Cymbals 2020

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Iartfully styled my blonde curls, gathering them inmy hands and tying them with a white hair tie. Theend of the ponytail brushed just beneath myshoulders, tickling my bare back. I used to wear myhair in a ponytail when I danced with my best friend.It felt refreshing to be able to have it up again.I took a breath and began to mentally prepare forwhat I was about to do. Outside, the breeze chilledmy bare shoulders and back, the faint glow of candlesilluminating my heavily made up face. The starsdotted like pinpricks in a black shade. Fireflies dancedaround me and crickets accompanied the sound ofmy voice.Before me will be thirty-twoperfectly wealthy people,each person perfectly sittingwith perfect posture,everyone dressed in theirabsolute best: carefullytailored suits in varying darkshades scattered amongst thelavish gowns hued on thelighter side of the rainbow.The women will be drippingin jewels that so perfectlymatch their attire. I can almosthear their careless chatter thatno one will remember bytomorrow. Their endlessglasses of champagne will bedelicately held in the hand ofeach person. Suddenly, Iwished that it would rain.“Oh, Lilly darling, you’re on infive,” Cordelia said as sheslithered into my dressingroom. She didn’t glance upfrom her clipboard as shespoke to me. “You look lovely, as always. How doyou feel?”Illusion of Perfectiondresses like the one I had on now. The dark violetwas elegant, the open back dipping low enough tobe beautiful, yet modest. The fabric beneath myarms was itchy and much too tight. Without the sunto warm me, I would surely freeze, but my comfortwas never Cordelia’s top priority. I faced the mirrorand tried to reposition the dress so it didn’t pinchme.Finally, Cordelia looked up from her clipboard. “Ohdarling, we can’t have you looking like that. Yourhair looks like a blind rat styled it.” She wrinkled hernose at her own statement. She gently placed herclipboard on the vanity andtugged my hair out of itsponytail, adjusting myimmaculate curls onto myshoulders until she gave asatisfied nod. Pouring apeanut-sized amount ofstyling gel on her palm, shestarted to smooth out thetop of my poor hair. I felt itstiffen under her hands as ifalso repulsed by her touch.“There we are, darling. Wecouldn’t have you lookinglike a monster, could we?”Cordelia smiled broadly. Shegestured for me to stand up,and I obliged. We began ourwalk through the halls to getto the stage, and all the whileshe fussed about variousthings around me. Her voicecut away at me, telling meagain and again what I couldand could not do. All for thesake of my reputation andcareer, of course. Her handsmoved about in a flourish, changing and arrangingthings until I felt like a doll a child was playing with.14I said nothing to her. Instead I glanced away to therosebush that grew so close to the window its petalsbrushed against it.Cordelia continued, “you know you’ll do fine,darling.” She highlighted something on her papers inbright pink.I spared her a moment's glance before taking myblack Christian Louboutins from beside my chair andputting them on. Cordelia always made me wearEventually we arrived backstage. In a steadycrescendo, the classical tune commenced. A violinand cello played a duet of beautiful sorrow. Cordeliabreathed out. “You have just a minute. Okay,remember darling, these people paid a lot of moneyto see you. There were only thirty-two seats. Do youunderstand? Don’t mess this up, darling.”She turned my shoulders toward the stage.By Chloe SchiffPainting by Yusra Rashidzada
Chewing GumThere and ready,I unwrapped it slowly...Discovering ripe colors and pure savor;A little taste of everything,Everything he had to offer me.The flavor swirled and sparked,Fresh, yet soft and mushy.Everything ever desired was there;I had it all:Everything he had to offer me.But nothing that great lasts.Perfect becomes plain,The sweetness fades,Replaced by dry conversationsand displaced anger,Everything he had to offer me.So I spit it out.Right on the sidewalkWhere it attaches to someone else,So he can give themEverything he has to offer.By Alyssa Murtha15
Page 3 and 4: CymbalsArt/Literary Magazine2019 -
Page 5 and 6: She walks like the ocean.Back and f
Page 7 and 8: The music whistled as a traveler,Wa
Page 9 and 10: Owning What I Can, Letting Go of Wh
Page 11 and 12: A light blown out,The ideas out of
Page 13 and 14: I crawl in the dark side of the moo
Page 15: Painting by Yusra Rashidzada13
Page 19 and 20: My life is a mountain;The sky sits
Page 21 and 22: Painting by Mollie McMullan 19
Page 23 and 24: KindnessFlowing atop the city smog,
Page 25 and 26: I’m wearing death in my favorite

Cymbals 2020

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