Marginal - Volume 8

marginal. Volume 8 – 2023 51 Inconsolable by Sofia Bilodeau (crayon drawing)

marginal. 52 Volume 8 – 2023 NATALIE BOUFFARD Sheep Are Watching You her friend of snow drawn carefully in crayon, red-hooded child in clean and frosty plain, young eyes now see a rainbow wheel of flat mice. their face with cutely written lines, sweet marshmallow floats toasting over light, big happy whale with stomach on the ground. you count the sheep to fall asleep; at night the Sheep are staring in your soul! See right? the marshmallow is black. the whale has drowned. now off the page mice red eyes with delight. the color blended brown in spite of lives. child’s wax erased with memories attached. that hooded man in dark just causes pain. her mind, part grown, will not be what began

marginal. Volume 8 – 2023 53 The Bird and His Malevolence by Maeve Swab (marker & pencil drawing)

marginal. 54 Volume 8 – 2023 MARISA ALICANDRO My Dilated Eyes I inhaled the chalky nicotine from my pack and wrapped my leather jacket onto my waist. The convenience store entertained my view, and I continued to watch countless strangers buy packages of Hostess donuts and Mega Million lottery tickets. I never go in because the workers are always checking IDs and they know I’m in high school. I felt safe being alone, and I continued to take another inhale while I rubbed my toes against the corner of my platform boots. Outside, it was wintry with an intense gust of wind. My entire body was covered with my leather trench jacket, while my scarf suffocated my neck. I placed myself on the sidewalk right in front of my family’s apartment. My chestnut hair was covering half of my face, and skin was cracking in between my fingers. I rocked back and forth to maintain warmth and continued to gaze at the slushy snow that peeked over the road. I never bothered anyone, I always smoked in peace. Minutes passed and the street was empty. If I closed my eyes, I could concentrate on the mumbling voices in the convenience store. Voices became more prominent when two bodies stomped out the store. I aggressively reached in my pocket for my phone. Of course, I forgot it. A middle-aged man gripped a bottle of Bourbon in his right hand while he scuffed his feet against the pavement. Quickly after, another man followed his direction. The cigarette was dangling out of his grimy mouth, and he aggressively lit the end. Both of them were probably in their late forties, and they probably had a wife and kids at home. The man smoking the cigarette had an ginger beard, and his wrinkles were stretching as he spoke. The other man had a thin layer of hair, but the grays were sprouting like beans. I made eye contact with the cigarette smoker, and he seemed to enjoy the amusement. His smirk was absolutely nauseating, and I redirected my view to the streetlight, watching the color turn from red to green then yellow to red. “Hey beautiful!” A voice shouted. The voice was not one I recognized, definitely not one of my neighbors. I didn’t respond. I

marginal. Volume 8 – 2023 55 knew who it was. The only people on the street were me and these two middle-aged men. The aroma of cigarette smoke entered my nose and itched the sides of my nostrils. I’ve lived in the city my whole life, which means I deal with these types of people. The bodies were gliding through the street, heading in my direction. My parents were asleep, thus why I was smoking. “What’s a pretty girl like you sitting here all alone?” The man slurred while he swung the bottle around. “Smoking,” I blabbed. I didn’t make eye contact with them, but I could see their figures in my peripheral vision. “Don’t be scared, we don’t bite,” the cigarette man said, grinning. They carefully crept their way towards me, and I didn’t know if I should scream or run. I knew my hazel pupils dilated. I could smell the alcohol on their breath, and I scooted back as they came closer. I jolted out of my position and accelerated into the apartment building. I was feet away from it, so it didn’t take much effort. Why does this always happen to me? I hate myself. I let this happen. They didn’t run after me, they just stood there. My keys clanged together while I shoved the right one into the lock. Eyes dilated, my body rushed in a full panic, and I ran up the stairs to the apartment. I knew they couldn’t bother me anymore because the building was locked. My parents didn’t put in the effort to check in because they were in a deep sleep. My body collapsed on my bed as I pulled myself together. “I’m safe,” I whispered, “I hope.” My waterline was traced in eyeliner, and my nails were pointy like claws. I didn’t have an opportunity to smoke, so my body was craving nicotine to the point where I was biting my gums. I bit so hard that my gums started bleeding, and I was forced to swallow that bitter, metallic flavor. My body was covered in thick amounts of cotton, and my tights barely warmed my legs. My chest was hidden, my stomach was covered, and my coat reached the bottom of my calf. Nothing was showing. My eyes caught sight of a middle-aged man fidgeting with his phone. The stranger, frightening and disturbing, stalked my every move. He seemed inexperienced by the way he was holding it, and he was squinting at his screen. The subway was somewhat empty, but

marginal. 56 Volume 8 – 2023 there were enough people around. He seemed like someone who has pictures of minors on his phone. He was taking pictures of me, he thought he was being private, but I knew. I knew because he positioned his camera to my body and continued to grin at the sight. It’ll be fine. I’ll be fine. I deal with this all the time. I didn’t want to make eye contact, so I tried to catch attention from the people around me. Nothing. He was creeping closer and closer to me, by this point he was sitting directly across from me. He was old, way older than me. My hands were gripped around my wallet, and my eyes were glued to the door. I waited. Waited. I waited so long for the door to open. Dashing into the intersection, I knew it wasn’t over. I wasn’t safe. “I’m safe,” I whispered, “I hope.” My eyes were still dilated.

marginal. Volume 8 – 2023 57 Bag of Flesh by Ian Plasterer (digital)

marginal. 58 Volume 8 – 2023 Class of 2023 Senior-Write-Is Contest Editors’ Notes We were once again very pleased with the submissions to our annual Senior-Write-Is Contest – our annual writing contest open only to the graduating class of that year. This year’s runner up is Ana Tomas’s Luna, a wisp of a poem that creates a feel almost like an incantation, focusing on a specific small moment. We don’t tend to get many poems that take on this minimal scope, but this one handles that challenge very well. Our winner this year was Olivia Stacey’s poem, Prophets. Her win marks only the second time we’ve seen a poem win this competition. What our editors likes the most was the gradual unraveling of the piece, how the images stay *just* long enough before evolving into something new that feels completely connected. Ms. Stacey brings us from an image-rich introduction to personal introspection to an almost confessional resolve in the first part, and the second part manages to shift the tone of the entire piece without feeling jarring or abrupt. We hope you enjoy these pieces as much as we did!

marginal. Volume 8 – 2023 59 OLIVIA STACEY Prophets i. for 10 years I sat there on and off. the sun streaming through stained glass windows rainbow light, timeworn and soft. warmth and reflections of dust. the choir, wading in the water music and water and cream silk, whirling. the robes of the humorous soul with an accent, and how I’m pretty sure that if I turned all the way round, looked all the way through the scaffolds, I could see a terrace of kings. counting the crosses on the ceiling, kneeling in a pew with my brothers talking when we weren’t supposed to tracing race cars through wax handles. neighbors and donuts and magic, spiritual, I guess now. gold-patterned columns with swirling patterns that I see reflected in the wallpaper of our house, the deep purple, rich silks that stretched between them at Lent. the garden in the front in the spring, the nativity with its light in the cold of the winter. left there is a piece of my soul, peacefully trapped. things fall apart, exponentially the men and the patriarchy, kind. but since you were my foundation at the start, I will never truly find the end. I find where I don’t align, but I don’t find the need to label it. nor can I find a name.

marginal. 60 Volume 8 – 2023 call on that community, think back to those times. adapt it for now and leave it for then. when it was peaceful chaos and romanticized in my head. I charge crystals in the sun. we ask a pendulum important questions the angel cards and nature’s spirits journal and forget question and be guided back. I feel your presence all around me. I will fall back on you every time cry into your shoulders smile at your gifts and the conversations in my head are all meant for you. these words on paper come from you to me. take me as a prophet, and name it if it must be. I’m protected with your presence and headspace static clouds. I will always be drawn back, to that place in my head where I can sleep alone on the floor, and be friends with the dark like lovers. ii. I fear they will light a candle and say that the flame is for you Then burn it to the ground Say it’s what you would do. Economics, balance, history stacked Shut you out like lambs and crickets in Egypt Like the women trapped in generational guilt Like women. Europe’s church, My anger in boxes and default blanks The depth of fall trees in the wind, wrong. Prophets was the winner of the 2023 Senior-Write-Is Contest.

marginal. Volume 8 – 2023 61 Death by Narcissism by Alexa Feldmann (watercolor painting)

marginal. 62 Volume 8 – 2023 ARYAN SHAH Her Name is Art Sometimes it will be there during the day, abruptly at night. A wanting. A wanting so deep it’s made a place in my bones that it calls, forcing me toward her, tilting my head in the direction of her voice. The need to be of use, the need to create something, the spark that leads to ambition causes one to consume the idea. When she calls, something causes a rewiring. It attracts like a jittery insect who saw the iridescent streetlamp once more. It’s beautiful, it’s human. Her name is art, and I long to meet her again.

marginal. Volume 8 – 2023 63 Faciem by Emily Musgrave (acrylic painting)

marginal. 64 Volume 8 – 2023 SOPHIA MATSOUKAS Bittersweet That frigid morning in the car, the sun-filled sky of hidden stars, my sister snuck the paper cup protected in Mom’s gentle grip. I wondered of the mystery foam, the remnants of a cappuccino, those bittersweet bubbles on my tongue, that startling taste I’d grow to love. Every winter weekend now, Dad and I crush rich brown beads; the sacred umber poured in drips is blanketed by frothy snow. To Mom, I give the coffee first, to make up for my stolen sips.

marginal. Volume 8 – 2023 65 Transparency by Ellie Power (photograph)

marginal. 66 Volume 8 – 2023 AVERY RAVECH Stealing Lady Liberty “Ladies and gentlemen, we will be beginning our final descent into New York’s JFK airport. We thank you for flying with United Airlines; we will be on the ground shortly,” the pilot said over the intercom. December 28th, 2022. 10:06 AM. United Airlines Flight A3301 from Paris, France just touched down at JFK. It was a busy, chaotic, and disorganized Wednesday in the city nicknamed “The Big Apple.” The sky was a pale gray, and a light drizzle began to fall. The city was bustling with excitement as New Year’s Eve was approaching. Tourists from all over the world came to experience the holiday season in the city. There was a sense of excitement throughout the streets. Meteorologists were now forecasting a large snowstorm for December 30th, with some predicting up to two feet of snow. The city, known for its holiday festivities, was anxiously awaiting the arrival of the magical scenic snowfall. “Buzz buzz, buzz buzz,” Leonardo’s phone rang. He took it out of his olive-colored jacket to look at the notification he just received. The news alert read “Leonardo DiVincenzo now wanted in Spain for his most recent heist.” Leonardo was not surprised, he expected this. He chuckled at the sight of his picture on the televisions in the airport as he walked to baggage claim. He smiled a little every time he saw someone watching the news story. After collecting his bags, Leonardo flagged down a banana-colored taxicab and headed off to his hotel. Leonardo DiVincenzo was a criminal mastermind. The native Italian was wanted in 18 countries for stealing an alleged $196 million worth of goods. He had conducted heists in Rome, Venice, Paris, Vienna, Berlin, Moscow, London, and Madrid among other notable European cities. This time last year he was stealing a piece of artwork from the Louvre. Leonardo, determined and vainglorious, set out for even more. Though he started in Europe, he had his eyes set out on the grand prize of them all: the Statue of Liberty. Soon enough, Lady Liberty would be all his. Leonardo already had a buyer contacting

marginal. Volume 8 – 2023 67 him, offering $45 million for the American artifact. This would be his biggest score yet. Leonardo grew up in the streets of Rome, sneaking into the Colosseum to sleep most nights. He did not come from a wealthy family, stealing from a young age to survive. As a child, he had learned how to make a living from stealing from others. Stealing was his livelihood. Stealing was how he survived. Stealing led him to more money than he could have even imagined existed. Now he has perfected his skills to become one of the best in the world. Leonardo had multiple aliases and constantly changed names except to those who knew him well (which were few). One of those people was Valentina. She was an ex-Russian spy who Leonardo trusted. She grew up in Moscow and her distinctive Russian accent still came through despite not living there for 7 years. Valentina and Leonardo have only conducted one heist together. The only time Leonardo was in love was when he met Valentina. She brought new emotions out of him he didn’t even know existed. He was infatuated with her. It took him nearly a year to stop thinking of the time they first met in Berlin. Berlin was Leonardo’s first time conducting a heist with someone else. He was a very tedious man who orchestrated every action of his plan “down a T.” Leonardo liked that he was the only operative as he could ensure everything was done properly. The crown jewel of Berlin was an age-old artifact valued at nearly $3 million dollars. Leonardo and Valentina were both trying to steal the crown jewel of Germany. They both identified a key weakness in a publicized plan to transport the jewel within the city of Berlin. They both noticed each other acting suspicious on a street corner in Germany as the armored vehicle neared. On the fly, they both jumped into action. They swiped the crown jewel and hurried off to split the profits. Leonardo usually only saw her by coincidence, but those moments gave Leonardo truer senses of joy than any monetary value. They had exchanged phone numbers in Berlin and kept in touch every few months. He had not seen her in nearly a year, but still thought of her often. She was a villain through and through. It was in her blood. She left Russia as she deemed the missions “were not villainous enough” for her. For some reason though, Leonardo was still willing to do anything for her.

marginal. 68 Volume 8 – 2023 Leonardo’s main hideout was an abandoned steel factory outside Warsaw, Poland that he converted into a living space. The hideout had very nice amenities that Leonardo constructed himself to ensure no one knew of the hideout’s location. Though Warsaw was his main hideout, Leonardo also kept hideouts in Rome, London, and Amsterdam (all under different names of course) to conduct “business.” He frequently visited and organized silent auctions to buy and sell his wins. But right now, his eyes were on New York. The Statue of Liberty. The money. The fame. “Who Stole the Statue of Liberty,” “Where has Lady Liberty Gone?” the headlines would read. He could see it now. The New York Times, The Washington Post, The Daily Sun, he would have all the fame. Every news network in the world would be talking about him. He would be the most famous criminal on the planet. After Leonardo got to his hotel in the city, he took a nap. He slept like a baby. Later that day, he did some scouting on the ground. He made sure to stay far away from the prize as he knew that would be the first place the authorities would look after it was stolen. The next day he went to a Knicks matinee game and then a local Italian place for dinner, looking for a reminder of home. Leonardo( or Bruno as his passport for this trip said) had been planning this heist since early June. He timed up the subway system, security guard shifts, and even traffic lights for one night. Every second of heist day was timed out. The heist was set to take place on the 30th. He would quite simply, steal the Statue of Liberty, and return to London. If everything went according to plan, Leonardo would be back in London by breakfast on New Year’s Eve (and then again by dinner). In an attempt to keep the authorities off his tracks, Leonardo intended on getting the Statue of Liberty to London, and then going back to the United States to commercially fly back to London again. He thought it would be a safe way to cover his tracks. Lady Liberty was to be transported overnight to limit the number of possible spectators. Leonardo was enjoying his Italian dinner. The spaghetti and meatballs were just as he had remembered from home. Everything was going smoothly until… “Leonardo?” someone said in a Russian accent “Is that you?” Leonardo paused. He did not know what to do. He was conflicted. Should he be running? Was this a coincidence? Maybe the

marginal. Volume 8 – 2023 69 lady was talking about someone else? Heart pounding, he worried this would derail his plan. “It couldn’t be her, it just couldn’t. Why would she be in New York? It can’t be her,” he thought to himself. Contemplating how to handle the situation, he tried to blow it off and continue eating his spaghetti. Leonardo was like a deer in headlights. But the woman persisted. “Helloooo. Mr. Olive colored jacket man?” she said in a Russian accent. Leonardo turned around to face the lady. It was in fact Valentina. Leonardo did not know whether to play it off and act clueless, or to admit to knowing her. What if she was working with the cops? Could she compromise his mission? The only thing more important to him than Valentina was the heist, and he did not want to jeopardize that. After a moment, “Valentina!” Leonardo exclaimed. He decided for now the best decision was to enjoy Valentina’s company as he did not know when he would see her again. Leonardo was still very fond of her and interested to hear what she had been up to. Valentina and Leonardo knew each other well but had not caught up in some time. They spent the rest of the night catching up at the restaurant. As Valentina had dabbled in the criminal world before and Leonardo did not want to leave her just yet, he attempted to gauge her interest in possibly being a partner in his current heist. He could not gather much and decided not to tell her about the heist yet. They arranged to have coffee the next morning, which for Leonardo was a day planned down to the second for nearly six months. The coffee shop they decided on was in between both of their hotels. It turned out Valentina was in New York “on business” as well. As Valentina walked into the coffee shop, a young child slashed her with his balloon sword. Within seconds, the young boy’s balloon was popped, and he ran off crying. She sat down next to Leonardo at the counter. “How are you?” Valentina started the verbal exchange. “I am well,” said Leonardo “And yourself?” “Fine,” she agreed. “How do you like New York?” Leonardo questioned. “Very much. It is more alive than Berlin,” she chuckled. “Here, this city never sleeps, they are always up, always doing. So much going on. I love it here,” she replied.

marginal. 70 Volume 8 – 2023 They did not share information about their “business” with each other, but they did enjoy coffee for around an hour and a half. When Valentina was saying goodbye to Leonardo, she said something that caught his attention. She said “Tonight, the crown that looks over this city will be mine.” Leonardo did not think much of it at first. He went on with his day, for about an hour, before he connected the dots. “Crown? This city? There must be meaning behind it,” he thought. Once he pondered about it more though, it hit him like a truck. He was shocked. All his planning. Everything he had done for the past 6 months was jeopardized. Valentina was also stealing the Statue of Liberty. Tonight. Whether she knew of his plan or not was unclear, but she had given up hers. Leonardo panicked. It was only 12 o’clock, way too many people would see if the Statue of Liberty was dragged out by an airplane at 12 o’clock. Leonardo thought to himself “What to do? What to do?” Leonardo had a revelation. The storm could serve as cover from the eye of watchful tourists. Leonardo quickly went on with his plan. He went to the airport with his falsified pilot credentials and was able to finagle his way into an airplane. He was able to talk his way into the driver’s seat of one of the most expensive aircraft in the world. He had been practicing the accent and falsifying the credentials for weeks. Once there, he went over the controls like he had practiced in his aircraft simulator back in Warsaw. Then Leonardo said, “Everyone off the plane, I need to conduct a special pilot’s test and I need the plane clear.” Everyone got off the plane and was waiting on the tarmac. He started rolling away and no one suspected a thing. Then he took off, making sure to fly in a non-suspecting flight path of course toward the Statue of Liberty. He had a wide grin across his face the entire time. When he got close enough, he lowered the hook out of the rear cargo carrier. It hooked onto Lady Liberty’s crown just as he had hoped. The visibility was so low, Leonardo was not entirely sure the hook connected. He was able to use the snowstorm to his advantage as no one knew the statue was gone for hours. He made it back to London relatively smoothly under the cover of dusk. The statue was his, he had won.

marginal. Volume 8 – 2023 71 Four years later, Leonardo sat locked up in a Belgian prison cell. His ambitious plan to steal the original Belgian waffle recipe was not as successful as his heist in New York. He had been behind bars for 2 years, 4 months, and 17 days. He did not make friends with the other inmates as he had a sense of arrogance about him that did not go over well in prison. Leonardo was hopeful Valentina would help break him out, but after he stole the Statue of Liberty before her, he had his doubts about that. He was a lonely man, spending each day staring at the blank walls of solitude. His days were miserable. But don’t you worry though, Leonardo was working on a plan. A way to escape. A way to get out of this endless cycle. By the end of the month, the tunnel he had been digging from his cell would be complete. One day out of the blue, Leonardo received a letter. It was postmarked May 17th (more than a month ago). It was in a thick cherry red envelope and was icy cold to the touch. It was a heavier letter, seemingly having multiple pages of contents. When he opened it up, he read Russian. It was a letter from Valentina.

marginal. 72 Volume 8 – 2023 Keeping Up Appearances by Amy Liu (photograph)

marginal. Volume 8 – 2023 73 JUDE SHORBAJI Tomato Harbor For nine years we set a course, navigating To islands with Purpose and Intention. Sporadically the Sails dropped. We’d Station The voyage on a Polished Pearl Harbor’s glistening Bay. Live off the Land and plant tomatoes In makeshift nurseries, never enough time For the blooming plant to Root or vine. Once, I watched a Sapling unfurl its toes. Catching the wind, the green buds of a Ripe Ruby fruit dropped like Ruby bombs. My enSnared Sandals, Showered with watery bloody heirs A bed of discarded precious delight With Sandy Sticky Soles, and my Sack of worthLess bounty upon my tiRed Raft, I unearth.

marginal. 74 Volume 8 – 2023 Incognito by Naomi Lambert (collage)

marginal. Volume 8 – 2023 75 2022 Fiction Contest Editors’ Notes Marginal is proud to present May Chen’s Oranges of Hunan as our 2023 Fiction Contest winner. Chen balances the narrator’s relationship between her own home and her relationship with her mother in a descriptive and poetic style that depicts the complexity of the relationships. The story blends together themes of home, loss, and family, and its letter format captivates readers, providing an intimate view of the narrator’s relationship with her mother and home. Its lyrical, descriptive language interspersed between skillful transitions through time provides a comprehensive view of the narrator’s experiences. Ms. Chen’s piece was highly rated by our editors and described as “moving,” “reflective,” and “immersive.” Congratulations, May! We would also like to congratulate our second and third-place winners, authors Ava Pappalardo, for her piece Sandcastles, and Margaret Joyce, for her piece Queue Mitski. Sandcastle’s first-person narrative draws readers in, and the piece’s descriptive action language conveys the story’s message about connection, memory, and guilt. Queue Mitski’s short vignettes culminate in an important message about motherhood and parent-child relationships that is relatable to readers. We are proud to feature all three pieces in this year’s edition of Marginal. Congratulations May, Ava, and Margaret!

marginal. 76 Volume 8 – 2023 MAY CHEN Oranges of Hunan A letter from a daughter to a mother who is slowly forgetting. Ma, You always told me about the orange trees that surrounded our house in Hunan, China. How every spring you would pick them and share them with my uncles. “The most organic,” you would say. You told me they were sweeter than the ones we have in America. “The taste of home,” you sighed. I had agreed, but to me, it was rather “The taste of a home”. The taste of a daughter walking a mile every day to feed the pig. A family sharing a small shack, scorching summers, and cold winters that nipped you at the skin. A little girl and her two brothers running around whipping a top to keep it spinning (打陀螺). Eating grass because they simply couldn’t afford anything else. Through these stories, I met you, Ma. Perhaps I didn’t truly know you before these tales, but there were times that made me feel like I did. It was sunset, and the family was sitting outside on chairs, while the men smoked and played cards, the women gossiped, and the children played with litters of puppies. Many came to the gathering that night, the news of your mother’s daughter coming home was enough for almost everyone in the small countryside to stop by. While greeting everyone, you wore a smile on your face. A smile so foreign yet so fitting, I almost thought you were someone else. That night fireworks went off, and while Grandma called for me to stop, I danced under the flame-lit sky. My uncle is a kind man, or so you tell me. You would retell his stories to me. How he would buy popsicles in bulk, then drag them around town selling them for profit. How as the oldest, he always made

marginal. Volume 8 – 2023 77 room for his siblings. While Grandma was at work, he was their guardian. Later on, he started his own business, and when he did, he struck it rich. The first thing he did was turn the shack you lived in into a beautiful house. You told me it was because Grandma refused to leave a place where generations reside. Because when you’re that low on the ladder, it’s almost impossible to climb up. Mornings at the kitchen table included peeling the oranges that had previously been harvested. I peeled til my hands turned orange from citrus flesh, and I only stopped when the juice seeped into the microcuts on my skin, or when Grandma walked in. Today it was the latter. I stopped what I was doing, and we decided to go on our daily walk to the town convenience store. As we left the gates of the home Grandma handed me 100 yuan. "Shhhhh…don’t tell your mom," she smiled. At that moment I thought I was as rich as my uncle. I didn’t know that 100 yuan was only about fourteen dollars in America. But I think Grandma knew. The way to the store was a sight in itself. Rice fields on the right and bamboo forests on the left. You told me how when you were younger you worked in those fields, how there would be snakes in the water that could strike whenever, but all you could do was put up with the pain. To me, this sight was China; raw. The store was shabby, worn-down slabs of wood painted a bright red now faded. It could barely even be called a store; it was more of a booth. The shopkeeper was upfront playing with a baby, which I soon learned was her granddaughter. While Grandma and the shopkeeper talked, I soaked it all in, China. Ma, the shopkeeper asked about you. She asked me whether you were happy or not, and what our life was like in America. When I responded in our dialect of Mandarin she was surprised, she told me it was because she didn’t expect a child who grew up in America to remember these rotten origins. I disagreed. My language is the one you taught me; my culture is the one you gave me. One that I accept with open arms. I told the shopkeeper you were doing well. I told her that we lived a good life in America and that our worries only stemmed from thornless roses. However, I’m not sure Ma. I don’t know if you’re happy, I never asked.

marginal. 78 Volume 8 – 2023 My last night in China passed by sitting outside on the driveway with the whole family. People had stopped by earlier, and the after-party consisted of watching the night sky. You were there too. We sat on lawn chairs and reminisced about the previous summer. The people we met, the memories we made – everything. That night, fireworks were set off, and we sat in silence as flowers made of fire bloomed in the sky. Grandma gave me an orange, and I peeled it and ate it. One by one. Ma, I am writing to you from America, where the oranges aren’t as sweet, and the streets, despite being gold, aren’t as shiny. To allow your mind to rest knowing that I am ok without you here. I’m writing to bring peace to myself, and to you, and to have a taste of the oranges of Hunan once again. To go Home. Love, Your Daughter. Oranges of Hunan was the winner of the 2022 Fiction Contest

marginal. Volume 8 – 2023 79 The Lake in Bloom by Piyusha Majgaonkar (acrylic painting)

marginal. 80 Volume 8 – 2023 MAGGIE JOYCE Queue Mitski Our designated spots, decided years ago, were on opposite ends of the couch. I looked up from my book and paused the song I was listening to. “Mom, do you think we would’ve been friends in high school?” She smiled, not looking up from her newspaper. “God, no,” she scoffed. I furrowed my brow, confused. “Why not?” She didn’t answer, only looked at me pointedly above the frames of her glasses. I suppose I got my answer. - I draped myself dramatically over my parents’ bed, sighing. “What’s wrong with you?” my mother asked, walking briskly into her bathroom. “Nothing,” I replied, picking at the loose threads on her duvet. “Then why are you being like that?” She wasn’t one to beat around the bush. I crossed my arms and rested my chin on my wrists. “Just… why did Lizzy and Gia get to be so skinny?” I asked wistfully. My older sisters, thin like string beans. I must’ve gotten different genes, or maybe I was switched at the hospital. My mom laughed, sweeping out of the room. She never went anywhere without a purpose, and you could see it when she walked. Everywhere I went, I looked useless and lost. Over her shoulder, she said, “You’re perfect.” - My Hometown by Bruce Springsteen was playing as I pulled out of the grocery store. My father hummed along, and during the instrumental, added, “This is your hometown, Cass.” “This is Westborough, Marv. We’re one town over.” I looked at him quizzically. He only laughed, saying, “Yeah, I guess you’re right.”

marginal. Volume 8 – 2023 81 Westborough is my mother’s hometown. I think my father gets us confused sometimes, my mom and me. - We were going through prom pictures on her laptop, me right at her side. She said I was awfully too close to her, but I didn’t move. On a picture of my date and I, I turned to her, asking, “Did I look pretty at prom?” “Of course you did, honey.” She was smiling as she said it. Later on, after my mom had gone to sleep, I opened up her laptop again, selecting my favorite photo. In it, my mom carries the train of my dress as I cross the yard. The fabric looked almost like water in her hands. - “I am highly, highly disappointed in you, Cassandra,” my mother said, finishing her speech. She meant it; I could see it in her face. I remembered how, as a child, she would smile at strangers and squeeze my chubby little hand. “Oh, she’s my easy one,” she would say, breezily. I turned around and struggled to swallow the lump in my throat. - I have a dream where I am begging my mother to just say it, OK, just admit it. Admit that you don’t like me. Say that you hate me. It doesn’t matter, Mom, just say it. I hate me, too. When I wake up, all I can do is lay there, staring at my ceiling. - My best friends and I were going to the movies. Alexis looked at me through the rearview mirror of her car. “You’re being pretty quiet back there, Cass.” “Yeah, my mom’s mad at me right now. Just give me a second,” I replied, not looking up from my phone. The sounds of my nails clicking against my phone screen filled the car. Ruth turned around in the passenger seat. “Why?” Still, I didn’t look up. “I told her the movie would last past curfew and now she’s pissed.” Ruth and Alexis shared a look. “And that’s a problem because…?” Alexis said. “I don’t know.” I bit the dead skin around my nail, anxiously waiting for her to text me back. “Your mom’s scary,” Ruth said, turning back around.

marginal. 82 Volume 8 – 2023 Anger bubbled in my stomach. “What do you mean?” “Just that she’s, like, always mad about stuff you can’t control. It’s crazy,” she said. “My mom isn’t crazy,” I said, bitingly. “Or scary. She’s just protective of me. She loves me a lot.” She had texted me back by then. Whatever, Cassandra. Have fun with your friends. I looked out the window silently for the rest of the ride. - My mother sat on my desk chair while I sobbed in my bed. “Do you want a popsicle?” she asked, gently. I nodded, and she left the room. She brought me an orange popsicle and let me eat it in my bed, which she never does. The salt from my tears dripped on to it a little, but I must admit, it did make me feel better. Orange. My favorite. And she didn’t even have to ask. - On our way to the school, my mother turned on the radio. We listened to NPR report on the war in Afghanistan and Zika virus. “I would like the be a journalist,” I said offhandedly. My mother looked at me aporetically. “No, Mags, you can’t be a journalist.” “Why not?” I answered, defensively. “It’s a dying industry. You will make no money doing that.” I turned away from the window to look at her. “The money isn’t important to me, Mom. The truth is important.” She rolled her eyes. We went on like this until we pulled into the parking lot. “I just want you to be able to support yourself, Cassie. I want you to have options. I don’t want you to have to rely on a man.” In her eyes, I could see she wished she had heard this from her own mother. There was once a time where I thought my mother hated my father, but that wasn’t the case. My mother hated the choices she had made, hated that she had to give up herself, her dreams, her life to be a mother, hated that she once had so much life ahead of her and now, she could predict how each day would go by the time the clock struck midnight. Now, she could only beg for better for her daughters. -

marginal. Volume 8 – 2023 83 Sometimes, my school friends and I liked to talk about our parents. Mine were always the oldest. My siblings made fun of me when I cried because my mother talked about her will. How Anna would get her tennis bracelet and I would get the old Saltine container, and everyone can fight over the rest. Before then, I had assumed my mother would live forever. But she won’t. My guidance counselor called me in once in freshman year. It was my freshman year check-in, she said, and she had some questions for me to answer so she could get to know me better. “If you could change one thing about your parents, what would you change?” she asked. “They would be younger.” - “And now you’re gonna leave me forever!” my mom called over her shoulder from the kitchen, where she stirred spaghetti sauce. She heaved a dramatic sigh and pretended to cry into the spaghetti sauce. I didn’t look up from my college applications. “Oh, Mama.” “You just can’t wait to move miles and miles from me and leave me stranded with your father,” she replied. “I’m not trying to leave you,” I said. “I just have to go. Somewhere.” “You don’t have to go so far from your mama.” Later, in the shower, I cried thinking about leaving her, about leaving the only place I had ever known. I don’t want to go. - My mother’s maiden name is Parent, said exactly how one would think it is said. I like to tell her that it was her destiny to be a mom. And I believe it was. This is the woman that held me up before I could stand by myself. Now, I buy plane tickets to Virginia and try to imagine a future where she will not catch me if I fall, a future where she lives in an empty house with no children to hold. What a cruel, cruel fate for a woman made for motherhood. Queue Mitski was the second runner-up in the 2022 Fiction Contest

marginal. 84 Volume 8 – 2023 Seek and Destroy by Sydney Capello (ink drawing)

marginal. Volume 8 – 2023 85 YEONSEO YOO The Only Keepsake of Her Father A disability that blinded her, masking life outside of the dark bubble. But the living corpse was no amateur to the stubborn pain she saw in double. The only inheritance a sore scar, so prominent that it could not be masked by a smile beaming brightly like a star. Like a priceless artifact left unasked, it remained gnawing at that which remained of her bitter, withering innocence. But a brilliant brightness grows unstained, feeding off the diminishing contents of her old man’s filth that firmly survives; like a flower in a dessert, she thrives.

marginal. 86 Volume 8 – 2023 Freedom by Jianing Huang (colored pencil drawing)

marginal. Volume 8 – 2023 87 SKYLER HIRD Trial of the Millenia Phyllis, a distinguished lady, was also a loving wife, daughter, sister, friend, confidant, and professional busybody. She was also legally dead. That is to say, she was a vampire. She was currently at the park, where she, looking down at the rock doves feeding on the crumbs at her feet, leaned closer. The birds looked similar at first, but closer examination proved this wrong. One had a dark inkblot marking on its wings, another had something like a beauty mark under an eye. It made her hands itch for her inks and watercolors. The murmur of the voices of the two lovers made her smile sadly. Her Samuel had been like that with her once when they were young. Phyllis smoothed her dark skirts, startling the rock doves. She started her walk home, wrapping her coat against the bluster of the wind. The world started to be dyed golden, as if the sun was an egg yolk that had been popped. Did that mean that the circle of light in the clouds around the moon was the white? At least, that’s what Samuel would have said if he was here. The chill of night would come soon. People would be hurrying home under the night-time streetlights, which left gaps in their yellow spots. She was feeling a tad peckish. If only! But no fresh lifeblood for her, she thought morosely. Only some hare at home. At least she had a new novel to read. It was always pleasant to see what people thought of her and her kind. They had some of the most interesting ideas. Novel reading was now a respectable, even boring pastime in this new modern world. Although that made some of the thrill go away. Oh well, some of these new authors could more than make up for it. Phyllis absentmindedly pulled out a small, blue, leather-bound book and looked into it. Phyllis felt like she had been struck by lightning. Or reminded of her turning. It was Friday. Fridays were for the Coven. She turned

marginal. 88 Volume 8 – 2023 on her heel decisively, and started walking to the meeting room they rented out. Thankfully it wasn’t her turn to bring refreshments. Phyllis peered into the shadowy room, lit by the flicker of hanging fluorescent lights. Euphemia was already there, as was Georgina and Chandri, but Remember and Theophania were late. Remember had been a Puritan in life, which usually impressed punctuality. Georgia was the one in charge of refreshments tonight, which for her meant bribing the employees of a blood bank for some bagged food. Phyllis always felt that the uneven, clotted texture of reheated food was disgusting, and Georgia always reheated the blood without even skimming it. Euphemia had acquired a taste for it in her youth. There was no accounting for taste. Thankfully she had already eaten. Then, skirts swirling, Remember arrived. And with a newcomer! “Remember, I wouldn’t take you for the type to turn a fledge!” Chandri gasped. That Chandri, always fishing for gossip. “Well, I was not the one to turn him, young one” Chandri turned her head in shame and embarrassment at being reminded of her age. Remember had been turned for over 300 years before Chandri had been born. That didn’t mean she was automatically better, at least not in this coven. Phyllis would have given her a piece of her mind for embarrassing them all in front of the fledgling, even if she is very young, if Remember hadn’t spoken first. “Greetings, Stalwarts. This is Tobias. I have decided to take him on, along with Theophania. She regretfully could not attend this meeting.” Remember, solid and steady, said with her hand on the newcomer’s shoulder. You could always count on Remember to draw the attention of a crowd, Phyllis reflected. She would also have to bring over some

marginal. Volume 8 – 2023 89 food for Tiffany. Maybe some deer, Phyllis could almost see the way she brightened when she had some deer. The fledge was short, with dark, wavy hair and tall boots and a yellow raincoat. He looked young. “I am Mrs. Phyllis Young, The lady with the short dark hair is Chandri, Georgia is the lady with the excessive amount of pearl jewelry, and Euphemia is the one with the gingham in January.” Phyllis responded. She could almost imagine that wicked person who turned him, probably a foolish mistake while needlessly engaging in risky drinking on humans in broad streetlight. Remember and Theophania would take good care of him, and the rest of the group would not abandon him again, Phyllis was sure. Euphemia was saying something, but she focused on Tobias as he began to speak. “Um, thank you for having me here. You can call me Toby though.” Tobias awkwardly said. Poor thing. “Hello Toby,” greeted Euphemia, smiling. “I do hope you’ll like it here” “Thank you, uh, sir.” he weakly said. Was he this pale before? Perhaps it was the lighting. These new-fangled fluorescent lights washed out most faces. Phyllis knew that it certainly washed out herself. “Don’t you worry about Phyllis; she doesn’t know what she’s doing,” Georgia so very rudely interrupted. “Honestly, she can go –” “Enough, Stalwarts,” interjected Remember, “Let’s not scare the lad too badly.” There was a great murmuring of “Oh Yes’s” and “Of course’s.” Toby’s stomach then made his hunger known, and with a “Didn’t you feed him?” Oswald led him over to the refreshments. Remember cleared her throat.

marginal. 90 Volume 8 – 2023 “Now that we are convened here, on the 5th day of the first month-” “Phyllis! Phyllis! Look!” squeaked Chandri. Chandri held out a newspaper. The newspaper had an Article. The Article said that there was a mysterious attack, where the victim appeared to be drained of blood… There was a communal intake of unneeded breath. “We all swore after-” Remember started, chin tilting up dangerously. “It wasn’t me! I swear! I was with-” Chandri suddenly cut herself off, cheeks flushed pink. “I was with Euphemia, you know we go to her descendants’ football game at this time,” Georgia said resolutely. She was always prickly, Phyllis thought. “That is correct,” added Euphemia herself. “And what about you Phyllis?” Remember, damn her, asked. “I did not break the pact!” How dare she. “It is a precaution, and not mark against yourself, you know that,” Chandri wheedled, hands clasped before her. Her dark eyes pleaded with Phyllis. “Remember, you certainly haven’t said where you or Theophania were. Or the fledge!” Phyllis jabbed. Remember, toneless in her offense, responded, “I was at home with Tiffany and so was Tobias. Surely you would not accuse her.” Now it was Phyllis’s turn to turn her head in shame.

marginal. Volume 8 – 2023 91 Don’t scare the fledge, Phyllis. And certainly, don’t snap at Harriet. She’s just trying to help. Mother always did say to not shoot the messenger. “I was at the park, feeding the rock doves,” Phyllis answered. “Then it is another vampire encroaching upon our territory without permission or even a notice.” Remember said. She sounded very offended. Phyllis would feel sorry for the vampire, if they hadn’t carelessly attacked a human, and caused needless accusations to be thrown about. “Wait, maybe it’s the same guy that turned me? Didn’t you say that it’s careless to turn someone and just leave them there? It was also nearby where I was, t-turned. Ma-am,” Toby, smart lad, said. “You may be right, fledge. But we must investigate first before turning this perpetrator in. They have put us all in danger,” Remember cautioned. She seemed to melt a little, around the eyes. “Turn them in? To whom!” Georgia rolled her eyes. “Well, I suppose we just go on up to the coppers and say ‘Oh look-sie you know that old rascal that killed a woman in broad daylight by exsang-uin-a-tion! Here he is! I’m not going back to being a vigilante again. Doesn’t pay enough,” with a rakish smile at the end. She thinks she’s a comedian. A real class act. “Well, clearly we turn him over to a Council,” Remember, the insane fool, said. Euphemia looked like someone had lit her hair on fire. Yes, calling a Council was the act of someone stark raving mad, but this was Euphemia. The same Euphemia that rumor had that she, after her turning, did not scream nor faint nor wail. She simply said, “Oh dear” and sipped some food. Phyllis wondered if she was ill perhaps. Remember looked at her wristwatch.

marginal. 92 Volume 8 – 2023 “We’ll talk about it at our next meeting. Goodbye,” she said just before whirling on her heel and frog-marching Toby out. “Bu-but its only 5:30?” he wailed as she adjusted her group on his arm. “She can’t just keep doing that just because Theophania isn’t here… Or can she…” Chandri asked the ceiling, horror slowly dawning on her face. Phyllis decided that maybe there was hope for her yet if she’s figured that out. Remember is a woman of her word and would not disrupt the next meeting. Toby was probably over-tired, poor thing. Only twenty-two. She then followed Remember out, hopefully to read that nice new novel by that funny man, Stephen King.

marginal. Volume 8 – 2023 93 Effects of Mankind by Emily Jiang (oil painting)

marginal. 94 Volume 8 – 2023 DELANEY DOYLE I Have Two Houses, I Only Have One Home I have two houses, I only have one home. Surrounded by those I love, or left alone. I have two houses, I only have one school. My home is far away, so what to do? I have a life with family, a life with friends. They make me choose between them in the end. But how does someone choose between two lives? The right, the left brain. The start, the endgame. The first, the last name. I have two options and one decision to make. But how do you tell your best friend you might leave? Or your father, who you’ll barely ever see? Or your mother, who yells and says to stay? Or your sister, who will do whatever you say? I have two houses, I only have one home. It’s a big decision to make about where to go.

marginal. Volume 8 – 2023 95 Charcoal Chess by Matthew Beauvais (charcoal drawing)

marginal. 96 Volume 8 – 2023 AMY LIU Valerie “Valerie, I need to talk to you for a moment.” What?! Mary wants to have a word with me? I thought she’d forgotten that I’m her Sidekick. We were in the third-floor restroom together, Mary and I. As soon as I’d introduced her to Phoenix Flight High, she’d gone off on her own to get caught up in drama. She was washing the peanut butter out of her hair after the Mean Girl, MacKenzie, shoved her face into a lunch tray. “Do you… think I’m as beautiful as the others tell me I am?” Why is she asking me this…? “Of course you’re beautiful. You were meant to be that way.” Somehow my response makes her even more frustrated. Her face now is the one she makes when MacKenzie ridicules her about Brian, her Love Interest. “Yes, I know I’m beautiful. Inside and out. I was created like this.” “That’s a good thing,” I assure her amiably, though secretly, I feel a bit unsettled with how this conversation is going. “Some of us don’t have the privilege of having unconventionally good looks.” Mary has straight, elbow-length brown hair and emerald-green eyes that change color depending on the light source. It’s certainly attractive, but people like MacKenzie have to act like she’s the ugliest vermin that’s ever walked the Earth. As for the rest of us, we try our best to act like she’s normal. Except Brian. Brian is supposed to be madly in love with her. So far, I’m the only one besides him that knows that she’s a werewolf. During the full moon, her eyes turn as red as the ripe seeds of a pomegranate. She grows furry white ears and a snowy tail. She even sprouts angel wings, which is really unnatural for a wolf, but I’m not really one to question the laws of this world. I think turning into a wolf-angel hybrid is a pretty cool perk, but Mary keeps insisting that this will only incentivize more bullying, and that her werewolf powers must be suppressed. Mary has, in essence, every trait a Main Character should possess. She’s perfectly attractive, but bullied for

marginal. Volume 8 – 2023 97 being “ugly,” and has magic that she can’t use, lest she “loses control.” I’m confused as to why she has to grouse when she has one of the best lives possible in our situation. But Mary surprises me. “What do you really think of me, Valerie? Do you think I’m cruel for leaving you behind? For forcing all the other Sidekicks to adore me?” I say what I have to say. “It’s your destiny. You’re better than everyone else. I think you’re just overthinking things.” *** At lunch, Mary is still somehow absent. I’ve ordered the cafeteria slop that usually comes with being a Sidekick. And MacKenzie extends her leg. And she… trips me? And I’m caught suddenly. In Brian’s arms. *** “Mary…?” I knock on the dirty, worn-down bathroom door. There’s no response and I itch to crawl underneath the stall door. The third-floor bathroom is notorious for being disgusting. It’s also a place where losers go cry. And I turn around and see myself. I’m wearing what she used to wear - an oversized pink hoodie so massive that it covers my shorts up. Pink headphones rest around my neck. My face looks like it’s been molded into something else - rounder features, bigger eyes, symmetrical face: I’ve been MainCharacter-ified. How can that be? I’ve never heard of a Main Character suddenly getting replaced. But was it because Mary didn’t like her existence…? So that makes me the Main Character now. Not her. But how can I?? How can I fall in love with Brian? How can I make friends with Marine and Luna? How am I supposed to… do anything? I never noticed the bathroom window was open until I came back to check for Mary a second time. *** Making friends wasn’t too bad. I just introduced myself to Marine and Luna, and I guess it was because of how I dressed, but they must’ve noticed that I was the new Main Character. Not only

marginal. 98 Volume 8 – 2023 that, but when I talked to them about Mary, their faces seemed to freeze for a moment. And the strangest part was… it was like Mary never existed at all. They don’t seem to recall her. But maybe it’s better that way. I think I’m rather lucky to live one of the best existences known to Characterkind. Plus, now I don’t have to compete with anyone else for the spotlight. Although I have to deal with MacKenzie now, life feels like it’s taking a turn for the better. Now I’ll have the chance to actually do something rather than just stand there and be useless. *** It’s too easy. Everything is too easy. It’s like the world ran out of problems as soon as I showed up. Phoenix Flight High is just as desolate and miserable as I remember when I was a Sidekick. If there ever was a mounting problem, I’d be able to solve it just by being present in the room. “OMG, your lunch looks disgusting… Makes me wanna puke.” “Oh no, the ultra-rare Werewolf Angel! Did you hear? She’s the Chosen One…” “What?! There’s someone better than me?” And I’d blast people with my superpowers, comfort the victim whose name I can never remember, and we’d all have a grand old time. And Brian would flirt with me a lot, I’d flirt back out of obligation, and we’d dance around each other as Marine and Luna giggled about our “ship.” It sucks that destiny has to be this way. Brian must hate me on the inside, or at least, he doesn’t want to be “shipped” with me constantly. Marine and Luna look perfectly happy with their lives, but they’ve been like this since day one and I’m beginning to suspect that they’re afraid. Of being replaced by different, cooler Sidekicks. So now they’re complimenting me, comforting me, laying it on thick about how I “totally showed MacKenzie who’s boss” in order to stay relevant. As for MacKenzie, she’s probably also tired of getting beat down by the others. Maybe the reason why she keeps coming back to talk trash about me is because there’s a Main-Character-hating flame that’s burning inside her. And honestly, who could blame her?

marginal. Volume 8 – 2023 99 I’m in the third-floor bathroom now. The window is still open, and the breeze takes the stench out of the bathroom so I can clear my head. What’s even the point of this anymore? I already know where my life will end up. Happy endings. No more wondering what’s around the corner. I’ll live out my days, graduate from Phoenix Flight, save the world, marry Brian, and that’s it for me, I guess. … No. I have a plan to achieve a better Happily Ever After than what’s prepared for me. And I won’t have to wait very long to execute it. World… Please forget me.

marginal. 100 Volume 8 – 2023 Her Imperfect Portrait by Aishwarya Vijay (pencil drawing)