Arts & Letters
Written by Laura Schadler|Illustration by Hannah Hooper
Isabella walks home in the storm. She closes her umbrella and lets the rain hit her. Her sequined shoes get darker green, her hair and shoulders wet. Hail grows from pearl-sized to fist-sized. She goes inside. Her apartment, second story up, glows. The lights turn on. Outside, cars crash, the ocean rests beside the bay. The sky is oil-spill dark with smudges of city-orange in it. In her bedroom she feels the earthquake, a 4.2, soft and sudden. This makes her happy. She is always disappointed when things aren’t earthquakes. Surely the earth should want to swallow everything whole. She does.
Written by Elizabeth McKenna
I knocked on the door to the Penthouse at Columbus Circle and heard the B-52’s being played on the other side. I imagined that everyone lounged about glamorously in an attempt to feign disinterest as they anxiously awaited the precious cargo I carried in a brown bag casually slung on my arm.