Renaissance Renaissance
NEON ANTEATER RENAISSANCE
Neon Anteater Renaissance (NAR) is UC Irvine’s Campuswide Honors Collegium’s creative works journal, featuring visual and written works from our talented CHC community. Thank you to everyone who has submitted to our issue! We also encourage you to contribute to future NAR issues by submitting your work to uci.nar.chc@gmail.com or https://sites.uci.edu/narchp/.
Editor-in-Chief: Maria Rama-McCain
Event Coordinator: Frank Granda
Marketing Director: Erin Jun
Representatives: Chiana Fujiwara
Hannah Reagan Taryn Jay Lam
Zoe Frederick
Advisor: Darren Warner
Cover Photo: “Crimson Flower” by Zoe Frederick
Instagram: nar chc
Website: https://sites.uci.edu/narchp/
Special thanks to Zoe Frederick for helping with editing!
“Playing in the Sand” by Michelle C .3
“winter fairy” by Lauren Finkel.... .5
“Reconnecting With Nature” by Taryn Lam..............7
“ID Check” by Frank Granda...........................9
“A Bridge to the Gap” by Chiana Fujiwara............13
“Crimson Flower” by Zoe Frederick...................21
“If Orpheus Had Known” by Cathy Chau Nguyen.........23
“The Botany of a Dreamer by Umbrasuperfan...........26
My Shallow Reflection” by Umbrasuperfan ............39
“When Stars Die” by Rachel Solano...................45
“my god, my universe” by Adhiti Chandromohan........50
“A Second Box” by CHALKEYsuperfan...................52
‘“Putting On a Show” by Anonymous...................55
“Fate Is In Our Hands” by Anyelina Montano..........59
“Subject” by Geneses Navarro........................61
“The Symbiote and Her Host” by Brianna Chang........63
“Alien” by Brianna Chang...........................101
“The One in Front of the Gun, Forever” by Yamil Vasquez............................................106
“An Open Letter to Those Who Don’t Believe They Deserve to be Loved” by Anonymous..........................108
“Sweet Darling, I’ll Cut You Loose” by Ivonne Hartono............................................111
“Into the Wild and Evolutionary Process of Literary Journalism” by Eric Rodriguez......................119
“forecast” by Erin Jun.............................131
Playing in the Sand
by Michelle Cheng
I took this photo in San Diego during Fall quarter. The photo shows a little child playing in the sand as their parents watch them and stand over them. I took this photo with the intent of capturing the sunset, but also captured the innocent moment of the parents happily watching their toddler explore sand.
winter fairy
by Lauren Finkel
there’s a little fairy, twirling in the winter grass the snow falls in droves all around the harsh wind holds her close, so tightly underneath her tiny feet, the roots of unsung flowers whisper and rustle restlessly the rich loam and moss lays dormant all covered by a layer of frosty white singing, you are not alone you are not alone you are not alone
I am very inspired by emotions and the connection between the brain and the body. As someone who has recently been very burned out of writing, I find a lot of inspiration with writing in nature, which feels like a space in which I can simply exist free from eternal and internal expectations. This short poem is inspired by the changing of the seasons that often accompanies the changing of the self, and the fact that we are allowed to give ourselves permission to rewrite our stories and simply exist as we are, messy and flawed and ever changing.
Reconnecting With Nature
by Taryn Lam
This quarter I've been really stressed from schoolwork and I also have been more homesick. One thing that I've been doing to relieve my stress is taking walks in nature or going to beaches. I've found that this is a useful way to ease my mind and make me less stressed. I chose this picture that I took of Mt. Fuji last year that includes the beautiful mountain and traces of the cherry blossoms near the bottom of the photo. I chose this specifically because so far, it's my favorite place in nature and I also visited with my family and my sister which is something that I look back on and miss a lot.
ID Check
by Frank Granda
Some things in this world that cannot be explained this easily, here is one of them. It began with the disappearance of my friend a few weeks back after she invited me for a coffee date. We planned a day and time, everything was all set. Yet when the day arrived, she was nowhere to be found. I called her number to see if she was ok only to hear no response, I went to her house to see if she would come out to be met with silence. I only met her a few weeks ago so I didn't have much of a trail to go by. I went to the local police station to file a missing persons case on her. They compiled and prepared to do a wellness check but told me to fix my ID, a few things were off. I admit that it wasn’t updated in a while but I decided to wait to hear back from them, seeing if they would confirm my case. I got a callback a few hours later from the cops. They told me she was at home but didn't know who I was. Curious, I decided to drive by her house and reach out personally to receive an answer. As I drove by, I noticed some things were a little off such as street names having different names than I last remembered and unfamiliar music by artists I never heard of playing on the radio.
However, I decided to ignore it before moving on to my destination to see what was going on. I went by to her house and knocked on the door as I just stood there waiting for a response. She opened and then looked at me confusedly, asking why I was now at her doorstep all of a sudden. I told her that I was concerned about her wellbeing and asked why she never got to me after the coffee date. She then stared at me blankly and told me she had no memory of our meeting a few days prior.
“I don’t know what you’re talking about. Here!” I replied as I pulled up my phone about the text messages we sent each other leading up to the occasion only for them to disappear.
“Wait here.” She asked me as she headed back inside. Noticing something was a bit off, I decided to leave her doorstep and went straight to my car only to hear a police siren closing in. As I opened the front door, I turned around to see a cop pointing his gun at me.
“Don’t move!” He shouted. He asked what I was doing, I told him the whole story and the last thing he asked was for my ID. I handed him my ID and after briefly glancing at me, he told me to come to the police station.
“Is this some kind of joke?” he angrily asked while putting handcuffs on me. I had no idea what was going on or why.
“Officer, why are you doing this to me? My ID was valid.”
“Your ID was blank and with the strange request we’ve gotten from that lady. I think it’s time we asked you a few questions about your intent at the station” The officer ordered. That was the last thing I heard before shoving me in.
I have been writing for a while, especially to this journal and I thought that it would be an interesting piece that corresponded with the theme. The idea being that one could have their whole personal world turned upside down in an instant is an interesting narrative idea to explore further even as a short story.
A Bridge to the Gap
by Chiana Fujiwara
床前明⽉光 - Above my bed the bright moonlight
It was in that fleeting moment that Chang’e found herself floating from her bed up to the very object of her gaze: the bright, full moon. To what force it could have possibly been that allowed her to experience such a supernatural act was not in her current consideration as she went with the force as a leaf in the wind. Ascending into the night sky, she looks back at all that she has left behind. No time to say goodbyes, no explanations for her sudden departure. If she had the time, if the situation had not escalated so rapidly, this all could have never happened.Yet, an interest unfulfilled only really has 2 potential paths to take. It may turn to ashes and fall through the fingertips of the beholder back into the Red Dust for someone else to sweep up, or interest will evolve itself into desire, overwhelming man with lust to explore said interest no matter the costs. As any good legend worth telling goes, Feng Meng became a victim of the latter.
No amount of respect towards his teacher, Hou Yi, the great hero who shot down the 9 extra suns of the world, could stop him from wanting just a taste of immortality the hero received for his world-saving deed. Chang’e, therefore, took the elixir in its entirety at the moment Feng Meng was to steal it. She was only certain of the uncertainty that came with taking the unknown dose, but it would also not be an exaggeration of the matter to say that flying towards the moon was not an anticipated side-effect, not in anyone’s wildest dreams. Then again, this was the time of mankind when 10 suns once simultaneously surrounded the earth.
Stranded on the moon Chang’e stood, helpless and perplexed. The moon palace a spectacle, and the jade rabbit an enchanting companion. Yet, none of such is compared to life in the mortal world. The inhabitants of the mortal world have their laughter and sorrows, the moon waxes and wanes. Where was Chang’e to put herself in the equation? Day after day passes, if a concept of a day exists on the moon. She begins to wonder if taking the elixir was worth a new lifetime of solitude.
If Feng Meng had taken it, at least she would be a happy mortal alongside her lover. The silver moon would be something to gaze at from afar, only able to hypothesize of its supposed glory, not sit on its cold and desolate reality. Had enough time passed that Hou Yi now ceased to remember her memory? Had the world moved on, where she was no longer a part of the narrative? Dreams filled her pastime, dreams of reuniting with those living amongst the red dust and dreams of the past that now felt like but a haze. As beautiful as the silver moon looked the night she flew up, perhaps as beautiful as it still looks to gazers below, little did she know the physical distance of the earth to the moon would be only a fraction of the distance she emotionally felt from the even more glorious life she once lived.
疑是地上霜 - Moonlight’s frost on the ground
The silver moon was full again, just as it was the day his lover made her sudden departure. Hou Yi could not dare to look up at the moon often. When he did, it always appeared to be reflecting an image of his love within, and that alone he could simply not bear to handle.
Instead, he gazed down at his silver platter of untouched mooncakes and fruit, the illusion of frost shining on the ground below the terrace bringing light to his sorrow. Alone he strove to eat, though in his wildest dreams, he still felt as though he could be eating together with the Chang’e whose memory was becoming blurry in his hazy mind, clouded with only the melancholy that grew each day he spent without her. The moonlight shone on his flowing tears, even though he knew in his heart she would detest to see him cry. Days, as they were according to the social construct in the mortal world, flew past Hou Yi, yet he seemed indifferent to each one as there was still no sign of her great return that he longed for day after day. If only he could find a sign to believe in the delusions of a shared feeling from their two different places, perhaps he would be willing to find comfort in the shared sorrow rather than constantly tormented by the questions and confusion of the whereabouts and state of his only love. From the autumn moon to the winter frost, to the spring wind and summer spindrift his hair turned silver, yet beside him lay no other silver head who accompanied his final days.
举头望明⽉ - Raising my head to the bright moon
The lives of Chang’e and Hou Yi devolved into but a legend by the time Li Bai was gazing towards the silver moon. Such a sight was the only familiar object that the vagabond knew at every point in his journey to the unknown, the same sight he used to admire in the bygone days of his hometown. To the bottom of his gaze, the green hills run through the northern city wall, and the movie in his mind plays the memory of sending off an old friend he had not contacted since. At least he was almost certain they both shared the same sight of the moon in that instant, he and everyone else he knew long ago. He takes a cup and raises it towards the moon, the moonlight’s shadow posing as a merry companion to his otherwise solitary drunkenness. Why should anyone with sense choose to become more and more separated from those he longs for the most? As long as he drinks, the yearning will continue to fly away into the night sky, perhaps even landing on the moon to provide Chang’e a hint of empathy, only returning when enough sleep has worn off the wine. Even when it does return, the simple solution would be to raise a few more cups, if the cups ever stopped.
He looks back down at the paper and pen, the unfinished poem. A consistent hobby since childhood, he now writes of his yearning for the youthful days.
低头思故乡 - Lowering my head to remember my home
My mother looks down from the full moon of September 17, 2024. The scene of the handmade mooncake held against Southern California suburbia fails to stand anything against the tables of mooncakes and fruits spread across tables in her memories of Northeastern China, surrounded by family on all sides. The peculiarity of existence, how one encounter, one event may happen as normal and suddenly such time was the last, a struggle since ancient times. The moon hangs particularly low tonight, and the stars form a bridge wishing to finally reunite the separated loved ones from the corners of the sea and the ends of the sky. And so Chang’e and her jade rabbit prepare to make their long-awaited descent from the stairs of the stars, searching anxiously for her loved one of long ago. How much time had passed since that fateful day, she was still unsure, but she had always believed in her heart that fallen leaves will, one day, return to their roots.
Unfortunate, to say the least, for Chang’e to ultimately realize her lover had been long gone, such a civilization gone with the wind. Her jade rabbit in hand, they ascend back towards the moon, accepting their isolated fate. In the moon her image continues to shine on the starry bridge, and my mother begins to ascend the stairs, a fallen leaf returning to her roots.
This work was primarily inspired by one of the most famous Chinese legends, and the reason for one of the major holidays of Chinese culture (Mid-Autumn Festival/Chang'e and Hou Yi). It is one of the legends that has stuck with me the most ever since I was young, so I thought it would be nice to rewrite it with my own personal twist on the story, while also using many direct and indirect translations of popular Chinese idioms, culture references, and poetry lines as well. Each section of the story, in fact, is divided by the lines of one of the most well known poems of Ancient China, Quiet Night Thought by Li Bai.
Crimson Flower
by Zoe Frederick
The main inspirations for this work come from the red string of fate and one of my favorite musicals, Hadestown, both of which heavily involve the theme of fate. The red string of fate originates from Chinese mythology, saying that there is a red thread connecting two people who are fated to become lovers. Meanwhile, Hadestown is a musical retelling of the Greek myth of Orpheus and Eurydice, which emphasizes how fate cannot be overturned and how Orpheus is destined to always turn around. My work shows a paper flower created from book pages with the red string flowing around it, broken in the middle right in front of the flower. The paper flower, which makes its appearance in Hadestown, having stories written on it is supposed to resemble opportunity and people's destinies. The red string being broken is supposed to symbolize how people are in control of their own fates, with the stars bursting from it and the fallen petals showing people's potentials for change.
If Orpheus Had Known
by Cathy Chau Nguyen
“Please look at me.”
My dear, how could I tell you?
Our feet has grazed these steps before
Obedient to the path, cold but familiar,
By the whims of gods that sired us:
Two lives with silk strings attached
You, as my Eurydice, and I, Fated be, your foolish lyre.
Dearest, how then, could I face you,
Bearing this truth that I’ve known:
This thread that ties us woven with tragedy in tow.
Against the chanting of our hearts, the Chorus had sung to let go, Let go!
Still, hand in hand I had prayed
With fingers still entwined in yours.
Once more by the threshold, I quietly curse the twines of Fate.
Even so, before the thunder bellows, towards you I’ll face, cowardly
Eyes linger at your gaze, unwitting, as my touch slips away, leaving you
With but a lonesome breath to hold a farewell displaced anew.
“I’ll see you soon.”
This poem was inspired by one of my favorite Greek mythologies, the tale of Orpheus and Eurydice. Although most versions attribute the tragedy to Orpheus losing faith in Eurydice, the version I grew up with explained that Orpheus turned to look at Eurydice because she thought he was ignoring her and couldn’t understand why he wouldn’t talk/look at her. I personally like this version more because their undoing was a result of their profound love for each other which makes the tale even more tragically beautiful. I was also inspired to write about this myth because this story seems to resonate with a lot of people which has spurred many modern/alternative retellings in recent years. I thought it was interesting that the story always ends the same way regardless of other changes that were made. This insight inspired me to play around with the idea of “fate” and trying to defy an essentially self-fulfilling prophecy. In my poem, Orpheus knows what will happen if he looks at Eurydice; he knows he will lose her because he has experienced the loss countless times throughout various iterations of their journey. In the end, my Orpheus “rewrites” his fate by choosing to relive the tragedy, staying true to his love for Eurydice. Like other retellings, the story stills ends in the same way and will continue to because that is how their tale is written but Orpheus still has the autonomy to choose love even in the face of an imminent tragedy.
The Botany of a Dreamer
by Umbrasuperfan
Fate is a fickle thing.
To some, it is God.
To others, it is nothing.
To me, it is a tapestry held together by fraying thread and weary yarn, illegible, pulled taut under the weight of countless lives. It falters and crumples, it sways in the buffeting wind, yet it never tears.
For this, I admire it. For this, I despise it. It takes with little care, it gives with less. It bides its time, it looms in the distance just over my head. It engraves itself onto the mind, an unwelcome guest, consuming until nothing is left but wilted petals and rotten leaves. It taunts my innocent eyes, eyes that have seen too much and too little. It takes me for a fool, silently laughing, silently mocking, silently weeping.
Above all else, it made me. For this, I cannot forgive it.
Perhaps it is right to do so. Perhaps I am wrong. Perhaps I should give in, abandon my convictions. Perhaps I should blindly submit.
I would sooner unravel the fibers of my own being.
My trembling, sullied hand reached out, tentative, afraid to taint her pure, sanguine wrist. How long I hesitated, I do not know. A mere second, a thousand days. It doesn’t matter. She waited. For me.
A derision of myself, a cacophony of platitudes, bowed against a windless storm of my own creation. Crept upon the dark which quells the dawn, the overindulgent haze cursed me, cursed itself. My blood seethed and burst. A sickeningly sweet scent wafted through me, choking my cords, choking my sight. All I could hear was nothing at all. All I could feel was nothing at all.
All I could be was nothing at all.
A twilight pierced through the ink, gleaming and dazzling, through the ever-churning gray. A warmth in my corner of occlusion, spreading through my fingers, through my skin. Blinding, comforting, a promise of safety, a promise of home, it embraced me. She embraced me.
I caught a glimpse of her that night, majestic and free from the burdens of life. Only a glimpse. She didn’t know. She doesn’t know. She can’t know. It is my only secret, locked deep inside the vault of my heart.
Its key shattered long ago. It crumbled into dust in my own two hands, crushed by my own two hands. Regret is for the weak, I tell myself. Sometimes, I think otherwise.
Sometimes, a piece of me withers and dies.
The gentle waves lapped at my ankles. Our ankles. My ears welcomed an unforetold melody, played by the breeze on a silent harp. It was soft as a dandelion’s wings, clear as the water at our feet. Warm as the wishful, soothing sun. I didn’t dare interrupt that ethereal moment. Neither did she.
If only I could slow the beat of time, still its unceasing drums.
The wind brushed her hair against her shoulder. Mine wasn’t long enough for that. Even so, I imagined its phantom touch, a silky whisper against my skin.
Still, time runs by.
She looked forward, across the water. She always was. Gazing at the horizon, seeing something I never could. Seeing beyond it.
I tried to catch it once. I failed.
She laughed at me. I remember her smile, genuine, rare as an azure moonbeam, ephemeral as Spring. I coveted it, seared it into my core, branded myself with it.
It has never faded.
Shoved into a hellscape of ice and fire, I could do nothing but lift my frostbitten, blistered feet, one after the other. Each step an agonizing gauntlet, the needles painted onto the ground piercing through my body, straight and true. The pandemonium of the damned stabbing through my ears, stabbing through my heart.
The pain, too much to bear, too much to fight. Too much to even feel, yet not kind enough to numb. Offering only agony.
And agony.
Agony.
Then, nothing. A void inside, the sweet, blissful release of emptiness.
Extreme action requires extreme action. I believed it once. She still does. I stopped when they forgot my name. I stopped when I forgot my name. It bound me, fettered my roots, detested me. It painted my wrists.
My arms are stained. My fingers are stained. My teeth are stained. When will I be freed from my reverence?
Someday soon, I hope.
A far-off dream, I know.
Over. Under. Back.
I was forged from stitches of hope. Hope and dreams of a life out of reach, a life that won’t let go. It won’t let go, no matter how I try. Oh, how I’ve tried.
Over. Under. Back again.
I was sewn from flames white-hot, a broadsword needle of bronze crochet. Gifted a wreath of envy cloaked in arrogance, planted in an irreverent sanctum of tallow simulacra carved from innocent flesh. As I was.
Still, it won’t let go.
Over. Under. Back again.
I was sculpted by those who came to be, by those who tried to see. Shaped by their greed, a story of what could be. A story of what should be. It never came to pass.
Over. Under. Back again.
Salted bones and savory marrow; its novelty quickly fades. Red bleeds to a dull, purging fog, an extravagant bland. Even so, it is my promise. The only one intact, at least.
I failed the others long ago.
Over. Under. Back again.
The muffled roar of the surrounding current washed through my body, curling around me with its ice-cold hands. I could no longer hear the sky nor feel its gaze, the pattering of rain dulling to a void in my heart. Sinking down, drifting with the twirling sand, deeper and deeper.
I reached out toward the pitch-black stars, but my fingers met nothing but the stained-glass wall refracting the dying twilight. The murmur of fading effervescence whispered to me its secrets, of my delusions, of how I had forgotten even the names of my frills and left their ivory charm in my wake.
It told me nothing new.
If I had another chance, I would vow to never lose it. If I could start again, I would promise to keep it all close. If someone would give me just one more life, I could become the reflection I always knew. I could know her as I wished I ever would.
Yet I remain a cold stone, drifting farther, drifting beyond anyone’s reach, even my own. The truth I hear is a friend of the distant past, the stains I see friends of what is to come. I close my eyes, sealing them until the end, waiting for the end.
Strangely, the world I see does not change. A whirlwind of cloth and braid, I was a force able to be stopped by nothing. Save my own dizziness, of course. The crackling of twigs underfoot fell unheard on stumbling earth. The song of evergreen rang through the air, clear and true, hanging like wisteria.
It still rings through my ears.
A misplaced step and a flash, a tangle of fabric and plait and ivory. A beat, a pulse, a fluorescent shadow cast by the verdant aurora. A pause, incognizant as the budding morning glory.
A pause, incandescent as the blooming hyacinth.
The leaves shifted, the wind picked itself up. The light touched upon us once more; I scrambled to my feet. She arose, the paradigm of grace, smoothing her hair, smoothing her dress. Somehow, a blade of grass escaped unnoticed.
I reached out, hesitant, timid as falling snow. For just a moment, in only an instant, plucking that stray blade from her hair, tucking it into mine. Making it mine. I cherished it, treasured it as nothing else.
If only I could hold it with my own hands.
As the stars set, the eve of final solstice drew nearer with each passing breath. Tuft drifted from the sky, falling like ash, drowning the barren ground below. Ink flooded the light. It sang of the hollow with its crushing warble, it stilled the tides. Quills stabbed the ascetic earth, marking graves of the past, calligraphing calamity.
Frozen, unmoving, yet still passing me by. It twirls and spins, it whirls around me.
I am overcome by vertigo.
I am overcome by serenity. The world blurs, rolling down my cheek. Cascading, falling, until it hits my palm and shatters.
Oh, how it calms my pounding heart. It sings to me a lullaby of fortitude, a gentle song of repose that puts me to rest.
I loosen my grip.
The clouds become a speck in the sky.
The sky becomes a speck in the darkness.
Falling.
Falling, until I hit the ground and shatter.
Oh, how I wish it were true.
An ocean of petals, a meadow of sunlight, a vibrant prism of all that could ever be told. Havens of shade, oases of cool respite free from scorn. A blossoming of violet and sky and lavender and gold, so wondrously breathtaking. And we had it all to ourselves.
Meticulously, I wove a crown, not of stone, but of bloom and glint. The tips of dahlia and daisy caught in the rays of sunlight, glimmering like opal floating on the crystalline lake. Stems, leaves, hopes, song, strung together in tandem and placed upon her brow.
It fluttered in the breeze, softly waving at the sky. The sky had no reply, but that was no surprise. It was always a silent observer, an eternal companion offering neither words of comfort nor derision.
How I longed for it to reach me here. How I longed to hear the singing of the wind again, to feel the kiss of petals on my fingertips. How I longed for the warmth on my skin to soak to my core, through the iron walls of my heart. Was it what she wished for? Was it what I truly wanted?
I feel I am chasing after a life so far out of reach I can no longer see past even its shadow.
One day, I will drag myself out of this deceitful pit, step after agonizing step. One day, I will grasp the light again. One day, my birthright of glass will be returned to me.
One day.
It was cold. I had never before been so devoid of warmth. Each bite of the careless gale drilled another tone hole through my flesh, chipping away the dissonant marble that still held my pieces together.
Its low whistle smelled of bittersweet temptations. I’d heard it somewhere before. I’m certain.
But no matter how I try, I can’t recall its hue. Like so much else, it had been taken from me and given to the gray halftone that veils our eyes. Its stamp on my husk, once so vibrant, decayed to wisps.
My ravaged voice, torn into a frail metonym of those distant words I never could choke out. My cords, severed by a righteous, knotted blade. Visions forced onto my mind, as if I wouldn’t know.
As if I wasn’t abased enough already.
I would trade nearly anything to depose its caustic wings that mock me so, wings that beat down a rotting wind over my head. Within it, I falter, crumpling to my knees.
The words I wrote those years ago have long since been effaced, becoming an illegible blend. If they splintered into delicate flakes, I wouldn’t even notice.
When they splintered, I didn’t even notice. It seems I was wrong.
Lining the atlas of destiny, I traced the quilt’s hem, running my fingers along its seam. Running my fingers down to the corner and back up again. Each stitch drew a nameless memory, a day I used to know, a moment no longer with me. It welcomed me with a warm embrace of crimson string. My fingers reached the corner. I started once again.
It was never meant to be. The robin’s chirp, the swish of tender waves, the rustle of flowers in the cool wind. She, I, was never meant to be.
Please, allow me, just once more.
I felt the quilt’s rounded corner. I began again.
Her hair, the clips she carried, they looked just like mine. How strange. She moved as I moved, spoke as I spoke. The shape of her eyes, the curve of her wrist, they overlapped onto mine nearly perfectly.
How strange.
We were never meant to be.
My fingers reached the corner, starting again. They seemed so content together, drifting on the breeze. No wonder I wasn’t strong enough. I never was, never will be.
It never was meant to be.
My fingers reached the end. I felt nothing, palm closing on emptiness. Finally. For the last time, I faded.
The angel turned to face me, a mirror in disguise, her unseen wings battered and torn. Her luminance fading, the stars in her eyes blinking out, a smile caught on her brow. Falling backwards, backwards, and down.
As she was fated to.
I gave to her an unspoken word, a poisoned promise of scarlet rouge. A silent farewell settled on my lips as the swan shed her weary feathers at last.
“ Is it
Inspirations:
*Umbrabyte
Wrists by Camus, covered by Tofie Flaws by Fair Dawn (ft. Arue)
Palmtop Wonderland by nekobolo, covered by Jubyphonic + more
The primary inspiration for this work is Umbrabyte who can found on Youtube and Tumblr. I'm also always inspired by other music I listen to, especially songs by CHALKEY. I wrote a bit in elementary school but never really finished anything until Fall 2024, out of which "The Botany of a Dreamer" came. The two characters of the story are Umbrabyte's characters, Opia and Phagia.
My Shallow Reflection
by Umbrasuperfan
Today, everything must be perfect. Not a strand of hair out of place, not a silken crease to be found. Each and every pane wiped shimmeringly clear, ready to dazzle our audience. It truly is a spectacle, when enough light filters through to hit these glass walls. They cast the most mesmerizing spectrums, enough to pierce through even the most hardened bulwarks of iron hearts.
Except for ours, of course. We had seen this view since we can remember. It’s nothing special anymore. At least, until today. The summer solstice, the day the sun visits without fail. The day we can show her at last.
We’ve waited too long, poured away far too much of ourselves.
We take a deep breath, tying our ribbons dyed the same light blue as the faraway sky, and drape our velvet veil over our frame.
Today will be perfect.
A mere glance. That was all she gave our weeks, months, of careful preparation. We don’t dwell long on it. Our minds lie elsewhere, for today was beyond anything we could have hoped for. We run our fingers over our fins, fins that still remember her touch. Fins that we’ll bid farewell to when the sun lives again.
We unclip the bedded star from our hair, placing it gently on its familiar ledge of shell. Our gaze lingers on its innocent form. Only for a moment. Its faithful ruffles have kept us well these past years.
We tear our eyes from it.
Until tomorrow, then.
We had done exactly as she told us to, taking the utmost care to keep our fins straight and unfolded through the night. It was easy, really. We were much too excited to sleep.
We adjust our braids, still entwined from yesterday, considering rebraiding them altogether. But no, there isn’t enough time. The day begins soon. She will be here soon.
Our constant companion stands at its usual perch in our hair, glinting proudly. It needs no reminders. It is ready.
We smoothe the frills of our dress that chafes and prickles, our dress that we wear for her. Tugging at our ribbons and sleeves until they sit just right, we share a last, determined look before our velvet veil folds down and covers the world.
We are ready.
That shade of red. It was new. The surrounding water had always obscured it before. Today, it spilled from me, raw and unadulterated, unable to be hidden from.
Unable to be escaped from.
I longed to close my eyes, but its pervasive hue took hold of my sight with an iron vise. Splotches appear in the corner of my vision even now. When my eyes still, they spread, slowly, consuming until their scarlet tendrils are all I can see.
They seep through my eyelids, even when I’m sure not a sliver remains.
I lean against the slippery glass, wishing for a moment of respite.
My wish falls unheard on the cold ocean floor. She visits again today. My traitorous heart pounds in anticipation. As if I haven’t betrayed it in manners far worse. As if I won’t again.
I’ll forgive myself. Someday.
My face furrows into a frown at the bandages wrapped around my body, but it clears after a moment. They won’t be an issue. My satin dress, her precious gift, will hide them well enough.
I do wish it wouldn’t gnaw at my skin as it does. Sometimes I feel as if I suffocate under its constricting hold. Such is the price to pay for supposed love.
Focus. I’m losing myself.
I knot my ribbons and tighten them snugly, as she taught me to. Picking up my lone friend, I turn it in my hands, once, twice. Its iridescence catches the budding dawn, glancing through the water. I imagine a rueful smile spreading through its ruffles,through my fingers. I nearly don’t want to part with it.
I blink. The warmth disappears. I hastily set it down.
It’s time to go.
A dull ache thrums through my body, deep along my bones. It mocks me for my former scales. I can’t help but wince as the scores hatched into my skin open their gaping maws and threaten to swallow me raw.
I find myself wishing that perhaps they would.
How simple it would be to fall in and never climb back. How peaceful it must be to cast away these doubts and burdens and entrust it all to the unending murmur. How cathartic it could be if this charade was put to an end.
Soon, I tell myself.
Just a few knots further.
I feel myself slipping off this ascetic edge, clawing my way back up an insurmountable wall of stone, gasping for water, heaving mouthfuls of mud. The light slows to a crawl, its luminescence left behind.
But it still knows my eyes. I can’t lose myself. Not yet. I still have another chance, another way through.
I still have today.
Opening my eyes, I take my fingers off my ribbon and comb them through my hair, though I’ve forgotten why. It has never made a difference. Perhaps today it will prove its worth, little though it is.
There was once a me who knew why, a me I once knew. A me who could say with conviction, who was lost to the rolling foam.
I drape the tulle veil over my frame.
Today, I’ll try again.
It reaches up for comfort, but its palm brushes past the phantom wind and meets nothing but hair. Yes, it remembers now. It had given that up too. Its eyes look so tired. If it traced those lines streaked down its face, it would find no end. Those lines that etch themselves deeper even now. They fall past its shoulders,until they hit the ground and shatter, glimmering in the dim starlight.
It slips from this world’s eye and falls. It falls, until it hits the sky and shatters into fragments of all that is left. It shatters into nothing.
Everything is still a blurry smear, no matter how much it blinks its eyes, no matter how hard it scrubs the glass walls.
If she would look at it, truly see it just once, it would be enough. It even looked so much like her now. It was all for her sake. Wasn’t it?
No. It banished these thoughts of artifice from its mind. They will bring no salvation, carve no paths from this rifted chasm.
They won’t bring back the past. These thoughts replayed won’t bring back the things it held so dear it now laments.
Perhaps it will choose to live, to allow itself to step across the iron. If it did, could it finally pluck its birthright, those fruits borne for it? Their warmth it had never tasted lingers in its mouth, leaving behind a yearning in its wake. A yearning for a sigh, a yearning for praise. It was left with a yearning to know. ) ( ) ( ) (
Tangled. Caught in a web of lies it mends for itself at each dawn. Failed. Unable to stitch away its transgressions.
Irredeemable. A shell not given the luxury of want.
Rotten. Down to its misshapen, decaying pit. Unrecognizable. Even to itself.
Its pitiable marks erased, stolen from its daydreams, from its silky sheets of ocean azure tinged with scarlet. What a fragile existence it endures, all the while hoping, praying, to shut everything out.
It knew all these things. Even so, it walked down this path. Was it worth the pain?
It cannot answer, for it does not know. It’s slipping off this crumbling ledge. The strength has left its exhausted wrists, leaving no choice but down. The inky soil beckons its name, louder than ever. It doesn’t know if it can resist for much longer.
Perhaps it will lose its footing at last. Today, it gives in or forever holds its sorrow. Has everything always been bathed in this warm crimson glow?
The days since then passed like years, it seems. I remember now, that promise of absolution I made to myself. Perhaps it’s time I finally honored it.
I take a deep, shaky breath. For the last time, we knot our frayed ribbon, stained red as the unknown rose.
Draping our tattered veil over our frame, we turn to face today.
Based on My Stained Enclosure by Umbrabyte
This piece is fanfiction for Umbrabyte's song, "My Stained Enclosure," though there are many references to her other songs as well. It is also heavily influenced by music I listen to.
When Stars Die
by Rachel Solano
ips of my fingers, th trembling hands are aching to touch the small bright lights in the sky. Blue adorned with white and grey in a messy mixture as my thumb and index finger form the twelfth letter of the English Alphabet. Sailors and navigators used their natural compasses to find their way through vast oceans, bravely soaring through waves and storms, meeting dangers beyond description, hoping to reach home and see their families again. For constellations create narratives, stories of people, past and present, while we marvel at their beauty and colonize them with a name.
During my childhood, I wanted to learn all I could about space, drawn into understanding how the world functioned in a universe so vast and full. I read all the books I could find on space, whether fictional or not, guided by the desire to find a new perspective on my existence. I yearned for the ability to say I had a purpose, a reason for existing, that I was not just another being on the face of Earth waiting to be forgotten like the popsicles at the back of the freezer. Astronauts go to space under the excuse that they have always wanted to know what lies beyond Earth, knowing deep down they simply sought to escape from the confinement of our planet, hoping to feel something other than crippling anxiety whenever someone mentions the future. Even the stars would agree that finding a promised neverland, never having to watch as loved ones pass away or even witnessing the end of the world, holds a greater promise than leaving before it all falls apart.
I would have loved to believe that my story had been carefully written in the stars. It would give meaning to the voices in my head and the nerves in my system. Stardust is what she says I am made of. Stars in my veins, constellations in my body. Rather no one has named them. When ink flows steadily through my skin and I feel the piercing pain, it is no different than pen grazing over sleek paper and worn-out jeans. For I am a canvas, a painting of more than just one color, of hues and blues and purples, to be worn and used. Love is to wear your astronaut suit, to escape from the time and space continuum, but no one can change the way that the stars align, no one can rewrite the patterns in the sky.
Because I am not the stars in the sky shining brightly. Such written work does not exist in my dictionary, in my programming. I am more than the golden rays within my pores and the cartilage in my ears, and if I must malfunction to consider myself human, I will cut out my wires and destroy their coding. I tried so hard to conform to the ideals that my life has been set, that whether I lose or I gain, all has been inscribed into a transcript I must read and follow. But I refuse to accept that the elements in my body were chosen one by one because I cannot live up to the expectations that come with being made of beauty. Please do not tell me I am made of Stardust, that I belong to something much greater than myself. Please do not lie to me when you say that everything I am is meant to exist. I am not the collection of constellations you so desperately seek to see inside of me, I am an exploding supernova, a flurry of waste and destruction, and I was foolish to believe otherwise.
Come and look at me, without the desires or expectations. Close your mind and make use of the two eyes you were given by the all-mighty cosmos you latch onto. Could you ever see the real me, would you finally understand that all this time I never asked to be more than a girl on a blue sphere, trapped between worlds of hot and cold. Paint my trembling fingers onto the sky and tell me that I am just a combination of elements you artificially created. Mold and form me in the way you seek just to constantly remind me I owe you my existence.
Should I have become an astronaut, I would have drawn the stars millions of times before, seeking so desperately to carve out a new destiny, yet never truly succeeding at it.
“When Stars Die” is a one-paged prose piece I created based on the narrative of a young woman looking up at the stars and imagining herself as a piece of the cosmos. Throughout the piece, the main character struggles to acknowledge her potential to achieve greatness, fearing the consequences of not meeting the expectations of her family and friends. The inspiration for “When Stars Die” comes from my childhood interest in astronomy. I would watch the sky as I sat in the car, hoping to someday understand why I lived within a large galaxy. When I read over the theme, I decided to write about the constant anxiety of never meeting the expectations of others while maintaining the extended metaphor of being made of stardust. Space, while a topic I deeply cared for and wanted to gain knowledge about, also scared me because of the uncertainties that exist within the universe. Often, thinking about what existed beyond Earth caused me to overthink about myself and my purpose in life. I wanted to develop the idea that the future is not set in place and we are all capable of choosing the story or narrative we wish to pursue regardless of the expectations others have for us.
Writing has been a hobby of mine for about six years now. I specifically write one-paged prose pieces based on different themes. I have also begun writing free-verse poetry, but I prefer to write longer narratives. I wrote “When Stars Die” between a few locations including a study room at UCI’s Science Library, my dorm room, and my bedroom at home. I found that spaces where I can listen to soft music in the background work best for when I am writing. Over the course of the past six years, I recognized my love for writing short creative pieces. I enjoy taking my emotions to develop a creative work that other people, who either read my piece or listen to a performance of it, can relate to and realize that they are not alone in how they feel. The most rewarding part of writing is when someone reads my piece and I see them experience all the emotions and reactions that come along with the writing. Their responses prove that I can connect with others without having to speak.