Literary Journal

3310 Cover Art



Table of Contents Colors Items Setting As Character Broken Relationship ObservationsConflict Under the Surface



SECTION 1 COVER: COLOR

The Absence OfAnna Chirinos The color white came to me as the angel came to Joseph Smith. Countless nights ago, I slept soundly, tangled in soft whitesheets, just as the prophet did in 1817; she came to me in a dream. She implored me to tell you of her suffering. In a soft, sweet voice,she explained to me her former nature before she ceased to be. She told me that before the vivid poetry, thick brush strokes, andimagination, the page was white. Before the baby was born, before the eager, novice tenants replaced the adroit, senile hands to take onthe formidable task of painting, the walls were white. Before the vibrant dye was mixed, before the big corporations were ready toadvertise, before the underpaid laborers became weary and lethargic, the shirts, socks, and pants were white. As she portrayed to methese visions, a white, hot pain seared through my spine. I felt like white: colorless and colored in. Just as the pain became increasinglyunbearable, I woke up. I write to you now from a time later, surrounded by all things forgotten; white surrounds me. I sit among static, white walls,surrounded by muse and purity. Among these walls are white machines, with white cables, and white sheets beneath me. Upon mywaking up, a woman who calls herself “Mom” observes that I am glowing white, and takes me in a tight, warm embrace. Figures ofpure, intense white light flood into my room at the sound of her joyous voice and cry, “She’s awake!” They all tell me how happy theyare that I am okay, that I am alive. Despite the cheers of praise, I felt that I have always been. With white, I found joy in simplicity andpurity; I found myself. But, where am I now?

The BlueSammy Shihadeh Peering into your cerulean skies dove me into the world’s most refreshing, crispest ocean on a hellish summer day. Thoseeffervescent, sparkling cobalt eyes were an oasis in the cruel, unforgiving desert. Whenever I was frustrated by life’s obstacles andchallenges, the uncertainty of the future, the fear that my lifelong dream may never come to pass, one glance into the crystal blueimmediately quenched those flames. I sought solace from myself in the azure shrines. Gazing into those piercing Prussian blue orbs ofeternal life was my telescope into the vast, wondrous universe. The blue betrayed me; I was starting to drown. Although the cyan brought me life, it is still the root word of cyanide. The sun descended into an eternal sunset, taking with it the glint that once gave a shine to the windows of your soul, leaving onlyto remain a melancholic, indigo hue. The electric, sparky blue of your voice filled the room with an intense, contagious energy, but ithad short-circuited, leaving the tenants in darkness and silence. The baby blue beams no longer met my gaze. Your feelings for me weredragged into the deep blue that shortly became the deep black, desolate abyss where even Hell’s creatures wouldn’t reside. I also feltmyself being pulled away, deeper and deeper into the abyss, with pressure relentlessly building with every passing meter. Without warning, our world was inundated with an unforgiving flood that drowned our love, with its last gasping breath pleadingfor Noah’s Ark. The dark, ocean blue of your eyes quickly cascaded in a roaring waterfall as I was washed away, out of your life. With ashipwrecked heart, I plunged into the gloomy blue, fruitlessly trying to salvage whatever was left. I despised blue, and blue despised me.Everywhere I went, I saw you in the sky, in the water, in other women’s eyes. I’m haunted by blue, haunted by the thought of whatcould have been. I was launched into a galaxy of uncertainty and doubt, forever doomed to explore. I eventually came to the realization that theuniverse was nothing like the façade your eyes provided. However, the color is a reminder that there are still worlds of pleasure, growth,and prosperity that are patiently waiting, expectant, in the distant future, light-years away.

Which One’s Pink?Mitchell Porter Since childhood, the color pink always distinguished itself from the other colors. The pink crayon had a lighter shade that reallymade it stand out from the other colors in the box. The color enamors me because it emanates positivity and energy. I became curiousand fascinated by this color and started using it in a lot of my drawings and paintings from childhood up until now. To me the colorpink symbolizes optimistic energy and innocence (particularly childlike innocence) and reflects my personality. Pink is a unique color because it has a rich history. I want to shatter the taboo that pink is a “gay,” “feminine” color and the oftenrepeated societal statement that men should not use pink in their artwork or wear articles of clothing that have the color pink. I wasteased and shunned by other men for choosing to wear pink clothes, particularly pink polo shirts and dress shirts because theyconsidered it “gay” and not “manly.” Especially during my middle and high school years, I was repeatedly shunned and mocked by my male peers for wearing pinkpolos and dress shirts. I was often called “gay” or “faggot” simply because I wore a lighter colored shirt in comparison to theirs. I oftengot these same condescending attitudes and behaviors from my two brothers and father who would often tell me that I shouldn’t wearpink because it wasn’t proper for a man to do so and that I will be called “gay” or mocked by my peers for wearing it. However, it didn’treally bother me when I was growing up because I had my mind made up to enjoy the color, so I continued to wear pink clothes andemphasize the color in my paintings and artwork. Eventually my thick skin and determination to prove everybody wrong worked out in the end, and my family and friends startedto respect me for remaining steadfast and owning up to my choices regarding the color pink, albeit begrudgingly. Regarding my friends,they started coming around and also started wearing pink dress shirts and polos with me because Kanye West became famous at thetime, and he made it fashionable for men to dress in pink, particularly that of pink polos and dress shirts.

Which One’s Pink?Mitchell Porter Their attitudes did a complete 180 degree reversal and now it was considered stylish because Kanye West set the trend. I waspuzzled and very confused at first, but accepted it and went along because I was relieved that I was no longer receiving mock and scornfor my fashion choices, and I was truly proud of my friends for sticking by my side, supporting me by wearing the same pink clothes,and risking the same mock and derision from other peers for their fashion choices. After doing some brief research, I realized my instincts about the color pink were correct. I found out that pink is a mix of thecolors red and white, and pink takes personality aspects from both of those colors. It mixes the fiery passion of red and the hope andinsight of white to become something of its own. Pink symbolizes romance, affection, intimacy, care, and physical passion. It has adegree of the ambitious physical energy of red, but the aggressiveness of red is toned down and softened by the mix of white. It isprimarily a feminine color that symbolizes hope, tenderness, empathy, and sensitivity, and can help inspire warm and comfortingfeelings. I have noticed this weird synchronicity throughout my life whenever I look deeper into this fascinating color. I empathize with these revelations and see the personality aspects of this color in myself. However, I see this as a strangedichotomy since pink is a primarily a feminine color and I consider myself to be a masculine man. Perhaps it is the yin to my yang, orthe light to my dark, and perhaps it balances out the more aggressive and negative effects of having too much testosterone. I find thatthis color calms me when I’m in a bad mood. I’m a pretty affectionate, thoughtful, and caring guy when it comes to romance similarly tothe personality aspects of the color pink. I consider myself ambitious and physical like the aspects of the color red, but in a lessaggressive and hostile way than what is normally seen. I would say that it is balanced out by being phlegmatic and an insightful andconsiderate way of thinking just like aspects of the color white. Pink is a much underrated color and receives a lot of undeserved scorn because of its soft and redeeming traits, and becausesociety says it’s a feminine, “gay” color in this male-dominated society. If people gave it a chance, stopped conforming to society’sstandards, and started using it more in their clothing or in their artwork then perhaps they would start to adopt those positive traits, too,or realize that those positive traits were there all along. Pink is a great color that can bring sunshine to dark and rainy days.

When Everything Went BlackHunter Land It happened four times, occurring throughout different periods of time, as if to be checkpoints. Memories of nightmares, of whenI stumbled and tumbled into the black abyss, known as unconsciousness. It all began with a kick to the stomach. All I could see were little black spots, each starting to consolidate as if they werecohesive. I attempted to get the PE teacher’s attention, as my stomach became a barren land depleted of everything held inside. No onecared to notice until the black waves crashed over the shores of my eyes and my body fell into the stream of concrete of the basketballcourt. I still can’t remember how long I was out, whether it was the couple of seconds that it took for the oxygen to replenish itself in mylungs, or a couple of minutes. All I remember was the scene that revealed itself as I broke through the black current that covered myeyes, which presumed to be everyone standing over me, including the teacher, who was now paying attention… The darkness struck once again later upon the removal of the cast that provided a foundation for my shoulder months after mytendon transfer surgery. For once, I was not exaggerating when I proclaimed, “I feel like I’m going to faint.” My mother and castspecialist however, thought I was just repeating myself like a broken record, but as I said it, I was engulfed in black. I was transported toa dream in which realities were breaking and dimensions were caving in on themselves all in the matter of seconds, but when I awoke, Ihad apparently been out for minutes. I was no longer the shepherd boy crying wolf, but now a pale faced boy who just encountered thedark side. I uncovered this black plague at the time they were excavating a hole into the heel of my foot. I warned my mom and thepodiatrist that my stomach was starting to change altitudes as my head became a weightless object floating above my body. I heardmurmurs of needing to stop the bleeding, but before I could make any sense of it, I collided into the black portal, in which appeared tobe Armageddon. A couple seconds later I awoke in a panic, acting very frantic, questioning “What just happened” as if my lips werefully automatic. They reassured me that everything was fine, and that it just was the needle treated to stop the bleeding that caused myblack trance of unconsciousness, but I knew different. I knew when I had felt my stomach lose control and ascend so many altitudes thatit crashed into my eyes and created nothing but a black wreck. My mom still tries to argue the fact, but my perspective of the story I’mtelling isn’t fiction. The final and most recent instance took quite a while, as if I were slowly sinking into a black sea, while it took its time toconsume me. I was at home, standing at the kitchen counter preparing my lunch for work. I had decided to make a taco bowl in which Iwould mix refried beans, lettuce, corn, tomatoes, salsa and finally black olives. I already had most of the ingredients prepared in a bowlfrom the previous night, but I had to go and open a new can of olives if I wanted to include them. When I went to open the can, with

When Everything Went BlackHunter Landrecklessness, I removed the lid and with regret, I slit my middle finger. At the sight of blood, my visions grew weak, my stomach navigated itselfinto different directions, and all moisture evaporated from my lips. I called my mom alerting her of the situation. When she finally arrived home, Ihad already gone through three homemade paper towel bandages. After examining, she went scavenging for a butterfly bandage. While she left mestanding against the fridge with my middle finger pointing in the air like a proud picket sign sitting out of someone’s lawn, the adrenaline finallyceased rushing through my body. The labor of my pain started showing its effects as my legs started to tremble and vision grew blurry. I removedmyself from the kitchen and fled to find rest on the porcelain throne. I sat there trying to keep what little composure I had as I could feel my energydrain from me like a leaky pipe. When I heard the door slam, signaling my mom’s return, I shot back up into a standing position, most likely beingthe trigger for the collapse that I had not even a few seconds later. When I awoke, I was greeted with my mom’s jeans in my face, my uniformclenching to my sweat drenched body, and a feeling of being completely drained. Each black checkpoint signifies moments of when I wasn’t in control. As Lionel Kendrick once stated, “We cannot always controleverything that happens to us in life, but we can control how we respond.” May these not be moments of shame, but moments of reassurance, thateven when we’re not in control, everything will be okay.

PurpleChristy Sorto Its presence has long been connected with my life. Since birth, I have always been fond of this color. In fact, it has probably beenmy favorite. The wondrous color has been associated with royalty and prestige. Earlier in my life, I had owned a small rabbit named “Mystery.” One of my earliest friends, Mystery was my companion. His furlacked the violet quality that I often sought, instead being aquamarine with patches of pink, contrasted with the pale lilac bow neatly tiedaround his neck. Giggles against his fabric chest, patchy fur absorbing hot tears, endless nights cuddling underneath warm blankets.Mystery was always by my side, through the cuddly giggles, through the tears, and through the endless nights of snuggly slumber. As Igot older, the lilac bow remained on Mystery. In middle school we had moved to a new house and I finally had the opportunity to have a room of my own. It didn’t take melong to decide which colors should decorate my walls. A layer of eggplant adorned the bedroom walls, making it the coolest room I hadever stayed in. I still regret leaving it, especially since my current one is covered in ugly puke yellow walls. Sailor moon is my biggest role model in life because she inspired me and created enjoyable memories growing up. In the show,her bedroom had a cute pastel purple blanket covered in bunnies and moons. That very blanket that lies on my bed every night,enveloping me in a soft snuggly embrace. I never fail to wrap myself in a burrito-esque form of soft pastel fabric with my pale facealways remaining to be the only visible sign of organic life. On particularly lonely nights, its hugs provide me comfort, security, and asense of happiness. It reminds me of Sailor Moon, my hero.

Color PieceLawrence Watt Blue has always been my favorite color since early childhood. Blue always appealed to me, as it distinguishes itself from theother colors. It is one of the primary colors that serves as a building block for infinitely many more colors. Blue is also appealing due tothe imagery it provides. For instance, blue is the color of the sea and the sky, two of the main components of nature. Growing up in theTampa Bay area, I was always close to the water and loved being around the vast ocean and all the tropical happiness it had to offer. Ican remember endless days out at the beach, on the boat, or just standing by the shore where I would look out at the deep blue sea andjust be mesmerized by its beauty and splendor. In addition, it is also said that the color blue symbolizes trust, loyalty, wisdom, intelligence, faith, truth, and heaven. I neverknew this growing up, but maybe it isn't such a coincidence that I not only like the color, but also highly regard the traits associated withit. Trust, loyalty and truth are three key characteristics that are extremely important in life because I don’t associate myself with otherswho are dishonest, disloyal, or not trustworthy. Being stimulated by new concepts and being an intellectual cultivates intelligence andthe ability to express and argue ideas and opinions with others. Faith and heaven are two extremely important concepts in my everydayday life as I was raised a Catholic by my family. From the time I was born, I go to church every Sunday and pray every day. It is stillsomething I continue to practice, and my faith continues to reflect the way I shape my life today. All of these symbols of the color blueare characteristics that I employ in my everyday life, which is even more of a reason for me to truly take pleasure in the color blue. In addition to my appreciating the symbolic nature of the color blue, I have also had life experiences that have shaped me to likethe color as well. When I was in the fifth grade, about to graduate elementary school and move on to middle school, each of us had toget our picture taken for the year book. On the day of the pictures I had chosen to wear a dark blue polo shirt that had naturally been myfavorite at the time. I’ll never forget this moment because that morning before I left for school my mother had said, “Lawrence, youalways seem to be wearing blue clothes and I like it. It looks good on you; don't ever let anyone try to let anyone sway you from everbeing yourself. Always strive to be the best version of you.” As I walked into school that day, I strived to be the best that I could be, andI still carry the conviction with me today. Molded and developed by the color blue, I practice being the best version of myself and to domy best to stay true to the values that have guided me along the way up to this point. As long as I have the color blue in my mind, trust,loyalty, wisdom, trust, intelligence, faith, truth and heaven will always be integral to my life.

Golden BoyAlexander Trivino Wearing only what the rich could afford while being poor is a paradox that was the most accurate depiction of my relationshipwith the color gold. My father, a metallurgist, provided the sole source of income for my family; he worked with expensive jewelry butwas not able to buy the finished product. One day after another long day of school, I found my father sitting at the entrance with a boxgripped tightly in his white-knuckled, sweaty palms and tears streaming down his face. He expounded how his father, also ametallurgist, presented him with a solid gold necklace before passing away. The necklace represented the strength of the family. Myfather continued to explain that he was faced with the painful task of selling the necklace last year because of the family’s dire financialstatus. As I stared at my weeping father in utter shock, he opened a black box and handed me a solid gold chain with our last nameengraved in it. He told me he had spent the entire year accumulating spare money throughout the year to afford a new necklace that willcarry on the family name. As soon as I wore the necklace, I felt the gravity of wearing a gold chain that came from my background butmost importantly realized that I was to look at it as a symbol of sacrifice and strength, just as my grandfather had. From that day on, Iwore that necklace with every last ounce of pride in my body and protected it with my life. Anytime I was forced to make a toughdecision or sacrifice, I’d grip the chain and with confidence I had everything it took for me to surpass the hardship. I no longer looked atgold as a luxury of wealth, but as a staple of family valor and self-fortitude where being rich spiritually weighs just as much as flauntingjewelry.

SECTION 2 COVER: ITEMS

No ShadeMay Levy Nothing left from our friendship but an eye makeup shading brush. Packs in the pigment and a punch, like the one I receivedfrom the original owner of this $25 brush. I confided in her, told her everything from school and career goals to which boy I had my eyeon next, including every last detail. It was a slow progression downhill but when we reached the bottom there was only room for one.Betrayal, love lost, friendships broken, lives crossed. We didn’t even say goodbye or have our final words just slowly drifted apart intooblivion, not acknowledging each other’s existence. No regrets, a lot of shade. Goodbye.

The SearchBen Hourigan The sun just set when I snuck down to the old gas station. The same gas station I would open and close everyday, and where I first laid my eyes on her. As the rain poured down, I squeezed myself into the opening of the frontdoor. Finally getting through, the smell of cigarettes filled my nostrils. The sight of dead bodies covered in bloodfilled the gas station’s floor. All the sweet memories of this place have suddenly vanished. There I stood, looking foranything that could help me. As I searched the gas station I suddenly spotted something moving in the corner. As thesound of the movement got louder, my breathe had seemed to vanish. Gasping for air, I reached into my backpack totry and get my gun. Shaking in fear, the sound seemed more distant. It reminded me of when my mother told me shehad loved me for the last time. My mom had died a couple years back from cancer. She would express her feelingstowards me every day until that fateful July morning. When I knew the movement was gone I went back to searchingthe gas station. There was no money in the register and the only type of food I found was a single Kit Kat that waslaying on the floor. The Kit Kat wasn’t going to really help me that much, but it did remind me of all the greatmemories I had when I was a kid. As I reminisced, I suddenly woke up back to reality and grabbed the Kit Kat andran as fast as I could away from that gas station. I realized the journey has just started.

SECTION 3 COVER: SETTING

That House was Not a HomeArmani Clites Every evening I go on a run, unconsciously taking the same path every single time. As the sun is setting, and that orange glowilluminates the sky, I begin my journey. Down my street, one stop sign, a little bit further, the next stop sign, and then I past the park.When I get to the busy road that separates my deed restricted community from the neighboring one, I usually have to stop for traffic.Finally, a break in the cars. I start on my journey again. Around the bend, past another park, turn right-but then, suddenly I stop. Insteadof turning right and heading back to my neighborhood, back to safety, I turn left. I feel my body telling me to stop, but my mind keepsme going. Running, running, faster, faster, my blood is pumping, my heart is racing-I stop! There it is, the reason I never take this path when I run. The reason that even to this day, on the sunniest of afternoons, I see darkclouds looming over the back of this neighborhood. That house. A house that is no longer home to the people it once housed, but it isstill home to a dark entity. One that haunts me every time I run, it chases behind me pushing me faster and faster towards the safety ofmy own neighborhood. That house, it holds so many dark events. Events I keep locked inside of my mind, and seldom ever speak about.If walls could talk, surely they would talk about the last day they ever saw me. The day his abuse got so bad, it finally sent me runningfor good. If walls could talk, the city would tear the house down, and build over it with stone and steel. All in hopes to silence theterrifying stories the walls speak of. I slowly approach the house. Walking now, instead of running. Approaching with caution and withimmense fear. How could a simple house, bleak in color and small in size, spark so much emotion inside of me? How could I allow it toprevent me from running, prevent me from moving forward, prevent me from feeling safe? I couldn't, not any longer. I had to face myfears, I had to confront my past. I look that house up and down, and tell myself no longer would I allow it to paralyze me. Then I slowlyturned around, turning my back on an enemy I didn't fully trust, and carried on. As I started up running again, something felt different. Itwas no longer fear I felt, it was freedom.

The Door at the End of the HallStephanie Cowan A cough escaped from her ruby red lips as the taste of dust entered her mouth when she entered the house. The new house wasfilled with the odor of old books but it was still a home. The floor creaked as she walked around and admired the antique interiordecorating. The only furniture in the room were the chairs with elaborate, flower covered backs, a couch with velvet upholstery, and arather dusty cabinet with a plate in it. She rubbed her sleeve on an old mirror revealing her long jet black hair and emerald green eyes. “Ireally need a haircut,” she said to herself, even though she knew she’d forget eventually. She ran her hands along the coarse wood, asshe muttered to herself, “Fully furnished my butt”, but she really had no reason to complain. Furniture from the early 1900s had alwaysbeen her favorite and it was better than nothing. She wandered up the swirling staircase onto the second floor in search of her bedroom. There were five doors on the secondfloor, four of them being a warm brown color. They led to two bathrooms, a guest room, and the master bedroom. The last door was apure white, a lion’s head roared at the top of it and the knob looked like it was made out of real diamond. When she tried to open thedoor however, it was like it didn’t exist. She was able to grab the door handle with ease, but when she tried to turn it, the door wouldn’topen. Upon further inspection, the door appeared to be painted on. She made a mental note to cover up this peculiar door with a coat ofpaint or something that might conceal the strange nature that it held. She returned back down stairs where collected all of her things, unpacked, ate dinner, and got ready for bed. It wasn’t until about3 am that the knocking noise began. At first, she thought it was an animal, but it seemed slower... and more deliberate. Instead of theknocking noise that an animal trying to escape would make, it had a steady rhythm like the tick of a clock coming from outside herroom. She tried to turn on her lamp but as soon as she did, the lightbulb exploded. She searched the room for her flashlight, picked it upand walked out to see where the noise was coming from. The hallway seemed to stretch for miles upon miles, but the noise appeared tobe coming from the end of the hall. There seemed to be only one thing left to do. She walked towards it slowly, the house seemed evendarker than before. As she continued down the hallway, the knocking got louder and faster, as if it knew that someone was approaching.After what seemed to be an eternity, she finally got to the source, the painted on door. However, when she looked at the door, it lookedlike a normal door just waiting to be opened. The knocking was insufferably loud and seemed to be going faster than ever. Her handreached for the door, her heart beating almost as hasty as the knocking. The door handle turned and the door pushed open. She held herbreath as she was greeted by two glowing eyes, a color red that was so vile and evil that she almost fainted. The eyes lunged out at herand entered her screaming mouth. She fell to the floor, seemingly dead. After a while, her eyes opened. Her hands moved to push us up, her legs moved towards one of the bathrooms. I looked and saw

The Door at the End of the HallStephanie Cowanher face staring back at me in the mirror. Her reflection looked panicked but I remained calm, it wasn’t the first time that I’d donesomething like this. After a few seconds of focus, I felt her spirit disappear. I smiled at the mirror and admired her features. Her longblack hair and snow white skin matched perfectly with my glowing red eyes. She was very pretty, almost worthy of being my vessel,although beggars can’t be choosers. Besides, how long was it going to be before the perfect person came along? But that doesn’t matteranymore. I was finally able to walk out of that house and finally move into the free world. Free for now at least. These puny mortals canenjoy their miserable lives for the time being, but when the time comes, they’ll have hell to pay.

A House No MoreNatalie Durell Do you ever love something so much that you hate it? I loved that house so much that I actually began to hate it. The worn carpeting, the dated countertops, the shaggy furniture ripped apart because of my cats’ claws. The fact that it still had wallpaper in rooms, a brick fireplace, and windows ordained by decade old curtains. It was horribly outdated and I became embarrassed when friends of mine would come over. However, it was a home, it was my home and no rugged furniture or outdated accessories would change that fact. Or maybe I hated it because of what it did to me. It offered me shelter, warmth, a place to go at the end of my days and then one day that just all stopped. The shelter, the warmth, the comfort all became aspects of another person’s life. I wonder if they ever noticed the way the house would settle late at night as you would begin to fall asleep, or how the faucet in the downstairs bathroom would always be at a constant drip, or any of the other quarks that made that house unique. I guess it’s not the houses fault but in my eyes it always will be since there’s really no person to blame. My mom moved away, but why did I have to sacrifice my home because of that? It’s as if that home had taken all the memories I had created in that place from me. A house hasn’t felt like a home since that place. There’s no fires shared with my family at the fireplace on cold nights. There’s no Turkey roasting in the oven on Christmas day. There’s no more laughter running up and down the halls as I chased my sister. There’s no more swimming in the backyard pool until our fingers and toes were swollen up like raisins. I’m also realizing there is no worse feeling than that. I’ve lived in another place, but it just isn’t the same. What that house offered me was different from the rest: I had lived in the warmth of that environment since I had been born. Once the house had abandoned me of all that comfort, people came in and ripped all my memories to shreds. The staircase I had spent years running up and down was stripped of its carpet and completely de-railed. The room I spent my entire childhood in was cleared out and painted over. The kitchen where my family used to convene and eat dinner together was completed renovated. Walls were knocked down, floors were ripped out of the ground, walls painted over. It was like the house I held so fond to my heart had been completely transformed and no longer knew who I was. It had forgotten about me and all the things I had hated about it, I began to love. I miss all the aspects of that house that I once hated because like they say, you don’t know what you’ve got until it’s gone. I now have such an unfulfilled longing to return home, but know I never truly will be able to. I miss my yellow walled room, and I miss the large swimming pool that was out back, and I miss the wooden swing in the backyard. I’ll always miss my home and I hate that it’s had to make me feel this way. It hurt me deeply, but I’ll never forget the love it had given me for 17 years.

Setting as CharacterSonu Trivedi The long drive to the park was one of the most beautiful things I’ve seen in my life. On either side of us there was vivid green grass,towering trees, and rolling mountains, bright sunshine acting as a filter for us to see the view through. When we finally arrived, it looked like a sceneout of Lord of the Rings. There were hundreds, maybe thousands, of different kinds of flowers in various vibrant colors and small hills and dips inthe land looked gorgeous and rugged. Most importantly, the sky was a crystal-clear blue and the water of Lake Louise was completely still,reflecting its surroundings. While everybody was getting settled, I pulled out my itinerary and began to plan the day in my head. My dad and uncle were pulling stuffout of the car, my sister and cousins were messing around on their phones, and my mom and aunt were talking to each other, all while I wasobsessing over all of the things I wanted to see and how much time we had to do it. Even as we walked further into the park I was explaining myideas to my mother, who obviously did not want to listen. By the time we finally made it up to the lake and the boat, everything had changed. As I looked up, angry gray storm clouds were closing inon us. Even though it was in the middle of summer, the light breeze turned into a more intense chill, making goosebumps form along my arms.Suddenly the sky opened up and it began to hail, something that I had never experienced before in my life. We quickly made our way back inside the closest building and tried to wait out the bad weather with some food and relaxation; however, itquickly became clear that the hail wasn’t going anywhere. For the first hour, I felt so defeated. We had come to enjoy and spend time in all of thisnatural beauty but we were stuck inside. After realizing that the rest of my family had deserted me and my negativity, I began searching for them. Ieventually found my mother out on a covered balcony watching the storm. At first, I thought she was crazy and told her to get inside; it was cold,wet, and windy, why would anybody want to be out there? She rolled her eyes at me and told me to shut up and sit for a minute. As we watched the storm together, I realized that the scene was still every bit as amazing as it was when there was only sun. It was acomplicated and chaotic mess in the best way. After we sat for another 30 minutes it began to clear up a little, but I was no longer in a rush tofinish the long list of activities on my itinerary. I learned thatno matter how much you try to plan things, it’s alwayspossible for something to go terribly wrong— and that’sokay. We often look to do the next best thing and racethrough life without enjoying the things that we have. Thisshowed me that beauty is in everything, but you can onlyappreciate it if you slow down and allow yourself to find it.

SECTION 4 COVER: BROKEN RELATIONSHIPS

Broken Relationship EntryKayla Nieves Moving boxes were being purchased along with packaging tape, a lot of it. When I think of my childhood, Itend to think of the typical elementary school memories such as playing with friends, nap time, coloring, etc. Butwhat stands out most to me when I think of trying to describe my childhood by one specific memory, I think back tothe summer before my freshman year of high school, when I was told I’d be moving thirty miles east to the city ofBrandon. Being born and raised in Tampa, I was so accustomed to being in one city, so this was devastating news.After the moving news was broken to me and my sister, we were then told our parents were getting a divorce. Myworld felt like it was suddenly crashing down. Moving to the city of Brandon changed my life drastically. Educationhas always been something very important to me. I started reading when I was 3 years old and I fell in love withreading as I got older. Changing high schools definitely changed my outlook, not only on life, but with education aswell. I went from starting my freshman year attending Alonso High School that’s located in the Westchasecommunity to mid-freshman year attending Durant High School which was located in front of a farm in Plant City.My first day at Durant felt like I was an alien that just didn’t belong in that world. Being that I wasn’t going toschool with any of my friends anymore, I decided to take online courses to graduate earlier than planned. I neverreally went out to social gatherings with my friends because of the fact that I lived so far, so online courses were myescape from reality. I managed to take enough courses to graduate my junior year of high school. Doing this allowedme to enter college on the day of my seventeenth birthday. This opened my eyes to reality and allowed to growmentally, a lot quicker than my friends from back home. My love for reading developed into an obsession withpoetry. I’ve always wanted to get into poetry but reading it has fulfilled my obsession, for now.

Broken Relationship EntryNicholas Burbaugh I don’t know what I expected. Just because the back of a cell phone is flat doesn’t mean that it’ll skip across the water. Maybe I wanted to seewhether or not the laws of density actually applied. Was it that I wanted to have an excuse for why I didn’t call or respond to texts?I’ll say, “Sorry I didn’t get back to you I dropped my phone in the lake.”Sounds a little better than, “I can’t afford the minutes.” I fell in love with Flagstaff the second I arrived. I’d never seen so many stars in the sky. Their celestial dance was only interrupted by theKachina Peaks and wisps of clouds. The full moon blazed like the sun and illuminated Route 66 more than the sepia-tone streetlights could. At somepoint, the wonder was lost in the day-to-day shuffle. Maybe I fell in love with the area because this is where I ran to. It’s hard not to romanticizesomething when it’s all you’ve got left. Still, it’s damn hard to appreciate when you’re sleeping under the stars by force, not choice. This was what Ialways said I wanted, but it didn’t feel right. I was empty and adrift. I was a tumbleweed in a perpetually sloping desert. I was alone, devoid of anyhumanity, a shell of what I once was. “It isn’t my fault,” I’d choke out between bowls, bottles, and sobs, “They did this to me.” The bed of my pickup wrapped me in her cold, metallic embrace. It tried its best to keep me warm, but how does an inanimate objectreanimate the dead?It doesn’t. I was a caricature of the poster boy for conditions that I didn’t even consider I had. Hopeless and abandoned, tossed out in the cold. I burnedevery bridge to feel the heat, to feel something. The flames were catching up to me, turning what was left of me to ash. Finally, my sanctimonious,misguided martyrdom began to take shape. Their violent delights had reached their violent ends. What was left of me was twisted into whateverweaponized me best. I escaped the fallout by following I40 as far west as my part-time dollars would take me. I attempted to recreate Sherman’smarch to the sea, leaving a blaze of severed ties and painful memories behind. Instead, I was left with nothing and a pack of demons right behind me.I’d spent all I had running.Money. Energy. Time.And what was I left with?The love for a place that became a temporary escape from everything that dragged me down before. A spider hole for a worn-out soul with nowhereleft to go. I didn’t want to face the truth so I tried to leave it all behind, but instead of going away for good, they all popped up when Granny died.Then the demons knocked,and I opened the door.

Broken RelationshipsAndrew Stilo Chili’s represents a broken relationship between an ex-girlfriend and I. I used to date her and she wasconstantly trying to control my life. She also had major trust issues and was constantly accusing me of stuff. Shedidn’t want me to focus on school and just worry about moving out with her. Luckily, I never lived with her, but Ibroke up with her and it turned into and on-and-off relationship. I cared for her but I was hesitant of ever gettingback with her because of her constant jealousy. Her jealousy got so bad she accused me of wanting a girl that wasfifty years older than me. Then she called my friends and family after didn’t respond to her for an hour or so. Later, Idecided to take her back but she decided to give it time for some strange reason. One day my friend and I went toChili’s and we noticed she was in the parking lot with another guy. After that, I knew she was setting me up so shecould try to embarrass me because I rejected her for so long because of her jealousy. Despite all the bad things shedid because of her insecurity, I still thought everything else about her was great. In the end, I knew she wasn’t asgreat as she thought. I broke up with her for a reason. I should of just stopped talking to her altogether. After that Isaw her at school. She tried to lie about the whole thing even though they were kissing and stuff. I told her I neverwant to talk to her ever again. Chili’s represents the broken relationship and a better future at the same time. Finally,I was able to get out of a toxic situation. A year later I’m free to move forward without someone accusing me ofsomething and I can just be happy.

Broken Relationship EntryRebecca Demski The sun was setting through the tall glass windows in front of me and hundreds of muffled conversations took over theatmosphere. I scanned the room desperately for familiar faces and caught my reflection in a hallway mirror. As I examined my face, Inoticed deep creases around the corners of my mouth which immediately validated that I had been faking a smile all night. As I lookedaway in disappointment, I swirled my glass that was filled with cheap champagne and took a large gulp. Suddenly, I heard a loudobnoxious dinging sound coming from the other side of the room. “I’d like to propose a toast!” a girl with chestnut hair slurred drunkenly. “I want to congratulate my mom and Scott on theirmarriage. I am so happy that I now get to call you dad!” she gurgled. I couldn’t help but glance over at my sisters and laugh under my breath as the speech continued. “Yeah, his third marriage” Iwhispered to myself. I thought about the day when my parents sat my sisters and I down in the living room to tell us they were getting adivorce. I thought about the times I’d sit by the phone waiting for a phone call every year on my birthday, only to be disappointed withnothing. I thought about how amazing my mom was. Ismiled as I thought back to all of her amazing homecooked meals and how she never let us go a single holidaywithout laughter, love, and plenty of warm hugs. I thoughtabout all of the things that he missed: my first timedriving, my first prom, and all of my track meets. As morethoughts swirled in my mind, I felt a knot forming in mythroat. Somehow here I was, feeling like a stranger at myown dads wedding. Soft violin echoed in my ears as aphoto montage of his new family beamed up on a screen.The sound of loud clapping and cheering brought me backfrom my daydream and I glanced down at my champagneglass. I saw two carefully engraved words glaring back atme. “…To Life!”

SECTION 5 COVER: OBSERVATION

“I Know Why the Caged Bird Sings”Alaysha Massey For my final assignment in Drawing 2 at the Savannah College of Art and Design, I was given a large still life full of different randomobjects. This still life took up the length of an entire wall and even included things hanging on the wall. I was told to take a number of items from thestill life and make a surrealist drawing using any medium I’d like or a mix, including graphite, color pencil, charcoal, pen, or oil pastels. This was anew task for me, to pull different items and put them together into a story, but I was fully up for the challenge as I had never done a surrealistdrawing. To start I found an open spot in front of the still life and examined it closely. I took some time to observe from different spots in the room sothat I could be sure I had a comprehensive list of items I could use in my piece. I ended up with a large range of items that, at first, did not seem toconnect in a way that would allow me to use multiple items but after a few days of sketching small scenes, I finally fell in awe of one idea and ranwith it. I wanted my piece to have an underlying message that was close to me and could be analyzed. I didn’t want things to be black and white butmore murky with small explosions of life and passion. As I began to layout my piece and consider more surrealist elements, I found myself pulling even more items from the still life and findingways to incorporate them into my story. In the end, I had used a clock, a bird cage, a mini American flag, white plastic face molds, a small woodenfigurine, and a red bird. Recalling to the best of my ability, the bird cage spoke to me first. I found the construction of it intriguing and I wanted to figure out how todraw something so thin, wiry, and wooden. From there my eyes caught a glimpse of the red bird that could obviously be placed into the bird cage.This is where the piece formulated. I was racking my brain for ideas and stories that would go with a bird cage when I remembered Maya Angelou'sbook, “I Know Why the Caged Bird Sings\" which is an autobiography of Angelou’s experience during segregation and her life hardships such asadoption and rape. I wanted to draw on the racism she experienced and tell a story of how it all started. Which explains the American flag, oceanwater, Continued.

“I Know Why the Caged Bird Sings”Alaysha Massey ● The caged bird represents Africans being taken from their homes and safe places to be slaves for a society that would eventually force them into boxes of judgement, humiliation, and annihilation. ● The wooden figurines underwater represent slaves thrown overboard during the slave trade. ● The clock represents time that has passed since slavery and through segregation and now to 2018 where black men are seen a predators and views of the African American community are still widely negative because of the ignorance of the majority. ● The 13 in the water represents the 13th Amendment which freed the slaves in the United States. ● The faces on the cage and in the water represent the faces of oppressors and those who make living while black difficult. Within 120 hours, this piece slowly but surely came closer to my heart with a message that was far greater than I. I hoped that it's meaningwould at least be felt by my class of 30 when I put it on display and presented with all my sketch work and process drawings. I told myself I wanteda piece with a message and it ended up being louder than I could have ever imagined and louder than anything I could say with my mouth.

Grand Prix of SPAnna Mukhova …

A Year DifferenceAntonio Reale As I sit on this weird green table, that sort oflooks like a fence, my uncomfort begins. I look aroundand see dead leaves everywhere. The date wasJanuary 24th. You could tell it was winter, as if itwasn’t already chilly enough. An overflowing trashcan sits next to me, where the smell of all the disposedsubway subs combine and hit you with one sniff. Sidenote, who even changes these trash bags? Anyways, Imove to a new bench, this one made of old tree bark.Not comfy, but gets the job done. I start to realizeeveryone on this campus looks happy. I love theatmosphere USF gives off. Look, right in front of me, there’s free noodles! Someone is tight roping in the distance. It’s just so livelyhere, it’s what I came here for. Flashback to a year ago. I dreaded going to class. I did not want to be on campus, even though I lived on campus. I actuallyenjoyed working 40 hours a week, it gave me reason to disregard my class time. I was at Florida Gulf Coast University, FGCU.About a year ago, at the same time, I was trying out my second semester, since my first one was brutal. A couple days in, I was backto the bug question. Why am I here? I would sit outside the dining hall in disgust. Looking at my classes wondering if I will evermake another appearance after the first week. The people didn’t seem happy, there was nothing going on. I didn’t even want to hangout with my friends anymore. I wanted no part of the school. I had enough. I wanted to move back home, and give USF a try.Because there was no way that the life at FGCU was a typical college life. It was hell. Nothing to do, professors and advisors thatdon’t care for you, rude people everywhere, I could go on and on but that isn’t the point of this story. The point is, a year ago I was completely unhappy. Not depressed, just pissed off 24/7. But I made the changes in my life tomake it better. Don’t be afraid to do something drastic, like abandoning a college after a semester for another university. And, Icould not thank the people at USF enough for giving me the proper experience. And now I actually know why I am in school. Now Iknow my purpose. Long story short, Go bulls!

The One Season That CountedBrandon Halter Moving from middle school to high school was a little scary of a process for me. I’d be moving to another city’s school withpeople I don’t know or haven’t even gone to school with since elementary school. My best idea at the time to help this was to join thefootball team. The first two years of JV was nearly pointless. With a team of nearly 30 kids, a lot of people played on both sides of theball. Except for me, 85 percent of the time I got take the pleasure of practicing all week to get the honor of standing on the sidelinewatching everything take place on the field. As some would say I just really sucked at it. Still while it got old and I hated going topractice every day, I didn’t quit. The whole summer before my junior year I went to summer workouts practicing harder and harder. Igot stronger and faster and actually was told I’d have way more playing time now that I’d be on varsity. Months went by and it was finally time for the 2014 annual spring game. My first game playing as a junior. About one quarter ofplaying went by and I got to touch the field more than I ever had on JV. I actually could feel my jersey was dirty for once and I wasgetting real playing time. I was sent in on a punt return I had to block for our returner and was targeted from across the field gettingblindsided in the middle of the field. Upon impact there was a shooting pain down my arm with a slight crunch. When I got up my armhurt but I didn’t think much of it as I walked off the field. The trainer had to check me real quick and asked if I could take my equipmentoff. The pain was so overwhelming and he ended up cutting my brand new number 42 jersey, my pads, and undershirt off. He notice thatmy arm was hanging too low and there was something poking at my skin. He couldn’t directly tell me, but explained that I most likelybroke my collarbone and that I would be out the rest of the season. One emergency room trip later that night showed that not only did Ibreak it, but I broke it in two places and needed to have surgery. Now I was stuck going through the long 10 week process of surgery,recovery, and more not playing. I went through a season of no football, no practicing, and hours of rehab after my surgery to get back on the field. I neverthought I’d miss playing like that. Still to this day I miss being on thatfield next to my best friends. As my senior year rolled around, I put inmore effort than ever. My arm was healed and had to rebuild strength.My coaches pushed me hard and everything did paid off. When mysenior year started I got a chance to be a start the whole season. I ledthe team as a captain for multiple games. And create memories I willnever forget. I’d give anything play that one season again, becausethat’s the one season that I’ll never forget.

SECTION 6 COVER: CONFLICT

Colors of the SunAva Williamson The morning begins as sunrays spill over the horizon into still morning fog. Pink light paints the trees,beautiful moments pass until the sky blossoms into blue. Baby birds chirp to their singing mothers, hidden withinthe branches of an old sycamore. As dawn’s sunlight meets the crystals in my windows, tiny rainbows illuminatethe room. I study the red, orange, yellow, green, and blue stretched on the wooden floor, God’s colorful remedyfor a colorless soul. Mourning steals the light from most days; the sun’s light only illuminates painful truths. Her pink roombounces rainbows from wall to wall, but the hospital’s white walls shine brighter with blinding reality. Hauntingnursery rhymes play in my mind, the only lyrics sing the nurse’s voice, “we lost her heartbeat.” I’ve learned a heart can shatter into one million pieces, but life will painstakingly continue. Nine months ofpregnancy to come home from the hospital to an empty white crib. This life was supposed to be different. The day finally slows down as the sky splits into ethereal colors. I think of her heart; how it once pumpedblood, pulsing strong and fast, through her small veins. As the orange setting sun slides down the sky, sinkingpast the horizon into the unknown, I imagine her smile, or what her laugh may have sounded like. Magentamorphs into a purple that touches the still-light blue, her golden ringlets glow in my heart and mind. My sensestrick me; it almost feels as though I’m holding her. The sun’s absence turns the air ice cold, the darkness reaches out to touch. Winds pick up, chilling thenight with a dance. I wrap my arms around myself and I think about how love felt, but the night disguises the pinkwalls into a sea of deep blue. All my dreams are nightmares and there is no wailing to wake me.