS. Shocked? Well I can't act like this is unheard of; I recall my aunt and Eugenie telling me the same event taking place when they found the card too. Only I wouldn't believe them; I suppose that's the reason that this card has been passing on successfully. However, this is happening to me now, and I'll probably end up like them too... No, not me. I'm not going to let that happen. So far, all the people I know have maxed out the same card and declared bankruptcy, which led them to suicide, sadly. If this card can change the signatures on it then I'm not surprised if it's caused humans to get addicted to over using it. That explains how Eugenie was able to use it. But if that's the case, then shouldn't this card be invalid today? I tested my theory of the card being empty/unusable by 10

After climbing up the gate and transferring my shovel through the steel bars, I picked a random spot under a tree with fertile soil that could easily be shoveled. As soon as possible, I completed my task and exited the same way I came in. Unfortunately, the moment I pulled my car into drive, the gear failed. Astonished at my luck, I had to stay the night until the vehicle services office opened the next day. Sigh.

THE NEXT MORNING: Growl. I'm starving, is it morning already? I'll buy myself a bagel from the store across the cemetery and call the office since I'm still stuck here. Moments after, they came but I still had to take the bus home. On my way home, I got hit hard with a ball on the back of my head. As I finally approached my door, I realized the keys were forgotten in my car that was towed this morning. This day just cannot get any worse. I wonder if I have a friend that I can spend a night with. I thought of walking to a park bench to calm down and reflect. The park wasn't any help at all. In fact it proved to be worse, because the sprinklers sprayed showers of water in my direction. I jolted away immediately, but most of my shirt was already soaked. “What the hell is going on?!” I screamed to the sky. After that moment, I dialed up my old friend. “I'm really sorry, my relatives are over today,” he replied after I asked him if I could spend the night at his place. That answers that. What do I do now? I sluggishly walked down the street, eyes averted until a loud honk caught my attention. That was the last thing I remembered before I was thrown to the floor, my vision turning crimson.

mischievous synthetic being the very second it engraved my name on it. I can't even ask anyone for help. For now, I have to keep it with me. Therefore, I shove it back down my pocket. The first thing I do is go to the office and demand my keys. It took a while , but it was worth it and man did I realize how worn out I was when I fell onto my couch. Plus I need to fix myself something really badly, I only recall having breakfast in these course of events. I'm glad I'm looking at things optimistically now. I took out the card and thought deeply once more. I need to physically get rid of it and not just lock it away. That's when an idea occurred to me. Why don't I just burn it? That's traditionally been a secure way to abolish stuff. I walked to the fireplace and set it up. Whether it's plastic or metal, anything’s capable of burning. At least this one will actually melt. Without hesitation I threw the card in the burning flames of hell and watched the soul seep out of it. It would take hours before the melting process actually began. I felt somewhat proud of myself and confident that it was all over now. I hope Eugenie and Aunty will finally be able to rest in peace. This was for you guys, I told them, crying my last tears.

The next scene my eyes caught was the hospital ceiling as I agonized over the pain in my arm. This has been a very unlucky day. I felt tears wetting my dry eyes, waiting to be released. Being an orphan, there was only one or two relatives I could actually rely on and my aunt was one of them. Man I wanna kill myself… but then wouldn't I end up like the others? No that was due to the credit card… wait. All of this started happening when I buried that card didn't it? Dammit! I can't believe I was about to fall into its trap! I hop up from the bed and find my almost dried clothes in the room. With that, I crawl out the window (luckily it was only the first floor) and head back toward the graveyard, grabbing a taxi on the way. I return to the tree and soil and began undoing my previous deed with my bare hands. The card was still there only covered with dirt. I really don't know what to do with this, it's like I've signed a slave contract with this

Note: the author requested his/her name to be anonymous. We have thus inserted a false name.

As often as I witnessed the slaughter of my fellow man, the same thought occurred, despite my ignominious efforts to suppress it: “Truly, we are no different from them. Our accusations of moral bankruptcy were absurd, as we need not look any farther than ourselves to see that we share that same immorality.” The brutality, which we now incur was not too long ago dealt by our own hands, and the horror inherent from these actions have been so selfishly spared from our sight and conscience. This revelation occurred to me mere weeks before our butchery, as I laid my eyes upon a slaughterhouse of our own. Visions of that day deviate not far from the ones I have now: animals being treated as mere objects. I observed living beings hung upside down to be bled slowly while still breathing, their genitalia, beaks, and horns being viciously ripped off from their helpless bodies, children stolen from their mothers and condemned to a life of misery and isolation, babies by the thousands being ground up while fully conscious, and females being ruthlessly violated. All for “food”, which there was no need to dine upon and all in excess. I was disturbed, but in the face of depravity, what other choice did I have, being the weak creature that I was other than to exploit a moral expedient? I had convinced myself that humans, being the crown of creation were entitled to the bodies of those whom I considered incomplete: the bodies of those who tragically took on the forms so below my own. Within this vindication, I assured myself that my desensitization was a sign of my noble forbearance.

GIFRE’S JOURNAL By: Chuck Testa Many of my fellow humans have been taken away, to be used as commodities to fuel the splendor of this sick empire. Some were to be killed for food and clothing, others to be tested on or kept alive for entertainment, but they all shared the same tragic fate. We prayed for mercy, but to no avail. We prayed to god, only to lead to the belief that he had abandoned us. Why else would he subject us to injustice so unwarrantable? Were we not the crown of creation? Would it not be ideal for us to have not existed at all then to suffer through the pain of an unmitigated and miserable existence? And the audacity of these beings to designate us as animals. It was they who were the beasts, as their empathetic bankruptcy and wrath far exceeds that of any truly intelligent life form. The smugness with which these depraved things delighted in the knowledge that they may do with us as they pleased was dumbfounding. Yet, it all seemed oddly familiar. I was brought to a house from which the stench of death emanated. The floors stained with the pollution of corrupted blood. My family and I were thrown within a cell, and each one was slowly taken away and engulfed in a void. A few, in response to their resistance, were slaughtered right in front of us, among other strangers. It is from this cell that I am writing these words, to discern if this brutality is some form of retribution, and from this reflection perhaps I will extract some sort of meaning and consolation.

The thought beckoned me once again, this time at the dining table during what I now realized to be some sort of morbid ritual, in which we dined upon the flesh of mutilated animal bodies. There were sparse moments in which I questioned my actions, yet I was quick to reconcile my “peaceful” relation to these creatures, through a self-affirmation that I indeed held respect for them, and appreciated the sustenance they provided. I assured myself the torture I had witnessed within the house of slaughter was not of my own doing, and thus I should clear my conscience of such images. Yet I knew that no matter how methodically these houses of slaughter hid within the comforting distance of miles, there was complicity.

But I could not make sense of it. All beings tremble and cower before death and violence. It was nonsensical and haunting to believe that some possess the capacity for such depravity. Remote from any interaction, thoughts and memories, which I had previously suppressed, began to surface in evocative and scintilla-like ripples. But proceeding a younger mans bellows emanating from the room below, one thought in particular had preoccupied my mind. 12

the harsh antidote for our moral schizophrenia. Upon their arrival, they proclaimed themselves dominant, and proceeded to enslave, torture, exploit, and kill all those who beared the tragic fate of being human. Much like what we have done to the animals. The alien beings exulted in realization that they could overpower us in their superior intelligence and strength. Likewise, we did

The memory of the animals, which we have so ruthlessly slaughtered for flesh and vanity now mock me so severely, that despite the egotistical and self-righteous grotesqueries of my nature, I am unable to exempt myself of guilt and self-disgust as I have previously done. What difference was there, between these creatures and I? The chains and shackles that tormented them so are now the same that I bear. The blade that they tasted in pain, shall now be the spiller of my own blood. … At last, it was Gifre’s turn for slaughter. The alien beings dragged him to the killing room, as he rebelled in futility, fully aware of his absolute and deserving fate. Like his kind had done to animals, the alien beings kicked, screamed at, and abused Gifre as he resisted, until finally they locked him upside down in chains.

the same in acknowledgement of the utter helplessness of the animals, as well as to each other throughout history. Indeed, it seems that man monitors and passes judgment through the foggy looking glass of his limited knowledge. Every chasm in whatever form it may manifest: a feather, a beak, a horn, race and sex is magnified, distorted, and exploited through convincing artifice. He dare only navigate his life while using himself and himself alone as a standard to pass judgment. Through this broken window of reality, all measured are grotesque in their incompleteness in relation to himself. The extensions from which his fellow animal and human brethren are far more gifted are not acknowledged, as man surely knows, he will never attain this splendor for his own, and thus he is faced with two choices: accept his inadequacies or destroy all which is distinct from himself.

Now Gifre lay there suspended, regretful of the tragic and immoral failure known as humans. Now, how vividly shall he taste the steel which man once used to slaughter others. How vividly shall he spend his last breath in horror of the mutilated bodies of his loved ones. And how vividly, within that same breath, shall he recall himself justifying and delighting over the same horrors man inflicted upon his victims. He recalled a quote by a famous author, which he believed exceptionally appropriate for the situation: “Human beings see oppression vividly when they’re the victims, otherwise they victimize blindly and without a thought”

It has been so since the genesis of our species. Within the myriads of our miserable existence, we have never changed, but manifested in different forms with different weapons and instruments of oppression. It was not without a sense of irony that the species which stated that one reaps precisely what one sows, was the very, and only, species which sowed the seeds of hatred and murder yet felt fully entitled to the reaping of peace and happiness.

He laughed in despair and pitiful irony and in his last and most honest moment asked himself, “When will we learn?” And this eulogy, created in response to his species so called “oppression”, served as an immortalized testament to their hypocrisy.

IS THIS REAL? By: Irina Manasherova You won't believe what has happened to me. Last night I dreamed a dream. It was based on that Justin Timberlake movie, In Time? Yeah, that's it! It was on replay during that part where that guy gave Justin money worth a lifetime. Weird dream right? It gets even freakier! I was sitting in the library, minding my own business the next day. A girl sat down next to me and started talking. She began to thank me for all the things I've done for her, But I have never seen that girl before. She then started apologizing, â&#x20AC;&#x153;Sorry, I'm so sorry.â&#x20AC;? I felt weird and very confused. By the time I opened my mouth to ask who she was, she took out a gun, and shot herself. Only one thing was left behind that wasn't drenched in blood. It was a credit card. I picked up the card to find out the name of the girl. I wanted to find a reason or a story behind what just happened. Maybe I did know her? If I did, how could I forget? I felt terrible. Was I the cause of this sad event? As I moved the credit card closer to my face to see the name, The card writings became blurry in my eyes. I blinked once. I blinked twice. Wait, what? How is this my card? That's impossible! The card had my name on it, but I had never signed up for it.

What did this mean? What do I do? I felt lost again. A few days went by, Still no closure. I began to lose things, including my mind. I went into a store to make a purchase, with no money to be found. I looked at the credit card that haunted me. I wondered if it would work. I gave it to the cashier, and waited with my eyes wide open. The purchase was given to me, and the card was handed back to me too. It went through. I was WOWed. I wondered where these purchases would be billed. After a month of no news or bills sent in the mail, I decided to use it again. I was surprised no one has canceled by now. Is this luck? Is this destiny? But why?! No explanations, mind overwhelmed with wonder, I decided to do things with the credit card given, Not things just for me. I donated money to places I knew would use the money wisely. Nevertheless, I became greedy with the easy money access too. I stopped acting like myself, Forgot how it felt to work hard for money. Spoiled myself with no regret. However, I had no second thoughts about it. I deserved it, I wasn't selfish. But why did I still feel so guilty and confused? Will I ever rest in peace with this?

FINALLY GOING HOME

Did I hear correctly? $10 million!!!!

By Tanzina Nawrin

I went into the nearest shopping center and started shopping to my heart’s delight.

I was waiting for the traffic light to change color, when suddenly, I heard the ear deafening sound. BANG! BANG! A woman in her 80s just shot herself in broad daylight, in the middle of the street! My heart beat faster, time escaped me as the woman’s trembling hand grabbed me and passed me a debit card. “Use it wisely, or you will end up paying the same price.” As the old lady spoke her last words, she vanished into thin air. I carefully examined the gold card in my hand. It read my name. How was it possible? It was a different name a few seconds ago. I held the card tightly in my hand and walked towards the nearest bank. “Hello. I would like to check the balance for this card.”

After six hours of shopping, I stopped for a quick burger and fries at the nearest McDonald’s. I was not sure if millionaires ate at McDonald’s. As I was about to bite into the sandwich for the second time, I noticed red pigments which resembled blood on my sandwich. I spit into my napkin, confirming that yes, I was indeed bleeding. I abandoned my late lunch and ran into the bathroom and started to rinse my mouth. The bleeding finally stopped, revealing my loose tooth. Huh, that’s strange; the sandwich was nowhere near hard enough for me to lose a tooth. I walked out the restaurant and decided to go home. This has been a really weird day. On the way to the subway people kept giving me weird looks. A teenager even offered me her seat on the train. As I was sitting down, I caught a glimpse of myself on the window, but it was not me. It was someone who looked like me but 30 years older. The reflection staring back was not me. It could not be me. I am only 20 years old, not 50! What is happening to me? Is it because of the card?

I waited nervously as my brain started firing millions of questions at a time. What if the card changes its name again and the bank arrests me or blames me for fraud? What did the lady even mean? Why me? Why did she kill herself? “Miss, you have currently $10 million on this card.” I smiled politely and secured the card in my wallet.

Suddenly, a realization hit me. What if the old lady from this morning was not old at all, but a victim of the card? I got off the nearest train stop with the aim to return everything I bought, hoping it would reverse my age. However, things changed from weird to weirder. I noticed a 16 year old girl walking by me. She looked exactly like me. Am I really going insane? First people vanish into thin air and I age faster than I can blink and now I am seeing my look-alike? I ran toward the girl hoping to get some insight. “Hey! Stop! Who are you?” I screamed at the girl. “I am you but number 5,” the girl replied. I became even more confused than I originally was. “What do you mean, you are me? How is that even possible? What do you mean by number 5?” I asked with pure frustration. “There are 10 of us and you are number 4. Our original parents are biophysicists. They were in an immense amount of danger and in order to secure their lives, they left all of their investments in one card. They created 10 of us to keep the family wealth secure and to find a way to help bring them back from their alternate reality,” the girl replied as if this was a normal piece of information. “How do you even know this? Am I dreaming? This has to be a dream because there is no way all of this is true!” “Well, it is. To be completely honest, I am surprised to even see you here in my reality. Only time we are allowed to see one of our sisters in the same reality as ours is when that particular sister is failing.”

I have to kill myself? What will happen to my family that loved and raised me for the last 20 years? How will they take it? How will they afford to pay the rent without my help? Who will take care of them if I am gone? The girl said I was number 4, meaning 3 other people gave up their lives for parents and wealth they didn’t even know existed. “I do not want this. I never asked for it. I am happier being poor and miserable with the parents I love than sacrificing my memories of them for parents I have never even met,” I told Number 5. I threw the girl and the debit card in front of the approaching train. She screamed and disappeared into thin air, similar to how the old lady disappeared this morning after killing herself. I felt bad about what I did, but at least she will be safe in another reality. I got on the train for the second time that day with the thought of going home. I fearfully opened my purse and took out my little makeup mirror. I was my original age again! I happily put the mirror inside the purse, when a small envelope sticking out of the purse caught me eyes. The note inside said “Use it wisely. Locker number- 04, 38, 24.” I shredded the paper into the smallest pieces imaginable, put it back inside the envelope, and patiently waited for the train to approach home. Finally, going home!

“WHAT? What do you mean? Do I have to kill myself like the old lady who gave me the card?” “Only if you fail to solve the puzzle, and death is not the ultimate punishment. When you kill yourself, you are born again in another reality but all your memories from this reality will be erased.” Number 5 continued to speak but I could not seem to process what she was saying.

school's tuition with it and now that tuition didn't exist. Neither did his friends, who also don't remember anything about him. Nino Marlo: 7788-666-42141. He had explained to a friend about this credit card his brother gave him, which was when he was promptly thrown out by school security. The friend he was talking to swore he never knew him, even though they'd been friends for four years.

THE BETTER SON By: Lena Farraj This is a short story about Robert Marlo. Marlo was a young 22 year old engineer. Fifteen minutes ago, Robert handed a credit card to the one and only person he hates most in the world, his younger brother. As he handed over the credit card, in broad daylight, he stared at his young sibling, Nino Marlo, and promptly shot himself in the head.

Ten weeks later, homeless, friendless, and crazy, Nino thought of Robert. Beside him were a concoction of pills.

Three weeks later, Nino is seeing a therapist about his brother's death. Although Nino doesn't come from a family of wealth, he used the credit card to pay for his therapist.

He loved his brother, even though he knew Robert hated him, ever since he was born. Robert always resented his brother and would swear that he would seek revenge on him. Nino was guilty of being three years younger, a whole lot smarter, better looking, and quite frankly, the better son. Robert knew this and even though he wanted to love his brother, couldn't bring himself to do so. Robert drank to the point of alcoholism. He fantasized about raping women. He wanted to torture and eventually murder people. He wanted to murder Nino. And even though he wanted to do all these horrendous actions, he never did any, as long as Nino was alive. Those actions, as impulsive as Robert knew he was, would only make himself look worse, and have Nino look better.

“The card changed to my name when he handed it over to me.” “What do you mean, Nino?” “Doc, the card magically changed to my name on the card. It was Robert's name, and now it's my name. I used it to pay for our sessions-” “Excuse me?” “What?”

Robert spent hours thinking of how to kill Nino, but knew that he wouldn't kill him. When he found the credit card, it was a sigh of relief. He called Nino right away.

“Who are you?” “"What doc?” “I'm sorry how did you get in my office? I only see patients that are already registered with me. How did you even get here?”

“Nino I need to talk to talk to you in person!!” “For what?” “I'm going to tell you that I love you.”

“Doctor Reem, I've been here for two fucking weeks. What are you talking about?”

Nino didn't believe him but out of respect for his older brother, went to meet Robert anyway.

And just like that, Nino was thrown out of his therapist's office. The doctor did not recognize him, even though they were mid-session. There were no records of Nino's previous sessions. Nino didn't exist in that office.

Robert handed Nino the credit card and whispered in his ear, “I’m ready to be at peace with you Nino.” Nino looked into his brother's eyes, looked at the revolver pointed to his head, and finally understood the pain of his brother's life.

Six weeks later, Nino is getting more fragile, more paranoid. He was thrown out of art school, with zero records of his presence. He looked at the credit card. He paid his 17

Prompt 3: Write an anonymous letter. It can be addressed to someone but it should be signed by no one.

FOREWORD: WORLD ENGLISH DICTIONARY:

Anonymous (əˈnɒnɪməs) anony mous (əˈnɒnɪməs) — adj

— adj

1. from or by a person, author etc, whose name is un known or withheld.

Dear KSI, It has been almost a week since I completely cut you off from my life. I did this because I wanted to distance myself from it. I felt like everyone was hiding something from me. I admit I held on to the past way too much. I wanted to go back to the good times because we were both genuinely happy. However, I saw that you and I had changed a lot. The hope of being friends like before seemed to be a mere dream. I donâ&#x20AC;&#x2122;t have any resentment from this experience. If youâ&#x20AC;&#x2122;re willing to admit your mistakes like I have, then I might be open to being friends again. Iâ&#x20AC;&#x2122;m aware that people make mistakes in their lives and sometimes would give anything to fix them. But, it would be up to you to decide. I hope you understand. Sincerely, Rosy

Dear Readers: I just wanted to say that you matter. Does this feel empty, given the source? If that is the case, there is something that can be done about it. In order for this to work, we must take action. Life has no meaning, or so we may have thought. We are placed in a world which we are told is wonderful, only to see a bitter land. The humans are unrelatable, the lessons are impractical, and the solutions to life don't sound any better to us than any problem. Despite all this, we are looked down upon for our dissatisfaction. There is obviously no hope for the future - or is there? As we grew, we may have met people that we can talk to. They give us a reason to move the ball of life forward. We might find ourselves caring about someone and something in a way that we would have never imagined. Does this apply to all? There is media that encourages positive thinking. It might seem like something that assists, but they are not there for the people they supposedly stand for. They might never meet those who speak of such things. Where would one find a source of inspiration?

There are some people who see no cause that is worthy. They are trapped in that space that we were once a part of. Our empathy should tell us to avoid judging them as we once were. This is a positive step in the right direction, but there is more that we can do. I believe that our intervention is key. We can reach out to people as individuals or small groups. Having a past that resembles their present gives us the insight we need to change their point of view. We live in a world of mass communication. Finding a way to do this should not be too difficult. We must also note that some might not feel trapped. We must understand that there are people who will not work towards a cause, and some who might prefer the path of loneliness. As long as we do what we can, we should not worry too much about this. The goal is not to be intrusive. In fact, I would normally discourage such behavior. Unless there is an extreme and dangerous circumstance, it is best to leave them as they are. We should encourage people to pursue something that is greater than themselves, but the decision needs to be theirs. It is hard to understand that we matter. My assurance in this space will not change that, but I will not give up. In order for this world to improve, we must take a stand. If we can work on helping those in need on a consistent basis, that ball will roll without causing anybody to trip. â&#x20AC;&#x201D;Sincerely, A concerned citizen 20

Dear Vee,

I feel like an empty page again. Remember those times? The times I would feel empty and ask you to fill me up with words? Well, I feel like that now. Remember how you used to say jokes and make yourself laugh until I laughed because I saw you laughing and not because anything was funny but because you were laughing so hard? That’s how I feel now except nothing is funny and I see you unhappy and I don’t know what’s not happy but I feel unhappy because you’re so. Your blankness fills me with words. –Yours

Bottle o’ Nuthin’ Sometimes, the only way to stop hurting is to drink Drink the pain away YELL! Yell the world away Until It's just you and a bottle of sumthin' Sumthin' to make your mind think of nuthin’

Dear Yazda Khalif, I am writing on behalf of William Sanders, the man who murdered you. In his lifetime, Mr. Sanders did many wrongs things. But he was a noble man. On his deathbed, all he could do was grovel and weep over his past. His cries won’t be heard by the families of the deceased, but I have been fortunate enough to hear them with my own ears. Mr. Sanders asks not for your forgiveness in the afterlife, but for your understanding. Sincerely, W. Sanders and K. Antiya 21

Grandma, It's so hard to say goodbye, Until death do us part. It's so hard to say goodbye to the women who helped raised me. I can't imagine a life without you. I honestly can't! It horrifies me that one day I won't be able to see you or hear you. It scares me to death that in a few weeks, I won't be able to kiss your forehead, or rub your hands. I'm sorry that I wasn't a perfect granddaughter to you. I regret it so much, and I feel guilty because I can't do much about it now. You are slowly fading, Slipping through my fingers. My chest hurts so much, I can't contain my breath. I feel a flood of tears running down my face as if they were in a race. I love you so much. I can't say it enough. You are loved. You are great. You've tried to be the best. You've done so much for everyone. You have been an angel, a blessing on earth. I wish I can hang on to you longer, but I know how tired you are. I know how much pain you're going through, Although it kills me, I want you to smile again. Whether it's with us on earth or with other angles above. I can't help but cry as I write this, sorry if I'm selfish. I just love you so much it hurts to let you go, knowing that I won't be seeing your beautiful smile for a long long time... I wish it wasn't so.

â&#x20AC;&#x201C; Your heartbroken granddaughter

TO ANA WONGSTER my mistake for wastin my time fuckin wit fake, as of late, i like the mix that i got on my plate call it fate but she sit two seats from my face i cant wait i gotta admit its depressing but we only seem to show love whenever we're texting its perplexing but, i dont want to fuck up my chances understand this you're why i even attend some of my classes. is my crushin unrequited? if i gave you my heart would you simply deny it? thats why i keep quiet i rather long for nothing than wait on forever and bottle unspoken emotions inside an electronic love letter my life gets no better with each door that i open so i stick to the smokin hopin you notice the affection i have that is contained if i gave it my all would the love still remain cause the idea of this ending it drives me insane id turn into a stranger lovin on tight rope so my heart is in danger but if we divide at least my love; it'll be a remainder but heres a reminder even if you say no i’ll stay right behind ya cause love isnt about lettin me inside ya its more like knowin you found a shoulder on which to lean dont wanna sound like a fiend but i’m down for your team just want you to know thats what true love really mean and fuck a third party if thats what prevents our progression i’ll love every inch of your body and give you undivided attention others come close but can they compare? hardly and if this makes shit awkward well then i’m sorry if you outline my life with a marker i got more secrets than peter parker im not gay this is awkward every days another day and if you ain’t feelin the kid what more can i say? i guess but i digress if theres nothin left at least i wrote my all and ensured that you got my best

YOU, Cause I’ll be staring at the pre-dawn light, Wondering what sights keeps you up all night. Where you’ll tell me what I’d tell you About predawn about midnight, That it’s alright, When nobody is around. To be around. Without a sound, Other than your breath and your mind whirring at what keeps you awake. Keep me awake. In the hours I arise. So that I can look at your eyes And tell you you’re beautiful. You’re beautiful.

You probably don’t know that I’m writing about you, But when you do, You’d probably blush, And think the nice things I’m saying are not true. So I won’t say anything nice, at all, I won’t mention how I like that you’re not tall, Or how you keep your brain sharpened and real, Like an uncooked meal, Before it’ll be microwaves-heated, Cause’ you’re the type who doesn’t need it Cause’ it’s not the real thing, even though it’s easier. If you were easier, I think you’d not be the real thing, Would I care a thing?

Not that you should believe me, Because I’m a liar, Like a flying tire on fire, Picking up free limewire.

And I won’t say of the way you dislike certain things, Like a stabbing blinking light on the computer screen, Emptiness, it screams,

I don’t even believe anything I say, But if I think the right way, I think Maybe I’ll get bad thoughts to go away,

Empty, Are you there?

Be around. Not that I care.

– Me 24

STL’S LITERARY AWARDS Lena Farraj

Chairperson of Awards Committee

Lauren Fink

Associate Member of Awards Committee

Rechan Meshulam

Associate Member of Awards Committee

Ariella Nagel

Associate Member of Awards Committee

The Stuck in the Library literary awards were created to recognize and celebrate the talented writings of the students of Brooklyn College. Three categories of literature were organized to form three awards based on journalism, poetry/form, and emotional content. Our Awards Committee has sifted through BC’s publications, nominated a number of works, and narrowed the pile down to the winners you see here. Their job was not easy as there were countless nominations, each worthy of awarding. JOURNALISTIC EXCELLENCE: "You're miserable, edgy and tired. You're in the perfect mood for journalism.” ― Warren Ellis Winner: Karen Schaefer, Killing for Mercy (Nightcall). MOST EMOTIONALLY RIVETING PIECE: “Fill your paper with the breathings of your heart.” ― William Wordsworth Winner: Shifra Shine, Moving On (STL). A WORD SPOKEN: “The key ingredient to better content is separating the single from the stream” – David Hahn Winner: Courtney Takats, In the Kitchen (STL). Founded and directed by Lena Farraj, it is believed that the efforts of such awards on our behalf would encourage and motivate the students of Brooklyn College to produce fantastic writing. 25

CONTINUED

STL’S LITERARY AWARDS JOURNALISTIC EXCELLENCE

Winner Karen Shaefer is chosen for the Journalistic Excellence award because of her many qualities that are true to her writing. Shaefer’s writing grasps tough truths and are compiled in a way where all readers can understand. Shaefer’s writing came from what she believes, from her heart and went straight into the light. Journalistic Excellence is for a writer who demonstrates independence in their words, confidence in tone, and advocate for what they believe is right. In the Kitchen Sample: On Feb. 4, 2010, a woman named Gigi Jordan, a millionaire pharmaceutical executive, decided to take her son’s life. Police officers at the Peninsula hotel recall breaking into room 1603, where they found a crying Ms. Jordan lying next to the stiff, cold body of her eight year-old son. Pills and bottles were scattered about the room. At first glance, it would seem that either Ms. Jordan had possibly gone insane, could not handle her child, or maybe even wanted to harm him. However, there is much more depth to the story and skimming the surface does not explain the story in a fair manner.

Ms. Jordan’s son was, unfortunately, both mute and autistic. His mother decided to give her son a fateful dose of drugs to end his pain and suffering in what she termed a “mercy killing”. Ms. Jordan had other issues to contend with. Her first husband had verbally threatened to harm and possibly murder her and her son, and she had reasonable grounds to believe that he would make good on his claims. Ms. Jordan also suspected that her second husband, the biological father of the eight year-old boy, raped and tortured the boy on several accounts…

MOST EMOTIONALLY RIVETING PIECE Winner Courtney Takats is chosen for the Most Emotionally Riveting Piece award because her writing penetrates hearts, minds, and souls. Her work impels us to think deeper and look further. Her piece In the Kitchen is one of great pain and sorrow or joy and happiness. But most of all, it makes us feel. Feel the tears, the hurt and anger. Feel the smiles and laughs. And hopefully it will make us feel more whole again. In the Kitchen Sample: …She bit her lips together, staring wideeyed at me. I nodded to the sponge forgotten on the floor. “It’s an egg, Amb,” I said, “It’s okay.” She shook her head. “No. No. No.” Repeating it like a chant. “What,” I said, “What’s not okay? Thing’s are fucking swell.” Curses were more comfortable on my tongue, and this one rolled off with ease. “No,” She said again, “Nothing’s okay and nothing’s gonna be okay again. I can’t pretend to be. Be strong. Strong. Like you. Dad’s gone and

he’s in jail and mom’s lost her mind and we’re all alone and why us, Ana? Why does it have to be us? Why does it always have to be us?” I couldn’t conjure a smile. “I don’t know, Amb.” My voice just above a whisper. I slid down to the tile ground, that tacky off-white eggshell bullshit of all kitchen floors, back pressed to the wall, legs bunched in front of me. She joined me. Above, on the counter, the cookie dough was forgotten.

A WORD SPOKEN Everyone can tell a story but few can tell it well enough that they keep their audience interested without the use of fillers and/or too many unnecessary details. Winner Shifra Shine for the A Word Spoken award not only portrays her writing well, but also uses language effectively. Thus, taking us, the readers, into the world of her words: Precise, concise, and eloquent to its very core. Our Awards Committee’s favorite, this type of award is clearly reflective on Shine’s character as well as personality. Moving On Sample: One day I'm almost sure I'll forgive and move on, Stick up my nose in the air and say I was wrong. Or not, but I'll put on a big floppy hat, And pretend no person can hurt me like that. I'll walk a little straighter and speak nice of myself,

I'll stroke the band aids and say these will heal with help. I'm sure one day I'll purge my mind, Of every thought that kept me behind. I'll see the sun more brightly, I may sing a song, Yes, one day, I am sure I'll forgive and move on. 26

STUCK

THE

LIBRARY

UPCOMING EVENTS:

DOVIE EISNER Senior Editor

Final Exams : Wed

12/17—12/23

DECEMBER 1, 2014

Everywhere

MERAV KRAITENBERGER S en io r Editor

YONI AKERMAN Treasurer

ARI ZIEGLER This publication is funded by Brooklyn College’s student activity fee and is distributed to the university’s community. No profit has been made by our staff through the publishing or distribution of this publication.

S en io r M ember o f Events Com mittee

Submissions are reviewed on a rolling basis and are judged by STL’s editors and can be rejected on any basis. All judgments made by our editors are final.

LENA FARRAJ

Permission to publish the content in this publication was granted to Stuck in the Library by all contributors. Contributors have released and discharged Brooklyn College and Stuck in the Library from any and all claims and demands arising out of or in connection with the use of the work including any and all claims for libel. All contributors retain all original copyright ownership. Copying, reprinting, or reproducing any material in this publication is strictly prohibited.

Chairp erson of A wa rds Comm it t e e

Printed by Smartcopy, NY.

STUCK

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DECEMBER 1, 2014

Stuck in the Library aims to facilitate a space where creativity can flourish. STL aims to do this by creating a magazine which publishes often and encourages its enthusiasts to meet its contributors, resulting in a thriving literary sphere in Brooklyn College. A main focus of the magazine is to get those whose careers donâ&#x20AC;&#x2122;t point in the direction of literature involved in the world of writing and creativity. VISIT US ON THE WEB AT: WWW.STUCKINTHELIBRARY.COM

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