Unapologetically Artistic

This year’s arts magazine has been made possible by the following
people:
Supervising Editors: Arely Ortiz, Marissa Hernandez, Emily
Terramani, and Ashley Rice
Fiction Editors: Melanie Guardado and Izel Varela
Poetry Editors: Emma Frias and Danielle Gutierrez
Visual Arts Editors: Jackie Tejada and Tori Morales
Performance Art Editors: Samantha Rose Gonzalez and Amanda
Melendez
Faculty Editor: Matthew Carrillo-Vincent
2

Foreword
Unapologetically Artistic. Two images seem to surface from this title: anarchy and
cockiness. Anarchy, in the sense that this magazine might contain art that is outside
the conventional: a calculated attack against society’s oppressive influence over the
lives of the young, primarily that of teenage girls. Cockiness, in the sense that this
magazine is some kind of Tumblr post: full of cliché ideas about life mixed with
color-coordinated photographs of places.
If these were the images you thought of when opening this, we hate to
disappoint you. This magazine isn’t a rebellion against society in a Tumblr aesthetic;
it’s a bold statement. A clear indication that we see the world in a certain way and
aren’t afraid to make it known.
Now, we aren’t saying society’s stereotypes toward women do not have an
impact on us. Nor are we attempting to downgrade our pride for this magazine. As
unapologetic artists, we are both prideful in our work and conscious of the world’s
expectations. We, however, cannot be bothered to follow these expectations. Our
purpose is not to bring awareness to the invisible bubble that traps teenage girls – this
bubble was brought to light long ago. Instead, this magazine is simply a showcase of
our student’s talents. It is a collection of snapshots of our students’ lives, small
moments that represent how they see the world and the expectations it places on their
shoulders. Every worldview is different. Each one represents the “perfect moment” in
our artist’s life, capturing the moment the world became more than what it appeared.
As a community, we appear the same: we’re all teenage girls, transitioning
between society’s mixed signals of how we are both children and women. We all
attend the same Catholic school. We all wear the same uniform. Yet, as you read
through this magazine, the most poignant similarity between us will not be our
gender, our age, or even the clothes we wear. It will be the simple need to be heard, to
voice our “perfect moments,” to share just a glimpse of the world as we know it.
A word of caution: our world is not picturesque; we do not skim the surface,
avoiding the ugly parts. It also isn’t brutal: our focus isn’t to overdramatize the world’s
faults, to bring out its ugly side in the name of the arts. The world is confusing; we are
just bringing that to light, as all unapologetic artists do.
Unapologetically,
The Editors
3

Table of Contents
“The Page” – Tori Concepcion………………………….…..…..7
“Yo Más / Me More” – Lily Perales…………………….…..…...8
“Night” – Charlotte Zhang…………………………….…...…....9
“Modern Romance” – Nathalie Diaz………………….…….….10
“The House of the Church of Girl” – Sophia Torres….…….….11
(First Place, Writing Contest in Poetry)
“Blinding” – Jackelyn Tejada………………………….…….…..12
“Pay the Piper” – Sophia Reyes……………………….…….…..13
(First Place, Writing Contest in Fiction)
“Views from the 424” – Alissa Barrera…………………………24
“Eucalyptus” – Danielle Gutierrez…………………………..…28
“5senses” – Sophia Sandoval…………………………....……....30
(Runner-Up, Writing Contest in Poetry)
“The Sense of Up” – Angela Domingo....………………………31
(Runner-Up, Writing Contest in Poetry)
“Because I Am a Woman” – Danielle Valenzuela………………32
“Facing Death” – Samantha Herrera…………………………....34
“Insect Sketch” – Jenny Huang………………………………....35
“Madness” – Alexis Chin………………………………….……36
“Trapped” – Samantha Rivera………………………….…….....37
“Fallen Leaves” – Monique Rios………………………………..38
“The Fight” – Kaylan Amezcua………………………………...40
“Kurt Cobain” – Danielle Gutierrez……………………………41
“Farewell” – Isabella Rea……………………………………….42
(Untitled) – Vida Ubalejo……………………………………….44
“Star Wars Haikus” – Katie Selko………………………………45
“Lolo” – Angela Domingo……………………………………...46
“The Mostly Fictional Adventures
of the Girl Called I” – Sophia Torres……………………...47
(Runner-Up, Writing Contest in Fiction)
“Gilbert” – Sherry Deaquino…………………………………...53
(Runner-Up, Writing Contest in Poetry)
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“Where Are You From” by Emma Frias…………………….....54
“Close Up and Not So Personal” – Jackelyn Tejada……………56
“Oblivion” – Tiffany Guzman………………………………….58
“Build Up Knock Down” – Audrey Ruiz………………………59
“LA Streetscapes” – Nyah Austin………………………………60
“Lost in Los Angeles” – Madeline Garcia………………………62
(Runner-Up, Writing Contest in Fiction)
“Untitled Series” – Emilee Reichenbach………………………..72
“Photograph” – Emilee Reichenbach…………………………..74
“Who Will Save Us?” – Stephanie Varghese……………………76
“They Told Me” – Alyssa Herrera……………………………..77
“We Become One” – Angela Domingo………………………...78
“Waiting Game” – Sophia Sandoval……………………………79
“Girl” – Anna Lu………………………………………………80
“Filthy Adventures” – Daniela Salatino………………………...81
“Torment” – Victoria Morales……………………..…………...82
(Untitled) – Stella Rugama ……………………………...……...83
“Cerebral Streams” – Cecilia Nuñez…………………………...84
“The End” – MariaElena Gutierrez……………………………86
“Ramona Girls” – Izel Varela…………………………………..87
The Performance Arts Supplement to this Year’s
Unapologetically Artistic is available at:
https://www.youtube.com/channel/UC2QruU87Edk
aHKbndRcPX9A
Please see work by:
Tiffany Guzman, Vanessa Zamalloa, Arely Ortiz,
Marissa Hernandez, Emily Terramani, Seven Wu
5

“Wild tongues can’t be tamed,
they can only be cut out.”
- Gloria Anzaldúa
6

The Page
Three years into this assignment
with only one more to go
and I've yet to write
this single most important page.
Voice silent. Mind blank.
Fear and nerves conquer
all that I recognize of me.
Not the me I want him to see.
I got this. I can do this.
Is all that I repeat.
It's only a simple assignment, yeah right.
The assignment of my life, so far.
Pen to paper. Thoughts to action.
The page that took forever to craft
cause of never ending nerves
was a work of simplistic art.
He read the page and stared for hours.
His surprised response to a shared emotion.
Out of his pocket, a folded page
one for me to read.
Three years wasted filled with
unnecessary nerves and fears.
Tori Concepcion
7

Yo Más / Me More
If I ever tell my grandma how tired I am,
she laughs and says, yo más.
And on my birthday when she asks how old I am,
I tell her,
but she always says, yo más.
And when I dress up and my mom
tells me how pretty I look,
my grandma smirks and says, yo más.
It's been eight years since my grandpa has died
and my grandma has had to live alone.
I sleep with her every night so she's not lonely
but it's not easy. She snores. A lot.
If I told her that I snored loud
she would definitely have to say, yo más.
She puts so much cream on her face
that if you hugged her
you'd be left with a shiny cheek.
And if you'd ask her, Mamamia
which has more grease, you or these papas?
She would have no choice but to say, yo más.
And whenever I leave my grandma's house
in the earliest hours of the morning,
I kiss her greasy face and say, te quiero mucho.
And she always says
yo más.
Lily Perales
8

Deaf, dumb
Savage
Red lips,
Pointed teeth.
Lips move—
No sound
Huge bedroom followed
Silent giant duke.
Cocktail with red soup.
Ocean recognizes
Your name.
Charlotte Zhang
9

Modern Romance
“Romance,”
Ghosts say
“Is calmly dashing through
A muddy cemetery.
In your newly dug grave,
You are dry
At last.”
Ghosts are
Grinning now.
“Romance is horror
And
Illnesses are your
Apology.”
Ghosts’ grins
Falter.
Romance
Is their specialty.
Nathalie Diaz
10

The House of the Church of Girl
The closet full of clothes has become
my confessional
Because in the closet of my own is
where I hold my sins
The boys in the band have become
my preachers
Because their sermons stir the
depths of my soul
The cabinet of medicine has become
my tabernacle
Because there is stored the
foods that make me whole again
The drinks full of alcohol have become
the Blood of the Christ everlasting
Because the chalice is raised to the sky
then taken in by my body
The boy that I like has become
my saint
Because I kneel before him,
but never worship fully
The dresser topped with makeup has become
my pew
Because I sit there trying to cover up
my sins
with questionable practices
Sophia Torres
11

12
Photograph by Jackelyn Tejada

PAY THE PIPER
Sophia Reyes
Hello,
This is your best friend. I haven't contacted you in a while, not since
we parted ways in middle school nearly three years ago. This message may
seem a bit random, but I must write to you regarding an urgent situation.
For the past two years you have been a member on the social network
Piper. On this site you have religiously followed a user by the name of
Penultima1216. I know this because I am Penultima1216. That person is a
lie. Let me explain. The last time you saw me nearly three years ago, I was
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happy. I had a loving family. I had a best friend (You). I was pretty. I was
popular. I was a happy young girl, albeit an ordinary one.
Until I sold my soul to a stranger on the Internet.
If you haven't figured it out yet, this message is a dire warning. I still
wonder why I didn't contact you years ago, and tell you to beware, to delete
that godforsaken Piper app and run. Now it's too late. The Piper has called
to you too. I've betrayed you, my friend, it's true. By this last warning I
hope to bring you some closure and peace, even if I can't save you. You're
a better person than I am, and you deserve better! But alas, I can only hope
this message reaches you in time. I know I am being watched. I know the
countless eyes on my back are going to alert him. The Piper. He's coming.
And yes, I'm talking about the Piper app who has for ten weeks been the
top seller in the iTunes Store. The Piper who has been heralded by
antisocial teens and entrepreneurs alike for its "social versatility". The
fabled Piper who can make you a cult figure with a million followers within
a week. I believed it all.
What an idiot I was.
I haven't slept in two days. The watching has become unbearable.
The dripping is driving me insane. I can't stand it. I can't stand it; the guilt,
the pain, the feeling like I'm going crazy. Perhaps I am. Perhaps it started
the day I purchased the Piper App for 99 cents. I couldn't resist the siren
call of instant popularity, worldwide fame, global adoration! I worshipped
the picture-perfect Piper idols, those bold, outrageous, girls! They
pronounced swear words as though they were sacred. They made the most
raunchy escapades into epics worthy of Homer! They spoke every sentence
as though it meant everything and nothing. I could tell you some of the
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wilder things they said and did, but I think it would disgust you. These girls
were my favorite worst nightmares. I don't understand why I was drawn to
them. But I was. I wanted to be the life of the party. To have fun. I know
this sounds so uncharacteristic for me, but I can't explain it. I wanted to be
like them. I wanted to be adored. To be laughed at. To be followed.
I got my wish. I asked for a drop of rain, and I got a flood.
I was up late one night, still on my phone. My parents and brothers were
asleep. I opened my new Piper app. I created my Penultima1216 profile on
Piper and decided to call it a night. But then music, beautiful music began
to blast from my phone. I hastily silenced it. How weird, I thought. It
wasn't even my ringtone. That's when I got an alert for a message. I was
bewildered. Who on earth could be contacting me in the dead of night? I
shook off my sleepiness and saw that the message was from someone
whose name was The Piper. My hands shook as I read it. This Piper
individual welcomed me to his platform, explaining that he was the creator
of the Piper App. He asked whether I needed help building my follower
base. I almost squealed. Just think, the creator of a world renowned app
contacting me, insignificant, ordinary, me! And even more, he wanted to
help me find followers! I felt confidence surge through me. I replied boldly:
Penultima1216: Hello Piper! I just want to say thanks
for showing so much interest in me! I'm literally in
tears right now.......tears of happiness! X'D. So,
what can I do to get more followers?
The Piper: Salutations Penultima1216! I am most eager
to welcome you to this humble platform. ;) Your
eagerness, in turn, has delighted me greatly. If you
are truly willing, I shall assist you in your search
for discipleship. :P But you must be dedicated to the
cause.
Penultima1216: I am! : D
The Piper: And you must truly wish to be followed. ;)
Penultima1216: Yes! :DDDD
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The Piper: You have passed the test. You have your
first follower! ;)
Penultima1216: Alright I got an alert, saying that I
have one follower. Wait.....what......but my account
details still say I have zero followers :'( Is this a
joke? >:(
The Piper: Look up, sweetheart.
Penultima1216: Hahahaha you con artist I'm looking
up.......HOLY SHIT
A pair of green eyes hung in the air above my head. They looked
down upon me, blinking silently. I dropped my phone and almost
screamed. The eyes followed me. I looked at my bedside clock. 3:00 am. I
turned off my phone and flung the covers over my head, heart pounding. It
was fatigue, I told myself. Fatigue, and over-excitement. I don't remember
much of that night. I must have fallen asleep soon after from exhaustion
and terror.
When I woke up, the nightmare continued.
Seven pairs of eyes hung above my head. There was the green pair
from the previous evening. There were others too, some blue, some
brown, one black and two dazzling hazels. All of them were staring directly
at me. I often wonder then why I didn't think I was crazy. I suppose my
horror was soon mitigated when I turned on my phone. Seven new alerts.
Seven new followers. I can't explain it, but the acceptance of those few
anonymous souls quashed my uneasiness. I went about on the business of
my day, and I was HAPPY. The little eyes followed me, and I felt a sense
of security. They were my eyes. They were my followers. They were the
Piper's gift to me. I shivered when I thought of the mysterious Piper, and
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what he could make me. He would make me a hero. A queen. A goddess. I
ate breakfast with my brothers, went to school, and the tide of eyes
followed me out the door like a flood.
It continued all throughout the day.
More alerts from my phone.
More followers.
More eyes, whirling around me like planets around the sun.
I basked in an ocean of gazes.
I won't tell you the things I did, the things I said, the lies I posted to that
miserable Penultima1216 account.
You've already seen it anyways.
And you're probably disgusted.
Since you're much better than me.
By noon I had gained 1000 followers. I was in heaven.
And by dusk I was in hell.
I was walking home from school that day. The streets were oddly
quiet. The people I passed didn't give me a glance. I thought nothing of it,
wrapped in my blanket of gazes. I opened the door of my house and
walked in. My family was eating dinner. I sat down. They didn't
acknowledge me. We ate in silence, and I checked my phone under the
table as the cloud of eyes grew thicker around me; a curtain of white orbs.
They glassily reflected the light from my screen. I typed away.
A snide remark here, which I thought witty.
A rude joke there, which I found fine.
17

All eyes on me.
Heart for Favorite.
Thumb for Like.
Star for Important.
Everything lies.
My family and I got up from the table. My brothers walked right through
me on their way up the stairs. My mother dropped her keys through my
translucent stomach and plunged her hand into the haze to pick them up.
My father ground his fist into the roots of my teeth to open the back door.
I was invisible. I was only real to the eyes, and the eyes were my only
reality. Cold gazes shielded in anonymity were my friends. I almost
screamed. For the first time that day I shivered, and a headache pulsed at
my temples. I sprinted up the stairs to my room. The multitude of eyes
watched as I opened the Piper app and began a new message.
Penultima1216: Piper, stop this. I don't know what
kind of trick this is but please stop. I can't stand
being watched like this all the time.
The Piper: Stop, you ask? Why should I? YOU were the
one who wanted to be followed. YOU were the one who
chose this little cyber charade over your family,
friends, and life. It's time you faced the
consequences of your choices. It's time you payed the
Piper, so to speak! ;)
Penultima1216: I know. I know I made a mistake. But
please. Is there anything I can do to get rid of all
these goddamn eyes?! And still keep my followers?
The Piper: Language, my little keyboard warrior! And
don't be so mean to the eyes :'(. You must admit
they're kind of cute, in a grotesque little way. :D
Penultima1216: YOU DIDN'T ANSWER MY QUESTION!
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The Piper: Well if you insist on sending the poor eyes
away there is one thing you can do.....;D I have a
task for you. Give me the names of your followers. For
every name you give me, a pair of eyes will disappear.
And even better......you'll still be able to keep the
followers you have!
Penultima1216: What?! I have over a thousand
followers!
The Piper: Exactly, dearie! Time to get busy, busy,
busy! ;D
I did get busy indeed. I went through my follower list, hundreds
upon hundreds. I copied and pasted names to the Piper, copied and pasted
in the purgatory of my bedsheets. I lost sleep, night after sleepless night.
This was my chance. Get rid of the eyes. Keep my followers. In hindsight I
wonder why the followers were so important. But I needed to keep them.
They were a part of me now. Slowly the massive cloud of eyes began to
dwindle.
And then the weeping began.
I sat with my family, hidden in the still sizable cloud of eyes, watching
the news. You must have heard about it too. Thousands of teenagers gone
missing around the world. Corpses found in the rivers, the lakes, the
oceans. Every waterlogged body with a cellphone in their pockets. A
survivor reported hearing beautiful music, calling them to the water. Those
unfortunate children, running out of their schools, hospitals, cafes, homes,
overrunning their cities like rats. All young. All dead. All followers. Followers
forever. Following me forever. The remaining eyes no longer just watched
19

me in silence. Now they wept, wept tears that burned like acid against my
skin. The soft pitter-patter of their tears is a music in of itself. Sometimes I
wonder whether this whole mess would have ended if I had simply deleted
the Piper app. But I couldn't. My thumb would hover over the delete
button, waging a silent battle. But the music of the tears persisted, and the
app remained untouched.
The Piper continued his threats.
He grew impatient when I wouldn't provide enough names. He
threatened to replace me. He taunted me with the knowledge that he
would find somebody "infinitely better" to carry out his tasks. Even worse,
he threatened to not fulfill his promise and take the eyes and my followers
too! That was the worst threat of all. All my followers, gone. Poof! I
shudder just thinking about it. I wouldn't know how to live. Spectacles are
made to be watched, after all. I sent him list after list. The raging tide of
eyes grew thinner. I felt vulnerable without the steady gazes. I was under
attack by a barrage of tears. Yet I clung to the once-hated eyes, clung to the
names on that list.
Until I saw yours.
I clicked on your profile. Saw your followers. In a list of your recent
alerts there was a message you hadn't opened yet. It was from the Piper. I
shook with rage. He was going to trick you. You, who are, and have always
been, infinitely better than me. You. You, watching a train wreck. Watching
me. Having no idea. I told you earlier, my friend, that this message was a
dire warning. And it is. Beware the Piper. Beware the Song. Beware. Do
not dare to reply to his messages. If you do, there will be hell to pay.
20

Besides, I don't need any competition.
Damn it! The tears keep falling. I can't tell whether they're from me
or from the damn pair of eyes. The last pair left. A pair of gray eyes, gray as
the ocean before rain.
Your eyes.
That damn dripping.........oh well. I have already given the Piper your
name. I'm sorry, friend. But I had to do this so I could be free. The Piper is
coming for you. And I am happy. No more eyes, no more furtive gazes,
just followers, followers, followers contained in their screen- like coffins.
No more competition. I know you knew who I was all along. I know why
you followed me.
You bitch.
You wanted to see a spectacle. You wanted to laugh at my success,
priding yourself on how much better you were. You would never sink to
what I've become. Don't ask me how I know this. I just do. Your goodness
is an insult to me. You wanted a show, didn't you, you self-righteous
jealous IDIOT?! I'll give you one. The Piper is coming for you. I have
millions of followers. They follow without eyes. They listen without ears.
GHOSTS don't have eyes. CORPSES can't open theirs. There's so many
tears. Why do I weep now? I don't know whether I shed tears for the
thousands I've ensnared or for you.
I'll leave you with one comforting thought, my ex-best friend.
21

Remember when we used to sit on the carpet in elementary school
and read that old battered book of fairy tales? Remember those days? One
time we read a story, a story about a Piper. The Piper played music so
beautiful that all the rats in the village followed him. He led them to the
river, and they drowned. We laughed then, you and I. The Piper returned
to ask for payment. But the foolish townspeople scorned him and turned
him away. And so he resolved that his payment would be the price of souls.
He played his music, until all the children of the village followed him out
into the countryside. He lead them to the river. He slowly let them drown,
the sweet music still lingering in their ears.
I think I hear music. Or is it just the weeping?
I can't tell them apart.
Yet I can now.
I know this melody. It fills my head with echoes. It is the Piper's music.
You cannot resist it now. I AM the music. I AM the song. There is no
turning back. The flood begins. My best friend, forgive me. I have betrayed
you.
Your eyes are crying a river of tears.
I'm not even trying to be poetic.
There are puddles of water at my feet.
Those stupid gray eyes cry.
And cry.
And cry.
The water fills the room as the music fills my brain.
The Piper is coming.
I'm going to drown.
22

Best friend.
We could have laughed together.
Cried together.
Found comfort outside of a screen.
But now, we will all die like rats, with the whole world watching.
* * *
23

Photographs by Alissa Barrera

Eucalyptus
It’s dark in here and reeks of Eucalyptus
I recklessly open my unfamiliar window to let in some warm
daylight
but the grim darkness still lingers- my lungs sting
I close my eyes and leave
this place for temporary relief
My journey is short but long in the making
I enter a world that is constant and unchanging
I am standing in a meadow
and there is a yellow goldfinch singing the sweetest song
I can hear it now as we sit in the shade giggling
telling each other about our day
My white shorts are damp from the blanket
absorbing the cool off the ground we sit on
It lacks a certain comfort but I don’t mind
I’m as giddy as the lively June breeze gently flicking
the pinkness onto our cheeks
We carelessly laugh some more while we finish eating the
mini corn dogs we bought from the neighborhood hot dog shack
Your face lights up with a warm and unsuspecting grin
then I smell it again
Eucalyptus
I am back in the meadow
The goldfinch no longer singing
It is time to open my eyes- my lungs are still stinging
28

I can see us still
From here in the dark
Though, here, something has changed
We are both looking forward and seem to be the same
But I am staring at my future
and you at your grave
Today, I am more like the you who was sitting in the shade
than the me I was on that warm summer day
The smell of Eucalyptus is strong now
Stronger than it ever was before
It never leaves
Burns when I breathe in deeply
Stings after I exhale slowly
The feeling is so comforting-
It reminds me of home
It is you that I breathe
You are Eucalyptus
Danielle Gutierrez
29

5senses
give me paper and pen so i can write about my life of sin
u smell paint
and maybe a little pain
maybe the pain will make the situation change
u hear rap
and maybe some laughter
if u close ur eyes
it's almost like he's there
those five steps will transport u
to somewhere
a place where tupac's lyrics are embedded in the walls that have no
wallpaper
2pac cares, if don’t nobody else care
a place where you hear the paint being sprayed onto every surface
in the room
a place where his existence becomes a work of art
a place where he stays
this place held his thug side, his ain’t no love here side
there’s a heaven for a G
almost 3 years, time has passed
sometimes i think i hear him
life goes on
i become catatonic, shocked
how long will they mourn me?
Sophia Sandoval
30

The Sense of Up
There was a window in my old house.
You could take out the screen
and sit out on the roof.
My parents didn’t like me up there;
they say it wasn’t safe.
But I was okay.
I’d go out at night
when no one was looking
and stare up into the smog-filled sky,
hoping to find the twinkling stars,
only to find the lonely moon
with some lonely clouds
and occasionally an airplane or two.
I’d fall asleep out there if it wasn’t for
the smell of cigarette smoke coming from my
neighbors backyard.
It made my nose itch, that smell.
I’d quickly put the screen back,
erasing the evidence of my presence,
and retreated to my bed,
where I continued to stare up
at a light-yellow painted ceiling.
Angela Domingo
31

Because I Am a Woman
I am the girl who is a leader to others,
I vocalize my beliefs,
I am an example of what it means to be a strong, independent
young woman to those around me.
I am also the girl who says “yes,”
When she really means “no” because she is afraid of disappointing
others,
Who always nods in agreement in order to avoid hurting anyone’s
feelings, and who lets her commitments pile up when she already
has more than enough on her plate.
Because I am a woman,
that is to be expected. I am not a woman because of my long
brown hair,
weak arms,
or freshly painted finger nails.
I am not a woman because of my ability to soothe a crying child,
my natural scent of flower petals, or caring eyes.
Because I am a woman,
I have the power to do wondrous things for the universe.
It is because of my voice that can soothe oceans and calm storms
I have the capability to save the world.
The closest thing to God on this earth is a woman’s body; it's where life comes
from.
32

Because I am a woman,
I have been taught that I can do anything a boy can do.
That is not true.
I can do what I do,
because I am woman.
I will not marry the man who my father thinks will support me
well.
I will marry the man who knows my worth and appreciates the
beauty that I bring to this earth.
No matter what happens today,
tomorrow,
and the days to come,
there is nothing I cannot conquer.
Danielle Valenzuela
33

Samantha Herrera

Jenny Huang

Madness
Running through her body
Drawing her in
Whispers
In the cherry trees
Blowing in the air
Listening at the window
Her imagination
Bending in the half light
Alexis Chin
36

Trapped
Great black yolk,
A dark speck,
Spilling out,
Infecting with fear.
A whistling noise,
Roaring,
Then sudden silence.
Red flaming eyes,
Slowly tilt,
Firmly caught.
Struggling craven,
Quiet,
Bruised,
Alone.
Samantha Rivera
37

Fallen Leaves
The tree with fallen leaves shed only by her side.
It listened to her, comforted her.
Each leaf fell close by.
She went to contemplate and fabricate the “perfect life”.
To a non-critical place outside,
Where her thoughts ran like the wind that blew.
Her heart was like a rink of ice,
Cut and walked upon.
She never knew what to say or do to be enough.
The tree with fallen leaves shed only by her side.
It listened to her, comforted her.
Each leaf fell close by.
The tree cried for her so she would survive each day.
She did not know,
This was the only way.
Days passed by,
Months and years elapsed.
She often held in her tears.
The tree did the opposite of that.
The tree with fallen leaves shed only by her side.
It listened to her, comforted her.
Each leaf fell close by.
38

Then one day she noticed, the tree trembling.
It shed many leaves,
Someone was near.
Her mom sobbed with sorrow,
They held each other very tight.
The tree knew why the girl did not cry,
This was not a time for another fight.
Her mother apologized,
Knew how hard she made life!
The girl was brave, smart and strong now.
They both made time to compromise.
The tree with fallen leaves shed only by her side.
It listened to her, and comforted her.
Each leaf fell close by.
Monique Rios
39

The Fight
It will always be like this,
A never ending hit or miss.
The best way to know something is by going through it,
So believe me when I say I may know a bit.
This unending cycle of losing or gaining,
Is just extremely draining.
It isn’t poetic,
And there’s no anesthetic,
To the pain you can feel,
To this unfair deal.
You can fight all you want,
But the fates will just laugh and taunt,
No matter how important it is to you,
Its just simply true,
A person, feeling or thing,
They wont easily cling.
You can lose everything,
At just a cut of a string.
But there’s still some hope,
Because that’s just the way us humans cope.
So we continue living on,
Even though pain wont be gone.
We will continue with the fight,
And isn’t that a pretty sight?
Kaylan Amezcua
40

41
Danielle Gutierrez

Farewell
A bright light flickered one night
A light so bright the sun would be jealous
I am in a new world
Different than the one before
The aching is gone
The crying is no more
The hurting is no longer here,
And the fight is over
Not every cat is as lucky as me
To have a family treat me so lovingly
Memories we had are to be remembered
The snuggles in bed
The late night tickles and scratches I adored
I was always fed
And never ignored
The day I was let go
The trees shook, the wind blew
The windows froze, the clouds cried
You took me into your arms,
gave me one last kiss,
Caressed my soft, orange fur
And then everything became a blur
42

The woman in white picked up
A sharp, pointed object
And Life became a friend in the distance,
Slowly fading away yet gone in an instant
As my eyes close shut
I could see the tears running down your face
Crying out why it had to be me
But you shall regret no more
For had you not let go of my paw
The world would be raw
I would continue to suffer,
To bawl, to wish for death
I will never forget you
And hope you do the same
For I will be watching from above
When you sleep, I will be there
Nudging my head under your chin
When you cry, I will be there
to comfort and listen to everything you have endured
When you walk back from school, I will be there
Waiting at the doorstep
Nothing has changed
We will never be apart
Maybe in distance
But never in heart.
Isabella Rea
43

In the dead of the night, when you are sound asleep, you may
dream about everything from the
speckled stars in the sky to hidden monsters
or maybe
nothing at all.
When you have a vivid dream about somebody you miss
It is as if you have met them in heaven without actually dying.
You have packed your bags for the night and have taken a shrt trip
to visit them in their new
home
When you finally meet them, their simple words are sweeter than
sugar.
that is far, far, far away from town.
Their actions seem so realistic that for a minute
you believe that they have never left.
You expect that seeing them one last time
will ease all pain from missing them
but contrarily,
their absence becomes a sharp knife which wields itself at you,
emphasizing itself and its presence.
Vida Ubalejo
44

Star Wars Haikus
Episode One, No
It was so bad, I’m asleep
Little Anakin
Episode Two, Clones
The Republic falls, bye bye
Liberty is dead
Episode Three, Sith
They are back with a vengeance
Anakin is Darth
Episode Four, Leia
Luke, Han, Chewbacca, Obi Wan
Death Star blows up, ha ha
Episode Five, Hoth
Luke meets Yoda, train Jedi
I am your father
Episode Six, Jedi
Luke has a green lightsaber
Darth dies a Jedi
Episode Seven
The Force Awakens at last
Rebels hunt for Luke
Katie Selko
45

Angela Domingo

THE MOSTLY FICTIONAL
ADVENTURES OF THE GIRL
CALLED I
Sophia Torres
We believe in what we want to believe. That was one of the few
truths I understood. My grandfather had told me once that the
world is full of lies and that in order to survive we had to find the
very few truths. This was ironic to me seeing that the man had
only known Sunday to be the “Day of Rest” in which “God” was
the only thing to be celebrated. My grandfather may have known
the truths existed, but I don’t think he ever did find them. He said
the truths were always hidden in plain sight, but could only be seen
by those with a beautiful mind. I also think he didn’t know what
47

he was telling that younger version of me, seeing as he was
practically senile and self-medicating the depression with
moonshine and gin. I never thought my grandfather was crazy
though; I thought there were very few truths in the world,
although weren’t found by those with beautiful minds, but by the
foolish girls who believed in their grandfather’s stories.
My mind was never a beautiful one, but it had at one point
been a foolish one. One that believed that one day I could be a
princess, or anyone that could make decent pay without slaving
away in an office, “till death do we part.” But now it was matured
and realized I wasn’t a princess, merely a girl trying to avoid the
lies her grandfather had once warned her about. Trying to
discover all the truths before they all disappeared with the rest of
human decency.
1. We believe in what we want to believe.
That was the first truth I discovered. I was thirteen and
walking my usual route to the bus stop. I hadn’t seen the old man.
The one that I had usually seen every day on his corner, begging
for the dollar that was to be his only chance at life. What I did see
was the bus rush down the street and pass without me. So I sat at
the corner of the bench, while the sun penetrated the atmosphere
with an unreasonable vengeance, when out of the corner of my eye
a figure had lopped next to me onto the bench. It was him, the
man who had left his post. I was almost in shock to have seen him
out of his corner squatting next to the sign that read, “ONE
DOLLAR CAN SAVE ONE LIFE.” I turned to him and
unwillingly began to draw his face with my eyes.
“Would you like to hear a story?” an unrecognizable voice
had asked. The man noticed my staring and my sudden shock at
the sound of his slightly timid voice.
48

“I’ll tell you anyway.” I continued to stare politely. “No one
knows why I only ask them for a dollar. Well, no one seems to
realize that I can also buy a Lotto Ticket.” He glanced at me to be
sure I was listening and then continued, “With just that one dollar
I can win the Lotto and sit in a chair instead of on a street covered
in crap and the shit people give you. One dollar can get me a
paper that can make everything I dreamed of into a reality. It’s a
cliché line, but I truly believe it can.” He continued explaining
how if you believed something hard enough it’s bound to come
true. I found this to be beautifully ironic and naïve for someone
without a penny to his name. But, then again, the less we have the
more we can imagine.
Later on in the night, hours after having sat on the bench, I
lay awake in bed replaying the odd interaction with a man I hardly
knew, over and over again, and thought about how much faith he
had for one day getting a better life. I thought about how much he
believed that all it took to change his life was a dollar. This belief
did change his life, I guess. It made him optimistic and happy, and
I guess that’s all we could hope for in certain times. As I
contemplated this, I slowly began to drift away into a deep, naïve
sleep. I had a dream that night. I dreamt of my grandfather,
happy as clam, rocking back and forth in a large rocking chair,
laughing his ferocious laugh, and gnashing his stunning smile.
That’s when I realized I had discovered the first truth.
2. The most beautiful smiles come from the least beautiful people.
I had seen the man every day since. He had never gotten on the
bus, but always shared with me a reassuring glimpse of a partial
smile and I a smile with him. I was fourteen when I discovered
the second truth. It was anything but normal that day. The air
49

was damp, humid, and not native to me whatsoever. I waited for
the bus to rescue me from the torture at hand. As I sat on the
corner of the bench, I turned to receive my daily reassurance when
there was no one there. I immediately began to think the worst. I
was almost devastated when I continued to look around and
search for the man only to be greeted by loneliness. Before I
could find him, the bus arrived. So I got onto the bus and
continued toward my usual seat when I looked up to see the man
already seated at the front of the bus. I smiled at the man and he
smiled back, though it wasn’t his usual partial smile. I was able to
see a full smile. He had what most people would call a major
dental problem, but there was something charming and captivating
in his smile; one that I felt to have already known.
I made it to my usual seat. I sat there contemplating how
gorgeous the man’s smile was. I drew out in my mind the dirt
caked in the crevices of his laugh lines, the lights in his eyes, the
lack of teeth present, the tint of yellow that stained the teeth he
had left, and the familiarity of the smile. It was more than
reassuring, to say the least. I then looked toward the front of the
bus and saw the man begin to rise. He looked toward me, smiled,
and exited the bus. I sat there frozen as if all time stood still, as if
the world had become a museum for the universe to quickly glance
into, and the man was still there exhibiting his smile. Then I
blinked, and the world returned to its normal pace and the man
had long gotten off the bus. In that quick moment I suddenly
realized whom the smile had belonged to. My grandfather. The
man took with him a bag, the cardboard sign, my grandfather, and
the second truth. That was the last time I ever saw him.
50

2. Love and hate are the same emotion, it just depends on how
it’s received.
Love was never something I was able to understand. I was
fine with that, though, because I knew the people that said the “L
word” to express their emotions about another living thing
couldn’t identify or understand it either. I was fifteen and slightly
clever and utterly clueless. I still couldn’t understand the
differences between the descriptions of the emotions love and
hate. To say this sounds tremendously idiotic. Most people would
describe love as an “extreme like” and hate as an “extreme dislike,”
but both are so much more intricate and complex emotions with a
far more vast intensity than just “like” and “dislike.” I saw them as
things that were purposefully made to be outlandishly similar to
complicate the difficulty of being human even further.
Understanding the differences between the two visible definitions
was almost as difficult as defining them, because in action both
were portrayed as delusion, distraction, elaborate obsession, and
the overspending of well-earned money.
Again on my usual journey home, I sat at the bus stop and
waited. What I was waiting for I didn’t know. A miracle, some
hand to reach down from the Heavens, the bus? A girl far more
noticeable than I have ever been took a seat next me. How she
wasn’t driving a cherry red Lamborghini was beyond my mental
capacity. She belonged on the cover of a magazine, but instead
posed next to me at a bus stop in the middle of the afternoon, in
the typical unenjoyable weather of the season. Then, a truck
pulled up the street, windows rolled down, full of boys, smelling
like the seventies, and stopped at the red light. A heavily dented
truck, caked in dirt, and clearly filled beyond capacity with stupidly
libidinous boys. They whistled, honked, taunted, and yelled dirty
phrases at the girl so grammatically incorrectly it’s not worth the
51

trouble that is auto correct. They yelled at her and felt some sort
of pride in doing so. Pride in what? Not even they knew. I felt
the need to understand, know whether they were blinded by the
love of her body or their hatred of feminism. My guess was
neither. My guess was nobody cared either way. Stupid boys
never ruined my thoughts on chivalry though. Chivalry isn’t dead,
mostly because it never existed. I had gone from questioning the
when’s, how’s, and whys of the situation to the question I was
most interested in. Are love and hate the same thing? And was
this another truth?
4. Every truth is a lie.
I was of no age of importance when I found the truth. My
grandfather has been long gone and my mind was no longer
foolish. As I grew up, I observed the world through the eyes of
my grandfather. As I grew older, I tried to find a world apart from
my grandfather’s. As I grew old, my eyes became my
grandfather’s. Even at the age of slight cleverness I couldn’t
understand the complexity of the world and its confusing lies and
truths. The one thing I am able to understand now is that my
grandfather lied to me.
There were no truths in the world. When the homeless man
believed he could win the Lotto, he knew it as true. But to me it
was an utter lie. His unpredictably charming smile was to me
beyond beautiful and to everyone else, ugly. The beauty of the girl
who sat next to me was true, but beyond the point. The emotions
of love and hate, too multifaceted to be labeled as true, false, or
anything in between. What my grandfather told me that day was
true to him and my young naïve mind. But to me it was all a lie.
52

Gilbert
at my grandma’s
there is a man
he sits outside sometimes
with a smoke in his hand
we all think he’s crazy
sometimes he’ll sit in his car
and listen to Christian music on full
blast
we all blame his mother who yells all the time
she’s always telling him to get inside
he went to school with my aunt
they even went on a date
he calls her Brenda
but her name is Carol.
Sherry Deaquino
53

Where Are You From
where are you from
I would say you are Mexican
but your eyes are a little slanted on the sides
because your hair is curly some days and straight on others
so I can’t tell where you are from
I assumed your love of horses and your dark skin made you Indian
but I assumed your nappy hair and dark skin made you African
American
no but I assumed your small eyes, intelligence, and dark skin made
you Filipino
so please tell us where are you from
where am I from?
well my grandma’s from Honduras
but does that really define me
she comes from a third world country
but I tend to forget about my past
I just put it all behind me
and my other grandma
she’s from Mexico
although I haven’t ever been to Mexico
so why does where I’m from define me?
I could never explain my family’s history
and I don’t think I’ll ever be included
you see
I just a young privileged girl
living in Cali
and my ancestors before come from a long line of strong women
my grandmas spend hours of their day working in their kitchens
and, see, I work too
I just do it differently, by getting A’s in school
54

so that when I have a girl
she’ll know all about me
you see my cousin died getting water from her village’s river
and I get mad when my mom doesn’t change my Brita filter
I hope my daughter won’t be as selfish as me
but you see where I’m from doesn’t define me
because when you see me
you see what’s outside of me
you see my dark skin
and only get more shocked when it gets darker in the summer
you see my long straight black hair
and you think
I wonder who’s that girl’s mother
so where I’m from does not define me
the questions have gone from
so where are you from
to sly questions and comments like
what workouts do you do
you’re so lucky you can wear heels and not be too tall
do you tan
you eat so healthily
and when I get lost in the questions everyone is asking me
I can’t help but take a moment to stop
and remember
where I am from.
Emma Frias
55

Photography by Jackelyn Tejada

Oblivion
Collisions of colors,
Illustrate a raven night,
With lavenders and emeralds,
Tidal waves and roses,
Across infinite sky.
How ephemeral
Is time,
When stardust erases
Evolution, creation,
Grace, grandeur?
Still,
Wanderers linger,
Along the path
Of milky,
Glimmering irises,
Seeking truth,
Purpose.
Tiffany Guzman
58

Build Up Knock Down
Beautiful Botched
Bubbly Bossy
Endearing Egotistic
Empowering Embarrassing
Adorable Annoying
Alluring Abnormal
Unique Unusual
Upbeat Uptight
Tasteful Tacky
Trustworthy Tricky
Intelligent Idiotic
Imaginative Immature
Fearless Foolish
Funny Flirty
Useful Useless
Unforgettable Unattractive
Lovely Lowbred
Lively Lame
Go away
Leave us alone
You don’t belong
Audrey Ruiz
59

LA Streetscapes
Photography by Nyah Austin

LOST IN LOS ANGELES
Madeline Garcia
Thomas didn’t know how he had ended up here exactly. The
letter that had come in the mail announcing congratulations on his
winning a magnificent trip to Los Angeles had been highly
unexpected, if not completely unbelievable. He had entered only to
satisfy his friends’ obsession with what they called his “master of
the magic pencil.” In fact he hadn’t even tried very hard to win the
competition at all, and had only submitted one of the light
sketches that he often drew of the flora in his spacious backyard.
“Go just to get out of the house, Tommy,” his mother had
told him, giving him a face that showed clear disbelief at his
resolve not to go on the trip. “Do something out of your comfort
zone for once.”
His mother’s words of wisdom found their way into his
muddled and confused brain as they usually did; how could they
not when all she needed to do to convince him is look at him
imploringly with her honey-colored eyes? Thomas really missed
62

those eyes right about now, especially as the biting late night wind
brushed passed his face and made his nose feel as if it were turning
blue. As he tried to figure out the confusing lines on the map the
nice airport woman had handed him with a plastered-on smile, he
again wondered just how his mother could have convinced him to
come. There was nothing on the itinerary that had sounded very
appealing to him: a tour of Hollywood, a tour of a few museums, a
suite in a room of the famous Hotel Figueroa. Nothing, Thomas
thought, that could possibly beat the appeal of his warm bed, his
mother’s famous hot chocolate, and one of his worn copies of
Harry Potter, pages thin from the constant running of his loving
fingers over them.
Thomas thought of all this as he finally let his frustration with
the confusing lines on the map get the better of him and held out
his hand to hail a cab. It was so strange how there seemed to be
endless options for transportation here. In his small town of
Bridgeport in Connecticut, you either owned a car or you loved
your legs. Thomas didn’t own a car or love his legs, allowing the
countless number of taxis, Ubers, and metro trains in Los Angeles
to make that city seem more appealing.
As the taxi headed to his hotel, Thomas couldn’t help staring
at the overwhelming variety of shops they passed and the
multitude of fluorescent lights that sped past him. The beauty of
the colors was only intensified when small little raindrops began
appearing on his window, making the light patterns cascade in
rainbows all over his face and shirt.
By the time he finally reached his hotel, extreme drowsiness
had washed over his body, making his surroundings almost
unperceivable to him. Even so, as he walked through the hotel, he
couldn’t help noticing the extreme grandeur and gaudy features it
exuded. He felt so plain walking by the beautiful women in
sparkly gowns and tall men in expensive-looking suits. These
63

people were obviously just starting their night while he, the foreign
presence in an atmosphere of grandeur, couldn’t wait to climb into
bed and finally end his. The single item keeping his jittery mind at
peace was the single white bow tie buried deep in one of the
pockets of his khaki pants. His mother had given it to him when
he was eleven and he always had it on or near him for comfort,
despite the numerous catcalls and disparaging teasing that
accompanied it.
The elevator music pounded against Thomas’s ears as he
drowsily rubbed his eyes and yawned, not caring that the overly
dressed couple next to him most likely found it rude. The walk to
his suite seemed like an eternity, although it was only a few feet.
Thomas didn’t even bother to notice the excessive beauty of the
room before he slipped into bed, much preferring to feel the
excessive softness of the mattress.
~
Thomas had never particularly disliked rainy days; back home
they meant hot chocolate, mudslides, and puddles big enough to
swim in. However, right now, looking out the window while
reading the itinerary for the day, he couldn’t think of worse
weather to kick off his “fun vacation week” in Los Angeles.
Out of all the museums it was possible to get a tour of,
Thomas was surprised they would choose to show him LACMA;
every teenaged girl’s Instagram photos had already given away the
interesting things there were at that museum. Getting dressed, he
wondered if he should put on his white bow tie. After all, he was
only going to a museum; it wasn’t anything special. Deciding that
Los Angeles has seen weirder things than an eighteen-year-old in a
white bow tie, he decided to put it on, letting the silk of the fabric
run through his fingers as he tied it around his neck.
Now ready, he made his way to the entrance of the hotel to
meet the driver the itinerary promised would be waiting for him at
64

eight o’clock sharp. The driver seemed nice enough, as long as the
passenger could overlook the obvious bags under the driver’s eyes
from a late night at work and artificial smile that had been used
countless times.
“So we’re off the LACMA,” he said, “one of the best
contemporary art museums LA has to offer.”
“I know, I’ve seen about a million pictures,” Thomas said.
Leaning against the car door and looking out the window,
Thomas couldn’t help thinking how much he would rather be in
bed. It had been cold this morning, far too cold for his taste, and
the last thing he wanted to do was tour an overvisited museum
with a bunch of strangers. Getting out of the car, Thomas saw a
large crowd standing near one of the many light posts the museum
seemed to have, correctly assuming it was the tour he was
supposed to meet. Thomas silently slipped into the crowd, thus
beginning his long day of listening to a man drone on about the
meanings of the different paintings and statues. He noticed the
extremely predictable clothing choice of the majority of people on
the tour: khaki pants or jeans, I love LA t-shirts, Asics running
shoes, and a camera strapped around every neck or wrist. The
navy-and-white polka-dot button-up shirt he wore with his bow tie
separated him from the normalcy of the group; he didn’t mind, it
was no different from the way he usually felt at home.
Standing at the back of the group with Thomas was a girl that
looked about as bored as she was small. Thomas found it strange
how she was at least two feet shorter than he, yet seemed to be the
one that stood out the most. As the tour guide gave a pointless
speech about how a painting of a pipe was a pipe but wasn’t, he
discovered that he would much rather observe the girl than pay
attention to the guide. The white ends of her chocolate-covered
hair made the gray in her eyes, the kind you see in the sky on rainy
days, stand out. The ripped jeans, timberland boots, and ACDC t-
65

shirt that rested on her small frame seemed to be the last thing that
would suit her but somehow it all seemed to fit.
Turning his attention back to the tour guide, Thomas wished
they would just move on to the next painting; how long did it
really take to explain that a painting of a pipe was a pipe but was
not?
“So how many times do you think he’s said um? So far I’ve
counted about 50.”
Startled, Thomas turned to see an earful of piercings and then
a grin as the girl he had just been staring at a moments before
turned her head to grin up at him.
“I don’t know about you, but I’ve been counting how many
times he’s said you know what I mean, and he’s said it about 40
times, if you know what I mean.” He replied, grinning back.
“Oh so frowny face has jokes,” she quipped “Who would
have expected?”
“I haven’t been having the best day.” Thomas replied looking
at his shoes, cursing himself for having given the impression of an
uptight jerk.
“I don’t blame you, this entire tour makes me want to jump
off a cliff,” she smiled. “I’m Jane by the way.”
“Thomas,” he replied, turning back around to find that their
tour group had vanished.
He began to look around in panic as she continued, “So what
exactly to embark on this illustrious tour of the infamous
LACMA?”
He wondered how she possibly could have overlooked the
disappearance of their group and wondering whether she cared,
then after a moment he realized he did not care either.
Walking along, he explained to her how he had come to win
the 1-week trip and how his mother had convinced him to take it
despite his best instincts that screamed against it.
66

“So you’re saying you won a free trip and you didn’t want to
come?” Jane exclaimed,” obviously shocked. “If I had won a trip
to New York or Paris, the last thing I would want to be doing is
staying home. I’m only on this tour for my school art project;
there are so many other things I could be doing right now.”
Thomas didn’t answer, wondering what could possibly be so
interesting that Jane would prefer to do it instead of her
homework.
Pulling out her phone Jane smiled at him, showing her set of
perfectly white teeth. “So where are we going, Mr. Bowtie?” she
asked.
As if she had been speaking to his stomach, it growled right
on cue. Thomas looked at his watch, realizing his regular
lunchtime had passed without him even noticing.
“Well that answers that question,” Jane laughed as she started
typing on her phone. “Now I have somewhere I need to take
you.”
A few minutes later Thomas found himself in the backseat of
an Uber wondering how Jane had separated him from the group
and what the mysterious place she was taking him to was. Looking
out the window he saw the numerous restaurants and small shops
around him had signs that seemed to be in Chinese.
“Welcome to Little Tokyo,” Jane grinned at him from her
side of the backseat. “You can stop here, sir; thank you so much
for the ride.”
Stepping out of the car Thomas noticed the numerous
different little candies in the side compartments. Realizing they
were for the passengers, Thomas grabbed a few and offered one to
Jane once she joined him on the sidewalk.
“Are you really going to eat candy before you’ve had a proper
meal?” She asked laughing. Then grabbing his sleeve she pulled
67

him into a little restaurant with fluorescent signs reading “Best
Ramen in Town.”
Thomas had heard of Ramen before and never really
understood what the big fuss was. That is until he took the first
few bites and the delicious broth swept through his mouth and
down his throat. It took him less than two minutes to devour the
whole bowl.
Seeing he was done Jane leaned over the table, “So are you
ready to see some real art?” she asked.
Minutes later Thomas found himself somewhere in the
middle of Pershing Square amid vibrant flowing colors of blue,
red, white, yellow, and countless others. He couldn’t help standing
still as his mind tried to process the countless numbers of colorful
skirts swirling around him and the decorated skulls, masks, and
face paint the people were wearing. Music was everywhere, hitting
him in waves of happiness, joy, and remembrance. It was in this
moment that Thomas wished he had paid more attention in his
Spanish class while he was in school.
He also wished he had his color pencils and his drawing
notebook with him; although he didn’t think much of himself as
an artist, there were so many beautiful things around him he
wanted to be able to capture them in his own hands for memory.
“I’ve finally found you!” Feeling pressure on his arm Thomas
turned around and there was Jane. Apparently after losing each
other in the huge crowd she had gone around collecting all the
colorful pieces of clothing she could find. Her waist was now
adorned with a flowy blue skirt embroidered with flowers, her
neck held bead necklaces in any color a person could possibly
imagine, and her face was now outlined with the distinct shape of a
skull.
68

“Come on now we haven’t got all day; there’s still stuff to see
and the sun is going to set in a few hours!” She grabbed his wrist
and began walking him out of the park.
For the first time in his life Thomas didn’t want to leave the
crowd full of people. In fact it was so beautiful he thought he
might be content to just stay there forever. However, he wasn’t
one to argue and never had been, so Thomas let Jane lead him
back into an Uber car and to the next mysterious place that she
had no intention of telling him about.
When the car came to a stop, Thomas looked out and noticed
a very large skyscraper, with elevators that seemed to be made out
of clear glass protruding from the sides. Jane led him straight
through the lobby and to one of these elevators, seemingly
oblivious at his starstruck expression at the grandeur.
“This is my absolute favorite thing to do whenever I have
free time,” Jane said as she stepped into one of the elevators and
clicked the button for the forty-second floor.
As the elevator shot up, the lobby fell below him and
Thomas found himself surrounded by a number of sky scrapers;
he was suddenly looking at Los Angeles from a bird’s eye view. As
soon as they reached the top, Jane made him get out and then
stand in the hall a few seconds until the elevator had gone down;
she pressed the elevator button again.
“It’s a little trick I figured out,” she explained to him. “If you
don’t choose which floor you want to go to the elevator will just
stay still.”
Stepping back into the elevator Thomas realized she was
right, and he couldn’t help staying on the side of the elevator that
was next to the doors.
“No that’s not how you do it,” she reprimanded him.
“You’ve got to put your head against the glass and look down like
69

this.” She demonstrated for him and Thomas wondered how crazy
she must be to not be scared at this moment.
“Come on,” Jane coaxed. “I promise it’s not that bad.”
Thomas allowed himself to listen to her soothing words,
gently leaned his head against the glass, and looked down.
Everything looked so small; the people walking on the street
couldn’t have been any bigger than ants.
“It kind of reminds me how small we all are,” Jane started
explaining. “If you think about it, no one looks any bigger than a
speck of dust. Imagine what we all look like from the edge of the
universe.”
This kind of thinking had always scared Thomas, and it still
scared him; the last thing anyone really wants to do is think about
what is going to happen to them after they die.
He wasn’t sure how long they stayed in the elevator, but by
the time they finally had their feet planted on the ground, Thomas
realized how relieved he was that he was standing on what seemed
to be midair. Then, for what seemed like the hundredth time that
day, Jane ushered him into another Uber, saying they had one last
stop to make before he could finally be rid of her.
“Why are you so insistent on taking me to all these places?”
Thomas finally had to ask, having wondered the entire day why
one stranger would do this for another.
“Well, we are friends, aren’t we? Of course I’d have to share
my city with a friend,” she explained, making Thomas wonder
what she thought a friend was. Then, realizing how much he had
learned with her that day, he figured that the experiences they had
gone through were enough to deem them friends.
“Here we are,” The driver said, stopping the car.
Thomas stepped out right into the view of one of the most
beautiful sunsets he had ever seen, complete with a view of Los
Angeles and more.
70

“Welcome to Griffith Observatory, my friend,” she said, as
she moved to join him at the railing he hadn’t even noticed he had
walked to. “And the end of the line.”
Overlooking fireworks, skyscrapers, and the Hollywood sign
in the distance Thomas realized he didn’t care that the day was
coming to a close because there would always be tomorrow and
tomorrow’s friends.
“It’s incredible.” He whispered.
“Of course it is; it’s my city.” And walking away she called
back to him, “Call me if you get bored again, I put my number in
your phone. And by the way, that’s a nice bowtie.” She smiled
before she turned away, obscuring her face completely.
Knowing he would see her again, Thomas turned around to
enjoy the last of the sunset. This week in Los Angeles wouldn’t be
as bad as he thought.
71

Photography by Emilee Reichenbach

Photograph
I'm sitting here admiring
your old camera
that I used to see you with
time and time again. Filled
with your memories, soon
to be full of my own adventures.
Moments unseen to me,
only viewed on a screen
months and years ahead. Never
will I forget the times
you stopped to take
a photo of me or
the plants and trees or
your dog or the motorcycle
that I was just too afraid to jump on
at age 10 but would give anything
to ride at age 17. It's here in the back,
not wholly, but somewhat together.
Pieces lost as time goes on, replaced
by new parts, which isn't bad –
who could pass on an upgrade?
74

But at what cost?
Time passes by.
Things and people come and
go, but the memories stay,
concrete, unchanging, alive for eternity.
The click of the shutter
and the moment is gone, but not
forgotten, looked at time and
time again, a photograph
capturing one single fragment of time
so that each photo together creates
a whole composition of life.
Emilee Reichenbach
75

Who Will Save Us?
Cloudy fronts
And lovely lies
Honor, death,
And silver knives
Drunk-like visions
Aching veins
God won’t clean
The acid rain
Mangled wounds
And broken hearts
Stabbed and slashed
And torn apart
Sweating tears
And breathing hate
God is fair
But we’re the bait
Trudging past
While out of breath
Though all our friends
Have welcomed death
Look back and think
What have we done?
Now who will save us –
God or gun?
Stephanie Varghese
76

They Told Me
They told me I looked tired today.
Was it because I didn’t dab concealer
under my eyes to hide the darkness?
They told me my face looked pale today.
Was it because I didn’t have time
to paint on my face?
They told me I looked mean today.
Was it the liner on my eyes that
transformed me into a feline?
They told me my skin looked great today.
Was it the 10 minutes I spent applying foundation
on scars and acne that won’t fade?
They told me my hair looked healthy today.
Was it the extra hour I spent ironing my
hair to control its frizz?
They told me I looked pretty today.
Was it the layers on my face that
created a new me?
They told me not to try so hard.
That I should love myself effortlessly.
That loving yourself means loving your flaws in their entirety.
But how can I love these flaws
after I began to love the idea of not
having any to begin with.
Alyssa Herrera
77

We Become One
I was introduced to videos about addicts.
a month ago, quietly in my room I watched
people consume the inedible and perform the unthinkable.
A woman’s hands itching to grab a hold of the drywall,
breaking a piece and inserting it into her mouth.
chewing with her eyes closed, in bliss.
A man reaching into dark, damp shower drains,
bare-handed and inspecting,
collecting slimy bundles of brown wet hair
and twirling them around his thick fingers,
mesmerized and satisfied with his findings.
Another one reaching for an urn,
twisting the lid impatiently, licking her fingers
stuck them into the powdery ash and back into her mouth,
consumed the remains of her lover.
I wondered how it could be possible,
For someone to consume so much of the inconsumable.
For someone to perform the unthinkable.
I was disgusted; I was captivated.
I was trapped.
I watched carefully and almost religiously,
Beginning to take in their habits, their peculiarities.
I realized what happened
too late.
Angela Domingo
78

waitinggame
I saw a boy once, kill a girl.
Tenth grade, school hallway
The girl frozen, eyes blurry, bits of mascara running down her cheeks,
Her hand held by the coward boy, the boy
draining her happiness fingertip by fingertip
All hurt that boy-I wondered if he felt any remorse, any regret. I can recall
Everyone stopping to see which girl had lost her heart this time. The way the
boy held her hand, almost like she was an addict who only had a couple
months to live.
But weren't we all sick, weren't we all hooked?
Saying we never needed anyone but always looking for a firm shoulder to cry
on
The bell yelled, screamed. No one moved. It was like being in a horror
movie, as you watch each of your friends get killed and you are next in line.
I don't remember the boy crying, the girl couldn't stop. He couldn't stop
saying "I’m sorry"
louder, then quieter, until it became a whisper.
I am listening to him, whispering, the loudest words I have ever heard:
I’m sorry. How slow something rushed can feel.
How long until it dawns on you.
It is now your turn.
Sophia Sandoval
79

Anna Lu

Filthy Adventures
Your hair, body, and hand,
I remove the filth off of anything from your command.
But this filth I see,
Might have a chance to overcome me.
It is not just any filth,
It is one that seems almost impossible to clean.
Guilt, bad actions, and little white lies
Cannot be washed away with small, soapy strides.
But no matter how long it takes,
Hours, days, weeks, or years,
It will eventually wash away.
However,
The streaks will remind you of your fears.
Scrub Scrub Scrub,
Scented bubbles floating everywhere,
Like a swarm of bees flying in the air.
Careful,
For what I am washing is like a newborn baby
Which needs delicate care.
From a cleansed conscious a recognizable scent appears,
The scent of innocence and freedom lies in the air.
Rinsed with hot water,
No one can see this mess any longer.
Now you feel fresh,
After the endless scrubbing
On your soapy, contaminated flesh.
Daniela Salatino
81

Victoria Morales

I’m not that smart
And I’m okay looking
But I can run, and I run
Away from people and my problems
I try to stop and breathe
But my feet keep moving
I don’t care about the pain
My weak lungs and broken feet
Only hinder my path
I try and forget the memories
But no matter how much I try
They flood back to me:
The blushes of happiness
the insecurities
the fighting
the end
So I keep running
And I don’t stop
I feel the pounding of my feet
On the dry, hot floor
Going thud, thud, thud
Stella Rugama
83

Cerebral Streams
Today in class we discussed
how as we sleep,
cerebral fluid rushes through the brain
clearing it of toxins.
And as I sat staring
at the photo of the interweaving canals of fluid,
I considered
what if this fluid washed out not just toxins,
but memories.
That these rivers cleared out more than chemicals,
but also phone numbers,
math problems,
the name of that new coworker,
Humiliation,
Fear,
Anger,
Regret.
That “Go to sleep
you’ll feel better in the morning,”
was more than just an expression.
Maybe it’s these tiny canals of the mind that
keep us from drowning
in the thoughts that threaten to
consume us and swell up over our heads.
This water is what is keeping us afloat
in a sea full to the brim
with the souls of forgotten dreams,
84

Sadness, doubt, guilt,
and gives us the chance to start again,
reborn from the river every morning.
What if the mind has not only
built in systems to stop physical decay,
but also keeps us together spiritually?
The same water we so desperately need
to keep our cells full and functioning
keeping us alive
in so many other ways.
Cecilia Nuñez
85

The End
The theater
Quiet as a desert;
Everything empty,
Towering trees, pillars, pillows
Silver swords painted crimson
Shuffled out;
Striked set
Moments missed,
Memories made
Final bows taken,
Curtains closed.
MariaElena Gutierrez
86

Sketch by Izel Varela