Delicate Kimya Firoozan Art by Hiruni Kumari imagine standing in a motionless line heartbeat held fast in standstill. force a smile, clench your jaw, say you're feeling fine. tell yourself don’t worry, this is a customary drill. you’re used to it, but your stomach is churning. their eyes roam down until they meet yours but inside your mind a fire is burning, well wishing to fall deep through the floors. praying pretty please with fingers crossed you think of all the times you stood for hours and all the games you had effortlessly lost. imagine being told you are supposed to smell flowers, “be more feminine,” “girls aren’t supposed to speak up, girls don't fight back” thinking of all the oppressed people hiding behind things you had read. staring at blue light filtered screens, tears that made your body wrack. feeling for someone you had never even met. they had put your emotions into words that you could never express. yet these feelings were old, too many copies faded vignette. “maybe you should wear that pretty gingham dress” maybe that’s why my eyes are glued to the floor whenever I walk into a room. treading lightly, careful to leave precious things as they are. maybe that’s why I now smell each rising flower as it blooms. i’m just an ugly reflection of society, nothing special—an old memoir.
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Maybe Aster Art by Lea Shvarts She blew the piece of grass in her fingers, the textured tip swaying unsightly in her fingers. “What do you think we will be after school?” He furrows his brows. “After high school or college?” They were only seniors in high school. They hadn’t even set foot into adulthood yet. “Both—I mean when we’re real adults.” “Are college students not real adults?” She throws the strand of grass away and turns away from him. “You know what I mean.” He does and thinks for a while. Her brown irises were back and peering over him with a curiosity he couldn’t figure out. It was unsettling but he found his words. “Maybe a manager in some company, probably an office worker. You?” She takes a breath. She must’ve been contemplating it before asking him. “A chemist or a geneticist but I want to have some free time for my hobbies. Nothing time consuming, that's all. More time for writing would be nice, but I am interested in the science field.” He doesn’t pry and listens to her science rant. He didn’t need to confuse her further. Cassie Zoe Oppenheimer Art by Lea Shvarts Little Cassie spends hours at a time talking to herself. At least, that’s what she seems to be doing. She locks herself in her room and then I hear faint voices. They sound dynamic, as if she were talking to someone. But that’s impossible. Cassie’s only five. She has no phone, and there’s no way to get to her room without walking through the front door. However, I’ve never seen her so much as even mutter a single word to herself; I find it hard to believe she is truly talking to herself. As her older sister, I was naturally curious. But there is no way to get into her locked room, without disrupting her possibly satanic ritual. So, being the delightfully innovative girl with a highly capable smartphone that I am, I decided to plant a “bug”. I slipped my phone into her room propped up with a pillow with what I thought to be the best angle and pressed record. Sure enough, that afternoon, as soon as Cassie came home from her dance class, she walked into her room and locked the door with a sharp click. She spoke for about an hour, was silent for about another hour, then, finally, came out for dinner at 6:30. As she plodded down the stairs, I quietly ducked into her room and grabbed my ingenious spy tool. After Cassie’s bedtime, I played the video. Cassie spoke while facing her mirror. Was she as narcissistic as some of my “friends” who spent hours on just their eye shadow? But, something was off. The reflection didn’t move its lips. How could Cassie make so much noise with the slightest twitch of her mouth. And then, as soon as Cassie’s voice stopped, perhaps just to take a breath, it did move. Her reflection responded. I don’t know if my phone just wasn’t quite good enough to pick up the audio, or if it was truly silent, but the reflection’s mouth moved. Just when I thought things couldn't get any weirder, Cassie reached her arm out toward the mirror, and the reflection reached back. It grabbed her hand, and with a sharp yank, pulled her into the swirling iridescent mirror. What the hell? Is Cassie traveling to Narnia every day? Next time, I’ll try to go with her. Ember Aster Art by Hiruni Kumari He didn’t fit
The wrong piece of a puzzle Eyes were molten unlike the others Heart aflame unlike the others He cared too much and hated too little He should be far away Maybe in a nice town with nicer people A warm house and family Better than these smoky eyes Better than this burning stench Better than bloodstained fingers Easy Kimya Firoozan Art by Lea Shvarts Eat humble pie. What if i told you i didn't want to? What if i told you you didn't have a choice? You can’t make me do anything I don't want to. Besides, I don’t even like pie. I said you don’t have an option. I’ll force you. I’m telling you now. You’re going to regret it. You’re going to regret it. This is it. Regret what? Regret what? Needless to say, I’ve regretted it ever since. |
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