Penchant 8.1: Serendipity by The Penchant

T H E P E N C H A N T SERENDIPITY

TORN, PLUCKED, WRETCHED by vinna shen “i breathe through my nose / in, just to exhale”

Irvington High School’s Creative Writing Club is a student-run, interest-based club dedicated to providing a welcoming environment for writers of all kinds to convene and share their ideas outside of an academic setting. Members get a taste of publication through submitting to The Penchant, our online literary magazine. Meanwhile, monthly prompts, in-club competitions, and major writing contests are provided to allow members to explore the implications of writing, improve on their own techniques, and receive feedback from their fellow peers. Overall, our collective mission is to enable the students of Irvington to write what they wish and have their voices heard.

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Photo Credits:

Cover Photo by Magda Ehlers on Pexels

ii| Photo by Anton Repponen on Unsplash

iii| Photo by BENCE BOROS on Unsplash

iv| Photos by Sylvester Sabo (top) & Cyrus Crossan (middle) & Anna Popović (bottom) on Unsplash

1| Photo by Paul Volkmer on Unsplash

2| Photos by Jakob Owens and Evie S. on Unsplash

3| Photos by Meriç Dağlı (far left) & Anastasiya Romanova (left) & insung yoon (right) & Annie Spratt (far right) on Unsplash

4| Photo by Annie Spratt on Unsplash

5| Photo by Kyle Head on Unsplash

6| Photos by Ibolya Toldi (top) & Sandeep Singh (left) on Pexels

7| Photos by Jasper Garratt (left) on Unsplash & Etienne Girardet (right) on Pexels

8| Photo by Janay Peters on Unsplash

9| Photos by Laura Barry (left) & Daniel Dan (right) on Unsplash

10| Photo by Dodger laurent on Unsplash

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the penchant

Irvington Creative Writing Club

EDITOR-IN-CHIEF

Sophie Leung

CONTENT EDITOR

Sophia Luo

LAYOUT EDITORS

Eliana Yang Yvonne Yun

CONTENT

Nidhi Bellamkonda

Francis Luo

Sophia Luo

Sravya Putcha

Vinna Shen

LAYOUT

Khloe Fong

Evelyn Ji

Sophie Leung

Eliana Yang

Yvonne Yun

featured

4| torned, plucked, wretched by Vinna Shen

poetry

1| Being Wanted

Fang

1| Evening Lights

Fang

2| Vinna Shen

3| season of dreams

Sophia Luo

5| Circus Freak

Yang

6| Clown Mask

Yang

7| your song by Grace Koo

9| Let's Talk About How a Feeling Rises

Luo

serendipity

you’re dryer than the waves higher than my blame and louder than the rain

the silence screams in your face as your words dissipate against a closed door

seeping desperation seeking how to save everyone else from burning up and burning out

someone teach me please how to float and how to shout and tell me what it feels like to be in love

something burrows beneath skin rushes into my brain as i sing christmas songs in september

and the dopamine hits me like a truck carrying all my dreams and all of your love but

by sophia luo

i lost my voice two days ago but it hasn't grown back into something real

i wish i knew how to breathe but i’ve never believed anyone could love me like you did

can you tell me who i am?

i don’t think i’ve ever been told how to see past my flaws

torn, plucked, wretched

by vinna shen

[] when it happens, my dog howls, baying low against night air, humming in the depths of a chimerical echo. like dust rested on my tired teeth powdered landscape of snow lips of chalk. the world falls silent to my voice

[] i think it’s cruel, sometimes. so much i might go insane more, that is than i am. already but it’s broken through, turned flesh quarks? atoms? molecules? football fields away? from my escape floating, resting, nothing ness []

my heart stays, bless her. though i feel her pulse, a flying leap at every second. fast flutter, flitting from flowers. i can’t control the muscle that governs my body. i might never sto p

and then it’s the desk and the cold and the lines around the eyes and the curled knees around the head

[] so?

i don’t need to explain to the empty skull, gaped mouth, pointed finger dim-witted, narrow-minded piece of utter failure

[]

i will not become one. the burning sunset vows. in the body her mind’s escaped from in the body whose heart preens in the voice that speaks like glass and the bones that break easier the burning sunset fires inside feel my unrest. i breathe through my nose in, just to exhale []

raised my arms to the sky, seeking salvation like a beggar. and came down like rain on fire, acid touch. beautiful, golden, pure i came down.

CIRCUS FREAK

by eliana yang

Center Stage

A pathetic act you perform

Dazzling lights

They all clap in pity you know?

Surrounded by so many stars

You’re nothing special

Breaking down in the dressing room

Just begging for attention

You’ve outgrown your juvenile act

Learn to do better

Work harder

We can’t afford for you to crash and burn

You’re not going to let us down

Think of your fans

Waiting and watching

Every fault every flaw

We like the old you better

Such a charismatic child

Brimming with potential

Molded to our liking A sweet little clown

Ready to perform

Abandoning us?

This is all you’ve ever known

We brought you into this world

Only we can take you out of it

Where would you even go?

Nobody wants a defective clown

Well past your prime

No one will want you

USELESS

We don’t even need to make a mockery of you

When you gasp for air and cry out

We laugh. They laugh. You will laugh.

We don’t care that you’re exhausted

Ungrateful behavior

Why can’t you just do what you’re told?

Put your smile back on, you have a job to do

It would be so much easier if you weren’t so inadequate

A hopeless mess

Faking your affliction

It would be easier if you didn’t…exist

Perhaps you aren’t as irreplaceable as we thought.

i came into a bedazzled world meant for stardom, they said the claps and cheers were my lullaby “star”, my first word the practice was worth it performance itself is a reward red button nose and a painted smile uniform in a row the years were lovely i was lovely everything was so so LOVELY until i grew old and USELESS

Clown Mask

by eliana yang

USELESS

am i really that broken?

i worked till i couldn’t breathe and gasped till i couldn’t sleep the thudding bass booms in the empty space of my lungs i gave it my all they’ll throw me away just to mask another someone still willing to play pretend or can fit inside their cage programmed to their whims

i should have looked down the row why can’t I just be normal?

asdfkaihadgasdgalsh dghsl;

but by that time you are gone [ ] and the silence you leave behind is deafening.

i am cursed to hear this song forever, it loops over and over [and under my breath] again until it drives me crazy. the rhythm of this song will slowly seep into my lungs as each breath gets faster until it tumbles out my tongue and each moment aches to forget the lyrics that i so desperately cling to; and i think, [maybe,]

maybe if i’d dared to sing your song, you would’ve stopped to listen.

your songbygracekoo

LET’S TALK ABOUT HOW A FEELING RISES by francis luo

“The violent tide calls itself beautiful while it foams and shouts and cries.”

Like a shoreline of a warming ocean pressing up against my chest.

The violent tide calls itself beautiful while it foams and shouts and cries.

It hides in conch shells, playing hide-and-seek with would-be finders.

Dregs of attraction drain away like washed-up driftwood reclaimed by sea. Like most memory, making itself hidden. Holding on

feels as frightening and forbidden as letting go. So this I release to the world: to clamoring gulls, rip tides, seaside chasms carved in sand, ceaselessly thawing ice-bound land. Like a gull flying in the face of all I know, my long calls are racing at the speed of sound toward the horizon of all I can know. It is time to believe in what I dare not believe. I waver on the brink of countless could-have-beens.

BY CROAK AND COAK

A frog and his friends, what a nice sight to see. These frogs?

Attached at the hip- attached like the toes on their sticky webbed feet. They are on their way to the pond. They are on the way to a pond they know to be sparkling and beautiful… a real treasure. When they reach the pond, they agree again: what a find this pond was! Full lily pads, matching the green of their skin. Gentle waters, the perfect amount of swampy. Branches placed so conveniently, begging to be jumped on and off of, again and again and again. That they stumbled upon this oasis: a true stroke of seren-

dip a little bit below the surface. No, not that surface. Not the line between air and water. This surface. The surface that exists beyond any body of water. The surface that is always right in front of you, waiting. You see it, do you not? Look below. Do you see the water churn, tossing and turning the limp branches of dead trees? Do you see the metal glint menacingly, clutched in a bright green grasp? Do you see the thicket of flies? Do you see the life in the eyes of the frog they swarm around?

Just to be clear, the answer to that last question? It is undoubtedly “no.”

“They are on the way to a pond they know to be sparkling and beautiful… a real treasure.”