Coastline College's online "arts and letters" magazine
Story LINE ISSUE SEVEN FALL 2025
COASTLINE COLLEGE’S ARTS & LETTERS MAGAZINE
SENIOR EDITOR LIJAH LEWIS
LEKECIA DORSEY LITERARY EDITORS
LIJAH LEWIS
TAMARA MENDOZA
COVER ART JUAN BUSCIGLIO
ISSUE DESIGN
LIJAH LEWIS
FACULTY ADVISOR OCEANA CALLUM
This issue of StoryLine is made possible through the support of Coastline’s English and Humanities Division, with funds secured by Dean Stephanie Bridges. Thanks to Professor Kristen Nichols for submissions support. Views, thoughts, and opinions expressed in the magazine belong solely to the author and do not necessarily reflect the views of Coastline College or any of its employees.
our staff
Fisherman’s Way By Juan Busciglio
table of contents
Photo By Lijah Lewis
06. ART
08 -09. POETRY LIVING IN A FISHBOWL, UNDER A FLASHLIGHT AND WE ARE SEEDS Lekecia Dorsey
10. OPINION
BECOMING: THE MIRAGE THAT LEADS YOU HOME Karen Jones 13. ART
NAVIGATING THREATS TO DEI IN HIGHER EDUCATION
F-LINE WAY Juan Busciglio
Lijah Lewis
15. FICTION
18. ESSAY
21. DANCE SWEETHEART JAMBOREE Kelly Ruppert Bryan and Jeremy Bryan
22. ART
CERAMICS Heather Carter
“ILOMILO”: CRITIQUE ON A CULTURE OF LONELINESS Rishav Saravanan
THE WASP SPIDER & THE HONEY BEE Jakob Eggers
27-31. POETRY
27-31.
32. FICTION
23.CHILDREN’S FICTION
THE STRANGE BERRIES Pratikshaya Ananthakrishnan
“EXQUISITE CORPSE”: POETRY COLLABORATION
PHOTOS BY JAVIER ALCALA
WHAT I CAN HOLD Lam Thao Quyen Nguyen
35. FICTION VICISSITUDE OF A VIOLINIST Jake Mauro
39-46. DESIGN
DIGITAL MEDIA DESIGN STUDENT WORK Heather Dayag, Odena Chinchilla Serrano, Helena Cooray, Jacqueline Thomas
meet the editors
Lekecia Dorsey Art, Fiction, Poetry
Lijah Lewis Non-Fiction, Design
Tamara Mendoza Art, Fiction, Poetry
I am an English teacher and avid writer and reader of poetry. I also write speculative fiction that explores the future in urban settings. I recently started a publishing company called Resident Black Publication (RBP), whose aim is to create, incubate, and publish undiscovered speculative fiction writers. I am currently working with an organization in Watts, CA, to revive a beloved writing program that will partner with RBP to host a speculative fiction writing workshop for local youth. I am in the process of writing a poetry and prose book that highlights the greatness and blessings of the communities in which I was raised.
It is my first time contributing to StoryLine. After attending Coastline’s Online Campus for three semesters, I have transferred to George Washington University in D.C. for Journalism & Mass Communications with a minor in Economics. I am originally from Boise, Idaho and love listening to music, reading, and watching a wide-array of films. Writing about culture and society is a passion of mine. I am a Non- Fiction Editor and fully designed this issue. I also authored StoryLine’s first journalistic piece (page ten)!
call for submissions! issue eight
To submit, please fill out our Google form between February 1- July 1. GUIDELINES & GENRES: StoryLine is published once a year, in the fall semester. Submissions will be accepted starting this Spring ‘26 from February 1-July 1, with decisions made in the late summer . ART This includes drawings, paintings, and graphic design. Scan your desired images and send them in high-resolution, .jpg format. PHOTOGRAPHY Send up to 5 images in high-resolution, .jpg format. POETRY Send up to 5 poems in one or multiple Word documents (.docx or .doc) ESSAYS & SHORT STORIES 2,500 words maximum as a Word document (.docx or .doc) SHORT FILMS/VIDEOS Send a link to a YouTube video under five minutes long (must be correctly captioned) .
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F-Line Way Juan Busciglio
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ABOUT Juan Busciglio is an Argentinean Mixed Media Artist and Fine Art Landscape Photographer. He was born in Rosario, Argentina in the 1970s, and since early childhood he has loved drawing and painting. “My passion for photography started long ago, in the year 1995 to be precise. My first camera was a plastic 35mm Konika point-and-shoot that I found buried in the snow on my high school graduation trip to Bariloche, Argentina, in La Patagonia. After shooting my first 35mm roll (36exp), I recall having to wait what felt like the longest hour of my life outside of the lab to see the final results. Amazed by the fine art I felt I had just created (well…at least, that’s what I thought at the time), I haven’t stopped following my passion since.” Juan Busciglio photography & mixed media
CONTRIBUTIONS “Surreal Life”: 3 Photos Cover Page, Staff Page, Page Six ( F-Line Way )
LEKECIA DORSEY Poetry
Photo By Lijah Lewis
Inglewood, CA
Living in a Fishbowl, Under a Flashlight What is ghetto?
What is too ghetto? Who gets to decide? Helicopters flit from block to block, tree to tree, Crime scene to backyard, like hummingbirds frantically consuming nectar disturbing peaceful suburbs Of colorful houses and brown people. I didn’t know my sleep wasn’t peaceful Until I was 16. We moved to the suburbs And, at night, I heard coyotes call the moon In the morning, sparrows chirped, instead of the “Ghetto Bird” slicing the air to shreds. Why did we call it that? Was it named after the people or the area? Tell me, why should I be made to feel shame for being born in a place that is beautiful even under surveillance?
Photo By Lijah Lewis
We Are Seeds Planted d-e-e-p in the Dirt. Walked over Called dark and
ugly.
Feeling
neglected and
forgotten
All while
being
Protected in
Mother’s womb. Watered by
Her love For
how
Could
we
Truly
know
The glory She
intends
for us.
Bloom brother’s And sister’s Be Beautiful
LEKECIA DORSEY Poetry
Opinion:
Navigating Threats to DEI in Higher Education July 26, 2025 Lijah Lewis
Is DEI defined as the Trump Administration is insisting or by its representation of equity?
As both an Asian American and Native American Pacific Islander-Serving Institution (AANAPISI) and Hispanic-Serving Institution (HSI), Coastline College’s practices are deeply rooted in providing equitable and inclusive access to education. Donald Trump has shown no lack of contempt for the newly-loaded term, “DEI,” or Diversity, Equity, & Inclusion. Rather, the administration has heavily relied on rhetoric surrounding the term as an excuse to target minorities and implement orders that reverse equitable initiatives for marginalized communities. Among these attacks are attempts to eliminate DEI practices within the Department of Education (ED) and abolish the ED altogether.
Photo By Lijah Lewis
According to the Executive Order, “Ending Radical and Wasteful Government DEI Programs and Preferencing” signed by President Trump, the administration defines DEI as “illegal and immoral discrimination programs.” However, discrimination is defined as “the unjust or prejudicial treatment of different categories of people, especially on the grounds of ethnicity, age, sex, or disability.” Yet the programs Trump associates with the term stand to represent the antithesis of discrimination, as described by Biden’s Executive Order in 2021: “The Federal Government's goal in advancing equity is to provide everyone with the opportunity to reach their full potential.”
This begs the question: is DEI defined as the administration is insisting or by its representation of equity?
The Director of Student Equity & Title IX at Coastline, Dr. Christina Oja, shared how the attacks will materialize within the Coast Colleges amidst the public uncertainty of DEI programs. “We’ve always had these equity or ‘DEI’ practices — they’ve just been called different things throughout the years…If we look at DEI programs, they are making sure people have access, that people have equitable opportunities to achieve the same outcomes,” she said. “We can call that ‘DEI’ or we can call that doing our jobs — we’re helping our students achieve their academic goals and making sure that [college] is accessible to anyone who wants access to it — that's always been our mission and we have no intention of changing our practices.” Accompanying the alterations to DEI programs at a federal level, is the Trump administration’s threat to withhold billions of dollars in grants and research funding from the country’s top universities if they do not comply with Trump’s ideological standpoints; requirements include removal of any mention of diversity from coursework, using new definitions of antisemitism to invoke drastic disciplinary action for international students who participate in protests, and going as far as instilling federally-appointed school administrators to oversee these changes. Dr. Oja leaves no doubt as to where Coastline College stands; however, aside from the district receiving their funding from the state of California, she mentioned the potential of individual federal student aid being at risk in the future if the district refused to comply with the administration’s demands. Photo By Lijah Lewis
“Our mission remains the same: that is, to provide open-access education to our community. Our community is Hispanic and Asian and very ethnically diverse,” she said. “Whether documented or undocumented; we are going to continue to provide accessible education and would find a way to provide those services [regardless of funding threats].”
So, rest assured Coastliners; it appears that regarding DEI practices, your curriculum will be defended, as your school administration is protective.
On a larger-scale, mass layoffs within the ED and the passage of the “One Big Beautiful Bill Act” (H.R.1), will prove to cause lasting damage to the country’s education system. As a part of vast efforts to effectively disempower federal education oversight, the administration “initiated a reduction in force” within the first 90 days of Trump’s return to office on January 20, 2025. Almost 50% of the Department’s staff were given notice they would be placed on administrative leave, around 2,000 people. On May 22, 2025, a Boston federal judge issued a preliminary injunction insisting the employees be reinstated to their positions, and again on June 19 the same judge filed a motion to expedite the process of returning ED to full productivity. Nonetheless, the Supreme Court lifted that injunction on July 8, 2025, allowing the Trump administration to carry out an unprecedented attack on a federal department established by an Act of Congress — without Congress’ approval — ultimately expanding the power of the executive branch to dangerously unchecked levels. This development (along with the Supreme Court granting reductions in force in other departments like Health and Human Services, which placed ~10,000 employees on leave) dramatically hinders the efficacy of programs like Title I for low-income communities, fires those tasked with overseeing Title IX — which ensures that no protected classes are discriminated in schools, affecting more than 7.5 million disabled students — and, along with H.R.1, guts the federal student aid program for U.S. students across the country. Although the climate at the Coast Community College District is calm, future action is difficult to predict with the track record of this administration. So, regardless of your socioeconomic status, identity, or citizenship, it is imperative to stay educated, aware, and determined to fight for equity.
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EXPLORE RIO DE JANEIRO
Becoming: The Mirage That Leads You Home
Karen Ann Jones
Karen Ann Jones is a professional painter and author, whose work explores emotional transformation through vivid storytelling. She believes our emotions are our superpowers. Her recent book, Paint Your Future , merges art and narrative to help readers connect with their future selves .
CARE & NEXTUP PROGRAMS
EOPS Providing the tools for success.
The Extended Opportunity Programs and Services (EOPS) office offers a variety of support services to those who qualify. EOPS exists across all of California’s Community Colleges, and we have a long record of helping students achieve their goals! The EOPS program assists eligible students in obtaining their educational, personal, and career goals by providing additional support through counseling, tutoring, book service, assistance in transferring to four-year institutions, and other services. If interested in applying, please take a moment to complete our online application. Our office is now open for in-person inquiries, booking appointments, specialist and counseling appointments, and other support services. We will also continue to serve our students online and at a distance.
JAKOB EGGERS
THE WASP SPIDER & the Honey Bee
The wasp spider spun their web into a tightly woven fabric cube. The honey bee lay there, slightly twitching as the poison worked through her body. The wind blew through them both like a knife, stabbing cold into their exoskeletons through the cracks in their armor. The cold blue sky shone fractals of penumbral lines onto the web, dancing across both of these bugs. The wasp spider had never seen an insect quite like this, though wasps were similar. It was a fortunate catch; there were few prey willing to brave the frost. The slightly alien form of the bee gave the spider pause, as they considered her peculiarities. She had a rounded body, with weaker mandibles and smaller wings, strange web-like strands throughout her body, as if every pore were a spinneret, and an oddly hooked stinger... "Perhaps this one is not unlike me, perhaps she plucks the webs out of her body and makes her own nest? Perhaps she thinks like me, but yet she lies dying in my web," the wasp spider pondered while weaving, its movements slowing. The honey bee was no stranger to venom, but still, she gave out eventually. Tight woven web restricted her body, and venom made the body yet more immovable. The twitching grew more violent, then stopped with sleep, the tiny mind shutting down. The wasp spider could not cry. But they did stop for a while. Slow down. Felt the loss. There was little else to do in the cold. Another death just to eat. Was the death worth preserving the life of one lonely spider? Reflexively, the spider's mandibles paused at the stinger, quickly trying to bury the thought away.
"No sting has killed me yet!" thought the wasp spider, discarding memories of the loved ones they lost indulging in venom before. What more damage could be done?
Stabbing the stinger into their mouth, they were surprised to feel the stinger burst into motion! As the stinger pulsed venomous bile directly into the spider's body, its two blades cut up and down the flesh; it rhythmically stabbed agony through them, but the pain passed, and was replaced. The wasp spider felt a profound relief, and pulled the still-stuck stinger from their mouth, barbs hooking and mutilating their mouthparts. Their pain was replaced with an uncontainable energy. After a short while, the spider grew restless and darted from their web, in search of more venom. The wasp spider treaded along the half frozen ground for countless hours in a haze, becoming very weary, until they saw another bee flying above, the buzz giving them strength again. The wasp spider followed, running as they never had before, quickly coming to a tree before them. The shadowy form of bees above danced across the spider, and looking up, they could see the tree's trunk extending tall above them, extending up into a replica of the sky above, the green leaves a vast expanse with bees darting in and out of a nest like the sun. They did have a nest! The wasp spider wondered if he could join them there, have company again, love again. The wasp spider finally reached the nest, its radiant beauty nearly too much to bear. A bee quickly flew down and appeared in front of them, and for a brief moment, the wasp spider was entirely stunned, entirely enraptured by the form within their eight "simple" eyes. The honey bee approached, and stung the wasp spider. To them, it wasn't painful anymore. Soon the wasp spider was engulfed by a cloud of bees, stinging their body; they didn't resist. The blanket of bees felt warm and comfortable, but just before the end, they felt it again, PAIN. JAKOB Eggers Jakob Eggers (They/Them) is a fledgling AuDHD writer studying English at Coastline Community College, and "The Wasp Spider and the Honey Bee" is their first foray into publication. They are hugely interested in anthropology, psychology, politics, world-building, and, of course, writing and hope to use these interests to create a fantasy series and various other writings in the future.
“ILO MILO” : CRITIQUE ON A CULTURE OF LONELINESS RISHAV SARAVANAN " When your mental health becomes impacted by social media, it is time for a detox.” Renowned philosopher and author, Germany Kent, challenges the fabric of reality that a modern, interconnected society prides itself on having. With the increasing integration of cell phones and tablets into the lives of today’s youth, a starkly altered lifestyle has emerged when compared to previous generations. Amidst this lifestyle is influential artist Billie Eilish, a voice that dives into the turmoil of the digital age by exploring themes of emotional fragmentation, isolation, and the anxiety of losing a loved one within an interconnected society. In her widely acclaimed song “ilomilo,” Eilish critiques the disintegrating nature of human connection by intertwining chilling lyrics with minimalism, an indication of the pervasive anxiety and isolation true to the digital era. Billie Eilish first captures the feeling of isolation when juxtaposing comfort with worry and challenging her audience’s sense of security: “told them not to worry / but maybe that’s a lie.” These opening lines undermine the listener’s initial reassurance with doubt, immediately establishing uncertainty and mirroring our current society. This fragmentation of trust, first used to deceive her listeners, demonstrates an inability to hold trust in modern human connections. She continues, urging, “Honey, what’s your hurry? Won’t you stay inside.” The connotation of “honey,” as Eilish uses it, is a firm expression of endearment or a display of emotional connection to another. Yet, this diction isn’t maintained, as she decidedly pairs it with a demanding “stay inside,” suggesting a forced intimacy and again demonstrating the effects of large-scale isolation on an individual; one who has been lonely for so long that they choose to demand intimacy from another. She begins successfully pulling away at the layers of her audience’s sense of security, enabling them to empathize with her situation.
Moving forward, Eilish warns the audience against longing for isolation, suggesting that aiming for unattainable ideals may further strain oneself. As she transitions from providing discomfort, she informs that the listener should “not get too close to stars / They’re never gonna give you love like ours.” “Stars” is used metaphorically here to represent seemingly idealistic yet superficial relationships; by contrasting the distance of “stars” with the intimacy of “love like ours,” she implies that perfect bonds, too, can break. After challenging the nature of humans anxiously searching for distant connections, she provides the audience with after-effects: “Where did you go? I should know, but it’s cold. And I don’t wanna be lonely. So show me the way home.” Elucidating the nature of true love in a technological era, she continues to lament about the absence of her loved one and pleads for them to come back. She reflects on her intense fear, anxiety, and persistence common among a younger generation. Eilish further posits that regret and consequence often overwhelm lonely and anxious people, as these emotions result from each other. Introducing these emotions subsequently she sings, “I tried not to upset you. Let you…rescue…me the day I met you. I just wanted to protect you.” The consequences of failing to protect love in a modern isolationist society feels clearly illustrated within these final lines. Overcome with guilt and anxiety, she’s consumed in regret and a recurring sense of missed opportunities that continue to affect her life. Another effect of loneliness, she moves into denial: “So tell me you’ll come home. Even if it’s just a lie.” Eilish shows a willingness to accept false assurances, implying that a result of modern connection has led to the acceptance of falsehood over chagrin. That desperate need during the loneliest times, a desire for connection regardless of authenticity, further clarifies the song’s commentary on loneliness. Ultimately, it becomes apparent that Billie Eilish’s sophisticated and evocatively insightful writing about the lives of today’s youth seeks to demonstrate a poignant critique of human connection, overwhelming her audience with anxiety as they join her in the traumatic journey of “ilomilo.” Eilish beautifully weaves lyrical imagery with an airy minimalism, effectively bringing a pervasive anxiety to life and asking the listener to consider whether a modern relationship provides true intimacy.
RISHAV SARAVANAN
“Hey Everyone! I'm Rishav, a student, writer, and thinker passionate about the intersection between culture, technology, and emotion.
I wrote about Billie Eilish's song “ilomilo,” where I analyzed how her lyrics capture the loneliness and anxiety of growing up in an increasingly digital world.
I'm especially interested in how media shapes modern human connection and how youth identity evolves with such a technological influence.
Whether I'm writing essays or engaging in discourse, I seek to bring clarity and empathy to all ideas that I explore. I believe good writing should both challenge and connect people .”
Coastline Instructor Kelly Ruppert Bryan and Jeremy Bryan perform “Sweetheart Jamboree”
Kelly Ruppert Bryan has been teaching geology at the college level since 2001 and currently works full-time at Coastline College. She did her undergraduate and graduate work at UC Riverside, where she focused on geomorphology and studied glacial landforms in the Himalayas. She has a passion for teaching and making Coastline a great place for students to reach their goals, which has led her to become the chair of the Physical Sciences Department and President Elect of the Academic Senate. In her spare time, she enjoys spending time with her two kids, Kennedy (11) and Paxton (8), and cycling or dancing with her husband Jeremy. In fact, they met dancing in 2010 when Kelly was a beginning country dancer and he was her judge. He became her dance coach and eventual partner. They reached the rank of Masters in the UCWDC (United Country Western Dance Council) in 2016, which is the highest rank achievable. In this clip, they dance two- step, waltz, and East Coast swing at the World Championships in 2023.
Ceramics by Heather Carter
“ I feel I am impro v ing e v er y da y. M y goal is t o be fea tu red in an ar t galler y.”
M y name is Hea t her Car t er . I am a s tu den t here a t Coas t line . I am 52 y ears old and ha v e spen t 13 y ears making ceramics . I t is t he bes t, mos t enjo y able t hing I do w i t h m y t ime . As a s tu den t learning t he ar t of making ceramics , I ha v e gro w n o ut of a classroom a t t he Senior Cen t er , t o w orking on m y o w n . Toda y, and more recen t l y, I ha v e been concen t ra t ing on j u s t t he pain t ing aspec t of making t hem . I feel I am impro v ing e v er y da y. M y goal is t o be fea tu red in an ar t galler y.
CHILDREN’S FICTION BY PRATIKSHAYA ANANTHAKRISHNAN The Strange Berries
There was once a rooster who had a knack for running. He was one of the fastest sprinters in Picklebush Village, a small village that lay in the countryside. Courage was able to run more than nine miles per hour–the average speed of a chicken–and he enjoyed running so much that he would often have races with his friend Loretta, who, although not quite as fast, was also a good runner. One warm afternoon, while Courage and Loretta were training for the upcoming Marigold Meadows Marathon, Loretta suggested that they race to the village square. So, the two chickens set off to the busy village center. They were initially side by side for a couple of minutes into the race, but Courage slowly started advancing past Loretta. When they finally reached the square, Courage was about eight feet ahead of her. The chickens skidded to a halt, breathing heavily.
“Good race, Courage,” Loretta said. “You were really fast,” Courage crowed happily, “Thanks, Loretta. You ran well too,”
“I suppose,” Loretta sighed. She sadly scratched at the grassy ground. Courage was about to ask Loretta what was wrong when he suddenly looked up and gasped. “Is it just me, or does everyone look extremely exhausted today?” Courage exclaimed. Loretta stared around the village square, and noticed the usually active village chickens groggily stumbling around, trying their best to stay awake. “You’re right–everyone…does look very tired today,” Loretta slowly agreed. “Come to think of it, they've been unusually tired since the start of berry season last week. But why? Are they sick?” Courage questioned. “I have to go,” Loretta hurriedly clucked, and she dashed off in the direction of the berry fields. Courage continued surveying the village. Several chickens were resting on the ground; fully asleep. Barely any of them seemed to be sleeping with even one eye open. “Excuse me?” Courage clucked. He gently shook a resting chicken with his beak. “Why are you so tired?” The chicken shook himself, his eyelids drooping, and mumbled, “Just had a little berry snack.. and I–” Too exhausted to finish his sentence, the chicken went back to resting. As Courage looked again at the tired chickens around him, puzzled, that’s when he realized that each one had the same thing in common: purple berry juice dripping from their beak. It looked like blueberry juice. That’s when it hit Courage. It was blueberries that had caused all of this. The rooster quickly sprinted to the village’s berry fields to find Loretta attempting to dig some of the blueberry plants out of the soil with her feet.
“Loretta! There’s something wrong with the blueberries! They’re the reason that the village is so sleepy–” “There’s nothing wrong with the blueberries,” Loretta sighed, turning to look at Courage. “The village is so exhausted because of these fauxberries,” She glanced at the rows of berry plants next to her. “They can interfere with a chicken’s energy levels and cause them to feel tired and unwell.” “But those berries look like blueberries!” Courage squawked. He glanced at the berry plants that Loretta was standing next to and studied them. Suddenly, he noticed that the berries growing on them looked a little larger than blueberries. They also all had a noticeable bright pink tinge to them. “These do look a little different from blueberries,” Courage noticed. “But they still look very similar to them; no wonder so many chickens ate them.” He then continued, “You’re saying that these berries are called fauxberries, and that they’re the reason the village is like this? Who planted them here?” “Yes,” Loretta mumbled. She turned away. “And...and…I planted them in the berry fields.” Courage stared at Loretta in shock for a moment. He then crowed loudly, “Why did you do it, Loretta?” The reddish-brown chicken blinked, staring at the ground. She then ashamedly squawked, “...I wanted to win the upcoming marathon—I thought that if everyone felt less energetic, I’d have a better chance. But after I saw how much the berries have impacted the village, I came here to get rid of them—I didn’t know they would be this harmful. It’s all my fault everyone is so sick.” “..You..you can’t do things like that!” Courage angrily squawked. “It’s wrong! What were you thinking?” “I know.. I’m sorry,” Loretta said quietly. “I just thought that.. I would never be fast enough to win the marathon. We’ve been training for weeks, and I haven’t improved at all. And in all of our races, you always end up winning, and I.. never do. I knew if I couldn’t beat one of the fastest chickens in the village in a race, I didn’t even have the slightest chance of winning the marathon unless I did this. But I know now how wrong it was of me.” Courage stood there for a moment, staring at Loretta in disbelief. He then crowed, “Loretta, you’re an incredible runner! Just because I’ve always won the races we’ve had, doesn’t mean that you won’t be able to beat me in a race one day. I’m only able to run so fast because of months of training.” He continued, “I honestly even think that if you continue to keep training every day, you’ll eventually be able to run faster than me,” “Really?” clucked Loretta, miserably looking up from the ground. “Yes, really,” Courage nodded. “You never had to do all of this to win the marathon. All you needed was to train more,” “I know,” Loretta sighed, hanging her head. “I promise from now on, I’ll dedicate more time and effort into training. I’m really sorry, Courage.” “How can we fix the state the village is in?” Courage asked after a few moments. “We need to immediately get some nectar greens from Ginkgo Forest. Nectar greens are an instant cure to the effects of fauxberries. And we have to remove these berries from the fields and warn everyone not to eat them at once–” Loretta started, jumping into action.
But at that exact moment, one of the chickens in the village council screeched at the top of his lungs, “THERE’S A HAWK HEADING TOWARDS THE VILLAGE!” Every chicken erupted into panic, and the piercing aerial predator alarm call rang throughout the village, warning everyone to head to shelter. But several chickens around the village wouldn’t even budge. They were just too sluggish. “Get the greens, Loretta!” Courage yelled, tossing her an empty sack lying near the fields. “Run to the forest and get those greens!” “But I won’t be fast enough!” Loretta cried. “You should do it, Courage!” “I know how fast you can run, Loretta!” Courage crowed loudly. “I’ll try to get some of the tired chickens to safety for now. GO! Go, quickly!” Loretta nodded and streaked through the dense forest; ducking stray branches hanging close to the ground. She looked around wildly until she spotted a patch of leafy green vegetables emitting a sweet aroma like nectar. Nectar greens. She instantly grabbed as many vegetables as she could with her beak and dropped them into the sack. As soon as she did this, without wasting a moment to think, she tore back to the village as fast as she could. “I’VE GOT THE CURE!” yelled Loretta. “EAT THESE NECTAR GREENS, EVERYONE!” She tossed the frilly leafed vegetables towards all the chickens lacking in energy. As soon as they took one nibble, the chickens instantly snapped out of their sluggish states and scrambled to safety. Nearly a second after all the chickens were safely hidden from sight, a large hawk soared across the sky, casting a dark shadow over the ground. But instead of passing over the village, the hawk dived. “He’s heading for the village!” cried Courage’s friend, Pepper. “He must have seen us!” “That hawk may try to breach through the shelter!” A rooster crowed in panic. Courage paused for a moment to think. He then bolted out of the shelter area. “Courage! What are you doing?” shouted Loretta. “I have a plan!” Courage called back, and he crowed as loudly as possible to attract the hawk's attention. The hawk, who was about to land on the ground, caught sight of Courage. He flapped his powerful wings and started flying towards Courage instead. But the fast rooster had already begun pounding down towards the berry fields. With the hawk in hot pursuit, Courage quickly dashed under the cover of the berry plants. Several moments later; much to all of the chickens’ relief, the sickened hawk flew away with nothing but a mouthful of berries. I am a student currently taking courses at Coastline College. I like reading fantasy books and writing fiction stories, and I recently developed an interest in writing non-fiction stories. Some other things that I like to do are watching the mourning doves and other birds that visit my garden, drawing and painting, making bookmarks, doing arts and crafts, going for walks in parks, hiking, listening to music, and playing the piano in my free time. I am interested in majoring in web design and an environmentally-related field, as I really enjoy designing web pages and learning about the environment. Pratikshaya Ananthakrishnan
SAVE THE DATE!
StoryLine Issue 7: Literary Reading and Art Showcase Thursday, November 6, 5 p.m.
art & photography
open mic— bring your poems!
community
poetry & fiction readings
refreshments
LAUNCH PARTY COASTLINE ART GALLERY, 1515 MONROVIA AVE. NEWPORT BEACH, CA 92663
Exquisite corpse is a collaborative art or writing activity where multiple participants contribute to a composition without seeing the full work. Each person adds a section based only on a small part of what the previous person created, resulting in a surprising and often surreal final piece. This technique originated with the Surrealists to encourage collective creativity and the unexpected. The following poems are the result of a collaboration by Aaron Cendejas, Petra Martinez, Jeszelle, Anibal Mejia, Amberlyn Nelson, Lisa Dare II, Aida Linn Villegas, Caesar Miguel, Jennifer Mizban, and Javier Alcala. Accompanying photographs by Javier Alcala. Javier Alcala is a creative spirit with a passion for discovering beauty in the everyday. He enjoys exploring antique shops, tending to his garden, and capturing moments through photography—both digital and traditional black-and-white 35mm film. Whether behind the lens or in the soil, Javier finds inspiration in details, textures, and stories from the past and present. WHAT IS “EXQUISITE CORPSE ” WRITING?
THE CHILDREN ARE GRUMPY BY JAVIER ALCALA
LIJAH LEWIS
All these days just seem like they're getting longer I feel more and more like a warmonger THE CHILDREN ARE GRUMPY
Idealism and metaphysic are the easiest things in the world.
A tree had to grow a hundred years The water had to die and be reborn
Enfolded by such a force as folly it perishes Yet a troubadour of troubles, a minstrel of mycological mishaps, blithely ordains
as the vessel is swallowed by dark waters, silent tentacles surround.
Encapsulated euphoria, invariably found
Dead flowers scattered on the floor On my side it looks like three
But what do I know? I’m bad with numbers, and my vision is shit.
But my feet don't know I'm out of step, And my eyes are clouded over with tomorrow's dream.
(UNTITLED)
Frozen, my face was caked with ice. Color fading quickly to gray...
From gray to blue Her skin is so cold
Even the 9th circle seems temperate The antithesis, physical accompaniment
womb wet wings wrenched
Black swan moving through swamp Golden Metals shine.
Devices set to moving Layers of tepid memories
JAVIER ALCALA
The Cemetery Sounds Livelier
As a violet sky darkens, Flickering candles dance Lights dim…darkness. I’m in a trance Unable to move of not knowing what will or will not happen… As I keep my eyes closed, I let go into the abyss and follow a sweet scented wind, feeling loved And loving that chilly, airy caress. It brings back and often dreamed dream, their hands were fading to mere dust touching nothing.
JAVIER ALCALA
what i can hold BY LAM THAO QUYEN NGUYEN
Morning. I am behind the wheel of my car driving to the first blood collection appointment. The people on the street are chaotic. Holding the steering wheel helps me gain control. Someone is signaling in front of me. That’s right; it is time to press on the brake and yield. I look up at the sky while stuck in this hectic traffic. It looks expansive and infinite, the blue color intensifying the feeling of freedom within me. I see that freedom right in front of my eyes, yet it’s unreachable. I think to myself, “Let’s keep moving up!” First appointment. I put the car into park as I look at my passenger seat: blood collection kits, paperwork, and a schedule for the day rest silently, ready to start their job. Like always, I walk to my trunk, running through my head as usual: “Gloves, tourniquet, gauze, needle, tubes, and smile. Got everything!” I have done venipuncture hundreds of times, this job keeps my hands steady; it is the one part of my life that listens when I say, “Hold still.” I walk up to the front door and knock. I love the silence that follows. A soft rap on the door, and I am inside. The house smells faintly of jasmine rice and soy sauce. “Hello, my name is Quyen, and I’ll be your phlebotomist today.” Like a script, these are the lines within my subconscious. Veins. They are streets for blood. Twisting, wrapping, and gathering unwanted waste away from each body part. At first glance, the street of veins also seem chaotic, but the circulatory system is the body's most organized and controlled map. Veins are the part of the body that offers trust to outsiders, where I’m allowed to insert the needle. My patient today has skin that’s harder to puncture, so I decide to use the butterfly needle on her hand. This, I know. I can control this. I am the master of this procedure. If only the same were true of my life.
The smell of alcohol. The image of a needle on skin. Where can I see this? That’s right, only in the hospitals. When I was seven, my sister was in the hospital and I was there too; the scent of antiseptic alcohol was intense then. My mother sat beside me outside the operating room, waiting for that red “IN OPERATION” light to turn green. Mom was a powerful woman; she could control everything. At that moment, she was quiet and surrendered. Surrendered to let the doctors control her daughter’s fate. Surrendered, like the patient extending her arm towards me for blood collection. “How do you feel?” I ask. “It was very gentle, thank you,” the patient replies. I have asked that question multiple times to many people. But when I’m asked the question by others or myself, it seems very hard to answer. In the living room, I clenched my fist at the cacophony of criticism: “You need to spend more time with family. You don’t need to work now, just study. Stop going out with friends,” Mom said. She was a powerful woman; she could control everything — her job, her time, my time, my freedom — everything. Expectations. Warnings dressed as advice. My mother tells me to wear more modest clothes. To keep my voice down. To remind my fiancé to respect her place in our family. She is not cruel. She just wants control over the things she fears losing — and I am one of them. My father pulls one way. My mother pulls me another. And I? I stay still. I have no control, I surrender. Caught in the tug-of-war, hoping no one notices that I am fraying. I finish the venipuncture. I sneeze when I write down the patient’s name on the tubes. She looks at me, and our eyes meet. Sneezing can cause many problems — allergies, spreading disease, forced isolation.
My “fellow classmates” from middle school said that “Jebola” was the best combination of “Jenny” and “Ebola,” a joke they called it. That’s why I reject this English name “Jenny.” It is still stuck inside my mind like a scar. I did not cry, I smiled. Laughed even. That was how I learned to protect myself: silence, obedience, and control. Spinning blood. It is also the job of a phlebotomist. This technique can separate blood into two parts: plasma and blood cells. These components blend with each other and can only be divided by centrifugal force. The tubes swirl within the centrifuge faster than a tornado. Sometimes, control and peace to me are the same, blending into a chaotic mess like the blood in the tubes. Maybe I need to gather enough centrifugal force to differentiate the two. I know I will need to understand which is which.
But how?
lam thao quyen nguyen I am Lam Thao Quyen Nguyen, a biology graduate and phlebotomist with three years of clinical experience. Originally from Vietnam, I immigrated to the United States with a strong commitment to healthcare and a passion for promoting health equity. My work in phlebotomy has deepened my understanding of patient care across diverse populations. Beyond the clinic, I shared my voice by writing a nonfiction story published in Coastline College’s magazine, aiming to contribute meaningfully to campus dialogue. My journey as an immigrant continues to inspire my dedication to compassionate, culturally sensitive care, and to making healthcare more accessible for all communities.
The last time Jiwon was seen was in the storage room, alone with her victory, grasping her trophy as if it were an anvil, not a prize that was to be cherished. The bright lights beamed down, fluorescent against her skin. A shiver itched up her spine, her lungs were empty of oxygen, her willowy fingers were intricately positioned against her Stradivarius violin. The auditorium was never-ending, as rows and rows of seats were filled with audience members. An elderly couple here and a family of four there, anyone who could be anybody was there. All of whom were gazing into her meager soul, the gaze of Medusa perhaps. It was the finals of the most prestigious violin competition. Winning was the top priority; no careless mistakes could be made. Perhaps their raptorial stares were appropriate for this occasion. Jiwon’s chest heaved, her vision blurred momentarily. She could still hear their cackles, her classmates from high school, the ones who didn’t let her forget how puny and insignificant she was. “Violin girl,” they hissed. “Little freak, you’re not special.” Their voices were branded into her memories and had never left her. But that is not all they did. Her arms bore this evidence, this heinous and vicious atrocity. Faint, circular scars caused by a curling iron were etched into her skin, as smooth patches where her hair had originally been were singed and ripped out. They’d trapped her against the bathroom stall, searing her all over her body with the heated iron while giggling hysterically at her cries. None of the teachers even rescued her or reprimanded the perpetrators. The burns, now scars, were scattered across her skin, hidden under long sleeves. The scars itched every so often and left behind the traumatic memory of what they did to her. Vicissitude of a Violinist BY JAKE MAURO
Her parents hadn’t helped either. Her father, a once-in-a-lifetime pianist, found Jiwon’s ambitions for the violin to be unremarkable. He would often compare her to other prodigious violinists her age, scoffing when she failed to meet his impossible standards. When she was placed first, he sometimes would smack the back of her head, not in rage, but in a disappointed way. Her mother, too caught up in her world, was smoking till lights out and drinking till the fridge was empty. Instead, she burdened Jiwon with the role of a caretaker. From a young age, Jiwon had to teach herself how to cook, do laundry, vacuum, pull weeds from the garden, clean the roof gutters, and even budget for the groceries. Neither of them asked if she was okay, and neither noticed Jiwon’s swollen eyes from relentless crying each night. Even at home, she was seen as a nuisance, which should have been her safe haven. But here she was in front of an enormous audience, dissecting her as if they would pack her up into various assorted pieces. She was left with one lingering feeling in her mind: she wanted to quit after all this was over. This competition didn’t matter to her. The prize didn’t matter. Even if she did manage to win, her parents wouldn’t even be in the audience applauding her. Even if she won, her classmates would not notice. But a quiet, small voice in her head whispered, “Do it for yourself.” The conductor lifted his hands. Jiwon raised her bow. The first note struck the air, a haunting, sharp sound, like the creaking of a ship. It felt like Jiwon’s own sorrow permeated through her fingertips. The piece was Carmen Fantasie Brillante, Op. 3, No. 3 by Jenö Hubay, notoriously known for its difficult, fiery composition, one that required technical mastery and unrestrained passion.
Her fingers danced fiercely across the strings, each pluck evoking the feeling of her chest being crucified, showcasing the never-ending story of her neglect, mockery, and torture. The music burned, as if the violin itself were crying in anguish and vexation. Her heart screeched in every movement like fiery passion. The passage mockingly reflected her moral decay. Then in a flash, the second movement began, much quieter, softer, almost like a plea for help. The high notes shivered, almost delicately, like the whisper of an angel. Tears trickled down Jiwon’s cheeks. Her vision was drowned in sorrow, each note laced with softness, almost like grief. She imagined her mother’s dazed look, her father’s disappointment, the jeering faces of those who abused her. She was sinking, asphyxiating, but her hands were still playing. The somber opulence of the piece was like it was begging the world to understand that she was going through pain and needed a savior. The finale erupted like thunder. It was no longer just a competition; it was her final time letting the audience feel what she had gone through. Her heartbeat raced rapidly in a whirlwind of rage as the arpeggios dazzled, evolving into a maelstrom of emotion. Each movement felt like an overflow of every injustice she faced. She felt like she was fighting the spirits of her past. Don’t ever stop, something inside her echoed. You have to finish this. The last note finally came. It froze in the air like a ghost, echoing with intensity throughout the enormous hall, then slowly crumbled into a silent whisper. For a minute, there was nothing. It was as if time had just stopped; not a sound could be heard. The audience then roared, and applause quickly drowned out the entire hall. Screaming, cheering, and even sobbing in their seats. People had witnessed not just a performance but a soul-bounding confession. For the first time in her life, she felt like she was heard.
She won, but no one was there, no father to pat her back. No mother to embrace her. No friend to celebrate with. The trophy, she was proud of, but it could not fill the void of her past. It could not mend her past. She endured all of this pain and won, but it still does not mend the cracks of her fractured soul. She packed her violin and left the hall. The night air outside was cool, almost painful, brushing against her cheeks like the echo of all the moments she had endured in silence. The world still moved on around her, but nothing had shifted. The universe still did not pause to honor her triumph. It simply kept turning. Jiwon walked home, clutching her trophy as though it were a weight to bear, not as a prize to cherish. It glinted under the streetlight, mocking her. It would be propped up on a shelf, untouched, unnoticed, collecting dust like all the parts she had been forced to bury. There would be no one waiting at the door. With no embrace, no whispered “I’m proud of you.” Only a darkened house and the silence that she knew far too well. M aJ aukreo I am a twenty-year-old aspiring author, hoping to publish a book someday. I would like to thank my Creative Writing teacher Professor Nichols for giving me this opportunity to publish my writing in this magazine. Without her, I do not think I would have been able to submit what I love to write. Writing fiction has always been a place where I could take a break from the rigorous tasks of other academics. It has been a stress reliever for me to be able to express my creativity— I am grateful for that. I hope to improve even more and deepen my intellectual curiosity as I grow as a writer.
DMD student design: Heather Dayag
DMD student design: Odena Chinchilla Serrano
DMD student design: Helena Cooray
DMD student design: Heather Dayag
DMD student design: Jacqueline Thomas
DMD student design: Jacqueline Thomas
DMD student design: Jacqueline Thomas
Heather Dayag
Hi, my name is Odena Chinchilla, and I will be starting Dental Hygiene in the fall of 2025. I have been a part- time student at Coastline for about 5 years, getting my prerequisites of science classes through evening classes, due to work. Truly grateful that the school offers these evening classes. In my free time, I like to read and do arts & crafts. I decided to take Photoshop this semester, and really learned so much in the short-term class. I would highly recommend it to anyone interested in learning the software. Odena Chinchilla Serrano research, data science, and art has led Heather to earn credentials as an Adobe Certified Professional in Visual Design. Heather is actively involved in multiple nonprofit organizations, focusing on philanthropy, education, medical research, and community service for military veterans. This issue showcases Heather Dayag's two original creative artworks through her movie poster for "Above & Beyond" and a safari text effect, "Lion.” Heather Dayag is a contributor to the Arts & Letters magazine. Heather's journey in design began as a hobby and evolved through completing rigorous digital media courses. Combining her passions in healthcare,
Helena Cooray
My name is Helena and I am a Digital Media Design major at Coastline College. I am 34 years old and pursuing an Associate degree to set the right path towards my dream job in the future, but I am currently 6 months pregnant, so I am taking it step by step—and all that with the support of my amazing husband. I like to create creative creations, and this poster is one of my Photoshop class assignments here at Coastline where I was able to use everything I've learned and I am very grateful for it. Usually, I like to work on some more colorful pieces, or even more positive, but I enjoyed the making of this one as I could reflect and use all the new skills.
Jacqueline Thomas
My name is Jacqueline Thomas. I've been working as a freelance graphic designer for just over 2 years. Prior to that, I worked in the healthcare industry for 14 years as a Service Account Manager. I grew tried of being stressed out every single day to no end and realized I didn't want that anymore. So I decided to follow my passion for design, and in 2021, I joined Coastline College. I'm proud to share that on May 30, 2025, I have officially graduated from the DMD Program. This journey has been an amazing experience— learning the ins and outs of Adobe Illustrator / Creative Cloud has helped me grow so much as a designer. Lastly, I want to give a heartfelt thank you to professor Gomez for her guidance and encouragement, in Graphic Design / Illustration, Photoshop, and Digital Media Business Basics. The knowledge gained is priceless.
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