Ghazals, you know them; this one ends “otherwise.” Read More
But how to surprise you, except every line were otherwise?
rain in june and i'm without an umbrella.
somewhere someone drier is wishing he were otherwise.
school. i do not love it: a talent show for sycophants.
i did the math, i did the reading, but writing i did otherwise.
The sticky sweet juice drips down my chin and onto my jersey as I devour the bag of orange slices roughly cut by my dad. It was supposed to be a snack for the team, but no one else loves the fruit as much as me. Or maybe I just don’t give them a chance to. I take a sip of my still frozen water, shaking the bottle a little to break up the ice. My bangs are stuck to my forehead now, no longer falling in front of my eyes as I run. The whistle blows and we’re back in; I pull up my shin guards that have drooped from the first half after I throw the rind behind me. Read More
Dearest Blue-Eyes, Read More
I don’t know your real name, I don’t know where you’ve come from, but I know I don’t like you. That’s not true; if I didn’t like you I wouldn’t write to you. I hate you, Blue-Eyes. I hate you, and my hatred takes fewer victims than I have fingers, so just you smile, Blue-Eyes, because you are a special guy. I attend Santa Clara University, and at Santa Clara University we value diversity with emphasis on the whole person. I haven’t taken a religion class yet, but I’m pretty sure--spiritually--you’re only part of a person. I hate you for what you’re not; I can’t feel pity, and I won’t empathize with you.
I peer over the walls of the wooden cubby and see two pairs of eyelash extensions and two perfectly blown out heads of hair clinging to one another in the crammed space of a single library cubby. One is smacking her gum loudly and the other is standing above her, eagerly awaiting whatever new gossip she just has to hear. Read More
“Okay. But you can’t tell anyone.”
“Who else would I tell?”
“I slept with him.”
Ronald Johnson was a very important person. You could tell by the way his office window looked out across the concrete jungle of a parking lot filled with cars, as opposed to the more sightly view of the palm trees that sprung up all over the verdant campus. His office, situated seven doors down from the Athletic Director’s, was always filled with the smell of bound leather and the sound of the words, “I knew you would come around.” It seemed that every day, at least one person was “coming around,” although anyone who ever walked by his office and happened to hear some of the important conversation he was having on the phone never could tell you what it meant. Ronald was in the middle of today’s “coming around” conversation when his secretary, Michelle, walked in. She had on her concerned face, which looked like she either ate questionable hot wings from the sketchy chicken joint just across campus or her dog had just revealed to her his suicidal thoughts via a note spelled out in dog chow. Either way, Ronald was seconds away from delivering his classic line, so he gave her the classic one finger raised gesture, that always meant, “I’m one second from closing the deal.” Read More
For the past few years, the valley I call home has been populated by big, bioluminescent rabbits. Known in scientific circles as Lepus lumanis, the bioluminescent rabbits are the result of genetic modification. It’s like how they made those fluorescent fish with jellyfish DNA, except the rabbits were made from glowworm DNA. Whenever I see those furry lanterns glowing in the distance, I grimace.
Bioluminescent rabbits don’t live the same way normal rabbits do. Instead of bolting away at the slightest sign of danger, bio rabbits are made to defend themselves. They’re aggressive towards anything with four legs and sharp teeth, and most animals don’t bother them because they don’t expect a rabbit to go on the offensive (I once saw one chasing a coyote out of the park; what a horrendous sight that was). Snakes and hawks will sometimes pick off a little one, but the adults are left alone because they’re so big. I can’t blame them; if I saw a rabbit bigger than my basset hound, I wouldn’t want to mess with it either. They love to dig, too, not because they have to but because it's fun. I caught one digging up my yard once and sprayed it with hose water until it ran off. The next day I tripped over a ditch that was right in front of my door. I don't care what anyone says; the long-eared rat did that on purpose. Read More
There’s also the fact that they glow, and that’s my least favorite thing about them. Everybody has to close their blinds at night because they fill the valley like moving city lights. It’s obnoxious, and the worst part is that since almost nothing is controlling their numbers, their population is growing. Shooting isn’t allowed around these parts, and the rabbits are shockingly immune to pest poison. The scientists claim that wasn’t planed, but I don’t believe them.
What really saddens me, though, is that you never see a regular rabbit anymore. After the bio rabbits quote unquote “escaped”, the good old cottontails slowly disappeared. Those damn green puffballs must’ve displaced them. It’s a shame, because the plain bunnies weren’t the ones driving off other animals, blinding everyone with their light and taking over the valley. But now we’re stuck with these frankenbunnies, all because somebody thought it would be a good idea to make a rabbit that a moth would love. Didn’t Jurassic Park teach us that just because we can make something doesn’t mean we should?
The future is looking awfully bright, but not in a good way.
Rain fell lightly and coldly, grazing the top of my head. The sky was grey, the people were greyer, and my feet were aching after a long day of walking around Paris. I was visiting the city for the weekend, staying with some family friends who lived in the 16th arrondissement, a clean, upper-class neighborhood close to the Eiffel Tower, the Seine, and the crème de la crème of Parisian society. For the better part of the last hour, my host Annette and I had been traipsing around the neighborhood in a mysterious and relentless quest. We walked down street after street, each lined with seemingly endless gilded apartment buildings, expensive-looking cafés, and hurried, smoking Parisians. I didn’t know where we were going; Annette had developed a sudden and serious sense of purpose earlier when I pointed to a pastry shop across the street and asked if I could get macaroons there. Read More