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Portait of Plants

By Annika Pangelinan

~Table of context~

Brieanna- 3 Brieanna- 3 Kate- Untitled.......................................................... page 4 Kayla- 5 Kayla- 5 6 Ms. Davis- 7 Gina- the 8 Sarah- 9 Sarah- Cover 9 Vivan- The Lone 10 Erica- 11 Erica- 12 Fiona- Carmen at the 13-15


Brieanna sundberg “Untitled”



Kate Uesugi “Untitled”


Kayla Economou “Untitled”



Raiana Ferrer “ Flowers”

A baby is born, a flower is given. As the years go on, its role changes. It is a present as the child’s young eyes widen in amazement. An offer of courtship from a long time friend. An apology that would soon be forgotten. A wedding bouquet that became the most prized possession. Then, it becomes a parting gift for the one who has moved on. For years, this exquisite product of nature had done its job. Placing peace, hope, and joy under its collection of names.


Ms. Davis “Untitled”


Gina Bacal “ The Willow�

past the stone garden, imfront of the rose bush, stand the willow tree. Pilver vines, hanging down, leaves like a water fall. Rustle. The wind streams, swirling around the tree singing like a violin. The willow stands tall


Sarah Li “Untitled”

“Cover Page” 9

Vivan Bentley “The Lone King”


Erica Machida “Plants�

Plants When you start off in the dirt And climb through the earth You peak out of the ground And reach with no sound To the sky that smiles With stars for miles Or sunlight which you grasp for a touch Which is just normal to ask for much But when you finally mature from a spud The treasures you hold begin to bud Your flowers smile through your leaves And it is your turn to return the seeds.


Erica Machida “The City”

With eyes that have yet to slumber What lies under that sky of a brilliant hue Or grays that cannot interpret emotion Is a garden full of lights Under the bright moon Or a maze full of towers Reaching for the sun Holding that aura of power It changes like the seasons It dies like the trees It lives like the animals It exist like the seas Like everything else that is a part of nature Attracting your eyes that have yet to slumber It lies to you all until its tongue is blue For it is nothing more than a shell of people’s creations Ideas and abominations And while it stands, the trees die And all that nature holds dear Is slowly drawing nearer To its devastation 12

Fiona Rutgers “Camen at the Cliff”

The last night I saw Carmen, the sky was black as coal, as if it were the fuel that powered the raging storm above. She smiled unfazed and amused by her surroundings. “You’re crazy!” I told her. She just laughed and jumped off the cliff into the night. The next morning, the police had come around, Mom had been frantic the night before; could you blame her? She was crying; her baby had just leapt off a cliff into the dark spiraling ocean. We still hadn’t heard from Carmen. I tried to comfort her. “She’s a great swimmer, everything will be okay. She’s probably just playing a joke on us.” I was pushed away. The back cliffs of the lighthouse were being heavily inspected: men going down on ropes and searching for mushed up Carmen bits. I knew they wouldn’t find her, she was either sitting pretty on one of the beaches back on the coast, or she was cold and empty on the bottom of the seafloor waiting to be made one with the ocean. I was ignored for the most part; the scrawny sixteen year-old sister of the victim wasn’t of much use to the rescuers. “Lisa!” I heard from behind me. It was David, the tall boyfriend of Carmen who was dawdling around like a confused puppy. He looked happy to see me for a few seconds, but his visage hardened. “Where’s Carmen? And what’s up with all the people?” he asked. My mother ran up from behind me “You’ve already taken one of my daughters! Isn’t that enough!” she growled. Her natural mother-bear instincts flared up. David sighed; my mom and him would fight like dogs and cats. “I haven’t taken your daughter. How can you say that when you crush her so close to your chest. It’s a miracle she hasn’t died from asphyxiation yet!” he stared her down. “If you hadn’t told her to run away in the first place, maybe I wouldn’t need to be so protective. Where are you hiding her?” Mother snarled, the rescuers had stopped their work and were watching the scene intently. “Hiding her? She isn’t here?” David was confused. I sighed. “Carmen jumped of the cliffs last night, we haven’t been able to find her” I said. David looked on in horror, it was clear he hadn’t actually understood what the rescue team had been for. 13

“How could you?” he screamed at my mother. I decided to step back and watch as my mother became the ravenous demi-god that would smite David for such a comment. “How could I? How could you?! It was you who gave her those stupid ideas of going off in the first place. You had no right—” “Did I?” he said “For god’s sake she’s twenty! Let her live—“ “She’s not ready—“ “And clearly neither are you!” They both stopped, anger was seething out of them, but they just silently insulted each other. My mother was going through her normal stages of anger: first confusion, then she’d feel a complete need to control everything around her, after that, she’d go completely ballistic until someone fixed the problem or hit her last nerve-which launched her into her final stage-silence. “Mom!” I groaned. She ignored me and walked off. David grunted in frustration. He looked at me and gave a little smile, “I can’t believe such wonderful girls like you and your sister came from her.” He gave a dry laugh and went forward towards the cliff. I just sat there saying nothing; David could never take anything seriously. I hate these people, I internally groaned. I had to get away from here. My mind wandered towards the south beach; no one would be there. I made my way down to the sand. Even though there was a storm the night before, the sky and waves were clear and gentle. I was reminded of a young me, who after having a temper tantrum a few minutes earlier, then would pass out and snore out her little mouth like a tiny angel. That’s what Carmen would tell me. It dawned on me that I was actually worried about her, something I wasn’t able to say since middle school. On this beach (the one my sister had affectionately dubbed “Camel toe” for how it sunk into the rest of the island; neither me nor mother approved of it) we had a small deck with two plastic fold up chairs. The wood was tough and creaky; I jumped onto it creating a chorus of protest from the boards. The chairs had turned into a strange not-white hue that was gained only by having the original color stripped away over the years. I was too young to remember the actual color. I sat down with an uncomfortable squish. Something was on the chair; I picked it up to find a wet piece of newspaper with soft, frayed edges. In pen at the top of the page read, I have a plan with plan capitalized. That was-


Carmen-speak for, don’t worry about me. I slumped in my chair — she’d thought of everything, hadn’t she? In whole, her escape plan was rather brilliant; after dinner she told me to meet her at the cliffs. I had done so at the right time, to find in horror that she was perched right at the edge ready to jump. I called out to her but she laughed and descended into the waves. By the time I had ran to the house, called forth my mother from her laborious slumber, and rushed out, she was long gone. A dramatic finale of a goodbye that was so Carmen it hurt. She’d planed well. I leaned back in my chair and found myself thinking of Carmen and me when we were younger. She’d always tell me how she wanted to leave and see new places. Her overused, cliche, dream was boring, but understandable. I could envision Carmen now, she was at a bar (a sacred place we’d been forever banned from visiting by our mother) she was smiling, and she would probably never come back. I smiled a bit myself; maybe one day I’ll join her.


A Thank You Note

I would like to say thank you to all of those that gave me feedback, InDesign help, and submissions. I would like to give special thanks to Raiana, Erica, and Gina because without them by zine would most likely be just pictures.


Portrait of Plants  

You see many portraits of people, but how about plant? they live and breath like us. This magazine paints just one image of diffeent plants

Portrait of Plants  

You see many portraits of people, but how about plant? they live and breath like us. This magazine paints just one image of diffeent plants