What was that? Lyra wasn’t sure why she was there, sharing an old mercenary’s bloody remembrance. Then she realized she was drowning, perhaps in the little boy’s tears or his people’s blood or the boiling water or the still, green glass surfaces. Then from the bottom of the water she looked up, blurry visions still … Continue reading XXIV.
While most Italian restaurants are composed of tables with red checkered clothes and jolly familial atmosphere, North Italia offers a modern take on classics while keeping the originality of quality and tastes that I find most admirable in Italian food. Zucca Chip: the more mediocre appetizer reminiscent of kale chips, possibly with too many … Continue reading North Italia
It was yesterday, the Saturday before the 2017 Oscars when I found my life bridged together in the Fullerton Museum Center. Hours before the merge I was competing in a journalism competition alongside my family of school newspaper staff. Finishing laying out my page (for that is the category of my competition) with an hour … Continue reading The Mucha Collection
This is my crude imitation of Mucha's style...using pens and color pencils (obviously the wrong medium) that also doubles as a character design for Lyra from my ongoing story, The Emperor and Her Assassin.
He didn’t like the sun when he was a boy, thinking it scorched his raven wings. Only later did he learn, that it was his wings absorbing the sun all along. Still, he begrudgingly played outside with the other children -- whose only reason to be so welcoming and warm to him was either because … Continue reading Reflections
The night was dark, the flames were not. Sweet dreams and promises cracked with each lick of the tongues of fires, reaching, seizing, then pulling the entire building into its fiery embrace. The fire trucks took too long to get there, the fundings (or lack of) to blame; the hoses were too short, the ladders … Continue reading The Fire
He watched them dance, flirt, test the patience of fate. The thinnest tendrils made them hold hands, waltz, then just as fast when the light of passions should pass they would break aside and squirm away. Their stage melted beneath them, slowly trailing away from the heat of scrutiny to solidify again, forming arms and … Continue reading The Candle