marginal. Volume 8 – 2023 51 Game Over by Tori Jackson (photograph)
marginal. 52 Volume 8 – 2023 AVA PAPPALARDO Creation Within Destruction Before humans grazed and dominated the Earth, the world glistened in untouched and untapped beauty. Nature resonated with unified brilliance as plants and animals lived in balance. This soft but diligent harmony held the world carefully at peace. Humans then evolved to stretch and disrupt this tune and assume control with their own melody of discordant tones. To do this, humans needed to overcome the terrain’s harshness. Humans’ innovativeness is why they survive, not a product of survival. They cannot help their nature in the same way that a zebra cannot help but conceal itself in the masses when the serrating claws of a lion approach. To endure-to survive in the face of terror-humans choose to utilize and mar the natural gifts that they so glorify. Like the lion, their creativity and ingenuity come at a great cost. Yes, humans create but they also destroy. They shove their hands through the terrain to extract the materials they deem necessary for invention and convenience. They disregard the needs of the animalia in their pursuit of something that hasn’t been fully realized. They are searching for meaning-for purpose. Despite the overflowing river of opportunities and resources within a finger’s length, humanity finds reasons to be miserable as they struggle to grasp the meaning and purpose of their presence. They long for remembrance and choose to create by destruction in order to make a lasting connection as though they never really lived unless someone remembers them. To do this, many turn to the way humans revere the past and treat life as a workshop for the legacy they’ll leave in their wake. At their very core, humans want to discover ways to laugh languidly in the face of an evil too great to overcome: death. In order to truly vanquish death humans must become immortalized in a way that’s as rigid and firm as the stones early cavemen scratched into. Humans have lasted so long because of this unquenchable desire to be plastered forever in time.
marginal. Volume 8 – 2023 53 Thus, their projects suck the life out of the world and tarnish the sky with hues of pitch and explosive reds in order to create something that will outlive them. They overcompensate their faults with their drive of creation, so the world they leave behind is theirs: broken but beautiful.
marginal. 54 Volume 8 – 2023 A Portrait in Flesh by Maeve Swab (mixed media)
marginal. Volume 8 – 2023 55 Class of 2024 Senior-Write-Is Contest Editors’ Notes We were excited that our annual Senior-Write-Is Contest – our annual writing contest open only to the graduating class of that year – received far more submissions than we gathered last year. This year’s Honorable Mentions are Jude Shorbaji’s The Election and Liliana Vance’s Paper Cup. The former is a politically charged poem that addresses some of the major topics that are dividing America today, and the latter is a well-crafted and emotional poem. Our winner this year was Holly Thompson’s fractured fairy tale, The Princess and I. We tend to receive some variety of broken fairy tales each year, and we like the genre, but Thompson’s was especially fun. The clever metatextual opening and the … unusual… perspective hooked us in, and the clever tale kept us reading. We hope you enjoy these pieces as much as we did!
marginal. 56 Volume 8 – 2023 HOLLY THOMPSON The Princess and I There are plenty of ways to tell this story. I could take it easy and tell it from the perspective of a classic fairy tale character. Perhaps a prince? Maybe a queen? Or I could go with a clear cut, overdone perspective; an omniscient narrator with zero connection to the story. Gross. This story isn’t like any other and deserves to be told as such. It is the story of me, a tiny green vegetable that is often forgotten, and the princess that saved my life. Once upon a time there was a queen and a painfully pathetic prince that lived in a beautiful kingdom. The queen’s son, Pearce, had been searching for a princess for quite a long time. Despite the growing number of girls he brought to the castle each week, he failed to find one who pleased his mother. Expecting nothing less than the perfect girl to marry her boy, the queen tested each maiden he brought home, and there were many, to determine if they were qualified to become a princess. There were numerous factors the queen considered in her evaluations. For example, many of the women dying to marry into royalty didn’t care less about the prince. Pearce was not qualified to enter a long-term relationship, let alone rule an entire kingdom. For whatever reason, the queen believed her son deserved the woman of his so-called dreams and should never settle for less. Never less than posed and refined. Never less than beautiful and educated. And most of all, never less than delicate. Now, before I continue with this story, I think it’s important for me to share a little bit about myself. As a pea, you’d think that I would live in fear of human hunger. However, where I came from, a strong appetite was the least of my worries. Instead, I was constantly preoccupied with the thought of ten mattresses piled as high as a mountain crushing me to a pulp. Us peas weren’t lucky enough to enjoy the lavish lifestyle the queen and prince both shared. Stuck in a China bowl as cramped as the center of the kingdom, we spent each day anxiously anticipating the day we’d follow in the footsteps of the peas before us.
marginal. Volume 8 – 2023 57 As I wondered when the next maiden would arrive, I overheard prince not-so-charming whining to his mother about the lack of maidens in the kingdom. Well, the lack of maidens he hadn’t already gotten with. “But Mommm… all the other princes found wives already! Why do I have to be so intimidatingly charismatic and charming?” “Oh, Son. You’ll find your princess. Just be patient,” the queen responded sluggishly, visibly considering lowering her standards. Shortly after heaving a sigh of annoyance, the two heard an intense knock on the palace doors as tall as the oak from which the wood came. The butler, Peater, rushed to greet a woman concealed by a raincoat as dark as the thundering sky. “I’m terribly sorry to bother you, but I was wondering if you were aware of the closest path to the farm on the outskirts of the kingdom?” This girl was lost, confused, and had no clue what she was doing. I respected it. Pearce, in his typical fashion, pounced on the chance to introduce himself to the woman to decide if she was, in his words, “wifey material.” Clearing his throat and deepening his voice in an attempt to prove his manly nature, the prince shot her a look that screamed you-are-beyond-honored-to-even-speak-to-me and greeted the woman. Pearce repeated some of his favorite lines, such as “you just dropped something… my jaw” and “you’re a 9/10 because I’m the 1 you’re missing,” with a smile as bright as the sun spread across his face. Penelopea wanted nothing more than to leave the palace as soon as possible. While the queen recognized that her son had the worst seduction tactics she had ever seen, she feigned a laugh to support him. “You are too funny, Pearce!” Directing her attention towards the girl, she asked for her name. “Penelopea.” Are you surprised? “Well Penelopea, the storm is far too dangerous and the journey far too long to travel to that farm. Why don’t you stay the night?” asked the queen. The prince nodded aggressively. Penelopea was reluctant to agree but realized that this was a once in a lifetime opportunity. She knew she could get away with stealing a few things from these blockheads to support her family.
marginal. 58 Volume 8 – 2023 “Okay. Thank you.” Penelopea was led to one of the many guest rooms by a maid who further escorted her to a bath as warm as the heat radiating from the nearby fireplace, handing her fresh, dry clothes, and leaving her to change. Penelopea could get used to this. “Supper will be served at seven. There is a bell on the bedside table if you need anything. Please don’t ring it.” Penelopea quickly washed up and laid on top of the bed, resting her head on a pillow as smooth as silk and sinking deeply into the soft mattress. Realizing how parched she was from her long day of misadventures, she decided to walk downstairs for a glass of water. As Penelopea entered the kitchen, she overheard voices arguing from the next room over. “She is not princess material. I mean, clearly, she is lacking in manners. What kind of a person barges into a palace asking for directions? If she had a proper education, maybe she would know how to follow a map,” muttered the queen. The prince raised an eyebrow, bewildered by the strange comment. “Mom, you’re the one who invited her to stay the night.” “That’s because I’m a nice person!” As Penelopea listened to them argue, she resisted the urge to laugh at the pure absurdity of it all. The queen and prince of the kingdom were arguing over a farmer’s daughter. Could anything be more weird? The answer to that question was yes. It was me. I was more weird. As us peas jabbered on and on about how tired we were of the prince’s forty sixth new girl, I noticed a sudden change in Penelopea’s demeanor. Her body stiffened as straight as a board as she asked, “who goes there?” She slowly turned and directed her attention towards the bowl on the countertop, eyes as wide as saucers. “Oh my god.” It became as quiet as a maiden after Pearce’s jokes as the peas uncomfortably stared at one another, praying for something to happen that would solve all of our problems. Much to our surprise, that someone was the queen. “Supper time!” the queen chirped like a bird as she spun into the room. If she didn’t like Penelopea, she certainly didn’t show it. The table was quickly flooded with beautiful dishes. Perfectly charred meat, delicious cheeses, and golden bread was passed down the table
marginal. Volume 8 – 2023 59 as well as plenty of ripe fruits and vegetables. Penelopea’s stomach growled as loud as the palace guard dogs. Penelopea was suddenly hit with a terrible thought. She wondered if the other foods were capable of talking and flashed us an uncertain glance. I shook my body, because I don’t have a head, surprising myself with the natural instinct to calm her fears. I wouldn’t blame you if you’re a little confused right now. How could the peas communicate, feel, and think for themselves when no one else in the kitchen could? That’s a story for another time, but it has a little something to do with a poor attempt at concocting a poison apple. Don’t ask. Shortly after dinner, the queen and prince evacuated to their rooms. Once the coast was clear, Penelopea immediately stormed towards the counter. “What the hell is going on?!” she exclaimed. After exchanging nervous glances, it was clear that the other peas opposed the thought of speaking. Even so, something about this maiden was different. I made the bold decision to open up to her. “We can talk. We can hear you. And we need your help.” The other peas glared at me, but I knew that I had done the right thing. This was our opportunity to finally be free. “This is actually the weirdest day of my entire life,” Penelopea said, shaking her head. “How are you…” “Irrelevant,” I interrupted, cutting right to the chase. “If you can help us, we are perfectly willing to help you.” “Help me? she laughed. “What could you possibly help me with?” I contemplated how to answer her question, looking for the right words to say in such a strange moment. “We will help you to become a princess.” Penelopea snorted. “Bold of you to assume I’d want to become a princess.” Not a single maiden we’d ever met opposed the possibility of becoming royalty. I struggled to come up with a way to convince her. “There are plenty of benefits to becoming a princess! Such as…” Penelopea raised an eyebrow. Suddenly, my mind went blank. Every positive could be overridden by the questionable queen and her snotty son. “The food’s good, the beds are comfortable… and the prince isn’t ugly!” I exclaimed. Weak argument.
marginal. 60 Volume 8 – 2023 Penelopea rolled her eyes. “I live on a farm, not in jail. I don’t need your help,” she muttered, heading towards the stairs. We were beginning to give up hope, as there was certainly no way to chase her, when suddenly, she turned around. “Why do you need mine?” An hour later, Penelopea and I had come up with a brilliantly flawed plan on how to save the peas from our ill-fated destiny. After dinner, we overheard a brief exchange between the queen and Pearce. “Mom, she could be the one. I really think so! Why not test her? Please?” he begged. The queen was beyond finished with her son’s intolerable behavior, but recognized a part of it was due to her unwavering high standards. She decided to make a compromise. “Fine, Pearce. We can test her. But only on one condition; we place twenty mattresses over a pea instead of ten.” “MOM! That’s impossible!” Pearce protested. “I couldn’t pass that!” “Those are the rules, honey. The only rule. She will tire at midnight, and we will place the pea beneath her bed. If she is incapable of sleeping, which will not happen, she can be your princess. But if she falls asleep for a single second, she’s out of the picture.” Our plan wasn’t foolproof, but it was better than nothing. It required a little bit of arts and crafts. We had to create the perfect pea for the queen to use in her test, one that would call to her, beckoning to be squashed. So, of course, we used glitter. “A little glisten will reel her in, I’m sure of it,” I explained. “She’s a sucker for a little sparkle.” So we added sparkle. After years of living in the castle, certain peas knew exactly where to find the materials necessary to replicate a pea. At this point, everyone was on board with the plan and ready to escape. Penelopea finished painting the pea just before the clock struck twelve. After finishing the replica, Penelopea walked to the kitchen and dropped the shiny green marble into our bowl. It was a risky plan because the queen could select any of us to be her next victim. We could only pray that she would choose the fake. Penelopea said her last goodbye before departing to her room and wished us good luck. “I’ll see you soon. You’ll be okay. I promise.”
marginal. Volume 8 – 2023 61 The queen fell asleep shortly after placing the shimmering decoy pea beneath the mattresses as expected. She found that staying up all night to discover the same result, a well-rested girl who had a delightful slumber upon the softest and fluffiest mattresses in the kingdom, was not worth the exhaustion that accompanied pulling an all-nighter. It was finally time for the most interesting part of the plan: the escape. Penelopea crept down the stairs, careful not to wake the queen, and lifted the bowl off of the countertop. Carrying us outside, she gently set us down beneath a dreadfully large statue of the prince on a horse he’d never ridden. It was the first time we’d seen the sky in a long time, and it was as beautiful as ever. Twinkling stars danced across the blue, dying to be seen. So many stars. So much light. So much potential, glowing endlessly and shining for all the world to see. I admire the stars. You never see them move, but you always know they’re there, waiting for the sun to set so they can finally be free. I didn’t sleep a wink that night. I spent my time wondering what I would do with my life. What had I missed? What didn’t I? And how was I supposed to move on? I couldn’t remember a day past my first in the palace. What could life possibly have in store for me if I couldn’t move on my own? The next morning, Penelopea walked joyfully down the staircase, following the scent of bacon. She felt refreshed and was eager to leave but had to grab breakfast first. There were platters upon platters of food in the dining room. Heaping piles of sausages, eggs, waffles and, Penelopea’s favorite, pancakes, were layered on top of one another. The queen and prince were already sitting down. “Why good morning, Penelopea!” the prince exclaimed, jumping from his chair and reaching to kiss Penelopea’s hand. Reluctantly lifting her hand to meet his, Penelopea greeted Pearce dryly. “Hey.” “Penelopea!!! How are you doing???” asked the queen, dying to hear about Penelopea’s slumber. “I’m actually fantastic!” exclaimed Penelopea enthusiastically. “I didn’t love the being twenty feet above ground part, but the mattresses were comfy as hell!” “That’s just WONDERFUL, Penelopea!” said the queen, clapping her hands with excitement. Pearce looked like he got hit by a bus. “I’m so happy you slept so well! You just made my day.”
marginal. 62 Volume 8 – 2023 “Oh, anytime! It’s my pleasure. Thank you so much for letting me stay the night. I couldn’t be more grateful.” With that and a friendly wave, Penelopea headed out the palace doors to take the peas home. Over her shoulder, she overheard the queen asking the prince where that beautiful, blue China bowl could have possibly gone. Right as Penelopea turned a corner, she caught her last glimpse of the queen, delivering one final, cold stare. After our evacuation, we headed towards Penelopea’s farm. We were welcomed by a beautiful field of sunflowers and the smell of a warm summer breeze that lured us into the gorgeous property. Meeting with Penelopea’s dad, she told him the story of us. The story of the storm. The story of the cocky prince. The story of the forbidding queen. An arts and crafts project gone surprisingly well. An escape plan that actually worked, and a girl and a family who bonded like none ever before. Soon enough, we were free to go to the garden. The gorgeous garden. Our new home. The night had finally come, and we were ready to shine. I had my family, and I had my friend; all I could ever need in life. Penelopea is a true princess for limitless reasons that I could rattle off for hours and hours. Above all, she heard us, not only audibly, but in her heart and soul. She saw us for who we are. There’s a power found in the ability to truly listen that is greater than any royalty. I knew from then on it would never be a me. It would be an us. You and me. Penelopea and me. The Princess and the Pea. Pea End The Princess and I was the winner of the 2024 Senior-Write-Is Contest.
marginal. Volume 8 – 2023 63 Milky Way by Madhav Warrier (photograph)
marginal. 64 Volume 8 – 2023 JULIET FINDLEN A Portrait of Dementia Death breathes in me, It makes its home little by little Until it’s like it’s always been there, A shadow that grows as I do, Which crooks a single finger As I crook my back. I am waiting to forget, but I sit here and remember All of the things that I regret Rewind, turn back, Remember. The past is present In the confines of my mind. Is there really any difference If I never go outside? See now that my eyes are closed, The doors locked tight. If I would dare to open them, I’m afraid of what I’d find. My heart is in the ground, But I find it beating still I wonder if I go there, Will my memory be found? Without memory, a smile is a show of teeth, Laughter a cacophony, And the faces in my photographs, They mean nothing to me.
marginal. Volume 8 – 2023 65 I am older than my body, My mind younger than me, I look into the mirror, But I don’t know who I see.
marginal. 66 Volume 8 – 2023 Cool Breeze by Pascaline Tetteh (digital)
marginal. Volume 8 – 2023 67 ABIGAIL McFARLAND Loved by a Writer to be loved by a writer I know what it’s like I’ve seen the endless lines likening her smile to sunlight it’s boundless and full in a way most wouldn’t understand there’s a depth to the words that can easily get out of hand to be loved by a writer how I wish I knew what’s it like to have poems written about you do I have that much to offer? is there really so much to say? must be a reason I’m the writer, anyway to be loved by a writer if only you knew you thought it was impossible but you should see my view you never thought you were good enough to be a muse but you’ve been loved by a writer, dear and every word is about you.
marginal. 68 Volume 8 – 2023 SAHASRA CHARKAM And the Summer Was Over “And the summer was over”. It wasn’t as if the season was over, but the happiness was gone for Myop, as the sorrows flooded in. She had found the remains of a terrible lynching of a man that was neither at fault nor buried properly. She walks back through the naked woods, dread in her step, horror in her face. She wasn’t able to stop thinking about what had happened. She had heard of men that were beaten for disobeying, and those that were hung for simply being too tired to follow through with their actions. But never once had she thought she would’ve had to come face to face, changing the reality she knew. The thread bares of the bright blue denim overalls had reminded her of the ones her dad had worn this morning. The ones he was wearing, when he spun her around, underneath the gleaming sun, in the meadow behind their cabin. The darkness of the woods, the eeriness of her surroundings begins to overtake the joyous recollections as she once again sets about to go back home along the stream created by the spring. The white picket fence began setting into view. The rickety brown boards along the roof of the unstable cabin, and the bright tall strands of grass surrounding the place she called home. … Fifteen years later and she still wasn’t able to register how an individual could be so cruel as to inflict pain among humanity. Myop stood there, taller and stronger, but still, unable to do anything about the man that was being paraded around town. He was rumored to have insulted a white man for his ways of running the plantation. The man lay there, slacking against the post, too tired to fight, and unresponsive to any more acts of violence. His coarse brown hands tied behind him, bound to the tall post that stood as a
marginal. Volume 8 – 2023 69 monument to the town. He was around 20, and had an uneven beard, like a teenager that just hit puberty. He had been displayed in the center of town, as if he were a piece of art. Though he wasn’t a piece of art he symbolized the horrors of humanity, the wretched things one would do, without sparing a second thought. Myop was a part of this, she knew that she was a contributor though no one asked her for her opinion. The white men surrounded the young man, with a frayed rope, lopped perfectly for a head to fit just right. Myop couldn’t repel her need to take charge of what was going on in front of her. She tried to stay still, among the hundreds of others that were doing the same. She wanted to blend in, but she was no longer near-sighted, she had seen the results of a lynched man and what they would be. Determined, she strode toward the front of the crowd, she wanted to no longer be a bystander, worrying about herself. As she is about to step away from the crowd and into the center of town, a small, brown, wrinkled hand wraps around her skinny wrist. “Girl, listen to me, and listen to me right cause I’m too old to be repeating myself. This kind of act happens all the time, and it isn’t our place or our land to be tellin’ ‘em white people how to do anything. If you wanna live, then you gonna use that head of yours and do what every other man or woman here is doing. You are gonna live, you are gonna hold your head up high, do the right thing at the right time, but never are you gonna think that going up there and standing up gonna get you anything but death.” And yet again, the summer was over.
marginal. 70 Volume 8 – 2023 Self Portrait: Submerged by Jianing Huang (colored pencil)
marginal. Volume 8 – 2023 71 AMY LIU Cyborg Max (an excerpt) Sawyer flops facedown beside Max before rolling over to look at the ceiling. “You know, I thought that once Tate grew up and left the nest, that she would… she would be okay. And then I would be okay… because I would be dead.” “Sawyer… you, you really planned on killing yourself?” “… Listen, I planned to, okay? But that doesn’t mean I was actually gonna…” Max: “….” Sawyer: “….” Max edges closer to him, their heads now laying on the same pillow. “Sawyer, I have a question. I know… now’s not the perfect time to ask it, but I’ve kept dragging it with me for long enough… and I want you to answer me honestly.” Sawyer gives a tiny nod. Max grips the pillow sheets. “Do you… still want to follow through with what you planned? You still want to end things once Tate completes what she has to?” Sawyer sighs, and then a small smile appears on his face. “Fun question. Max, all these years I’ve been looking for something to hold onto… a reason to keep going. And right now, I think I see it.” His hand reaches out and cards through Max’s hair, circling behind his ears. Max flinches a little, but he gently plucks Sawyer’s hand from his head and twines their fingers together. Memories. The collar, the ring, the flower. They flood his mind whenever he’s not paying attention. And now, he has no choice but to let them get the better of him. “Please… don’t live just for me, Sawyer. I know you love me, and I love you too, I just…” Max rolls over, facing away from Sawyer. “I can’t be anyone’s reason for living. I’ve seen what can happen when you live your life thinking that someone else is the reason for your existence.”
marginal. 72 Volume 8 – 2023 He feels the bedsheets shift beneath him. Warmth presses against his back, and he feels the softness of Sawyer’s breath on his neck. They unconsciously press closer together, Sawyer sliding his arms around Max’s waist. “What other choice do I have?” Sawyer whispers, his face buried in Max’s long hair. “I love you, Max. I’ll keep living for you.” “You love Tate, too. …Don’t you? You were like siblings. I think you should also live for her.” “Honestly, I don’t know, Max. No matter how much you put it, she uh… she definitely ruined my life. She ruined both of our lives. She brought out the worst in me, and it’s not like I can go back and just fix what I’ve broken in her. “…But no matter what, I’ll still try caring for her. I’m not happy if you want to put it that way - I guess no one in this house is - I’m just not ready to die. Not yet.” “As long as I’m still alive?” “Hmmm… As long as I still love you. Take that how you will.” Max brings Sawyer’s fingers to his lips. “Right. Then I’ll take care of you too.” He chuckles quietly as he feels Sawyer smile against the nape of his neck. “Goodnight, Soy. Please have the happiest dreams.” “Night.” *** Max jolts awake to the scent of blood. He couldn’t help it; after all, Master had engineered him to have a keener nose. His scenting abilities were far more useful for when he was unknowingly tracking other humans, but now that he was living with Tate and Sawyer, he found it increasingly difficult to discern smells. Especially now that he smelled like he was supposed to. Human. Sawyer had insisted that it was a good thing, that his dehumanizing canine mentality wasn’t showing signs of resurfacing. He was quickly embracing his new identity, and being treated like an actual partner suddenly became normal to him. The way Sawyer kissed his tears away, listened to him blabber, made their bed warmer every night… made it so that his ears wouldn’t always have to be alert, his eyes could rest when he was tired, and there was no need to sniff for danger.
marginal. Volume 8 – 2023 73 Despite this, Max finds the stinging, metallic taste of blood all too familiar. Rolling to his right, he sees that Sawyer’s already awake and half-dressed, thumbing at the wrinkled white sheets. A light smear of blood has stained their bed like a soft stroke of red paint. Their eyes meet and Sawyer laughs, turning around so that Max can see his bare back. “Damn it, I shouldn’t have rolled us around so much last night. It’s just a few old cuts. I think they opened back up.” All along his shoulder blades and the small of his back are long, thin red gashes that stand out harshly against the backdrop of Sawyer’s beautiful bronze skin. A noise wants to come out of Max’s throat, but he suffocates it. “Oh god, Soy, I’m so sorry… Do you need bandages?” “I’ve already applied some ointment, it should be fine,” replies Sawyer, fitting on his crop top. “I’m more worried about the sheets. I think I’ll just get Tate to wash it… provided she doesn’t question anything…” “Uh, do you think she heard?” Wincing, Max crawls out from beneath the blankets, immediately feeling the cold air hit his bare body. He throws on a tank top and shorts, grabbing the brush by the mirror to comb his long hair, making sure to go around his metallic dog ears, which stick straight up like two twin peaks. Sawyer stiffens for a moment before continuing to bundle the sheets up. “She’s fifteen. If she did, she’ll handle it with maturity.” Both of them awkwardly glance at the other, silently knowing that the last statement would be proven untrue. Max shrugs and goes back to fixing his hair into a bun. “Meet you downstairs,” Sawyer whispers, patting his shoulder as he brushes past. There was something Max found peculiar - and altogether a little frightening - about human teenagers. Tate was one of the last pure humans on Earth, perhaps even the last. No one knew how many there were left. And yet, despite her compromising position as the savior of all humanity, she still had an attitude. Max was both afraid of and impressed by her audacity. Even so, he’d been told of their past fights inside the house, which often resulted in Sawyer screaming so hard at Tate that his voice became hoarse; his makeup would be disheveled, painted nails balled up into fists. And Tate would stand unmoving against him every single time, her arms trickling blood and dark with bruises.
marginal. 74 Volume 8 – 2023 Most fights started because Sawyer came home drunk after a long day of dealing with clients. Others happened because Sawyer still blamed Tate for Max’s death. At the moment, Max is not keen on prying further into their relationship. He reasons that it’s best to try and please both of them, though that’s no easy task. Max can’t pretend that the two even remotely like each other. Sawyer and Tate had grown up together like siblings, being only five years apart, and Max’s first death only deteriorated their relationship further. Thinking of it now, he doesn’t remember much about being shot through the chest, just Sawyer’s devastated expression as he tumbled into a welcoming blackness. But ever since Max had been engineered back to life, they were both pacified. Somewhat. Max could at least stop Sawyer from hitting Tate, but Sawyer’s words were always so cruel, especially when he wasn’t thinking straight. Max did the chores that Tate could not finish, chatting with her when she felt lonely. He let Sawyer cry into his arms every night, reminding him of the fact that he was still there. His very presence was a shining beacon of comfort, of safety, of love. Despite how much the two relied on him to prevent going insane, Max would always feel a voice nagging at the back of his brain. What if they start hating you, too? He pushes these thoughts down. They aren’t needed right now. He places a kiss on the back of Sawyer’s hand, despising that this is how things are, that most of their money is still coming from the filthy hands of various androids who have touched his partner. But if this is how things must be, then Max knows he has to trust in Sawyer’s strength. After watching Sawyer turn the corner behind the house with crumbling paint and a dripping gutter, Max dusts off his janitor’s uniform and heads to the dark, clogged subway station. It’s so early that the sun is just a pale orange line of light on the horizon. The air is frosty, and the breeze nips lightly at Max’s face. It’s nice enough weather for early November. The streetlamps aren’t even on, but New York is alive with neon lights and billboard advertisements that flicker periodically. Harsh colors clash against the inky blackness of powerful skyscrapers and unfinished foundations, their silhouettes reaching towards the sky. Screens broadcasting government news cover the building walls as androids and cyborgs
marginal. Volume 8 – 2023 75 stop to listen to the droning newswoman on their daily commute. Tiny robotic canines trail at the heels of passerby, squeaking incessantly and gobbling up cigarette butts. Max tries not to look at them. While waiting for the train, he thinks about how Sawyer’s scratches must be slowly healing now. *** “Mister Max! Mister Max!” Little voices chime out from all around him. Max greets them all and ruffles their hair. He lifts a few in his arms and spins them around. The children are relentless, tugging at his pant legs. “Me next! Me next!!” “Mister Max, you’re so strong, I bet you can lift me and Nathan at the same time!” “Mister Max, I did a drawing of me and you! I drew you next to my dog because your ears look like hers!” “Umm… Mister Max, do you, um, h-have a girlfriend?” These children behaved similarly to pure human kids, Max found. The only difference, of course, was that some of them had metallic body parts, similar to Max’s own ears. And, perhaps, others would have some complicated wiring on the inside that he couldn’t see, similar to Max’s own artificial heart. In accordance with the law, all parents had to sterilize pure human children, which resulted in quite a few cyborgs. These halfhumans were not as intelligent as an android, no matter how much their adoptive parents wished to download information into their brains. They would have to retain knowledge in the old-fashioned way. Despite the government pushing hard against small cyborg schools such as this one, Max felt safe enough to accept a janitorial job. Besides, he needed some form of pay, and the kids loved him and his ears. He hadn’t known until recently that it was not normal for even cyborgs to have animal body parts. Ms. Daniels pokes her head out of the classroom. “Children, it’s about time you stop pestering Max. He’s got a job to do. And for goodness’ sake, remember to wipe your feet on the mat next time! We don’t want to be making the floor dirtier for him.” Max gives a grateful nod to Ms. Daniels. “Go on now,” he says gently, ushering the tiny flock towards the colorful door. The children “awwwww…” and scamper off. Sighing, he retires to the janitorial closet and retrieves the bucket and mop. He lets his mind
marginal. 76 Volume 8 – 2023 wander, thinking about Tate this time, and how she must be scrubbing the gunk beneath their sink, or having a tea party with her stuffed unicorns, or blogging updates about her human life. *** The last room he has to sweep is the classroom. It’s only one room, and much of the floor has been covered with foam mats or cushions. An old TV, greasy with tiny fingerprints, sits on the reading rug. Ms. Cherry Daniels is a short, middle-aged woman with thickrimmed glasses and long golden legs, and pointy heels that hold her body above the ground like a mother doe. She’d been close to a hunter’s rifle, too, back when she was a member of Max’s army. Before, Max didn’t know her personally, since he was the leader of the Revolution and was busy with more important things, but back then, she was an ardent fan of his doctrine. (And his good looks.) ‘Glory to Our Rights to Be Human’ was his mantra, and after their tearful reunion in which Cherry pleaded him to say those words again, he only gave her a gray look and stated softly that he’d rather experience getting shot in the chest again than utter that phrase. “Alright, class… Since you’ve been so well-behaved for the most part… Evelyn, stop coloring on Liam’s paper.” After a moment of silence followed by the sheepish shuffling of little feet, Cherry continues, “Since you’ve been good today, I’ll give you twenty minutes of movie time.” “Movie time!” the children shriek as they pile in front of the TV. Movie time was essential for stimulating the children. Though the TV was old, it could still connect to the government network. After all, most dysfunctional devices had long been destroyed. Tate’s computer was an exception, only because she had hacked and hid behind multiple online aliases. Regular children’s’ programming consisted of some nonsense, animal facts, cooking tutorials, maybe some classical music. This time, the TV was black screened. Max’s ears twitch. The television never turned on to complete darkness. And certainly, never complete silence. “Strange,” says Ms. Daniels, “I swore I could have turned it on…”
marginal. Volume 8 – 2023 77 “Maybe it’s getting old?” Max offers, but then he moves closer and his heart freezes to a standstill. The old speaker on the television crackles as the first few sounds come through. Footsteps. Jingling. Just a simple sound makes Max’s hairs stand on end. A figure slowly fades into view, the only light coming from a gold chain around his neck. It’s his old Master. Max feels his neck for the collar that isn’t there. It’s suffocating him. He wants to cower by instinct, but he still can’t look away. The screen blinks to reveal more of Master’s work. Piled up in the darkness are bodies. These aren’t the broken parts of an android. These are bodies of flesh and… blood. Humans. Sawyer. This can’t be real. Sawyer is okay. He must be. He must… Sawyer’s face is right there. His makeup is untouched. His lips are a lovely shade of dark red. So is the side of his head. His eyes are empty. So, so empty. Max hears, faintly, Master’s voice through the television, the horrified cries of the children, the panic of Ms. Daniels as she frantically chokes out the programming and directs the kids to hide in the corner. His entire world is narrowing to a single point. All of a sudden, there’s no classroom, no New York, no universe. Just Max, in the middle of nowhere, gasping for breath. And he feels something rapidly rising in his chest, something that he hasn’t felt in a long, long time. Panic. He hardly feels himself run out of the building. He shoves past passerby, who can’t take their eyes off of the gore, transfixed by the bloodbath happening on every screen on every building. His brain isn’t able to comprehend, but his legs are taking him home. Yes, home. He’s going to run home and Sawyer will be waiting for him in their bedroom.
marginal. 78 Volume 8 – 2023 Master’s soft voice rings throughout the streets. Every screen is playing his horrifying image. “Unfortunately, since our government hasn’t done anything with these… filthy fleshlings, we’re just doing our part to make our streets cleaner. “Oh, come now. No one will remember them anyways. They were all addicts or criminals, or both. You’ll get over it real quick. Amazing, really, how quickly you forget someone after they die. And, dear viewers, these people aren’t innocent. Laughable for you to think that way. Just think for a moment about it, I mean, if we let the human race rise again… what’s going to happen to us? You want to be enslaved in a factory again? Making, what… shoes?” His legs feel like lead. He’s running to nowhere. He’s going to die. “All you androids I see out there, each one of you is worth fighting for. You’re certainly worth much more than shoes. And we’re not going to stop fighting until we see every last human like this -” he picks up Sawyer’s lifeless body and strokes its bloodied hair - “Nice and docile. I mean, this one looked prettier alive. I really liked the… personality of this one. “Ahem. Regardless. This is a cause worth celebrating. So, I propose we raise a glass for a toast, and… oh dear, this program is about to run out…” Max is simultaneously freezing up in the cold afternoon and burning with rage. More than that, though, the sight of Sawyer’s wide-eyed corpse makes him gag, and he immediately sprints over to a trash can lying in a dark alleyway, just to empty out the contents of his stomach. Coughing, he wipes his mouth and looks up at a screen. There’s nothing there now. No more horrifying images. Just groups of androids and cyborgs alike, huddled together, muttering, praying, searching for some sort of broken consolation. His body quivering, he pushes himself to his feet and lets his legs take over, dreading how he’s going to explain to Tate. *** The house is cold. Sawyer usually turned everything off as he left for work, to save money for electricity. It would usually leave poor Tate with nothing but blankets to keep warm. “Tate?” Max calls wearily, but really, part of him is calling for Sawyer. An insatiable, painful ache in his stomach blooms as Sawyer fails to appear inside the house to surprise him.
marginal. Volume 8 – 2023 79 He pulls his ears down and curls up on the floor, sobbing, gasping for air. There isn’t any use in being quiet anymore. Pain constricts his throat. He chokes, wheezes, whines. Every possible animalistic noise makes its way out of his mouth and suddenly he’s a dog again, whimpering against the boot of his Master. After some time, he manages to calm himself, sucking in deep breaths, before crawling over to check inside the underground wine cellar, a reliable place where Tate would hide from house inspections. There is nothing but a few bottles of wine. Not even warmth. Max aggressively wipes away at his tears. The frigid hands of despair were slowly finding their grip on him. He’s cold. Cold and desperate. There is something in front of him that could possibly warm him up. With Sawyer dead and Tate gone, at least he has something to drink. Silently, he thanks the heavens as he uncorks the stopper. *** “... Max?” Max is bleary-eyed. He breathes a sigh of relief into the pillow. Someone finally woke him from his nightmare. “Sawyer, thank god you’re alive…” he mumbles, drifting off once more. “No.” Tate shakes him awake, slapping at his sensitive ears. “Max, it’s me. What the hell happened?” Max blinks once, and the rest of his surroundings slide into focus. A wet towel is pressed to his forehead. He’s still lying on the couch in the cold dark living room, the only source of light coming from the moon beaming through the open window. “Everything,” moans Max, his speech slurring, “... Sawyer’s dead. He’s dead and I couldn’t do shit… God, I’m fucking drunk, aren’t I?” “I, uh… already knew that. Not about your drinking, just like… about the whole… death thing. I saw it on the TV and I just… couldn’t handle it. I hid for a while, and then I thought about you. And I knew you were gonna be so mad at me when you got back, so I just… ran away. I’m really sorry, Max.” Max stares at her. “That’s it?” “What do you mean, ‘that’s it’?” Tate mutters. “Are you mad at me?”
marginal. 80 Volume 8 – 2023 Yes. “No, but… you’re not gonna say anything about Sawyer?” “Well, I do feel sad, and kinda guilty… but I have more selfrespect than to feel like his death was my fault.” Max’s eyes narrow just as a wave of nausea slams into him. “Ugh. Let me guess, you said that exact same thing when I died.” “Can you please stop bringing up the past like it’s even relevant anymore? God, now I see why you guys get along so well. And anyways, it wasn’t my fault then and it still isn’t my fault.” Max stands up so fast that his head rings. His ears are flattened against his skull. And he almost passes out on the spot, if not for his growing frustration keeping his feet nailed to the floor. “How can you show so much disrespect to the man that fed you, clothed you, protected you, and gave you a house to live under, all at the expense of himself?” “There’s a lot of other things that he didn’t do,” Tate mutters softly, “and I’m not disrespecting him. …See? I’m happier now. He would’ve wanted that.” “You -” Max’s eyes bulge. His arms shake with rage, veins popping out from beneath his skin. “What am I supposed to do with you?! Young lady, you are just… a teenager! A stupid teenager who can’t be grateful for once!” In the pale moonlight, Tate’s eyes seem to glow with fiery passion. “Stop it with the ‘young lady’ bullshit. You’re like, twenty! Fucking twenty. Is there even a difference between me and you?! If I were as old as you, I wouldn’t have dated an abusive alcoholic whore!” Slam. Max’s fist pulverizes a hole in the wall, right next to Tate’s head. “You have no right to call him that.” Tate stands there, unblinking. Like she knew he couldn’t bear to harm her. He’s not Sawyer. He’s not… After a moment, she glances at Max’s fist, which is clenching and unclenching. “You guys really are the same, huh.” “You don’t know him like I do,” snarls Max, his rage exploding, tears streaming down his face. “You don’t know him like I do!” shrieks Tate, matching his volume.
marginal. Volume 8 – 2023 81 A moment of silence, interrupted by the panting of both parties struggling for air after the intense bout of shouting. “That’s enough,” Max says coldly, pulling his fist from the wall. Dust pours out from the gaping wound, but he pays it no mind, remaining eye contact with Tate. “Go to your room. Leave me the hell alone, for once, would you?” Tate breathes out heavily from her nose, but she reluctantly turns around and walks away, leaving Max by himself again, struggling to pick up the pieces of the broken household. In a fit of rage, he seizes a bottle by the neck and hurls it against the wall. It explodes, and Max stomps on the remains with his feet, imagining his old Master underneath his heel, begging for mercy. Once he’s done, he immediately faints on the couch. *** … He’s lying on white sheets stained red, like wine. “Sir, are you sure this time it’ll be different?” He’s looking up at a handsome face framed with long, wavy hair. “Yes. This pretty thing should be my… second proudest achievement.” The man laughs and reaches for him. His tall, shiny dog’s ears twitch as his expression shifts. “The dog was the first, I presume?” A hand is running through his hair… it’s so relaxing. “Again, Brody. We do not speak about the dog.” … The man dissolves as his laughter echoes in the empty space. “My sincerest apologies, Sir. Operations are running smoothly. All memories should be erased by now.” Sawyer’s eyes slide open, his vivid dream forcibly ejected from his head. “Good morning, Master,” he finds himself saying. And then, “My head hurts.” “Ah, that’s perfectly normal,” says Master, touching his temple, where a square metal plate sits. “I merely uploaded some extra intelligence. The pain should resolve itself.” Sawyer swallows and nods. The side of his head throbs even harder. Frazzled thoughts swim up to the surface of his brain. Silently, he watches Master work at the desk. “That man…” he manages to say quietly, “what happened to that man? With the strange ears.”
marginal. 82 Volume 8 – 2023 Master’s hand freezes. One of his fingers twitches. Gently, he puts his pencil down. “Excuse me?” “Oh, apologies, Master, it was just a slip of the tongue. Did I say something just now?” Sawyer replies quickly, shoving his forbidden knowledge deeper into the recesses of his digital mind. Master’s eyes are frosty gray as he stalks up to Sawyer’s seating place, clicking his tongue. “Don’t try me, pretty boy. I should’ve known you were defective the moment you screamed his name. I’m not making the same mistake twice.” Wailing, screaming, gunshots. Bodies fall around him, their last words heard by no one. And his, his was- “Say… you don’t happen to know a little dog called Max, have you?” It’s too easy to feign ignorance. “I request clarification, Master. There are many dogs in New York that bear the name Max.” “Don’t play stupid with me. You said something related to him earlier.” “I’ve forgotten already, but now I’m curious.” “Curious, aren’t you?” says Master, crossing his arms. “Well. Since you’ve apparently never heard of this Max, I’ll give you a chance to prove your worth. Kill him.” A silver handgun lands in his lap, along with various photos and diagrams of the target. “P-Pardon? I’m overjoyed to hear that Master is giving this lowly creature such an opportunity, but I’m afraid-” “Worry not, you have no need for a disguise. He’ll be so elated to see you that he’ll simply just fall onto the trigger. …Do your dear old Master a favor.” No! No! “Yes, Master.” Quickly, he straps the pistol to himself, stumbling on his numbed legs. Master has given him a mission. He cannot refuse this offer, not when it is his duty to heed Master’s command. The dream comes back to him just as his boots stamp footprints into the light snow. Max is his name. Cyborg… Max. What an interesting name. Now tell me something I don’t know. Cyborg Max was the second runner-up in our 2023 Fiction Contest
marginal. Volume 8 – 2023 83 Peeking by Naomi Lambert (crochet)
marginal. 84 Volume 8 – 2023 MORGAN PROPHET Used I’m so used to being used; And I know it’s not right, but it feels normal to me. It feels normal to give love with nothing in return It feels normal to send paragraphs with just a sentence back But these aren’t texts i’m getting, there responses And this all feels normal, it’s almost expected But i still feel a sense of surprise Surprised that you wouldn’t love me, unless i said it first Surprised that you didn’t even think of me unless i texted first Surprised that I’m being used. But why am I surprised? After all it happens by everyone The “friends,” the “supporters,” they all use me like a doll But I’m not a doll. i’m a person, a person with feelings A person whose feelings aren’t respected Because i’m too busy thinking they’re real Too busy being used.
marginal. Volume 8 – 2023 85 Fracture by Evan Fitzpatrick (acrylic on canvas)
marginal. 86 Volume 8 – 2023 2023 Fiction Contest Editors’ Notes Each year, Marginal holds a short fiction contest, open to all students, all styles of fiction, and all topics. This year, we had seventeen entries, covering all four years at HHS. Marginal is proud to present Cade Sanborn’s Buzz of Frogs as our 2023 Fiction Contest winner. Sanborn creates an immersive world in a relatively short space and pulls it off superbly well. Each paragraph drives you on to the next one, leading up to a dramatic final scene. Like all good genre fiction, it’s entertaining both on the surface level and on the subtler underpinnings of the story. Grear work! We would also like to congratulate our second and third-place winners, authors Yixuan Li, for her piece Kindness: Stitching a Fragmented World, and Amy Liu, for her piece Cyborg Max. Kindness… uses a narrative that is suitable fragmented itself and creates a compelling and engaging story. For Cyborg Max, we usually hesitate to publish a piece if it is over 10 pages. The guideline is that it has to be really good to earn that much space. This one is. We are proud to feature all three pieces in this year’s edition of Marginal.
marginal. Volume 8 – 2023 87 CADE SANBORN Buzz of Frogs “Hello, everyone.” Silence, for a moment. “Tonight, we will unveil the newest model. We at CRE have been hard at work to create our newest specimen, CRE312.” Sweat began to drip down Oden’s face. “This specimen is unlike any other. Behold,” she looked up at the audience. The edges of her lips curved into a small smile. “Our newest model, CRE312!” She lifted the box, revealing a small creature. It was covered in brown, fuzzy fur and had a long, fluffy tail. Its eyes were small and dark, and they moved around curiously. Oden smiled as the crowd applauded, letting her tense shoulders drop. For a minute, Oden indulged in the cheering of the audience, smiling, and holding her arms up to present the specimen. After a minute, a younger, calmer man walked out and looked to Oden, signaling that her time was up. She exited the stage as the young scientist began to explain the intricacies of the specimen, including its name, the Squirrel. Oden focused on the scientist as he rattled off the updates that had been done to existing specimens. He was methodical, and by all appearances unaffected by the thousands of people he stood before. While Oden was listening, she was suddenly tapped on the shoulder. “Harper,” a small voice whispered. “We have to prepare for the after-party.” Oden turned to see Gayle Halls, her assistant, timidly smiling at her. He motioned towards the backstage door that led to the parking lot. Oden followed him as they made their way towards the doorway, hearing the cheers of the audience slowly fade. Oden carefully shut the large doors behind her as she followed Halls to the car retrieval. Halls entered his ID number into the retrieval system. After a few moments, the underground garage opened, and Halls’ car rose out. The ground closed up again, and
marginal. 88 Volume 8 – 2023 Halls climbed into the driver’s seat. Oden climbed in the passenger side. Halls typed in the Lab’s address ID, 12 01 324, and the car began to move. Halls turned on some music, and then put his hands behind his head, relaxing. Oden twirled her frizzy pink hair around her finger and looked over at Halls. Despite being around the same age as Oden, he had a full head of silver hair, and gray eyes to match. Oden never understood why a thirty-four-year-old man would ever decide to dye his hair that color. However, she would be lying if she said it didn’t suit him. When they arrived at the lab, Oden and Halls stepped out of the car and made their way toward the entrance. As they walked, the car was lowered into the ground. Halls politely opened the glass door of the Lab for Oden, and she thanked him as she entered the building. In front of them was a row of elevators. Oden approached the elevator in the center of the wall and placed her pass on the scanner next to it. After a moment, the scanner turned green and the elevator doors parted, and they entered and pressed the button for Level 35. Ding. It took only moments to reach their floor. They stepped out into a long hallway, lined with doors. The two went through the large double doors at the end of the hall. The room they were in was the Presentation Room, which really accommodated all sorts of gatherings. They began to set out drinks, utensils, food, and napkins. Just as they finished, a crowd of people began to flow in. Oden greeted every person, welcoming them to the party as if they were old friends. After a few minutes of greeting, Oden walked over to the refreshment table and grabbed a soda. After taking a few sips, she felt a tap on her shoulder. She quickly turned around and was met with the grinning face of the young scientist who had given the presentation earlier. “Dr. Oden?” “Oh, yes, that’s me.” “A pleasure to meet you, Doctor. My name is Harvey Tenor, President of Design and Functions.” They shook hands, Tenor’s grip noticeably tighter than Oden’s. It was silent for a moment. ”Only a soda, huh? You should go have something nice.” “I don’t drink. But thanks.”
marginal. Volume 8 – 2023 89 “Oh, come on. It’s another success! You should celebrate. You’re always… sorry, almost always successful. You do always try your hardest, which has its own merits.” Oden saw the corners of his mouth curve. She clenched her teeth. “Thanks, but really, I don’t drink.” She took a deep breath, ignoring his backhanded statement. “So, President of Design, huh?” “Design and Functions. It’s a lot of work, but I don’t mind. Must be incredibly stressful for you, at your age…” He glanced at her. “Running a company is already difficult, and the older you get, the more you kind of... lose your grip.” Oden stared at him, dumbfounded. “Oh, but not you, of course!” Oden’s grip tightened around her drink. Her fake smile dropped. “I should be going.” She didn’t wait for a response. She stomped away from him, slowly crushing her soda can in her curled fist. Halls noticed her quickly walking towards the door. He began to speed walk after her. “Harper, where are you going?” He asked her. “Home.” “But the party just started!” “I don’t care.” She swung the door open and slammed it in Halls’ face. He began to go after her. “What happened?” he called after her. She pretended not to hear him. “Harper, please stop. Tell me what’s going on.” “I don’t want to talk about it.” She threw her crushed soda can to the ground. She walked away, ignoring Halls’ pleas for her to stop. She entered the elevator and left Halls standing in front of the closing door, his face twisted into a pathetic frown. The elevator descended, leaving Oden a moment to take a deep breath and try to calm down. Her rapid breathing slowed, and her fists unfurled. She felt a lump forming in her throat. She didn’t want to cry. She was thirty-five years old, a full-grown adult. Not just a full-grown adult- a full-grown adult with an entire company and more money than she would ever need. And here she was, alone in an elevator, holding back tears because of playground taunts. The elevator doors slid open with a ding, and Oden stepped out. Through the glass doors of the building, Oden could see a wave of darkness beginning to cloak the parking lot. She approached the retrieval system before stopping and, seemingly autonomously,
marginal. 90 Volume 8 – 2023 turning around. She didn’t want to go home, not yet. She wanted to go for a walk to clear her head. That was it. She seemed to realize it after her feet did. As she walked down the road, she began to regain control of her thoughts. Oh, god. What was she even doing? She looked back to the sleek building and noticed she had already made a considerable distance. It was too late to turn back now. The walk back home wasn’t very long, and her therapist had told her going on walks was beneficial. She turned her back to the building and continued. Oden’s favorite part of her walks was undoubtedly seeing her creations in the wild. Something about knowing she made a difference made her feel accomplished. She stared at the trees, looking for one of her bird creations. CRE302 was the latest release, modeled after an owl. It was one of Oden’s favorites. She may have seen a real owl if the bombs had never been dropped. But oh well. Pondering about what could’ve been was a waste of time. Oden passed by an untouched area of land. It had long, unkempt grass, and marshy ground, unfit for any structure. It had an unpleasant odor, but the natural smell calmed Oden. It seemed like an oasis in a jungle of plastic, glass, and concrete. Suddenly, Oden heard a noise. It was somewhat familiar. But at the same time, Oden felt as if she’d never heard it before. She quickly glanced around, looking for the source of the odd sound. Where had she heard it before? It was a low, almost creaking sound. She furrowed her brow in frustration before she finally noticed it. A frog. As if this day couldn’t get any worse. She groaned and picked up the small green creature, its big eyes staring right into her soul. She glared at it, wondering why she couldn’t recognize the sound immediately. She waited for it to croak again. Croaaakkk. She paused. This creature wasn’t hers. It didn’t have the buzz. The buzz was Oden’s biggest failure. Most didn’t notice it, but she did, and so did the people at her company. No matter how hard she tried, she couldn’t get the sound of CRE-012, the frog, right. It had a mechanical buzz in its croak that completely ruined the authenticity of the creature. It had always bothered her, and she had never quite gotten over it.
marginal. Volume 8 – 2023 91 But this frog didn’t have that buzz. It must have been a newer model; however, it was strange that it was fixed without her knowledge, especially because everyone knew how much it bothered her. Why wasn’t this run by her? She examined the creature, which sat dutifully in her hands. Slowly, she flipped over the frog, looking for the identifying number that would reveal how recently it had been built. She scanned the yellowish belly of the machine, looking for the small string of black numbers that would identify it. Her eyes flicked up and down. Her face turned pale. The stomach of the frog was bare. It took Oden a few moments to process what this meant. What she was holding in her hand. It was not one of her creations. The thing she held in her hands was a bona fide frog. She knew what she needed to do. Any real animals should be eliminated on sight. They were a danger to humanity, and to Oden, her company. She set the frog on the concrete, and raised her foot, ready to terminate the small green animal. Crrroaakk. The innocent sound gave Oden pause. Keeping this creature alive could get her killed. But on the other hand, she might never get a chance like this again. A chance to study a real, living creature. She stood still for a moment, staring at the frog. It calmly stared back. She scooped up the small creature and continued her walk home. *** “Stay still, goddamn it,” Oden mumbled as she attempted to examine the frog, which hopped gleefully on her countertop. “If you keep hopping all over the place, someone’s gonna see you.” The frog’s wide eyes seemed to stare straight through the walls, blissfully unaware. She chuckled. “Poor little guy. You have no idea how much trouble you could get me in.” The frog responded with a buzz-free croak. She scooped the frog into a clear container which she had filled a third of the way with some dirt. It wasn’t permanent, but it would work until she completed her studies.
marginal. 92 Volume 8 – 2023 Oden pulled a chair up to her countertop and began to jot down notes. Time flew, and an hour later, she finally set her pen down. “I’m shocked, little guy,” Oden whispered to the frog excitedly. “Not only did I get the croak all wrong, but I was wrong with the movement too. I’ll have to remodel the legs.” She smiled to herself. “I wish I could be like you, little guy. Just hopping around, carefree… Man, that would be the life.” The frog croaked in response. “Well, I better start designing, then.” *** Halls came knocking at her door on a windy afternoon. When she opened the door for him, she was dressed in sweatpants and a tank top. Her hair was messy and unbrushed. The dark circles under her eyes were more prominent than they’d ever been. “What’s up, Halls?” was all that she said. “Can I sit down? *** “Nobody has seen you outside of your house in weeks. You’re always at home, doing God knows what. You don’t answer my messages, you fired your therapist…” Halls sat up straight on Oden’s couch, shakily holding the cup of tea she had made him. “Nobody knows what’s wrong, so nobody can help you. We just don’t want you to feel… like you did last year. Please, talk to me.” Oden took a long time to consider what to do. If she told Halls, he could help her. Be her advocate. She wouldn’t have to hide from him anymore. However, he could be in danger if she told him. She looked over at him, his face holding a worried expression. She took a deep breath. “Oden?” “Gayle, I have something to tell you.” “Oh, shit.” Without responding to his comment, she walked to the closet where she had hidden the plastic container and creaked open the door. Her specimen was waiting for her. She cupped the creature in her hands. “This is why I’ve been at home so often.” She revealed the amphibian, which stared at Halls.
marginal. Volume 8 – 2023 93 “Oden… I thought you were over the frog. I figured something was going on like this again, but-” “No, listen.” The two waited patiently until the frog quietly croaked. “You fixed it?” “No, Halls.” “Wait. No. You’re not saying-” “It’s real, Halls. Isn’t it wonderful?” “No!” He shouted. Oden drew back, startled. “I mean, no. Have you lost your mind? Don’t you know how dangerous that is?” He stood up. “Halls, please. It’s harmless. I’m starting to think that real animals aren’t as bad as people say.” “I know your brain is screwed up, but this is too much.” He started to back up towards the door. “What the hell do you mean? My brain is not screwed up. I’m better off than I have been in a long time.” “I’m sorry, Oden. I can only put up with so much bullshit. This is the last straw.” He opened the door. “Halls, please don’t tell anyone.” He looked back at her desperate expression through tearful eyes. “I’m sorry, Harper.” She collapsed to the ground and cried. *** They arrived an hour after Halls had left. “OPEN THE DOOR!” Oden hid in her bedroom closet as the banging grew louder and louder. She began to shake, holding the frog in her hands. “OPEN UP!” Moments later, a crash echoed through her house. She heard the aggressive stomping of at least four grown men, who slammed open every door. They were getting closer and closer. Her bedroom was at the end of the hall, so she had some time to plan. But there was nowhere to go. “WE KNOW YOU’RE HERE, ODEN!” The voices were becoming louder and angrier by the second. She glanced at the tiny creature in her hand. Its eyes were large and innocent. Its large mouth seemed to curve into a dopey smile.
marginal. 94 Volume 8 – 2023 The footsteps were close to her door. The shouting was deafening. Quietly, Oden took a deep breath, purposefully left the closet, and threw open the window. Beside Oden’s house was an untouched forest. It was swampy and smelled rotten, which scared off any potential visitors. The unwelcoming atmosphere made the area perfect for both Oden and the frog. Oden lowered her hand and let the frog jump toward the forest. “Good luck,” she whispered. “Be quick.” As she slammed her window shut, four armed men entered the room. The apparent leader of the men addressed Oden. “Dr. Oden, you have been charged with possession of a living creature. Is this true?” “Yes, this is true.” “And where is it?” “I’m not sure.” “It is in your best interest to be honest.” “I am being honest. I lost it. It’s probably long gone by now.” “Get on the ground.” Oden kneeled, not meeting the eyes of the men. She closed her eyes as the man raised a gun to her head. “Goodbye, Oden.” And with a pop, Dr. Harper Oden collapsed to the ground. *** “How are we going to explain her death?” “We’re calling it a suicide. She has a history, you know.” “Is that right?” “Yeah. She lost her parents in the same way. Kinda screwed up her mental health for a while.” “Both of them? That’s terrible luck.” “Well, it was after the bomb. We lost a third of the population to suicide after that.” “Geez, a third?” “Yeah. Turns out, animals and life are more important to mental health than we thought. That’s the whole point of CRE.” “Damn. Almost feel bad for killing off the leader now.” “Eh. I heard that Harvey Tenor fella is good. Designed some pretty cool creatures.”
marginal. Volume 8 – 2023 95 “Is he gonna be the new CEO?” “Yeah. The worst part is, he’s taking her old assistant. Remember that Halls fella?” “Oh, the one who turned her in?” “That’s the one.” “Man, that’s low.” The men laughed. “Alright, let’s clean this mess up.” *** In the early morning, the forest stood still as the sun began to peek over the horizon. A solitary creature sat, observing the surroundings it was so quickly thrust into. Its croaks traveled through the forest, seeming to be louder than they had ever been. The paths were untrodden, and the leaves were cool and crisp. The forest echoed with the buzz of the frogs. Buzz of Frogs was the winner of the 2023 Fiction Contest
marginal. 96 Volume 8 – 2023 Perception by Finn Durocher (alcohol markers)
marginal. Volume 8 – 2023 97 ISHITA URS do you know how to live? After The Monk by the Sea by Caspar David Friedrich you are the bare-headed monk staring ahead at the abyss of water. sand seeps into your sandals, the ocean whispers in your ears. a sky of estranged clouds, who, like people, converge. their paths intertwine for moments, or interlock for eternity–but they are always unraveled by time. you thought the sum of your tears was analogous to the restless oceans. in this tender peace, you find yourself small compared to the vast horizon. engraved with impermanence: do you know how to live? everything can change, but it keeps raining, even when we are gone. do you know how to live? was the runner-up of the 2023 Poetry Contest
marginal. 98 Volume 8 – 2023 SANYA BHAGAT Biscuits and Boardgames I believe in Grandmas. My Grandma was always there for me in my life. I believe that the love of a grandma can never be replaced. Their love is always present no matter how far they are. My grandma helped turn me into the person I am today. All of her values are present in my life and personality. She told me one of the most important things to do in my life would be to be kind to everyone and anyone around me. I still abide by this today. I have many fond memories of my grandma but one of my favorite memories is when she taught me a very important lesson that was very difficult to understand in Kindergarten. She said, “Sanya, there is one thing in life that is more important than anything else. That is to always stay happy and keep smiling no matter what. Life will give and take. You will have good days and bad days. You can get through anything as long as you keep calm and don’t let anything in life steal the smile from your face.” This is a memory that I will never forget. This is like my life mantra. As long as I stay happy, I can climb the highest mountains and swim the deepest rivers. Every year, we would go to visit my grandparents in India. This would be the thing I looked forward to the most all year. I would be very impatient throughout the whole flight. Which I might add, annoyed my parents. As soon as I got there I would run up to my grandma and give her a huge hug. I would sit down with her all night telling her everything about the year and how much I missed her. In the mornings my whole family would wake up before six and sit in my grandparent’s bedroom drinking tea and having biscuits. Everyone would joke around. It was my favorite part of every visit. Afterward, my grandma would make me my favorite meal (An Indian dish called Aloo Paratha). Nobody made food that gave me the same satisfaction or feeling that my grandma’s food did. At night, we would all gather around in the dimly lit living room, full after a delectable savory dinner. We would play board games until we
marginal. Volume 8 – 2023 99 all fell asleep. On some nights me, my grandma, and my mom would stay in my parents room and talk. These were some of the deepest and most insightful conversations I’ve had in my life. I loved the way my grandma would talk, animatedly, using her hands. Everyone loved her and nobody could resist her charm. She loved little kids more than anything. She said that they were always the ones who knew that fun wasn’t found in political conversations, but in the most childish and funny conversations. When it was time to leave and go to the airport I would cry and refuse to leave my grandma. I would hug her and kiss her, and she would hug and kiss me back. However, she would let go of me and always say that I would be back before I knew it. My grandma passed away during Covid-19. I miss her more than anything. I was devastated the day I heard the news. I would turn on the TV and sit in front of it for hours without absorbing anything. Now, I realize that nothing I do will bring her back, but nothing can ever take these memories and her memory away from my heart. She contributed so much to the way my life went and nothing can change that.
marginal. 100 Volume 8 – 2023 Insectophobia by Esha Bennet (mixed media)