PresidentVice President

SecretaryTreasurer

ICC Representative

Jesse PagelsElizabeth BarcelosAmber ClarkLizzie MossEva Pabilona

June BanksAmanda CraineAntoinette DiazJackie DiazAlec HowardRussell LimBrendan MartinMaria PalmaKhang Ton

Janine GerzanicsAdvisor

STAFF

OFFICERS

Issue 4, Volume 1: BlueprintFall 2012

VOICES

POETRY SHORT STORIES

CREATIVE NONFICTION

06 A Night Song07 Rhythmic Progression07 Guitar 08 Everything Twice 10 Silent Rage 11 La Mer 12 No Title 13 Haiku 13 Powers That Be 22 DMV 23 A Postmortem Examinatiom 24 Sustainable Strides 26 Palms 27 Runaway Bride 28 Me Too 35 Date Night 37 Watching 38 Chasing Atlantis 35 A Mournful All Hallows Reprieve 43 Confession Box 38 Epigram

16 Sabotage Doesn’t anyone read these days? 17 Cora Dear... whoever is alive still

04 An Abstract on Ambition Ambition is unapologetic and unforgiving. 20 Cal-Skate The place was a relic from the 70s. 21 Thanatopsis I don’t want people’s stories to vanish when they do.

CONTENTS

TABLE OF

Contents

ARTWORK06 Runner09 Wanderlust11 Big Sur 12 Scattered Clouds Sunset 20 Strawberry Splash 21 Math Is Not For The Birds 23 Tree in Colors 24 Untitled 2 27 Bride

35 eedited36 A Picture of Myself38 San Francisco in Fall 40 Frankenstein’s Monster 44 Variety

An

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nAmbition

My Pham“If you have built castles in the air, your work need not be lost; that is where they should be. Now put the foundations under them.”-Henry David Thoreau, Walden, Chapter 18, page 427

Ambition, in the modern sense, is the overreaching desire to achieve great success—either in general terms or for a particular aim—pejorative connotations aside. Ambition is unapologetic and unfor-giving. It is your right to let the capacity of your ambitions perpetuate and increase exponentially without hindrance, as it is the right of your ambitions to be immediately disavowed at the moment your hands rest from having grown weary of building your own flight of steps. Lasting ambition and fruition implicate achievement. And, in order to materi-alize ambitions a strong internal locus of control and high self-efficacy are required. Gravity keeps ambition grounded, but by the very nature of true ambition, it transcends the status quo. Bear in mind that while gravity may only keep ambition grounded, external pressures (that is, others from all walks of life) will tend and attempt to use you for your fledgling ambitions and meager achievements. For all that you can pos-sibly control and take account, steer decisively and wittingly until you reach your long sought ambitions. Allow no hiatus. Drive the movement of innovation for the sake of our society by realizing your ambitions. But, first and foremost, realize your ambitions for your own sake, for the focus of which will be the driving force of your ambitions.

Run

ner/s

ketc

h/C

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icks

I turn the keys pulling the stringsstretching them over the body, neck, and head of my jet black bass guitar.

The magic hour whispers such sweet things,And purls enchantments from sunlit toils once spun.Honeyed zephyrs nestle with soft embraceWhile the shroud bespectacled twinkles a distance from.Threefold do earth’s bedposts tier and rise -- As the canopy of stars make calm the wood As the canopy of trees entreat the glen As the long grass makes bed for she who slumbers fast.Under a gibbous moon who shoots halcyon rays That flitter and flutter upon her breast,Dancing, singing, laughing, all team in her dreams,For the magic hour whispers such sweet things.

We come to life in a cacophonous BalletBrought into the world through a well choreographed

And graceful tantrumWe are children in a Charleston

Being pulled and tossed and pulled and spunBy our partners of adults who know the steps

Our teen years a fast moving Cha ChaDancing with a partner of our own choosing

In a sped up version of later encountersAs adults, life is a Foxtrot of stylized meetings

A Rumba of new relationshipsDeveloping into the Lambadas of deep onesLife slows in a Waltz, dignified and elegant,

An embrace of partnersEnding with a release and a bow.

Guitar

Tyler Hanna

Rhythmic Progression

Amanda Craine

A Night Song

Jesse Pagels

My brain is your brain is his and her brain is reborn,thoughts incarnate.We’re drifting on a cardboard mattress: covering our mouths, spitting saltwater.We lie on the starboard side,drop anchor then change our minds;the world’s natural chaos entering just as we settle in.We dip our hands, brown and white,into the puddle we call the seaand paddle for sand althoughthat’s what it was we were running from.We climb when we arrive to thepeak of the dune, the peak of noonlie on our bare backs and slideletting the hot grains and grit rub our thighs raw,no worse than standingand letting it burn our feet.Why strive when everything has been twice?My brain is your brainis his and her brain is reborn,no thought original, no sound unmade,no word unsaid. No body evergets out of his head.

Ev

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Wanderlust/photographBrandon Heggem

Kira Klaas

With the silent rage of the waves crashing down I plummet to the ocean floor

Then hit the coral reef

Tearing at my fleshLeaving wounds too deep to fully repair.

Can I ever recover from such devastation?

Yes, and I choose to move forward,Not be swallowed by the dark gallows of the ocean.

Fighting till my very last breath

Once again to reach the surface, With one last breath to say goodbye

I will emerge to see the light.

You will not drag me further into the depths I still have a fighting chance.

Sile

nt

Ra

ge Ja

smin

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ez

I’m wandering lost;Drowning in thought.This life that I’ve lived;Is not what I sought.

It’s too late for redemption.This life, I cannot renew.

My burden is heavyAnd my suffering too.

I continue walking,Until I reach the sea cliff. My memories plague me;

An unharmonious riff.I look to the horizon;

My back towards the shore. The ship comes a-sailing;

Away me it will bore.I board the ship calmly.

I look to the mast.I relinquish my anguishFor a treacherous past.I look upon the water;

The waves as they rush.This weight I’ve been bearing

Has become too much.I’m stone faced and somber

As I jump from the ship.The cold water tells me

That this is it.I sink to the bottom

Of the ocean, deep blue.My suffering leaves me;

Lost in the hue.I close my eyes tightlyAnd let death creep in.I don’t ask forgiveness

For previous sins.The darkness is full now;

Death is assured.I leave this life alone,

Just as I should.

Paul

John

son

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Me

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Big

Sur

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Bob

oshk

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like the ignorant children they quarreloffense always taken, eye for an eye

but they are aged half passed a centuryruled only by fear and personal gain

like chess, a game played well by these old menmoving you the pieces one space forward

ready to sacrifice before the crownobjective wrinkled hands do not waver

greed slithers through their veins like poison deaththey bite their tongue then deeply kiss you

ideology that infects like AIDStheir misery enjoys your company

we hold the vaccine of thought and wisdomi say we stick it in their eye and plunge

watch intently as they begin to seethat old suit will not have power over me

Daniel JohnsonPowers That Be

the night train whisks by bye,and the facesin the windows are lookingall too real.

When up in the officebuildings,they don’t.

Creatures of Motion,we arealways moving away.

UntitledBrendan Martin

Raindrops splatteringAs we exchange our goodbyesIn total silence

Oxytocin kills.The deceiving chemical

That says love is real.

Haiku

Khang Ton

Scattered Clouds Sunset/photograph/A

nu Bavra

I guess this all boils down to three questions, and it all blew up in my face because I only ever knew the answer to mine. He could never answer his and I never got to ask my doppelganger anything. Yeah, doppelganger. You know, that fairytale being? Your evil twin who’s out to destroy your life? I swear, no one reads the classics these days. Call it hyper-bole, say that maybe Will just has a type, but the similarities are there right along-side the contrasts. I could see the resemblance in the one picture I ever saw of her: her long dirty blonde hair could pass for my ash blonde hair in the right light. My face is heart shaped and she’s still got some remnants of baby fat in her cheeks. Her eyes are a muddled green, mine are more of a golden hazel. If you were looking to replace me, she’s a decent knockoff. We even work in similar fields. I’m am ac-countant and she’s in finance. Most people couldn’t tell the difference, but one of us needs a keen analytical mind and the other engages in over glorified guesswork. Deny she’s my doppelganger all you like, but you can’t deny the resemblance. I’ll get to how she put the evil in evil twin eventually. My fractured fairytale begins long before that all too real creature walked into our lives. Ours. Evelyn and Will’s. There isn’t much in name in his case, be-cause his will is pretty damn weak. For five years, we were happy. We never fought, because we just fit. We were never one of those sickening lovey dovey couples talking into the night. Our domain was warm silences and knowing glances that speak more than words ever could.Then, he cheated. That leads to his question: Why did he cheat? She was nothing, no one, and being the object of his betrayal is the only role she plays in this tale. He’s forgotten her name. To this day, he doesn’t know why he did it. I know this because Will could never tell my doppelganger why he did it either. He tells her everything because he has to tell her everything. She doesn’t un-derstand Will like I do. She needs to put it all out there, oh so explicit and obvious. We didn’t fight when it ended. There was nothing to fight about. I walked into his apartment to the sound of the running shower being drowned out by a moan I knew and the very female screams of someone I didn’t. He heard the front

Eliz

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sdoor slam a few minutes later. It was over then. He wronged me, he knew it, didn’t try to deny it. I left without a second thought, coming back only once to collect my things and finalize the whole thing. His eyes were big and blue and utterly helpless when I walked away.For six months we didn’t speak, didn’t see one another; but he was far from being out of my life. He was more painfully there than ever. You can’t just cut someone off after five years. It’s like cutting off your arm. The phantom pain remains, and you lie to yourself that the missing part of you is still there. Now you have the answer to my question: why did I want him back? Six months of knowing Will was as miserable without me as I was without him made the pain bearable. I knew he’d cave eventually and beg me to take him back. Humbling him would cure my wounded pride and we could go back to the

way we were. That’s how it was supposed to happen. Enter my doppelganger: Lilith Jacobsen, Lily to her friends. We’ll be calling her by given name like the evil little succubus she is. You know, Lilith, as in the de-mon that was Adam’s first wife? Doesn’t anyone read these days? Friends of friends were the ghostly nerve endings telling me about my missing arm. You may cut someone off, but it’s not hard to keep tabs on them. You hear he’s seeing someone, that a little hatchback you don’t know has been seen at his place, stayed there over-night, practically has it’s own spot, my God, three months has passed. Lilith should have been a phase. Looks like me, acts nothing like me. Will and I met when I tu-tored him in math while we were at Cal, his and Lilith’s first meeting was a drunken debate over baseball statistics while watching a Giants game. He never even liked bars while we were together. Not that she was some skank you’d pick up at a bar. No, she’s something far

Yeah, doppelganger. You know, that fairytale being? Your evil twin out to destroy your life?

SABOTAGE

more insidious. Subtle, I’ll give her that. She was his friend first, a sympathetic ear for his (self-inflicted, remember?) troubles. That’s how she got her claws into him. Then things started heading in that more serious direction. I waited for three months for him to realize it was a phase, and then I caved. I broke down and texted him for the first time in months. A week later he was mine again, and they’d ended it. They, not he. Even worse, she had let him go. Pushed him, even. I couldn’t believe it when he told me. “She knows that I love you,” he said over dinner, our first time back at our favorite place on the pier. The sun was setting, he’d dressed up for me (as much as I

knew that he hated fussing over his clothes) remembered to order my favorite pinot noir. It was a perfect reconciliation except for the fact that I could feel the shadow of my doppelganger hanging over us. “Will, no one is that reasonable,” I said, giving him one of those looks that said Let’s change the subject kinder than mere words would. “She must still want you. She’s just putting a good face on it.” The slanted rays of the setting sun were falling across his boyish face, gild-ing his brown mop of curls and turning his big blue eyes green. “We liked each oth-er, sure. I still care about her and want to be friends.” I gave him the Let’s change the subject look again, mentally forgiving him for forgetting our silentlanguage after our time apart. “But Evie, listen. We both knew there was always something missing,” he said, gold tinted eyes looking eagerly into mine. “She wasn’t you. I love you.” So I let them be friends. After that, how could I not? Besides, I’d won. I could afford to be magnanimous. He was mine. In time he wouldn’t even want her as a friend, because I was all he needed. Except those claws were still in him! They still went out, but for respectable lunches because dinner dates were my territory. They texted constantly, even if the

subject matter was usually innocuous. Baseball, work, small talk. Usually. Every once in a while, a complaint. About me. But Lilith was too cunning to jump on that. Instead she was the voice of reason, reminding him that I was the wronged party and trust is difficult to rebuild. She had to tell him with mere words the things I said every day in our secret, silent language. Yes, I checked his phone when he wasn’t looking. Yes, I was jealous. How could I not be? He’d cheated once, which meant he was capable of it, which meant he could do it again. I never said anything, but I was screaming it in our silent body language every time his phone buzzed or he mentioned one of their innocent little lunch rendezvous. We fought. We fought for the first time. In five years were never had any-thing to fight about, but now he couldn’t hear a word against Saint Lilith, patroness of henpecked boyfriends. “She’s not sleeping with you, but she’s still everything else to you!” I snapped one night after he accused me of being unreasonable. Lilith the Martyr, the other hand, had been oh so reasonable and accepting since the day I’d let him come back to me. “You’re my everything,” he said simply. His big blue eyes were helpless again, and I knew he was mine. “What do you want me to do?” “I’m not going to forbid you to speak to her.” But you better! “I will if that’s what you want,” he said, lowering his eyes. “I won’t see her anymore. Not until you trust me.” This was going to be my victory. “Lily said it might come down to this, and it would be for the best if that’s what you needed.” Her again! Whatever. Just so long as she was out of the picture. Out of sight, out of mind. Lilith even stopped texting him. She wasn’t there to come between us any-more. Except that she was. Now she was his phantom limb, and it was obvious that he was miserable without her. No, that’s not quite right. He was like a child who’d been told they couldn’t have a toy. It just made him want it that much more. He began to resent me for it. Not in words, but our secret way. Instead of out of sight, out of mind, absence was making his heart grow fonder. I was miserable too. I had all the power in our equation. It had been so

But now he couldn’t hear a word against Saint Lilith patroness of henpecked boyfriends.

balanced once, but he’d cheated and I didn’t think I’d be safe unless the balance of power was skewed in my favor. I was rethinking my strategy, thinking it would be okay for him to see her again and realize that the saint on the pedestal in his mind was as merely mortal as anyone, when he betrayed me anyway. With his mind, not his other head. Hey. Miss your stupid face. What’s with the slump Timmy’ s having? He should have deleted after he sent it, but it was a month since he and Saint Lilith had spoken so he probably thought I wasn’t watching out for him to betray me. That night, after he fell asleep, Lilith made her nightly visitation and replied. Hello stranger. So you’ve finally kissed and made up with the lovely Evelyn? I told you she was subtle. She made it all about me! Not obviously. She could have asked him if his controlling bitch girlfriend had let him off the leash, or some other cutting remark. Instead she was making out like she still cared about us when what she really wanted was to pull us apart. I didn’t want to give her even more ammo to paint me as the villain, so that morning I relented. Will was so obviously relieved. Good, he knew that sneaking that one text was wrong. I let him know that I knew with a glance before I got up and got on with my day. He wasn’t miserable anymore, but I was. He’d snuck behind my back with her once. She had to know he’d broken the taboo even she could pretend otherwise. She could pretend those lunches and those Giants games were not as innocent as she pretended they were. If she really cared about me and Will, she would have left us alone. No, she still wanted him. I knew it, and so now I was miserable. I screamed it in our secret language, but Will was starting to forget his grammar. It was drowned in all my chatterbox doppelganger’s words. Innocent on the surface, but an keen eye could see that each any every one was an attack on me. Our second fight was just after midnight. The Giants game had gone into extra innings, an ever so innocent excuse. I saw a shock of blonde hair in the driv-er’s seat of the little hatchback that dropped him off, drunk and belligerent. We fought, and finally the long game Lilith had been playing bore it’s evil fruits. “You never had problems with my friends before. We were never like this before!” Will shouted. It was the first time he had ever raised his voice at me.

“You never slept with any of your friends before,” I said, trying to be rea-sonable. He so loved reasonable. “And you hadn’t cheated yet before.” “I knew it!” In the dark his eyes looked black, not the big blue pleading things they’d been before. She’d poisoned him against me, I could see it in him. “You’re always going to hold it against me! Against Lilith, and she never did any-thing wrong!” “Except turn you against me!” I screamed. Before we has spoken through our silences, but that was over. It was all over. “She’s sabotaged us! “That’s it, I can’t live like this,” he said, swaying away from me. “You’re not you anymore. Evelyn, if any sabotage was going on, it was self sabotage.” It was his turn to leave without a second thought. I did slam the door behind him again, because I still had my pride. I had it long enough to shut the door behind him, then I abandoned it to watch out the window. Of course the little hatchback was back to pick him up. That was a month ago. That’s the story of how my doppelganger ruined my life. Call me paranoid, everyone else does. He did too, among other choice words, when he came back for his things today. Lilith came with him. I finally got to meet my evil twin in the flesh. She looked properly ashamed to meet my eye and he loaded his things into her car, but that was just a part of her game. She might have sat there silently, but that’s a language I know. Still calling me suspicious? He did too, among those other things. He’ll never believe what happened next. Doubt you will either. My doppelganger finally looked up at me after Will closed the trunk and headed for the passenger seat. All too knowing eyes were set incongruously in her baby face. Otherwise she looked far too much like me for her own good. Her lips moved, but she couldn’t have spoken aloud or he would have heard. Two words, and then they drove off.

“I win.”

StrawberrySplash

Brandon Heggem

Math is not For the Birds

Brittany Yeung

I like it that we wait so longso long in a large white room

for the license to go to and fro’.

The gently automated whispers of a kind, mechanical woman--

“now serving,G,O,1,2, at window number, 9”

and the young girl riseswith her purse, or

“now serving,D,1,0,3, at window number, 10”;

a grey man is helped upby his guardian.

How patient we are in a listless place, a new mother feeds her infantwith a bottle, the sight of love

in her eyes as her husband’swatch the overhead monitors flashing their yellow and blue

shapesall about

as the world shakes violently

and the ceiling splits up (while we expected the floor) and the blue is blown inwith its yellow.

In awe we look up,someone shrieks(a bearded man in the appointment linewho “wasn’t supposed to even be here today”!!)

and silence empties the room. Total silence. Like a ringing of the ears.

A woman picks upthe phone to her mouth.“Now serving,H101 at window number 6”.

and we scramblefor our ticketslike we don’t even know how we lost them.

Bren

dan

Mar

tin

DMV

I want what I do not have but can,And that "can" is loaded,

With wick, and powder, and ball to let loose,And fire a shot of leaden truth into the air,

To speed and orbit the heavens unto it was let, So to lay havoc amongst the gardens where,

Temptation first witnessed a singular decree, And the apple as red as lips should be,

Might kiss so sweet as a tongue can taste, Of fangs, and snake,

And the sad indignation that is me.

A P

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Jess

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Green trees,golden rays of light,the laughter of children,and the exhaust

from an exploding pipe passing bymakes me want to regurgitate, Biodegrade.Iʼm polluting, breathing in pollution out and in.

And the incessantchitter-chattering of my keysquickens my pace.Eagerly I

Drive offWith a hush, and a hum.

People, people inside of a people-made buildingA monument built by webs of synapses.

We’re somewhere between animal, computer, and lunatic.We hallucinate just to see our own hands.

We’re chemicals, forged in starsSynthesized in water.

And miraculously, a soul.A finite, molecular life-form,

And an eternal, personal, self.We try to save our soul in a piggy bank.

Like a sun in a dyson sphere,Long before it ever starts dying

Because we’ve seen how she’ll dieShe dies like a spider, curling up her arms

Letting go of her empty webFalling out of reality

Now a black holeBuried alive by physics.

Calling for help through the keyhole.Slowly she evaporates, shedding radiation

She falls apart, atom by atom.And then she is gone.

DysonSph

er

eTyler H

anna

Sustainable Strides

June Banks

Untitled 2/photograph/B

ridget Com

ito

When death comes for me,Will he be the kindly suitor?When death comes for me,Will he carry me off to his cottage of darkness?When death comes for me,Will I go willingly? Or will I be his runaway brideDefying a consummation I don’t devoutly wish for at all? Will he be patient when it’s over?I don’t want to go willingly.Will he be patient when it’s over?Or demand his long awaited dowry? At the edge of doom he waits for meTo carry me off into eternity.

Runaway Bride

Elizabeth Barcelos

Bride/painting/A

nu Bavra

I sit and think about palms. About their secrets told by cuts callouses missing limbs and nosey gypsies pen marks paint smears nails & dirtI wonderhow important is it for palms to ever fit together?

Pa

lms

Kaitl

in D

rake

Oh, god.he meowed and he meowed.

it was awful.

he’d sit by the glass doorto the kitchenwatching the things we would do,

making eggs,etc.

he would sit by the doorand he’d meow

and we’d feel sorry for himhis greasy fur drizzled with light rain

and we’d saywell, shit, might as well let him in

and we’d let him inand he’d eat the food in the bowland he’d meowuntil he sat on the couch in our lapsand purr

to late night talk shows.

but then…

he shit on the carpetand puked on the rugand it was impossible to house such a thing as this.it got hard to let him in.his hair got everywhere.

his meow got harsher.it grew abominable.

he was pissing on linensand pantiesand the panties with my name on them(which was quite flattering)and he wouldn’t stop meowing.

he was old, we could tell,and one day he just shit all over the placeand we couldn’t stand it anymoreso we took him to the vetin a little kennelon the back seatand,you guessed it,he meowed,and by when we got to the officehe’d shit and pissed all over the place

so they said:yeah, your cat’s fucked up.

well,it didn’t take a scientist to figure that out,besides, he wasn’t our cat anyway,and we said, so, doc,

what’s it gonna take to bring this little thingback to lifeand he said, well,looks like the thing’s got problems.

no shit.

well, what’s it gonna take?

he’s gonna die.soon.

hmmm…

bill?

well, if you leave him herewe’ll take care of him, you know.we’ll do what’ best for the kitty

and she started holding tight to my armand saying stuff likeshould we give him medicine of read to him late at night

and i said, no no nodarling,he’s dyingand it hurt

both of us.

there was blood and shit and pisswhen they pulled him out of the kenneland they asked us if we wanted to keep it

(the kennel)and i said,no. no.

you can have it.we won’t need it.

and we left and she was half in tearsand i concentrated on the roadon the way backwhile little Me Toowas left to the needle andoblivion

by all our goodintentions

that sunny summer dayall alive andquite wellin silence.

Brendan Martin

Me Too

Co

ra

Chri

s Cra

ig A solitary, feminine figure moved cautiously in between abandoned cars on what should have been a congested street. The woman clutched a flashlight exuding a faint beam of light that was accentuated by the imposing, dark skyscrapers lining the street. Earlier in the evening, the light from the skyscrapers blotted out the stars in the sky. Some city inhabitants even conducted their business as usual despite a looming hazardous weather warning. A hurricane of unprecedented size was predicted to assail the metropolis that night; as such, the government had issued a mandatory evacuation during the day in anticipated flood areas. The people who remained in the city braced for the hurricane. The brunt of the storm had reached the city shortly after the sun’s light faded from the cloudy, churning gray sky. Fol-lowing the arrival of the massive storm, power had been lost city-wide. Plunged into darkness, those who had ignored the mandatory evacuation were only begin-ning a night of terror.

Torrents of wind and rain assaulted the woman as she continued moving through the deserted street. Her long, frazzled hair was drenched and blew wild-ly with each violent gust. She ducked behind empty cars to pause and assess her environment. After satisfactorily scanning the area, she scrambled towards the next abandoned car. As her soaked back slammed against the side of a white sedan, she gasped for air. She couldn’t remember how long she had been running. She only knew that if she paused for too long, she would most likely die. She was listening attentively to the sounds carried by the wind for…

There! She thought to herself as a muffled groan reached her ears over the cacophony of the destructive hurricane. The scuffling of feet dragging on pavement soon became audible along with numerous other groans. Turning her flashlight off, she peeked out from behind the white sedan to get a better view of the source of these sounds. Not surprised, a horrific sight greeted her. Silhouettes of ambling people moving towards her direction appeared within the mist enshrouding the lifeless street. One person was close enough for her to make out specific details, which was all the more horrifying.

The person’s clothes clung in soaked tatters to their frame, and they suffered from grievous wounds. It was clear that something gnawed off a large portion of what looked like a male face, leaving behind exposed tissue and a stump of a nose.

A torn foot attached to an impossibly contorted leg dragged heavily as the creature shambled through the downpour. She imagined the approaching silhouettes bear-ing similarly fatal wounds as the ones before them had. Lost in the events of recent hours, the woman did not notice the creature was moving dangerously close.

A piercing, deranged screech split through the incessant bellow of the hurricane as the creature discovered the woman. It feverishly made its way through the various cars along the desolate street. Each step brought it closer to where the woman was still crouched. She could hear many more screeches echo through the storm, and saw what used to be silhouettes becoming more distinct. Exhausted, she stood up and began to run in the opposite direction. More creatures had been moving through the street behind her and noticed her. The gruesome cadavers de-sirously lurched towards her, cutting off her escape route. She turned around again, only to find that the other fiends were closing in.

Running out of space to maneuver, she backed up slowly towards the sidewalk. Her foot slipped as she stepped up on to the slick curb, but she quickly regained her balance. A dull, pulsating sound rang through her ears; she knew it was her heart bursting.

Dear… whoever is alive still,

If you’ve made it this far to the library, then I imagine you’ve done some things tonight that we shouldn’t have to, but we did so that we could survive. My name is Coraline Green, my friends call me… used to call me… Cora. I have no idea what’s going on. I mean, the storm is bad, it’s way worse than what weathermen predicted. But those moaning creatures banging on the walls? First ones I had to take down were family. Little brother and my Mom, I remember them complaining about feeling ill and quickly developing a fever. It wasn’t long before they were coming after me in my room, grabbing at me and snarling like rabid animals. I tried to get them to lie back down, but they weren’t responding to anything.

Maybe I’m hoping you’ll believe me when I say, I didn’t mean for it to hap-pen. I shoved my little brother, maybe a little too hard, he fell back and smashed his head open on the edge of a table. He stopped kicking his tiny feet soon after. My Mom

kneeled down and began eating the brains that had spilled from my little brother’s cracked skull and slurped at the blood. I must have puked at some point; my mouth tastes like it, but I don’t remember. Witnessing that moment, with my Mom feasting on my freshly murdered little brother like a savage cannibal, something clicked in me. These people, they aren’t human anymore. They’re dead inside, and they’re trying to kill us. I grabbed a knife from the kitchen and I stuck it into my Mom’s back while she was hunched over the body. I shoved it straight into her lung, and she rose up and looked at me as though I was just another meal. She came at me, and I stabbed her again. I stabbed her so many times that my feet were beginning to slip from the blood on the carpet. Finally, I stuck the knife right in between her eyes and she dropped instantly. I think you have to destroy the brain in order to kill one.

REPEAT: DESTROY THE BRAIN! I mourned, but was interrupted by the sound of glass breaking. More of those things were trying to get in, so I had to run away. I didn’t even have time to call the emergency phone lines, or grab any food or water. I’ve been constantly moving for what seems like hours. My plan is to go to the town hall; it’s a few miles from here up on Main and Kennedy. Hope-fully some survivors are holed up there; hopefully I can survive through the storm, let alone the damn creatures. Crap, I hear them now… this place might not be safe.

If you find this, don’t stay in one place too long. They always seem to find you, and when they do, they come in masses. Stay low, stay quiet, and keep a weapon on you at all times. Who knows what we are involved in, just stay alive and make it to the town hall on Main and Kennedy. Remember my name: Cora. Maybe we’ll meet up on the other side of the city.

Stay Safe, Cora

Cora was able to slip in between a line of newsstands as one of the creatures, torn and bloodied mouth agape, sprinted a short distance towards her. It fell with force on one of the newsstands which stopped its sprint cold. She watched as the thing struggled to upright itself. As Cora looked around for alternative routes, she flicked the flashlight on. A

nearby dark alleyway seemed to be her best option, so she ran towards it. The group of creatures followed closely as Cora shone the light briefly down the alley. With little time to fully evaluate the narrow stretch, she sprinted down the dark corridor. Water cascaded from the rooftops and over the brick walls lining the alleyway. Cora’s sudden movements sent a jolt of energy through the throng of fiends on her heels, and they moved to match her speed as they shambled after her.

Cora discovered an extended fire escape as she ran further down the alley. She ran faster towards the ladder. While keenly aware of the horde behind her quickly closing the gap, she grabbed hold of the slick metal bars and hoisted herself up quickly. Halfway up the ladder she heard the sound of something clambering up behind her. She reached the top and waited for it to catch up. The wounds on the head of the thing that popped through the fire escape opening were the most shocking she had seen all night. A scorched, jawless head sat loosely on a partially decapitated neck. The head, with its tongue hanging from under its lower jaw, swiveled on the neck as the creature looked over the top of the ladder at her. It reached out towards her with one arm covered in wounds exposing tendons and bone.

Screaming, she repeatedly kicked at it until the head became fully decapitated with a gut-wrenching rip. The body fell from the ladder, knocking down any others following behind it. The decapitated head bounced onto the metal landing Cora was standing on, but she quickly moved to retract the fire escape. Tightly securing it, she turned towards the decapitated head. The revolting head was still looking up at her while its tongue squirmed frantically on the fire escape platform. Lifting her boot up, she brought it down onto the creature in one fluid motion. Blood, brains, and flesh erupted across the metal platform.

Finally, with a moment to rest and recover her energy, she slumped against the railing and slipped towards the ground of the platform. Below her, the creatures had seemed to forgotten her and were stumbling around aimlessly. The storm continued its barrage in all its ferocity along with the ceaseless onslaught of the cannibalistic fiends. Loud groans and occasional screams in the distance were the only sounds that found their way to her from the engulfing darkness.

The place was a relic from the 70s. The color scheme of nauseating green, lurid orange, and muddy brown made it obvi-ous. Eroded shag carpeting covered everything but the scuffed up wooden skating rink floor.

The building was decaying around us as we plopped down on the bench in a shadowy corner. The fluorescent bulb above us had long ago given up the fight. The nubby artificial texture of whatever the bench was upholstered in scratched against the backs of my knees.

We were both panting from exhaustion and covered in a shimmering veil of sweat from skating all night. To unwitting, possibly nostalgic bystanders, it must have looked like there was more to the scene, a torrid adolescent undercurrent.

My head rested on your shoulder, more out of exhaus-tion than affection, as I undid the tangled laces of my skates. Your hands shook in frustration. Knots will do that, whether they’re to be found in your stomach or your skate laces.

We both knew what was expected to come next. I wanted it to, but I can’t remember knowing if you ever did. All I know is that you dutifully leaned in for what should have been my first kiss.

Our noses slammed together in the shadows. The ner-vous anticipation, the secret dread, all was banished instantly by our laughter.

Ca

l-Ska

te

Elizabeth Barcelos

A cranial crash coordinatesSimple spins of splendid symphonyEyes aglow with gastly gazesPeering and prying past persistent eyeshadowWatching and waiting for whimsical wondersLeading me to lustful lullabiesSinging sirens softly sighHigh above haphazardlyI idolize Invictus idealsShe sweetly sits on sentimental stringsHarmonious harps hearken to handsVivaldi violins vibrating vermillion verdureListful love lifts my lightweight life

Da

te

Nig

ht

Ryan Jeter

eedi

ted/

sket

ch/C

hant

al R

icks

i am smallmy favorite thing to do of allis to watchfrom where i see everything is tall around meeveryone acts like a busy beeto and frothey rush to work and run to meetings i am taughtabout the world around me a lotall new thingsfrom this student’s desk i have great thoughtsbut this chairis the lowest anyone can dareto sit in“This is what I think..”; they love to share I think tooEveryone claims they know more than you until Igrow up and teach what’s false from what’s true

June Banks

Wa

tc

hin

g

A Picture of Myself/painting/S

apna Natesh

The happy sadness is called saudade,The nostalgia for what never was,The cursed blessing of Atlantis.Barren rocks were all that remainedOf that doomed earthly paradiseThat my ancestors called their home.

That wandering blood has found a new home,But that which remains is what we call saudade.It changes bitter childhood to a lost paradiseThat deep down we know never was.Otherwise we would have remainedOn the nine remnants of Atlantis.

You don’t have to believe in Atlantis.After all, you never called it home.But those nine rocks are all that remainedAnd are a fitting cradle for the word saudade.We long for a place that probably never was,Because in our hearts we all long for a paradise.

My ancestors made those islands a paradise,Molded the barren rocks into an echo of Atlantis.If I wonder if that that place even really was.I do know that it calls my wandering blood home.Though those islands fill me with saudade,I’m still glad that my parents never remained

Now they recognize nothing that remained.They’d fled the old world for a new paradise.All that was left behind was their saudade.Their childhood world is as lost as Atlantis.The new world is now what calls them home.Their daughter’s heart longs for a place that never was.

I can’t believe that it never was,Because something remained!The Azores call my blood home,Leave me longing for paradise.And so I’m chasing Atlantis:My only compass is my saudade. When I learned that place was never really paradiseWhat still remained was my longing for an AtlantisSo the Azores will always be the home to my saudade.

Chasing Atlantis

San Francisco in Fallt/photograph/Aleksandr Drabovskiy

Elizabeth Barcelos

Ghouls and ghost and goblins fraughtHaunt cobbled streets come witch’s hour, Striking twelve from steeple’s tower.Stricken thee, twelve times did not,One less did chime, bell iron wrought.Impatient imps and shades grew sour, no signal sett to preach the promised dour, For Little Ellie dear, could all but cough.

Little Ellie dear stayed the night with mightto pull the chord that sounds All Hallows’ Eve.Woe, did a chill wind gust and snuff out her lifeFor her lungs were wracked and could not breath.And no creature lurked, to set fright that nightOn this, a mournful all hallows’ reprieve.

A MournfulAll Hallows

Reprieve

Jesse Pagels

Fran

kens

tein

’s M

onst

er/p

umpk

in c

arvi

ng/J

esse

Pag

els

*winner of the 2012 Halloween Bash pumpkin carving contest

Grandpa is dying. Above the altar on one wall of the house are portraits of my late grandmother, uncle, and step-grandmother. There is a fourth empty space. We are waiting for Grandpa to die. The penultimate time I visited him was about a year ago. I remember holding his clenched fist as we sat in silence. As I tried to ease his glass-like fingers apart I almost began to cry. I wanted so much to lend him the youth and energy and time I was wasting. I wanted so much for him to not continue existing, but to be alive. I used to be frustrated by the language barrier between us, and I hated knowing I would never be able to hear grandpa’s stories for myself. Hearing my aunts and uncles’ anecdotes were only briefly satisfying, but never quite enough. All I could do was look through the yellowed black-and-white photo albums and run my fingers over his careful pencil handwriting. All I could do was hold his hand. That day I pushed him in his wheelchair out to some distance from the home’s swimming pool so he could see some color other than the grays and reds of his room. I sat beside him while my aunts chatted in the shade. Then I began to talk, slowly at first. I told Grandpa of everything I was worried about at the time and what I write about. I told him about what kind of person I wanted to be when I grew up and of how I’ve learned to appreciate my heritage. I told Grandpa how I knew he probably couldn’t understand what I was saying, but also why that was okay. I told him about all my favorite things. I told him how I wondered what his favorite things were. The entire time he was quiet. I wrote in one of my college essays that I don’t want people’s stories to vanish when they do. This, I think, is partly why. Later we settled Grandpa into his bedroom again as it was time for us to leave. He said something, doubly indiscernible by my ears because his voice is so weak and he only speaks Vietnamese. An aunt translated.

“He said you remind him of your mom.”

Before first communion comes first confession.You can’t take Christ into an impure vessel,Even if that vessel has all the sinOf an eight year old girl. Forgive me Father, for I have sinned.Yes, my soul is stained.I dumped all my grandparents’ shampooInto the tub for some experiment I can’t remember. Father, how do you stain a soul in a bath tubFilled with lukewarm water and bubbles?And, Father, how do you cleanse a soulIn a dark box where I can’t even see your face?

Thanatopsis

Confession Box

Brenda Nguyen

Eliz

abet

h Ba

rcelo

s

EpigramBrevity is the soul of wit.Overly wordy? Most likely bullshit.

Gina Giovanetti

Variety/collage/Russell Lim

INDEXB Banks, June: 24, 37 Barcelos, Elizabeth: 14, 27, 34, 38, 43 Bavra, Anu: 12, 23, 27 Boboshko, Ira: 11

c Comito, Bridget: 24 Craig, Chris: 30 Craine, Amanda: 7

D Drabovskiy, Aleksandr: 38 Drake, Kaitlin: 26

G Giovanetti, Gina: 45

H Hanna, Tyler: 7, 25 Heggem, Brandon: 9, 20

J Jeter, Ryan: 35 Johnson, Daniel: 13 Johnson, Paul: 11

k Klaas, Kira: 8

l Lim, Russell: 44

M Martin, Brendan: 12, 22, 28

N Natesh, Sapna: 36 Nguyen, Brenda: 42

P Pagels, jesse: 6, 23, 40, 41 Pham, My: 4

R Ricks, Chantal: 5, 35

T Ton, Khang: 13

Y Yanez, Jasmine: 10 Yeung, Brittany: 21