A multi-genre zine focused on dark fantasy.
A Dark and Stormy Write
Category: Issue 2 (Spring 2023)
A Matter of Space and Time
A roundtable discussion on sci-fi literature with a focus on dystopian sci-fi.
Written, hosted, and produced by: Nik Chrissanthos, Jordan Cook, Maddison Malloy, Marcelo Munoz Jr., and Jake Swaney.
Jasmine Nhi Vo
Mother Lotus
Returning to the candlelight-shrouded cushion next to you For the first time in thirteen years Might have been less intimidating Had I not also lost my voice and yours and grandmother’s. This tastes novel, So I push it around with my tongue to get used to the feeling of scripture in my mouth. I’d spent too long reciting self-belittling thoughts like mantras And pouring acid into my mind until honey made dissonant calls. Forgive my rejection Of the food that nourishes me, The spirit that keeps me standing. I could not have found the trust that I now hold in my white-flower compass Without having first been lost, So I do not regret leaving so much as I regret Walking away from you and us. All that time I couldn’t help but admire how your devotion Resonates compassion and embodies the truths. I desperately held onto my clay ego And in turn surrendered my identity, But I’d like to think that I can piece together the ashes of who I am. I come to the humble altar with a different purpose than you, but find the same comfort In the incense that fills the room and our souls. I see why you like it, how grounding it is. I could see myself liking it too. Thank you for taking me back into these empty halls Though I’m no longer who I was And this sanctuary is also new.
The Juvenile Way to Grow Old
The free radical theory of aging States that people grow old because the metabolization of energy Produces unstable byproducts, free radicals, That damages our cells. Youth acts quite similarly In that, through an inevitable series of rather irrational and daft choices, It has caused great problems For our future selves to pick up. Yet, I can’t look back On the horizon of hindsight With all its blinding colors And still-crumbling footpaths And say that I regret Any of it at all. Not your blood-soaked letters That should have never been read, Free Radical, None of it at all.
No experience is far removed from grief or love, and Jasmine’s writing showcases that. She has been writing poetry for six years in addition to painting, collage-making, and creative writing. Jasmine, also known as Nhi, is an undergraduate at University of California, Irvine as a psychological science major. Her art focuses on themes surrounding the beauty of the mundane, passion, resentment, and the disturbing ease of spiraling into obsession. Recently, her work was displayed at the Vietnamese American Arts and Letters Association’s Rewind, Reverse art gallery in June 2022. More of her art can be found on instagram @/hon.nhii.
Anon Ymous
Immortality: A Scene
Once I had conversed with a being So beloved by the Earth That he was unable to leave it’s grasp This man alone Had been a witness to the creation And eventually the end He was born alongside the Earth Likewise The only way he can escape Is for the celestial being to be no more All he wished for was death But he was chained with responsibilities That kept him from passing To sacrifice all that you dream of In order to carry the weight of duty Is by order The decree of the immortal So he waits until he is no longer needed To pass in peace And to have his wish Alas! This is the curse of the immortal For he is doomed to forever be needed And cared about by someone However a contradiction occurred to me For even though the immortal wishes for death He still searches For those living a very finite existence It seemed to me he had been Secretly hoping to find a new chain To bind him to this land Our conversation was coming to a close As we bid farewell I looked into his eyes They looked as if a shadow was permanently cast upon them For there was no light permeating from them And I began to wonder to myself If it is possible to be dead Even if you were created with infinite life Truly if there is life after death The gods had better have a good explanation As to why this man Given infinite possibilities Is cursed to only have death Engulf his mind
Bio: Anon Ymous
This writer chose to be anonymous for their post. They enjoy writing in their free time along with spending time with family.
Maria Zaragoza
My Father’s Daughter
Ask any girl that looks like her father and she will tell you there is nothing less flattering than being reminded of it. I can confidently say it first-hand. It’s something I have been told for a long time, particularly by my mother. There will be times she’ll look at me, stare for a moment, and say, “Eres igualita a tu papa.” You’re just like your dad. I’ll be honest when I say it used to bother me quite a bit. Especially when she’d say this to me after they divorced when I was 15 years old. In the beginning of their divorce, saying I was just like my dad wasn’t about the physical aspects–it was an insult. Something she usually said during a fight or an argument we were having.
Eventually, she stopped using my dad as an insult. But the damage had been done. I hated being compared to him. Hated the idea that I looked like him. I was adamant that I was nothing like him. It took a long time before I could accept the way she would gaze at my face, smile, and say those familiar words: You’re just like your dad.
But there’s really no denying it. I am… just like my dad. I have his face. The same round face ridden with moles. The same giant forehead I hide behind my hair. I look in the mirror and the female version of him stares back at me.
Our similarities transcend our looks. I’m left-handed like he is. We have the same mean, crude sense of humor. When I was little, our favorite activity was seeing who could pick on each other more. I still fondly remember the way we used to tease each other, trying to one up the other. We even have the same taste in music. We listen to bands like Led Zeppelin and The Doors–a coincidence I didn’t even know about until long after we stopped living in the same house.
Maria Zaragoza is a writer based in San Diego, CA. She enjoys writing historical fiction and supernatural stories. Her favorite genre to read is magical realism. She has her associates in Media Communication and is also getting her associates in English. She expects to move on to her bachelor’s degree next year. She loves television and her ultimate goals are to obtain her Master’s, write a novel, and write for TV. Aside from writing, movies and tv, her passions include books, animals, and music. Music often has helped her create ideas for her stories. She also hopes to one day travel.
Ashlyn Kimball
WINCO
WeneedHaveBEEPyouHowBREADBEEPMILKseenher?HEAVYCREAMBEEPareyouWherea
reyou!?BEEPWATERComeoverhereBEEP!TodayICEBOLONGASitDown!BEEPBANANAS
Wow! you got a great deal on the meat!
SLAMsqueakBEEPTSSHSLAMtaptaptapBEEPHHMMSLAMcoughSLAMBEEPtaptaptapclan gsnapsmackBEEPSHRIEKcoughCRYthumpthumpthumpBEEPsnapMOANclang!squeakBEEPT SSHsplatBEEPknockknockknockHMMMBEEP
Would you like any bags today?
BANG|BANG|BANG|BANG|BANG|BANG
R U N.
blurry. afraid. knee pain. aching soles. concrete. blacktop. i’m holding a stack of bags.
i can’t breathe.
the air is thick and hot. I l
Breathe In And Out Breathe In And Out.
i cant.
pick up the phone. CALL MOM.
Fast.
Heavy.
Breathe In And Out Breathe In And Out.
“THEY FIRED GUNSHOTS!”
“WHAT!? WHERE ARE YOU?”
|BANG|
“GET DOWN! I’M ON MY WAY”
Bio: Ashlyn Kimball is a nonbinary queer individual majoring in English with a focus on literature. They enjoy creative writing and art on their free time. Currently they are employed at Winco but are working toward attaining their teaching credentials.
Shane Hubert
A Castle
My safeguard is
The morning light
Reflecting off
The silver creek
And so I am free
From the field of nothing
Who buries me
Like rotten wood
Dressed with nails
Punctured
As a doll’s wardrobe
Finds her porcelain skin
Rapturous, a bloom long between ages
Bought by a sonic prophecy
Written in a book with fleece pages
With ruling words strung of yarn
If tears could freeze they’d still fall
Down the sleeping hill to run up
And read aloud, it said
list
shores and oceans seashells
crab
hermit
prey
hunter
arrow
sparrow
crow
feather
weather
me
precious metals
trophy wives
rings
dings
bell
inner ear
equilibrium
no more change
elsewhere
missed
kissed
adored
alone
whether or not you love
i
sharp as knives
rings
dings
losing balance
elsewhere
atone
pray
prey
picking petals
rings
dings
quell the fear
losing balance
stuck
stay
play
don’t go away
elsewhere
Uncover
I saw
A miracle diminished by man
Soft tears marring a sacred beauty
Blinding all with its reflection of light
I saw
And felt from afar
The draw of the end
Of brave life and my love
I saw
The swift death
Of holy steadfast spirit
As claws tore my passion
I saw
A man
Removed from sanctum
Shredded to fine detritus
I saw
Pendula
Fall away
Down to earth
I saw
Stability
Lose purchase
I saw
You
Bio: Shane Huberts is currently a student in his fourth and set to be final year at CSUSM. He enjoys gardening, watching movies, and being around people that he loves.
Josh Kim
burn
Ter
fall
distant
useto
Bio
An expression of ideas of what is truly real. What is truly just in our own minds. Joshua Kim uses abstract concepts of questioning to play with the viewer to have the viewer rethink an idea or approach. Joshua is most inspired by concepts of creating realities beyond our own. Really thinking how emotion can be expressed into a piece. This is my reality.
Sofía Folwarski
Certainty’s Mystique.
One day
I drove past our grove
The brilliant trees echoing
The charming street
Except
The trees were vapid
Vacant, sick
They need rest
Their beauty seemed so certain
Untouchable
The vibrant green turned murky
Full leaves that dried, crippling the pavement
What seemed so sure
Met time
The radiant youth
Reinforced the grove
Preparing for a new season
One where their growth
Required patience to the perceivers
Yesterday
I drove past our grove
Flowers sung on leaves that sprinkled the deep hues
Greens I had never seen
Melodies of the wind
Aided in certainty’s mystique
Seasons embraced
The change
That keeps the grove
Free.
Karma’s Stride
On nights like these
When well known streams
Pile from my eyes
Into dedicated lakes
Of disappointment
I wonder
If the wise, majestic waters
I cultivated
Were deserved
If the streams riddled
By budding deception, agony
Are just a consequence
A reprisal
Of karma’s stride
That has followed me here
Caught me finally
All that I had be running from
Running through my eyes onto the cold pavement
The seeds I had sewn
Blossoming just in time for spring.
Sofía Folwarski is a proud multiracial writer, accrediting her Nicaraguan, Filipina and Polish heritage to her artistic identity. She writes poetry, screenplays, and short stories for now, but is open to creativity always and how that wishes to be expressed. In her free time she enjoys singing, watching movies (specifically psychological thrillers, horror and romance), and learning new languages, right now: Portuguese.
Payton Crawford
Seaside: Audio Submission
Bio:
Payton is a multiracial writer hailing from the backwoods of Arkansas who has called Oceanside home for the last six years. She is a first-generation college undergraduate at CSUSM, majoring in Literature and Writing Studies. Payton’s neurospicy brain finds comfort in writing dark, whimsy poetry that showcases the sweetest and most bitter moments of life. Never one to shy away from experimenting, she is partial to nontraditional hybrid forms and dabbles in spoken word poetry. In a typical hoarder fashion, she saves every slip of writing on the off chance she will one day write a book.