THE INK STAIN

Volume 5 February 2022

Issue 1
 OUR TEAM
COORDINATOR EDITORS-IN-CHIEF
Melissa White Catherine Wu
Caroline Du

WRITERS

Aris Arevian Maria Kiryukhina Catherine Wu

Celina Chang Kailey Liang Kai Xi Xiao
Felix Chang Cynthia Li Yihan Xu
Nico Dong Julie Liu Airan Zhang
Caroline Du May Makdisi Yue Qian Zhang
Juliette Gagne Shabibah Mir Emma Yiran Zhao
Mariia Gegiya So a Rassier Jody Zhao
Nina Geng Parhavy Vilvaratnam Pauline Zilic
Amanda Guo Hunter Wei
Elliot Homsy Luca Windisch

EDITORS

Caroline Du So a Rassier
Felix Chang Mme Claudine Samson
Juliette Gagne Romane Viola
Amanda Guo Catherine Wu
Cynthia Li Yihan Xu
Kailey Liang Emma Yiran Zhao
Aruni Phimmasone Jody Zhao

ARTISTS
Camille Khamphouy
Sophia Wang
Zi Rui Zhao

LAYOUT
Amanda Guo
Julie Liu
Aruni Phimmasone
Catherine Wu
Airan Zhang
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THE
INK
STAIN
Volume 5, Issue 1
February 2022
 YIHAN XU
“ Pr e j u d i c e m e a n s t o p r e j u d g e something without knowing anything
about it."1

This is called gender polarization2etc3women 4.

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“People fear what they do not understand” - Bruce Lee (1940-1973) 5

The Gender Gap:

Analyzing deep rooted stereotypes in our culture that
conduct our way of interacting with one another
within the gender spectrum
Emma Yiran Zhao

T
here are countless debates on
whether boys and girls should study
separately at school. Some argue
that mixed schools are too distracting, while
others claim that having mixed classes
would be a better way for the students to
socialize. Amongst these claims is the
observation of an alarming e ect. Gendered
classrooms reinforce the fear and
stereotypes of the other gender, which have
always been present in most societies.
“Prejudice means to prejudge something
without knowing anything about it.”1
What are stereotypes and where do
they come from?
First o , how is this true? What are these
stereotypes? The conservative culture has an
enormous in uence on children’s implicit
biases. Parents and societal expectations
that a young lady should be thoughtful,
while a young man should be bold and
adventurous explain why women tend to

1 BAPTISTE, Tracey. 2009. Overcoming Prejudice. New York, Character Education, 126 p.
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This
s t r i is
v ecalled
t o wgender
a r d s apolarization
c a r e f u l l yetcp lwomen
6 7
anned .
perfection, while men, towards an audacious
“People fear what
and innovative they
fun. Bydo not understand”
placing a blue
truck into our sons’ hands, and a pink barbie
into our daughters’, we are pushing our
children to identify their gender with set
characteristics while telling them that if
they were to have the “characteristics of the
opposite sex,” it would be repulsive. This is
called gender polarization.2 It is also the
origin of many stereotypes such as coquetry
is for women, gendered jobs, women ght
with words while men with sts, men should
not cr y, people should stay in their
attributed clothing department, etc. Just
like how racism stems from ignorance,
sexism does too. Little girls start thinking
that boys are too loud, messy and rude,
while little boys begin to believe that girls
are too uptight, no fun and scaredy cats. As
it is viewed under a negative light, it
becomes harder to understand how there
may still be beauty and good in the way the
other sex behaves. If students socialize
separately at school, it is only natural for
such beliefs to be reinforced, as many have
little to no contact with the opposite sex. If
anything, a fear of the other sex that
hyperbolizes stereotypes may be developed.
Misogyny may arise from misinformation in
such a heterogeneous environment.
Did you know? Pink used to be a masculine
color, while blue was a feminine color.
History explains that women appropriated
this color to themselves as it became
fashionable to dress in pink. In fact, pink, a
color close to red, used to be a symbol of
2 “Gender polarization”. 2021. Wikipedia. Online. [https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/
Gender_polarization]. Page consulted Novembre 21st 2021.
3 DUVAL, Stéphanie and LABOUCARIE, Sandra. 2019. L’égalité
cedex, Bayard Jeunesse, 68p.
4 DUVAL, Stéphanie AND LABOUCARIE, Sandra. 2019. L’égalité
cedex, Bayard Jeunesse, 68p.
5 BAPTISTE, Tracey. 2009. Overcoming Prejudice. New York, Character Education, 126 p.
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Volume 5, Issue 1
8
action reserved for the king and his knights,
while blue was associated with women.4
- Bruce Lee (1940-1973) 9
“People fear what they do not understand” -
Bruce Lee (1940-1973)5
What problems does this generate?
How is it important?
Second o , what e ects do gendered
classrooms have? Here is an example: class A
is lled with girls which reinforces the
general politeness, cleanliness, and pressure
towards perfection in their environment.
Class B is lled with boys, reinforcing chaos,
3 spontaneity, and audacious interruptions. If
we let these two classes of seventh graders
sit for 4 years, we obtain interesting results.
This case is not to be generalized as
experiences di er from person to person,
but it remains a large majority. Class A has
gone through much drama, gossip,
friendships. Now, there is a keen sense of
solidarity as they have known each other for
so long. Class B has gone through years of
chaos and pranks. The class, which is now
1-2 feet taller than before, shares a unique
sense of humor that teachers do not always
appreciate. Over the years, the two groups
have had minimal contact with the other
gender. Here and there, Class B students
may see a few girls slacking o , chitchatting,
and laughing during gym class, reinforcing
their prejudice that girls are chatty people.
Class A students might come across a group
of boys screaming excitedly while playing a
mobile video game, reinforcing their beliefs
in boys being loud. These characteristics are
not inherently bad. However, as it is
es garçons pas bête. Montrouge
es garçons pas bête. Montrouge
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 The Ink Stain
di erent from what they are accustomed to,
The
andhighest result is
di erence of often
education is tolerance”
welcomed with- Helen Kellen (1880-1960)
coolness, these characteristics are viewed in
an unfavorable light. As time goes on, if the
As
twomembers of socialize
groups never the Harvard
with oneGraduate
another, School itsof stereotypes
questions you may want to think about
these biases might grow and transform into
fear and disgust of the opposite sex. This
misunderstanding is disadvantageous for the
society in which they will nd themselves in
the future, strengthening the existing
gender polarization. Although, it is a more
comfortable environment for both genders,
with teachers repeating these stereotypes on
where each gender should stand, class A
would be pressured upwards, and class B
would be pulled downwards. All the while,
transgender and non-binary people nd
themselves in this mix, with one foot in one
group, and the other elsewhere. Some will
have to be mindful of such prejudices, as
they meet the opposite sex and realize that
they viewed them under false lenses. Others
may never realize and keep perpetuating an
erroneous view of life. They may even
radicalize and commit acts of
discrimination.
“The highest result of education is
tolerance” - Helen Kellen (1880-1960)6
How can we solve problems?
Third o , what can be done? Even if
gendered classrooms condition students to
form deep rooted stereotypes, there are still
solutions to this. Reading this article, and
understanding this concept is already a step
in the right direction. Next, as Judith Butler
says, we all use these terms to ght these
problems, so it would be important to
deconstr uct the deep-rooted gender
struggles from an early age to ensure that we
do not naturalize and internalize too rapidly
6 BAPTISTE, Tracey. 2009. Overcoming Prejudice. New York, Character Education, 126 p.
7 HARVARD GRADUATE SCHOOL OF EDUCATION. 2018. Preventing Gender Bias. Online.
[https://www.gse.harvard.edu/news/uk/18/11/preventing-gender-bias]. Page consulted December
3rd 2021
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the prejudices between genders that cause
insecurities
10
connected to limiting gender
characteristics. This is true because knowing
that there is more to the other gender than
Educationmake11 suggest, here are some
us less likely to engage
to help you better understand:
in thinking in a limited way.
As members of the Harvard Graduate
School of Education7 suggest, here are
some questions you may want to think
about to help you better understand:
- What are the expectations society
have for men and women? How is it
challenging for both genders? How
do these expectations negatively
impact women worldwide?
- Think of a time when you heard
degrading remarks on one of the
genders. How did people react to it?
Would it be harmful for someone to
hear? Notice how deeply these
stereoty pes are engrained in
society.
- Develop empathy. Ask yourself how
the typical person from the opposite
sex views our world. What if the
person is transgender? How does
this make viewing the world more
challenging?
The book Overcoming prejudice suggests that
asking questions respectfully, celebrating our
di erences and communicating more often
may also be of help. Just like the well-known
saying “do not judge a book by its cover,” it
would be wrong to despise a guy for being
rude, since it might be considered normal in
an environment full of other boys. Although
his manners may be questionable, he might
still have a good heart. Likewise, avoiding a
girl because she is a “goody-two-shoes” is
quite judgmental. She might be considered
 Volume 5, Issue 1

the norm between girls, and that does not make her company any less enjoyable. There will always
be people of the opposite sex who will react to people approaching them with contempt as they
may also wear the lenses of stereotypes, but that does not mean these people cannot be educated.
Art such as lms, painting, and music can also help spread this message as it sensibilizes people
through feelings and emotions. Finally, the author suggests speaking up when we see inequality, as
it gives others the courage to follow you... Or to correct you constructively if there are
improvements to be made!

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 The Ink Stain

Arti cial Light

Pollution
Aris Arevian, Nico Dong, Hunter Wei & Luca Windisch

H
ave you ever looked up at the sky at night and wondered why you couldn’t see the
stars? The answer is quite simple: arti cial light emitted from streetlights, signs
or other such man-made xtures. Nevertheless, not being able to see the stars
isn’t the biggest problem with the over emission of these arti cial lights since certain
ecosystems are being harmed by the luminescence.

To start o , it’s important to understand that, unlike humans who are guided by
streetlights, there are some species of animals that are guided by the moonlight. For
example, sea turtles and birds that follow the moon during their migration period get
confused by the strong lights coming o man-made structures. This causes them to lose
their way and unfortunately most of the time, when these animals get confused and lose
their way during their migration, they end up dying. Another horrible consequence that is
produced by arti cial lighting, is in fact a ripple reaction in the food chain. There are many
insects that are attracted to these xtures, but the problem is that these little creatures die
upon contact with these helpful yet destructive infrastructures. These insects are a
primary food source for our feathery ying friends and other types of animals. The lack of
food causes some of these animals to starve and meet their end.

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 Volume 5, Issue 1

Marine ecosystems are just as equally a ected by underwater arti cial lighting.
According to National Geographic, there was a study conducted on the coast of Wales that
consisted of submerging brightly lit panels in order to see how marine animals would react.
They concluded that fewer lter feeding animals made their humble abodes near the
panels when they were lit up. This helped the researchers understand that nearby oil rigs,
harbours and even passing ships could be a ecting the marine ecosystems for certain
species of underwater creatures.

The challenges facing this front are so great that we can even detect traces of
arti cial light pollution in some National Park Services that are meant to protect animals.
What can an average Joe do to help? The truth is while there are a few concrete acts that
can lead to change, the everyday person can help spread awareness. Some municipal and
state/provincial governments have already put some laws in to place like turning o
building lights during bird migration season or produce and use more e cient lighting
systems to reduce the light pollution it can bring. On the other hand, a person sitting at
home could minimalize exterior lighting and if they are to use it, make sure it is facing
downward. Also, it is important to make sure shades and blinds are closed at night to make
sure that no light gets out of the house.

It’s important for everyone to band together to help stop or at least diminish the
impact of arti cial light pollution. It’s about time we brought this subject to light.

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The Light Bulb

Conspiracy
Cynthia Li & Julie Liu

In a dim corner at a re station in Livermore, California, a

remarkable object, the Centennial Light Bulb, has been burning
since 1901.

I
n January 1879, the famous inventor Thomas Edison
built his rst incandescent light bulb with a thin
platinum lament through which electricity would
pass. However, it only lasted a few hours until its eventual
melting. Thomas then tried other materials that could have
the potential of making the light bulb last longer and found
out that carbonized cotton thread lament could extend its
lifespan for almost 15 hours before it burned out. After his
insightful discovery, other scientists started working on The Centennial Light Bulb
improving his invention, leading to a swift rise of the
average longevity of a light bulb during the years of 1880 to 1920.

All these technological breakthroughs would however be halted by a group of

lightbulbs’ manufacturers. The
theory describing the cause of this
event is called the Light Bulb
Conspiracy.

Days before Christmas 1924 was

formed the Phoebus Cartel, an
organization comprised and founded
by the leading corporations of four
different countries: Osram,
representing Germany, Philips, the
Netherlands, General Electric, the
United States and Compagnie des
One of Osram’s light bulb factories
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 Volume 5, Issue 1

Lampes, France. The cartel’s only purpose was to control the manufacture and the sale of
light bulbs, since their rapid development placed a limit on how many of them one customer
would need to replace. The goal was to ensure reliable long-term pro ts to keep the market
stable. The cartel managed to reduce the average lifespan of a light bulb from 2,000 hours
to 1,000 hours in just a few years by telling customers the reduction was not a deterioration
of the lightbulbs, but instead an improvement of their quality. They had apparently
discovered that longer-lasting light bulbs did not put out as much light as shorter-lasting
ones of the same wattage. Reducing their longevity therefore was simply an amelioration
and would make them brighter.

Operational hours of incandescent light bulbs from 1879-1934

However, it is often believed that this was actually a strategy intended to bring in
more sales and pro ts to the organization. By obligating their customers to buy more of
their products, as the buying frequency would be higher, and by lowering the operational
costs of their manufacture, the gain would become much greater than the loss.

Unfortunately for them, the corporations’ organization was unable to run for as long
as they had planned in mind. Between 1930 and 1933, sales volume declined by as much as
twenty percent. Additionally, when World War II erupted, communication between
Germany, the Netherlands, the USA, and France became very di cult as these countries
went to war, causing the end of the Phoebus Cartel around the year 1940.

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The Phoebus Cartel might not exist anymore, but we cannot deny the important
impact it had on the present. Even now, the manufacture of many incandescent lightbulbs is
still based on the cartel’s standardized rule of a lifespan of 1,000 hours. Customers can
therefore rarely and hardly have access to products that can last as long as the ones made
before 1924, like the Centennial Light Bulb.

The organization is also a major key point

in business history, as it was one of the rst to
e ver exercise the principle of Planned
Obsolescence, a strategy in which a
manufacturer deliberately designs a product
meant to fail prematurely after a certain
amount of time. It is either to help sell an
upgrade of the product or to increase the
frequency of its purchase.

Some will call this practice immoral; some will call it smart, but one thing is for sure:
the Centennial Light Bulb is the proof of how far we humans have come. Based on what was
invented over a hundred years ago, the expectations for today’s innovations are quite high!

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The Long-lasting
Consequences of
Loud Noise on Us
Airan Zhang

W
e have all experienced cacophonic situations, such as concerts
where loud music is booming from the speakers, a hall or a stadium
packed with hundreds of people chattering. The overwhelming
noise makes us uncomfortable, so we start yelling to our friends to leave while
covering our ears with our hands. And as we pull away from the noise, we yell:
“My ears are bleeding!’’
Yes, atrociously loud music or noise can cause ear bleeding, but it is quite rare. Bleeding from the ears can
be caused by ear irritations, head injuries or ruptured eardrums (a thin membrane separating the exterior from
the interior of the ear). Long exposure to loud noise can cause most often hearing loss. One of the consequences
of hearing loss is tinnitus, which a ects lots of singers and musicians, such as Chris Martin from Coldplay, the
Belgian singer Angèle (who composed a song about her tinnitus: J’entends), Bob Dylan, Neil Young, Moby and so
many artists who su er in silence to not tarnish their reputation. Singers are prone to tinnitus because part of
their job is to produce and listen to music. The sound in their earphones, as well as the crowd chanting, makes
them more prone to this condition.

What is tinnitus?

Tinnitus is a medical disorder where the one a ected perceives sounds with no external source producing it. In
simpler terms, the person constantly hears noise (ringing, buzzing, ...) that others can’t. There are two types of
tinnitus. The rst, subjective tinnitus, is an abnormal nerve activity in the brain that processes electrical signals
di erently. The second, objective tinnitus, occurs when the sounds are produced by sources in the body. The
sound can also be heard by an examiner. Tinnitus is a side e ect of several conditions, such as noise-induced
hearing loss, ear infections, cardiac diseases, Ménière’s disease, brain tumors, hormonal changes in women, and
most commonly acoustic shock (sudden extremely loud noise). Surprisingly, some drugs such as anti-malaria and
anti-cancer can worsen the symptom too. Yet what is most shocking is the fact that most people have never heard
of this illness, when 10 to 15% of the population su ers or su ered from it. That is at least 50 million in the US, 5
million aged 16 to 79 in Canada and 600 million worldwide! Which means that 1 in 5 people will experience
tinnitus in their lifetime!

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What happens in our ears that causes tinnitus?

The auditory canal transmits sound waves to the eardrum and three
tiny bones called the ossicles. The hammer, the anvil and the stirrup
amplify the vibrations as they enter the inner ear and into the cochlea
containing thousands of hairs who transmit an electrical signal to your
brain. Our brain then turns these signals into sound. Some scientists
think tinnitus occurs in the network of brain cells (the neural circuits)
that tries to make sense of the electrical signals sent by our ear. The
neural circuits compensate the loss of hair cells by turning up the
sensitivity to sound. These abnormal signals received stimulate the
neurons to create an illusion of sound, or tinnitus.

How does tinnitus affect a person’s life?

Tinnitus can harass the person all day and night, causing insomnia, depression, anxiety, stress and other
symptoms of psychological distress. They are generally dissatis ed by their doctor’s prescriptions because they
are ine ective to stop the ringing. Some people will have tinnitus their entire lives. Chronic tinnitus makes the
brain more attentive to the ringing and less relaxed. This can also lead to mental and physical exhaustion,
restlessness and fatigue because the brain is not used to being focused all the time.

How is tinnitus cured?

Sadly, there is no cure e ective to counter the subjective tinnitus sound. However, there are some treatments
that can improve the quality of life of the patient and reduce psychological consequences linked to tinnitus. Here
are some of them: cognitive-behavioral therapy, tinnitus retraining therapy, drug therapy, lifestyle change and
acoustic neural stimulation. Hearing aids, sound generators, cochlear implants and tinnitus masking can make
the tinnitus less noticeable.

Many people adapt to the sound and their brains tune out the sound, like how we forget the feeling of clothes on
our skin. Our brain lters repetitive stimuli, but it has trouble distinguishing life-threatening sounds from the
ino ensive ones. By focusing on the sound while meditating, some will nd it less disturbing.

How to prevent tinnitus?

Only avoiding long periods of constant noise and sound will help your ears. For example, you may want to rest your ears after
watching the rst Harry Potter movie if you’ve decided to binge-watch the entire series in one night (a very bad idea for your
eyes and ears). My best tip is to avoid staying too long in places or situations with a high intensity of noise, such as heavy city
tra c, motorcycling, snowmobile riding, hunting ( rearms), construction sites ( ee from chain saws, jackhammers and
sandblasting!), rock concerts and thunderstorms. If you are required to stay, then consider wearing earplugs or taking frequent
breaks. Regular hearing tests are also encouraged. In the next issue, I will address the importance of silence, to show how
much it can improve our quality of life. See you next time!
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 Volume 5, Issue 1

That Girl
Parhavy Vilvaratnam

You might scroll on TikTok and keep seeing the same tags: #thatgirl,
#thatgirlsummer, #thatgirlaesthetic, etc.; the list goes on and on. You
might ask yourself, who isthat girl? Why is she so special? And most
importantly, why does everyone want to be her?

According to TikTok, "that girl" is someone who wakes up early in the

morning, consumes an unholy number of smoothies, green juice, tea,
and co ee, journals and meditates, goes to the gym, and goes to school.
And, the most important part, she does this every day. She is a straight-
A student and studies hard, yet always nds time to cook healthy meals,
read, spend time with friends, and just about anything else. "That girl" is
pretty, popular, productive, and, most importantly, perfect. "That girl" is skinny, white, and wealthy. She
has a great fashion sense, a neat beautiful room, a beautiful house; the list goes on and on. She’s warm and
friendly, intelligent and thoughtful, calm and resilient. She has everything to brag about and does so
subtly on social media. She is the epitome of anything and everything someone could aspire to be.

"That girl" is a product of the ideals of our society. Whether it’s possible to be her is irrelevant because,
no matter the answer, people will keep trying to achieve it, though they might never make it. Of course,
you can masquerade as her on social media, posting healthy home-cooked meals and workouts, but to
truly be as perfect as our society demands is next to impossible, if it even is possible.

"That girl" is always someone pretty by our societal standards, someone that ts into the Eurocentric
standards that rule the lives of everyone, but especially women. To address the problem with “that girl”
needing to be beautiful, it’s necessary to address our beauty standards. The society in which we live
requires certain features from a woman for her to be considered pretty. However, while the standards are
Eurocentric, the features are usually prominent in coloured people. Many of the features people nd
attractive are features women of colour have, such as full lips, large breasts and buttocks, tan skin, “fox”
eyes, etc. However, these ethnic features are only considered beautiful on white people. The ideal woman
is someone white with ethnically ambiguous features. Women of colour are shamed for having the very
same features white women are praised for having. White women will go to extreme lengths to get these
features, sometimes even getting plastic surgery, to achieve the features women of colour are told to get
rid of. When we solely praise the beauty of the white girls exhibiting those characteristics on TikTok,
who post content related to the "that girl" trend, we are contributing to the culture of idealization of
ethnic features and uniquely the features, which involves ignoring the struggles that people of colour, who
naturally have these characteristics, face.

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"That girl" is always someone skinny. She works out often and eats healthy. Her body is called perfect, as it
subscribes to every beauty standard. Seeing the praise "that girl" receives on social media and wanting to
t in with the trend, many people, especially young women, will do anything to be "that girl". They may
copy these people’s “What I Eat in a Day'' videos, which show the food eaten by a TikToker on a
particular day, whether they are accurate or not. Quite frequently, the food shown during these TikToks is
close to nothing, not even close to the amount of food recommended to be eaten. Usually, the meals are
calorie sparse and the snacks are little to non-existent.
What is even worse is that the TikTokers posting these
videos also vlog intense workouts, typically lasting a
few hours at a time. The people following these videos
will, in turn, eat close to nothing and exercise for very
long periods, thinking that they are doing so in the
name of health. Others might do so knowing that what
they are doing is harmful, doing anything to be
skinnier and look like the people they see on social
media. Eventually, they might develop disordered
eating habits or maybe even a full-blown eating
disorder.

The point of the "that girl" trend may look like it’s to be healthy; it promotes exercising, eating
nutritionally dense foods, working hard, but in reality, it just promotes being skinny and looking
“aesthetic”. Most people posting the trend don't truly follow through with the lifestyle. Instead, they just
show a few moments of them “being that girl” on camera, then quickly turn it o and continue living a
regular life, not that that is wrong. My problem does not lie with eating healthy, working hard, or being
productive. My problem lies with the promotion of Eurocentric beauty standards and eating disorders, for
the sole purpose of a few seconds of footage where your life is “aesthetic” that people praise you for. My
problem lies with the pushing of aesthetics and the greed for likes disguised as health, tness, and
“focusing on you”. The “that girl” trend pushes a dangerous agenda, one where young girls are told to
prioritize pleasing society before their health and happiness.

The “that girl” trend is about being perfect: perfect face, perfect skin, perfect body, perfect scores, perfect
food, perfect everything. If something is not perfect, you are out of place and are not worthy enough to
participate in the trend. It also places the focus on being “aesthetic”.While taking care of yourself,
exercising, and eating well are critical, it doesn’t need to always be aesthetic. Just because you can’t have an
aesthetic meal or an aesthetic study session does not mean you shouldn’t have one at all. Of course, it’s
important to romanticize your life, but it’s ok to romanticize beauty just as much as aws.

"That girl" is someone perfect that a lot of people would love to be. To many, this trend appears bene cial,
inciting people to be healthier and take charge of their lives. In reality, this trend is just an excuse to
promote racist beauty standards, disordered eating habits, and a destructive search for constant
perfection. Instead of striving to achieve this impossible standard of perfection, people should focus their
e orts on truly bettering themselves, mentally and physically, whether that process is aesthetic or not.
And, if they truly want it, why not throw in a green juice or two?

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TOXIC POSITIVITY:
The Dark Side of
Optimism
Yue Qian Zhang & Nina Geng

O
ur lives are full of di culties, ranging
from nancial troubles to emotional
issues. Where do we look for comfort
to overcome these problems? Most people
turn towards their family members or their
closest friends. Others look for resources
outside of their social circle, whether it be on
social media or from a therapist. Sayings such
as “everything will be alright” or “it’ll all work
out in the end” have become some of the
common way to reassure someone. But,
hearing these sentences after seeing a loved
one pass away, getting red and having no way
to sustain your family, or living a traumatic
experience does not make everything ne.
Of course, having a positive outlook
on life can bene t many aspects, including
our mental health. However, some negative
emotions still need to be felt and dealt with
as openly and as honestly as possible. Like the
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saying “too much is like not enough” goes,
being overwhelmed with “positive vibes” is
just as bad as having a pessimistic look on life.
Toxic positivity consists of false
reassurance instead of genuine empathy
towards the person in di culty, which in
some cases is yourself. This way of thinking
promotes always “looking for the silver lining”
or “thinking about the positive” in a tough
situation, which can be hard. Of course, your
family and your friends probably don’t mean
to harm you in any way. They say this often
because they’re in a situation where they
don’t really know how to comfort you.
Especially during events like the pandemic
we’re living in right now, it is di cult for
people to nd other ways to spread hope, so
they resort to those common sayings.
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THE HARMS
Now, what impacts can these seemingly positive encouragements have on the mental wellbeing
of an individual?

1. SHAME
When someone tells you to “think about the
positive, be grateful for what you have” when
you’ve lost your job, you can't suppress the
shameful sad emotion you feel brought on by
your unemployment when some people are
homeless, for instance. Toxic positivity highly
validates good thoughts and stresses to
eliminate any bad ones, thus making feeling a
negative emotion something people feel
guilty for experiencing when it’s just a part of
life. This shame in their negative feelings can
build up a stigma around them, thus
deterring individuals from seeking help when
they need it.
2. STRESS
No t o n l y c a n t o x i c p o s i t i v i t y h a v e
psychological harm, it is also accompanied by
various degrees of physiological harm. For
instance, toxic positivity leads to suppressed
emotions, which, studies show, lead to stress.
In fact, a study where two groups were
brought to watch a video demonstrates this
fact. On one side, one group was told to let
their emotions show, while, on the other side,
they were told to act like nothing bothered
them. In the latter there were evidently more
signs of stress, which can lead to depression
or physical illnesses. The acknowledgement
of the vast array of emotions we feel helps us
regulate our stress response and teaches us to
embrace ourselves as we are.

3. PREVENTS GROWTH
Lastly, one of the biggest things our hardships teach us is how to grow as a person, but toxic
positivity doesn’t allow that. By suppressing our emotions, we might not feel the negative ones,
but it also denies us the ability to face these challenging feelings, to understand them, and to
grow because of them. Therefore, the only way we can truly be happy is to understand and
accept the negatives as well as the positives we are feeling.

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 Volume 5, Issue 1

THE “CURE”
It isn’t easy to change the way positivity is imprinted in our mind when we live in a society
where we see messages such as “positive vibes only” or “don’t worry, be happy” printed on every
t-shirt.

However, we can try to change the way we approach our problems by:
• Recognizing that, as humans, it’s normal to live through hardships;
• Talking about our negative emotions to someone we trust;
• Identifying and understanding the root of our emotions rather than ignoring them.

If you identify as a “positive vibes only” hippie, you can try:

• Encouraging people to talk about their emotions without invalidating them;
• Getting to know your own negative emotions and understanding them;
• Stop using these toxic phrases, but rather use these healthy alternatives.

Toxic statements Healthy alternatives

Just stay positive! I'm listening.
Good vibes only! I'm here no matter what.
It could be worse. That must be really hard.
Things happen for a reason. Sometimes bad things happen. How can I
Failure isn't an option. help?
Happiness is a choice. Failure is sometimes part of life.
Don’t worry, be happy! Your feelings are valid.
Look for the silver lining. I see you. I’m here for you.

As you see, it isn’t always good to be overly optimistic, but the opposite is also true. The
best way to approach your problems and to learn from them is to nd a balance between being
positive, but also acknowledging and deeply feeling your negative emotions. We all must
acknowledge, despite the optimistic ways of life our society feeds us, that the best way to be
happy is to feel sad sometimes!

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The Psychological E ects

of Social Media and the
Entertainment Industry on
Teenagers
So a Rassier & Catherine Wu

I
n the 21st centur y, social media has
become an essential part of our daily lives.
Whether it be for entertainment
purposes, communication, or nding that one
song you just can’t remember the name of, we
cannot deny that we have all, willingly or not,
fallen under the sometimes-noxious spell of
social media. Depending on the content we
consume and the age at which we consume it,
it can be a determining factor in our
development.
The rapid expansion of the
entertainment industry accompanied by the
rise of streaming companies such as Net ix,
Hulu, Amazon Prime, Disney Plus, and others
has entailed, among others, the creation of
many television series and movies tailored for
a teenage audience. Actors who have been
playing teenagers for over fteen years can
very often create unrealistic body goals for
youth.
While social media – or media in
general – can be a source of relief and o er a
form of escapism, there is no denying that
what people see on television or on their cell
phone can have negative psychological e ects,
notably concerning body image, performance,
social status, and many other factors.
Social media is not necessarily
detrimental to a teen’s health. It helps us
develop social skills and connects us with
people who have the same interests as us, but
there are two sides to everything. While some
may use social media to view light-hearted,
uplifting, or funny content, others may have
their feed ooded with carefully curated and
edited pictures of seemingly awless models and
in uencers. It presents unrealistic beauty
standards and snapshots of their “perfect lives”.
Some users prefer to view haul videos, as in
videos where a content creator shows their
audience everything they bought during a
shopping spree or received as gifts for special
occasions. Sports and art content is also very
popular amongst adolescents, who can often get
the impression that they are not up to par and
a r e n o t p e r f o r m i n g we l l e n o u g h . Ma n y
insecurities stem from what is di used online,
and many teenagers feel the need to portray a
di erent, more “perfect” version of themselves,
both physically and psychologically. They nd
importance in not showing any vulnerability,
rather wanting to display an idealized facade of
themselves.
Based o of a survey we have conducted
among our social groups, most respondents who
view content related to influencers and
celebrities and who spend a higher number of
hours on social media admit having had their
perception of themselves negatively impacted.
Adolescents, who, as mentioned, are very easily
in uenced, have the sometimes-toxic habit of
comparing themselves to other people, in this
case, to people they see online. We believe it is

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 fair to say comparison is, in fact, the thief of joy.
Some may begin to imagine aws in their
physical appearance and in more severe cases, it
may lead to eating disorders or body
dysmorphia. On the other hand, some have
found that uplifting content has helped them
gain more con dence and self-esteem and learn
to embrace their insecurities. In short, social
media can be beneficial or detrimental
depending on the way we choose to use it.

Social media is not the only thing that

creates insecurities in young minds. The
entertainment industry also plays a viable role in
terms of self-esteem and body image: we often
subconsciously compare ourselves to characters
we see in our favourite series and movies. This
phenomenon is especially prevalent among
youths, who are very easily in uenced and who
desire to conform to the societal and unrealistic
beauty standards they have created in their
heads. The unjust portrayal of teenagers in
popular media gives adolescents the false
impression that they do not live up to their
personal and made-up criteria of what a
teenager is supposed to be, stemming from the
unrealistic image that the media has imposed on
them/us. For example, widely known shows and
movies such as Mean Girls, Gossip Girl, and
Euphoria cast adults in their mid-twenties and
early-thirties to portray high-schoolers. It paints
a very inaccurate portrait of what a developing
body should look like. Accompanying that, these
“teenagers” are depicted as having enviable and
exciting lives, making the actual teenage viewer
feel as if their own life is mundane and
monotonous.

It is crucial to understand that social

media and the entertainment industry are not
necessarily harmful in themselves. Insecurities
do not stem from these platforms, designed as
ways of communication and relaxation, but
r a t h e r f r o m h u m a n n a t u r e ’s h a b i t o f
comparison. Therefore, we should focus on
developing a healthy mind and on using social
media more wisely. Even though it is easier said
than done, reaching out for help can be the rst
step to a positive mindset.

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 Comments from our
surveyees
"Social media, though very toxic, has been an outlet for
me and many other teenagers to let out anxiety. Although
it has a negative impact on our mental health, quitting
social media is a hard decision because it has become an
easy and accessible coping mechanism for many
people."

"Social media has exposed me to knowledge I should not

have access to at my age. There are no limits, you can
nd everything you want and you can also nd everything
you don't want. I had to learn things I did not want to know
and I tried out things I should have never tried all
because of social media."

"I feel better about myself, because people I look at are

uplifting each other."

"Body image."

"Social media has helped me gain con dence by

following in uential people. Social media taught me how
to love myself."

"It pointed out aws I didn't even know I had."

"I often compare myself, my body, my life, my

achievements with people I see online and not
necessarily in the good way."

"I try to avoid negative content and only stick with posts
that boost my con dence and spread positivity."

"I feel like my life isn't as 'cool' as other's."

"Social media can be damaging, but can also do the exact

opposite e ect if used correctly."

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 Volume 5, Issue 1

The Importance and Treatment

of Mental Health Throughout
Time and Across the Globe
Pauline Zilic & Caroline Du

hroughout the years, many primarily obtained by the comparison of the

T diagnoses of illnesses and

corrective methods to cure them
have appeared in the world. Some
patients have accepted the uncertain
remedies that were prescribed to them,
while others resisted to the tests that
humans have conducted for possible
treatments. Recently, partly due to the
global pandemic of Covid-19, the
percentage of mental illnesses has been
rising, especially in the younger age group.
Together, multiple experts from all around
the world have collectively been
researching to nd out what is believed to
cause mental health problems. Although
the scienti c approach that modern
psychologists will take to gure out the
root of this global deterioration in teen's
mental state is updated and reputable, I
nd it interesting to re ect on the steps
that historical gures had undertaken in
the past.
A quick look on our general
perception of mental health
Undoubtedly, the perception of
mental illness varies throughout time and
between di erent societies. Universally,
the dia gnosis of mental illnesses is
beha viours of an individual and the
behavioural norms instilled by society. Thus,
people who are seen as “di erent” are put in
categories that allegedly de ne their
particular disorders. The diagnoses in
question are also set apart between di erent
societies. For instance, the Inuhuit peoples
discovered a mental condition called
“ Pi b l o k t o q ” , a l s o k n o w n a s “A r c t i c
Hysteria”. This condition that a ects their
population is mostly caused by the harsh
meteorological circumstances that the
community has to face during the winters
and the deprivation of essential nutritional
elements. This illness was unheard of for
Europeans that migrated to North America,
as they have never experienced the same
conditions.
Beliefs and causes of illnesses
Long before anyone de veloped
theories based on research, many thought
that mental illnesses were the result of evil
spirits entering one’s body thus controlling
their actions. Throughout the Middle Ages,
it was common for Christians to practice
symbolical puri cation of the patient’s soul
to try to combat the demons that possessed
them. Methods such as exorcism or shrines

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 The Ink Stain
emerged and were believed to cure their
condition even though scienti c research
has later proven that it is false. Later on,
asylums were funded and welcomed people
su ering from various diseases. The rst
ever establishment of this kind was put in
p l a ce i n 1 2 4 7 i n L o n d o n , E n g l a n d .
However, people started noticing that
their methods were ine cient and often
in icted physical harm on the victims
which could only worsen their mental
state. The constant mistreatment and
dehumanization of these people was seen
as an amusement when these
establishments rst welcomed visitors and
slowly became a widely known attraction.
Physical treatments
Amongst all the corrective or
physical methods that were used to treat
mental illnesses in those times, the most
atrocious practice was trephination. This
procedure consisted of drilling a hole in
the patient’s head in order to release the
evil spirits that supposedly lived there.
Trephination was mostly practiced in
Europe, yet some studies suggest that
Incas, indigenous tribes of Peru, were
doing similar things to try to cleanse their
patients. Although this method may seem
extremely unintelligent, other ancient
theories proposed medicinal treatments
for mental illnesses that were equally as
ineffective. Hippocrates, a Greek
physician that lived during the 5th century
b.c., believed that mental stability could be
obtained and rebuilt by the extraction of
bodily uids. Later on, he established that
there are four kinds of humours that are
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the following: blood, yellow bile, black bile
and phlegm. Each of those conveyed strong
emotions, for instance sadness and
melancholy were related to black bile, and
mania to yellow bile. By drawing out those
liquids from the patient's body, Hippocrates
thought that the other humours would even
out, and they would nally be delivered
from their miseries.
In conclusion, as time passed, more
people found interest in this important
medical subject. It was and is still believed
that physical treatments could ease the pain
for thousands of patients, but as for an
e cient cure that could actually help sick
people in a signi cant way, we still have to
wait for talented scientists to make
technological advances. Hopefully, progress
will be made in the future by making
psychology gradually more accessible to a
larger portion of the population and by
educating our younger generations on
healthy ways to improve their mental state.
As society is currently trying to combat the
stigma surrounding mental illnesses, more
people have the opportunity to open up
about their past experiences. This can be
seen as a sign of progression and modernity.
Sources
https://www.encyclopedia.com/science/encyclopedias-
almanacs-transcripts-and-maps/mental-illness-during-middle-
ages
http://www.ccnsa.ca/Publications/Lists/Publications/
Attachments/70/colonial_norms_EN_web.pdf
https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Piblokto#Causes
https://www.historyextra.com/period/victorian/bethlem-royal-
hospital-history-why-called-bedlam-lunatic-asylum/

Stress: A Daily Part
of a Student's Life
Elliot Homsy
ou must know because you are living
Y
it, but stress is a part of daily life for
most students everywhere around
the world. To relieve the stress, you
should know what it is, the causes of that self-
imposed pain and the consequences of long-
term stress. For Timothy J. Legg, Ph.D.,
‘’Stress is a situation that triggers a particular
biological response. When you perceive a
threat or a major challenge, chemicals and
hormones surge throughout your body’’. It is
simply a reaction to a physical or psychological
threat.
Now that you clearly understand what
stress is, there are multiple ways to ease it.
First of all, exercise; it has been shown to be a
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Volume 5, Issue 1
powerful stress reliever, in addition to having
physical health bene ts. Second, stress and
anxiety can a ect how you breathe, which has
consequences on how your body and mind feels.
Taking a few deep breaths can help slow your
breathing and heart rate, relax your muscles and
calm your mind. Third, it is hard to feel anxious
when you’re laughing. Laughing relieves your
stress response and relaxes your muscles as well.
Last but not least, meditation: it is easily one of
the most science-backed and proven methods of
relieving stress and anxiety. There are several
types of meditation, such as focusing on music,
breathing, postures, and more so you can easily
nd a method that relieves stress for you.
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 The Ink Stain

Students have many sources of daily

stress. There are two types of causes: external
and internal. External stress comes from your
entourage and internal from yourself. External
stress can be caused by major life changes,
exams or projects, lack of time, family problems
and bullying. On the other hand, internal stress
can be caused by pessimism, negative self-talk or
perfectionism. Both types are equally bad for
your health and should be avoided with the tips
above.

Long-term stress or chronic stress can

trigger several bad e ects on someone’s body.
For your brain it can cause headaches, mental
health problems and forgetfulness. It can also
result in skin and hair problems, such as acne,
eczema and permanent hair loss. Long-term
stress can also make it more likely to catch a
cold or the u, increase risk of diabetes as well
as cause weight increase or decrease and a lot of
other harmful effects. Chronic stress is
considered a disease, therefore if you feel this
applies to you should go see a doctor and get
some help. It should not be ignored.

Stress can be relieved with exercise,

breathing, laughing and meditating. It also has
causes such as external or internal. Chronic
stress can also be injurious for the body. If you
are ever overwhelmed with stress or need any
kind of help, reach out – it will help you. Stay
positive and ease your stress.

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Felix's Film Review

Felix Chang

S
hang-Chi and The Legend of The Ten Rings is a 2021 American superhero movie,
produced by Marvel Studios. The lm is directed by Destin Daniel Cretton who also
wrote the screenplay alongside David Callaham and Andrew Lanham. The lm stars
Simu Liu as the hero Shang-Chi, Awkwa na as Katy Chen, Benedict Wong as Wong, Ben
Kingsley as the Mandarin and others.

This movie is about Shang-Chi’s struggle to save both his family and his exigent,
controlling and misguided father, Wen Wu, leader of the powerful Ten Rings criminal
organization. In short, Wen Wu wants Shang-Chi and his sister to help to nd their dead
mother, but he is unaware of the dangerous repercussions of his intentions. Shang-Chi and
his sister must confront him and save him from the greater consequences of their father’s
pursuit.

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My review
The movie is generally entertaining and it was enjoyable.

Parts that I liked

The action! The ghting scenes are well made and captivating, especially the
sca olding ght. It resembles the classic sca olding ght in Rush Hour. It’s a great touch
to add. The ghting choreography is also excellent and well-coordinated. Fun fact: Simu
Liu had to actually train in martial arts to lm the movie.

The costumes are made with care and they look great. The CGI (computer-
generated imagery) is smoothly integrated into the characters’ costumes and weapons, like
the Ten Rings. However, the animated animals/dragons aren’t as good.

Another part that is interesting about the movie is the fact that Ben Kingsley has a
role in the movie. He comes back as Trevor Slattery, the British actor who impersonates
the Mandarin in Iron Man 3. It’s a nice way to clarify the fact that he is not a part of the
Ten Rings Organization (a reference to Iron Man 3), and Ben Kingsley’s character adds
more humour to the movie.

Parts that weren’t as great

Some characters are slightly annoying, like Katy and Morris. They don’t add much
to the story and they disrupt the ow of the movie. Sometimes, there are jokes that just
feel forced and that aren’t that funny.

The movie feels out of place in the Marvel Cinematic Universe, but this isn’t
necessarily a bad thing. It simply doesn’t feel as Marvel-esque. The style is quite di erent
from other Marvel movies. However, it’s a good thing that Marvel is trying to change
things since they want to diversify the styles of their movies. It makes the movie really
interesting and unique.

Final verdict
Yes, it’s a decent movie. The acting and storytelling can sometimes be a bit weak, and the
humour isn’t always that funny, but it doesn’t matter as much because this is a Marvel
superhero movie. The most important part is the action and the ght scenes, which are
well executed. Very entertaining!

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Juliette's Film
Review
Juliette Gagne

W
e’ve all heard of it sometime during the past few months, and we’ve all most
likely seen clips, images, or episodes of this series, if not the entire thing.
Squid Game; a drama action thriller work of ction, released worldwide on
September 17, 2021, in which people in need of money are assembled to play children’s
games, so as to win the prize money at the end. The series rapidly became the most
popular series on Net ix, making the company a fortune within the rst four weeks of its
release.

Squid game is both the name of the series, and of an actual game, popular in Korea
during the 70s and 80s, similar to tag, played on squid shaped board on the ground.

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Directed, written, and created by Hwang Dong-Hyuk, starring Lee Jung-Jae (Gi-
Hun), Park Hae-Soo (Sang woo), Oh Young-Soo (Oh Il-nam), Wi Ha-Joon (Joon-Ho), Jung
Ho-Yeon (Sae-Byeok), Anupam Tripathi (Abdul Ali), and countless other actors, Squid
Game is well lmed, each episode revealing new secrets, encouraging viewers to keep
watching. Despite its interesting plot, Squid Game is not for the faint-hearted, due to the
large amount of gore, nor is it for young audiences, as it is rated TV-MA, containing
graphic violence, sexual content, and mature themes. The series has an ambiguous, open
ending, leaving the viewers on a cli anger of sorts. It is well done, inspiring curiosity,
intrigue, and a wish to know more.

Squid Game explores inequality in society, especially concerning income and

money, by having 456 people - or players, as they are called - participate in children’s
games. The catch? Losing means death. Each player is to be equal in each game, all having
no knowledge beforehand of what will be played, forcing them to rely on their own skills
to determine their actions and how they will manage to survive. This is similar to real life,
in which people must rely on their individual skill set to earn a living, whether it be an
o ce job or other, and even if the skills are adapted to the situation at hand - in the game,
or in reality - it doesn’t always guarantee success, as the series shows with the glass factory
worker in episode 7, or in the episodes in which teams must be formed - like the tug-of-war
game, in episode 5.

The series is also excellent metaphor for capitalism, where the strongest will
prevail. To become the strongest, to become ‘important’ to society - to be vital, to have
more power over others, to gain respect - a person must have more money than others.
Despite the indications that the games have been going on for several years, meaning the
deaths of many participants, most of which are people who’d been in debt, we aren’t shown
people in society looking for the deceased and missing people.

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Episode 1:
Gi-Hun, broke and needing money, accepts to participate in a few games to win money,
unaware of the horrors that await until he plays the rst game : red light, green light.

Episode 2:
The survivors, now aware of the risks of playing, vote to end the games, just barely gaining
the majority vote. However, as Gi-Hun and the other players return to their outside lives,
they realize that their lives outside are almost just as deplorable as when in the games.

Episode 3:
Having returned to the games, the players begin the second game. Players begin forming
groups, and some returning players have snuck in tools. A cop, Jun Ho, searching for his
brother, manages to slip in, taking the place of one of the pink guards.

Episode 4:
Now, it is no longer necessary to wait till day time to play - the players can turn on each
other after lights out, kill at that time, and the guards won't intervene. Alliances begin to
form.

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 Episode 5:
After the game of tug-of-war, Gi-Hun and his team barricade themselves in for the night,
still wary of the others, and take turns to keep watch. In the meantime, an illegal operation
with a player and some of the pink guards is discovered, and severely punished by the
Front Man.

Episode 6:
Every remaining player must pair up in twos, and are given marbles so that they may play
the 4th game; some players are more than happy to kill their partners, while others are
faced with moral dilemmas - save their partner, or themselves. The remaining players
dwindle to half the original amount before this game.

Episode 7:
The front man welcomes the VIPs - old, rich white men - to watch the fth game.
Meanwhile, the remaining players must cross the glass bridge without falling, the players
(and the glass) cracking under pressure.

Episode 8:
Jun Ho begins escaping the island, and attempts to send the game’s secrets to his boss, and
discovers the Front Man’s identity. The last three players no longer trust each other as
much as before.

Episode 9:
The nal game: two players remain. One player emerges victorious, and falls into a sort of
depression. He has the money, but his life on the outside is somehow worse than before he
left. He meets the true creator of the game. This episode leaves us with an open ending.

Rap Album Reviews

Shabibah Mobasher Mir

All in all, Squid Game is an excellent series, with clever metaphors and a practically
awless plot, as well as the interesting character development. A few issues with the series
may be the slow progression of the plot at certain times, but otherwise a highly
recommendable series to watch.

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Rap Album Reviews

Shabibah Mobasher Mir

1. DONDA — Kanye West

DONDA! DONDA! DONDA! This album, beautifully written

for his mother Donda West, was quite a success and will certainly
impact many people in the future just like his previous albums
have done. I will be honest, I was really excited to hear the
featuring artists such as Playboi Carti, Fivio Foreign, and Kid
Cudi. Hearing Carti’s voice was the highlight of the album for
me: he never disappoints. This album was perfectly executed, and
the production was amazing. I have to say, compared to his
previous work, this will have to be placed at the bottom of his
discography. On a positive note, this album will hold its name for
a long time.

Overall rating: 8/10 Personal favourites:

• O the Grid
• Moon
• No Child Left Behind
• Praise God
• Junya, Junya pt2

2. Certi ed Lover Boy — Drake

When this album was rst announced, I had high expectations.

Who wouldn’t keep their expectations high for Drake, also
known as the greatest artist of our generation? Throughout my
rst listen, I enjoyed every track on this album. The production
and sampling were some of my favourite aspects of it. I played
this album for a few weeks and found that it did have enough
replay value for it to be considered a successful release. However,
it does not compare to his previous work such as Nothing Was The
Same and Take Care. Even though Drake is currently at the top of
the chart, Certi ed Lover Boy did not have that energy most fans
were expecting. Even though, this album isn't as legendary as his
previous albums, Drake de nitely knows how to secure his spot
at the top.

Overall rating: 8.2/10 Personal favourites:

• Champagne Poetry
• Fair Trade (ft. Travis Scott)
• TSU
• 7 am on bridle path
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3. The O -Season — J.Cole

Writing a review for this album has de nitely proved to be a

challenge. When it comes to J. Cole, is there really anything
negative to say? His delivery, his wordplay, his demeanor, and just
the overall energy behind every track was perfection. He was
rapping like he had something to prove and quite frankly, he did.
I would not rank this album as one of the best compared to his
previous releases such as 4 your eyez only and 2014 Forest Hills
Drive. Obviously, every album has its perks. Honestly, I would
de nitely rank A.m.a.r.i as my least favourite song because it felt
like a ller and the album would have done just ne without it.
In conclusion, J. Cole’s album, The O -Season, is my favourite
album of 2021.

Overall rating: 8.5/10 Personal favourites:

• the . climb. back
• hunger . on . hillside (with Bas)
• Let. Go. My. Hand
• 100. Mil ‘ (with Bas)

4. CALL ME IF YOU GET LOST — Tyler, The

Creator

After listening to Tyler’s album, I was sure this would earn its
title as the best rap album of the year. He never disappoints, and
always manages to give his fanbase something new and creative. I
really love how he tries to come up with new themes and always
keeps his music interesting. You can see that he delivered this
album with the utmost con dence. Moreover, every feature was
performed perfectly; Tyler even manages to make NBA
YoungBoy sound good. Although a feature from A$AP Rocky
would have made this album top-tier, it is still a very well-
produced album. Quite like Cherry Bomb and Wolf, it ranks
relatively high in Tyler’s discography. However, it will never reach
the level of IGOR and Flowerboy.

Overall rating: 9/10 Personal favourites:

• SWEET / I THOUGHT YOU
WANTED TO DANCE
• JUGGERNAUT (feat. Lil Uzi Vert and
Pharell Williams)
• RUNITUP (feat. Teezo Touchdown)

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 Volume 5, Issue 1

5. The Melodic Blue — Baby Keem

I highly anticipated this album’s release seeing as Kendrick

Lamar, Travis Scott, and Brent Faiyaz were on the album.
Listening to Kendrick’s voice after such a long time really
brings joy to my ears. Brent’s verse was one of the best on the
album. Baby Keem has de nitely made a name for himself
despite only being in the rap game for a few years. He’s a new
artist on the rise and I’m eager to see how he’s going to
progress as an artist seeing as the rap industry is very
competitive.

Overall rating: 7.5/10 Personal favourites:

• 16
• lost souls (with Brent Faiyaz)
• rst order of business
• range brothers (with Kendrick Lamar)

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 Dear Maria
Hello everyone,
It can be di cult to decide by yourself in certain
situations. Are you worried people might see you
di erently after asking them for help? No need to
worry! By lling out this form, you can let out your
emotions without feeling like a burden to society.
This is anonymous.

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 Dear Maria,
Do I have to be myself in front of
people or continue hiding my real
identity that de nes who I am? I'm
afraid that people will see me di erently
and not accept the real me.

Hi, thank you so much for

reaching out! I wish there was a
simple answer to this question,
but it really depends. We all have
parts of ourselves we decide to
keep hidden because we aren’t
sure about the e ect that it will
cause. However, pretending to be
someone else can be di cult,
stressful, and exhausting. Do you
ever start feeling disconnected
from people? It might be more
complicated to live your everyday
life by keeping your identity a
secret. To x this problem, you
should ask yourself what you’re
trying to hide. Why are you
keeping this a secret? What do
you think would happen if you
revealed it? If you don’t feel ready
to reveal your identity yet, it’s
totally ne. However, I’d suggest
you try talking about it to some
of your closest friends to see their
reaction, or if you know someone
going through a similar situation
as you, you could ask them how
they deal with it. I wish you the
best of luck! <3

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 Dear Maria,
What to do when you feel like this
particular person hates you but when you
two talk it's quite dynamic and fun?

Hi, thanks for the question. First, please don’t

blame yourself for this; I’ve noticed this
misunderstanding in quite a lot of friendships.
What makes you feel hated by them? What
happened lately that might in uence the way
this person sees you? Maybe this person has a
lot going on in their life currently, which
causes them to distance themselves from
others. In cases like this, it’s so complicated to
express our feelings because a barrier is
created between our words and the way we
feel. For this reason, some people choose to
remain silent instead of talking about their
personal problems. The best solution would be
to talk to the person in private and address
this issue. I hope you get an answer soon!

37
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Dear Maria,
How do I start talking to someone new?

Hi, you could start by simply greeting the

person, so they’ll feel appreciated. If you have
decent socializing skills (unlike me), start small
talk with them on the spot. Otherwise, you
might want to talk with them on social media,
it’s much easier to start a conversation that
way. Consider yourself lucky if you already
know what common interests you might share
with them. If not, people generally talk about
topics like school, music, friendship, books,
movies/series, family, and love. Mention the
weather if you’re truly desperate. You could ask
them a question you already know the answer
to just to get used to talking. Friendships can
go a long way, so it’s worth getting out of your
comfort zone occasionally and to talk to
someone new, even if it might feel awkward
and uncomfortable in the beginning. Good
luck! :)

38
 Dear Maria,
There is this person that I talk to
sometimes, not often. But I want to
try and become friends with them.
When we are with a group of people,
and we talk together there is no weird
tension between me and them. But,
on a normal day, we both avoid each
other. So how do I change that
without seeming desperate?

Hi, thanks for asking. If you want this

person to become friends with you, you
should stop avoiding them! (That’s probably
not helping, I’m sorry.) In all seriousness,
you just need to say something. Say
anything. You could tell them a dumb joke,
and if they actually laugh, that means they
have some sort of interest in developing a
friendship (or even more, wink wink) with
you. Try spending more time alone with this
person, you’ll both get to know each other
easier. Remember, you don’t have to change
just to please a person you want to be
friends with. Good luck!

39
Dear Maria,
So, there’s this person that I feel has a small
crush on me. We've talked sometimes but
we usually ignore each other when we meet
somewhere. Sometimes we make eye
contact when we cross each other in a
hallway and sometimes since we have the
same friends, they often come next to me in
the group circle. Also, I sometimes feel like
they do some things on purpose just to get
my attention or to get closer to me. But our
relationship doesn't really go any further we
still ignore each other in hallways :/ What
can I do to change that? Because I feel like
maybe I have small feelings for them
too.

Hi, this is such an interesting question; thank

you! What do you usually talk about? You must
already know some things about this person. If
you truly have feelings for them and you think
they like you too, you should try spending more
time with them. You could communicate with
them through social media if it’s hard to meet in
person. Whenever they do something to get
your attention, make sure to make them feel
noticed... unless it’s something particularly
dumb. Another fun thing you could do is to tell
them you have a crush on someone and need
their help to make a move. Their reaction will
probably be funny, and it’ll motivate them to
confess their love to you before your other
“crush” does. Maybe they’ll even realize the
crush you’re mentioning is them. There are a lot
of things you could do, but the most important
one is to stop ignoring them every time you see
them. That way the relationship will progress! :)
Please update me on the situation, I’m dying to
know what’ll happen!

40
 How do I make teachers notice me and
remember me?

Hi, thank you for asking! I’m guessing teachers

remember students that participate the most in
class. Therefore, to be noticed, you need to
show your interest by raising your hand in class.
You don’t have to answer extremely di cult
questions to be appreciated by a teacher.
Participation isn’t always about being right
(unless your teacher sucks), it’s about learning by
occasionally making mistakes or
misunderstanding things. If speaking in front of
the entire class makes you anxious, you should e-
mail the teacher and talk to them after school.
Teachers are here to help you! (At least I hope
so.) I should probably apply this advice to my
own life because I haven’t raised my hand even
once this year! (Haha!) Anyhow, please get
noticed and remembered by your teachers on
my behalf, because they’re probably so tired of
their boring and silent students.

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 The Ink Stain

So a's Picks
So a Rassier

W
ith the rise in popularity of books in media, many of us have rediscovered our
elementary- school-founded love for books. However, it can often be relatively
di cult to nd ones that spark our interest, aside just the fact that they are
getting recognized online. Thankfully for you, I’ve read many, popular and not, and I’m
here to talk about some of them.

Here are So a’s Picks, my take on Indigo’s CEO’s “Heather’s Picks”.

HISTORICAL FICTION/ROMANCE

First o , “The Seven Husbands of Evelyn Hugo”. Although this one has
been getting a lot of fame recently, I think it has such beautiful writing
so I couldn’t not include it. This is the story of Evelyn Hugo, an actress
that has been in seven marriages during her life, trying to make her way
through Hollywood, going through the motions of angst, love,
heartbreak, lies and violence. Explaining her life through Monique
Grant, a writer for the “Vivant” journal, she retells every aspect of her
life in the spotlight during the sixties, seventies, eighties and nineties,
omitting no details, not even the most treacherous and
unexplainable ones…
With every emotion perfectly well represented and explained, Taylor
Jenkins Reid has probably written one of the most page turning books I
have ever had the luck of reading.
PHILOSOPHICAL FICTION
Next is a book that I nd to be extremely undervalued. “The Five
People You Meet in Heaven” is one of the most eye-opening stories
you will ever read. We have all wondered what happens after we die,
considered this concept of “life after death”; whether you think we
land in heaven or hell, or that it’s just the end, we all have an inkling
of what we believe happens. Mitch Albom dives right into that
through the story of Eddie, an ex-army man who is also a widower.
Eddie had worked at an amusement park his entire life. When he
tragically knocks at death’s door, he meets ve people, he might’ve
known them personally or not, each one tasked at explaining a part
of Eddie’s life to him through their point of views. They’ve all had
their life gravely a ected by Eddie or the other way around, going
through a shrilling tale of uncovered secrets all the while learning
ve important life lessons. Finding a way to be sad and
heartwarming all at the same time, within Albom’s elegant writing,
we truly feel as if we are also in this phase of life after death
meeting ve people.

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 Volume 5, Issue 1

THRILLER/SUSPENSE

I found this book for the rst time at my local thrift book store for ve
dollars. I decided to buy it under the premise of wanting to expand the
genre of books I read. It saddens me that I had never even heard of it
before deciding to buy it. I was truly on the tip of my toes while reading
this. We follow Jess, a panic-attack-prone lawyer who is still su ering
through the trauma of her mother’s disappearance. During the book,
she starts seeing a man, Adam, who appeared in her life quite suddenly.
Same as the man, rather odd patterns started occurring in her day-to-
day life. Her ex-husband, Don, who is still holds an important part in
her life, tries to warn her about this new man. On top of that, she has to
deal with a gory case at her rm, against none other than Don. This
book provides a thrilling read just as much as it does a shocking ending.

GREEK MYTHOLOGY

I think it’s fair to assume that we have all heard of Madeleine Miller’s
“The Song of Achilles”, and although that book holds a very special
place in my heart, today I’m going to pay special attention to Madeline
Miller’s second book “Circe”. Although it is not written in verses like
most mythology, the writing is nonetheless poetical. Miller’s rendition
of Circe’s life, the witch of Aiaia, is absolutely bone chilling. Banished
to an island for eternity, Circe, the daughter of Helios, must learn to
use her powers in order to live her eternal life peacefully. When she
meets Odysseus, her entire preconception of mortals is changed
forever. She must make sacri ces while being torn between her
superiority as a titan and her love for mortals. I already knew a part of
her myth before reading it for the rst time, but I was nevertheless
shocked by the ending and the lovely way it was recounted.

FICTION
Although I love plot twists, “Chronicles of a death foretold” a book
known for the fact that we learn the ending at the very beginning, is
still a favourite of mine. I read it for the rst time last year in order to
do a French presentation, but quickly got entranced by the story, the
characters, and the quality of the writing. Gabriel Garcia Marquez has
a unique way of describing certain events that I nd so intriguing. The
story is exactly what the title claims, a death that had been announced.
The entire village knew it would happen and yet, no one tried to stop
it. We walk through the last day of the main character, expecting for
something crazy to happen or some event to truly shock us, which we
only discover at the very end…
If you are looking for a quick book to read, or for something with
marvellous writing, “chronicles of a death foretold” is the perfect one
to pick up.

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 The Ink Stain

FICTION
Oscar Wilde is one of the few 19th century writers that I believe, we
can all agree, writes wonderfully. He shows psychological evolution in
a way that I’ve never seen. Especially with Dorian Gray, where we can
see the demonic aspects of his life become very prevalent without
making it the only focal point of his story. “The Picture of Dorian
Gray” is a novel that created my love for literature thanks to the
shock and wonder I felt while reading.
It is the story of Dorian Gray, who somehow trapped his soul in a
painting. His body consequently stays beautiful and young forever. He
commits sin after sin, with almost no evidence but his painting of
himself, that becomes uglier by the day. He is confronted by it more
than once, and every time he plays it o to others and himself as just
being lucky in genetics. Eventually, he decides enough is enough…
Oscar Wilde only wrote one book, but he also has many plays that
take di erent routes but are just as spectacular.

FANTASY

I've never been very interested in fantasy, but every book in the Grishaverse, or any book written by
Leigh Bardugo, is an automatic read. She writes the type of characters that have you rooting for them
and the type of world you want to be in, even if it's just to visit the same places you favourite character
was in. With heartbreak, love, humour, and addiction, Bardugo dives into a fantastical world we would
probably all die in. The Six of Crows duology follows six teenagers, each with special skills and
devastating backgrounds, who attempt to pull o the most daring heist possible.
Each book took me a day to read, because I could not put them down. The story and style are simply
captivating. If you're looking for good world building, Leigh Bardugo never, in my experience, misses.

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Intertwined
Pasts
Kai Xi Xiao
“
Life goes on and on and on…” hummed a fruity
and silvery voice. It came from the driver of a sky-blue
1967 Volkswagen Beetle. The vintage car clumsily glid its
way across the zigzag mountain pass.
While the driver was busy maneuvering her way
through the ever-extending mountain pass, something was
wriggling on the back seat.
“MMMFGHGH MMMM BRHMMMM!”
At first, she didn’t hear the muffled noise, until
one of her earphones fell out.
“MFMMMFMMMFFGH!”
“What? Give me a second, I’ll rip the tape off.”
Brie hit the brake and bent over to the back seat,
her slender body slipping between the gap of the driver’s
seat and the passenger seat. Her short nails dug into her
hostage’s skin and clung to the tape. She ripped it off in
one go, along with the facial hair lying underneath it.
“Oow! Be gentler, will you? Women are supposed
to be gentle!”
Brie rolled her eyes and slapped Horace.
“Stop with the violence, woman! I don’t even
know you! Why am I even in your moldy little car?”
Volume 5, Issue 1
Her jumpy hostage kept complaining but she
couldn’t hear him; she plugged in her earphones and was
off to her own world, enjoying the song.
Brie might be what most people would call “a
strange woman,” as she had a cottage on top of a
mountain with tortuous roads and dwelled in it most of
the time. The bungalow concealed itself in the shadows
thanks to its cedar-coloured exterior. Just like her house,
she had bobbed dark chocolate hair. She also had thin
eyebrows, medium-sized almond-shaped eyes, a button
nose, thin and sickly lips covered by purple lipstick, and an
oblong face shape. She was 25 years old. She had a slender
and a door-like frame. She liked to sport a black beanie, a
black biker vest, black skinny jeans, and black leather
gloves. Growing up, she had always been a silent person,
often left out from conversations. She still was a person of
few words but she had also gained an imposing aura
throughout the years.
On the other hand, Horace didn’t have a problem
fitting in society; he was conventionally attractive, he also
thought the whole world was in love with him—a rather
conceited vision of the world. He was tall, had a superb
build, a flashing grin, had hazelnut curly hair that reached
his ears, huge grey-green eyes, and features of a Greek
sculpture. He was 18 years old. He would pay attention to
every single little detail relating to his appearance, except
his inner self. He was a coward and could not have less
respect for people around him. He was used to having
everyone catering to his needs without having to lift his
pinky. It was baffling how they couldn’t see past his looks,
but how was that even surprising, anyway?
46
 The Ink Stain
The car kept rolling for a while, until Brie braked
abruptly. She stepped out of her Beetle, slammed the door
and left. Horace had long since fallen asleep. She later
came back, with scissors so sharp they were gleaming.
Horace sheepishly opened his eyes, went back to sleep,
then jolted awake. His eyes widened in shock, his jaw
nearly dropped. Despite his reaction, Brie’s steps didn’t
slow down. Instead, she kept approaching him, grasping
her scissors. Horace closed his eyes and began praying to
God, even though he’s an atheist. She was so close he
could feel her minty breath on his face. The sound of
something snapping joined his singular breathing. She
freed him from his bonds. She lightly tapped his cheeks,
signaling him to open his eyes. His eyes flew open and his
ear-splitting scream filled the car.
“AAAAH! Oh God, I was brutally murdered after
being kidnapped by an ugly woman. Am I up in heaven? If
so, why does it look like a car? Wait-I’m not dead! Oh-oh
my!”
Brie snickered and that snicker grew into a loud
cackle. The cackle distorted, warped her usual
expressionless face into an uncontrolled, witch-like
grimace.
“I can’t believe such a clueless and dumb person
exists in the face of this earth! If that dumbness of yours
was distributed equally to everyone on earth, we would be
stuck in the stone age! Hahahaha!”
Horace was left agape.
“Alright, I’ll tell you why I went through the
trouble of kidnapping you and bringing you here. It goes
back to a very long time ago, when your grandparents
weren’t even fetuses-”
“Can you make it shorter? I might fall asleep
again.”
“Alright, so, long story short, both of us were a
witch’s familiars in our past lives. I was a cat and you were
a crow. Merinda, the witch, was supposed to have been
burnt to death, on the stake, but it seems that she’s still
alive, kept captive by someone and she needs us.”
“Me? A crow? Such a heroic and beautiful face? A
crow? Come on, you need to make up better lies than
that.”
47
“Well, it’s true that you have the huge beady eyes
and the intelligence of a sloth. In other words, you’re not
so bright.”
“Befoooore you get mad, I’d like to feed you a
sleeping pill so that you can stay quiet. Here, open your
mouth, say ‘Aaaaah’ for me. There you go, good boy!”
Daylight waned, as the moon slowly replaced the
sun, leaving place for the night.
Horace and Brie both slept soundly, the former
sleeping on the cold floor, while the latter stayed in her
cozy bed.
The alarm clock rang at 7AM sharp, deeply
annoying Brie. She extended her arm out of her covers to
turn it off. Her hand accidentally pushed it and the alarm
fell right on Horace’s face. However, not even that could
wake up the sleeping beauty. Brie made breakfast and her
bed groggily, whilst dressing herself. She accidentally
kicked the huge pill bug sleeping on her floor, but he didn’t
wake up, nonetheless. After packing copious food rations
as well as clothes, essential supplies and money, she
grabbed her car keys. She was about to leave, then
remembered that she needed Horace too. She dragged his
body on a wheeled cart for furniture, transported him to
the car trunk, pushed him inside, closed the car trunk’s
door, returned the cart, installed herself comfortably in the
driver’s seat and started the car.
She went through the tortuous mountain roads
one more time, seemingly paying more attention to a map
rather than the road ahead of her. Naturally, she nearly
crashed multiple times, but it was nothing new to her. She
stopped for a short break by the mountain’s base. She
stepped out of the car, slammed the door behind her and
pulled out a cigarette with her Hello Kitty-themed lighter
from her pocket. While she was busy deciphering the map
smoking a cigarette, Horace stepped out of the car for his
daily morning stretch. He made big movements and one of
them would cause a disaster. His long crane-like arm
bashed the top his partner’s head. The cigarette in her
mouth lit the map, burning the yellowed crusty paper to
cinders. They both stood still, both shocked.
“You-are you aware of what you’ve done?”
“Apparently not; I don’t even know what just
turned to ashes!”

“You talk one more time and I’m going to kick
you there!”
“What? Why are you getting mad? You asked me
something so I answered. You know, maybe if you told me
what it was before, we could work together and that
wouldn’t happen.”
Brie rolled her eyes and began to warm up,
stretching her legs.
“Not the passive aggressive and the cold
treatment from the Ice Queen!”
The driver’s hands tensed up, turning into fists.
“Fine, I’ll tell you. Get into the car.”
They both buckled up and were ready for another
long drive.
“So? Tell me.”
“The thing that you burned was a map that led us
right to the witch that we’re looking for. I found it in my
belongings last month and that’s how I realized this whole
‘past life’ thing. And now that it’s been burned to ashes
thanks to you, I’m lost.”
“How about we stop all of this? We’re not
obligated to find her; we were her familiars in our past
lives. It’s all behind us now.”
“That’s because you didn’t give me the
opportunity to explain until the end. She placed a spell,
well, more like a curse on us, that will end our current
lives and erase us from our family and friends’ memory if
we don’t find her in the next 7 days.”
“Proof?”
“The curse marked us with a crescent-shaped
mark. I believe you have a birthmark that looks like that as
well.”
Horace pulled up his shirt to reveal the birth
mark in question. He was in awe, but some part of him
told him that something wasn’t right. He dismissed his gut
feeling and leaned back, deep in thought.
“Oh wait!”
Volume 5, Issue 1
“What?” asked Brie disagreeably who had driven
for 6 hours straight.
“What’s your name? Mine is Horace. Horace
Quillington.”
“Mine’s Brie Biermann. I already know your
name.”
The conversation ended. But only for a short
moment.
“I know where to go to find Melany.”
“It’s Merinda and yes, tell me.”
“I remember how the map looks like. She’s
trapped in a forest.”
Brie took out a paper and handed it to him. He
drew the eastern part of the map, in which a road and
forest could be seen. He proudly handed it back, careful
not to ruin it this time. Brie scrutinized it, frowning
multiple times while trying to understand the drawing.
The drawing looked like a 5-year-old’s doodle. It had all
the essential characteristics of a kid’s scribble: the yellow
circle with rays to represent the sun, the broccoli-like trees
and the wobbly writing.
Brie let out a small “Huh”, before looking for a
modern map of the city. She fumbled everywhere then
realized she was sitting on it this whole time. After
comparing both maps by placing the drawing on top of the
city map, she saw a road that matched the drawing.
“Buckle up! We’re going to take care of this right
now!”
Cold silence answered her. She looked back, only
to notice that Horace escaped while she was concentrated
on the maps. She took a paintball gun out of her trunk,
loaded with a few bullets. She set off to find him,
following the footprints in the mud. The cold and humid
weather drowned her in a thick fog, rendering her
surroundings into a blurry haze. The fog thinned the
further she advanced, revealing a pinetum. Ensuing a five-
minute-long jogging, she caught sight of a tall man that
looked out of breath. Grabbing this opportunity, she shot
him down with a bullet that splashed red on his left inner
thigh. He fell on his knees, hands wrapping his thigh. He
glanced back to identify the culprit and saw Brie
48
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standing
with a weapon that looked like a rifle. He panicked and
put his red hands up to his face. Realization struck him
after seeing his hands. He fainted, thinking it was blood.
Brie painstakingly dragged him back into the car
and readied herself to reach the destination. She pulled
the city map out of her pocket, tried to flatten the
crumpled paper with her hand and drew a red line to mark
the road she must follow. Horace quickly woke up, but
didn’t say anything, out of fear for his dear life.
They only stopped at night when everyone was
sound asleep, including the animals in the surrounding
perimeter. She took out covers for herself and left Horace
naked to face the merciless cold. Horace still managed to
fall asleep despite that and a space too small for his bigger
frame.
Surprisingly, Horace woke up before Brie when
morning came. He considered escaping a second time, but
the memory of his last attempt vivaciously sent him back
to reality. He gave the curled ball underneath the covers a
vigorous shake. It didn’t work. He screamed in her ear. It
didn’t work either. He slapped her. She opened her eyes
and her hand hit his face when she stretched while
yawning. He fell back from the unwelcome push that
might’ve damaged his handsome face.
He rubbed his nose for the rest of the morning,
staring at his reflection on the car window. He shed a
single tear, pitying himself who was unwillingly caught up
in this weird medieval story.
Horace noticed a lot of things about Brie. It had
only barely been 3 days, yet she was already at the top of
the list of the people that he hated the most. Strangely
enough, he didn’t harbour any hate towards her; he was in
a rather confused state during the whole duration of the
trip and he still was. Frankly, it is a lot to digest and
process, especially the fact that he will be erased from
people’s memory as well as the surface of this planet in 7
days if he doesn’t find a witch from the medieval times
who’s probably barely able to walk and covered in
wrinkles.
On the other hand, Brie only had one thing in
mind: driving without excessively scraping her car since
she couldn’t afford more repairs. She didn’t particularly
hate Horace: he was just as annoying and insignificant as
the people she met when she was in high school. She
49
pictured people around her like small insects. She doesn’t
do anything even though they’re annoying, but, if
necessary, she can crush them anytime.
In most cliché stories, the two would develop
feelings for each other, fall in love, hide their feelings and
act shyly whenever they talked with each other. Let’s be
honest, it’s impossible to fall in love in barely three days.
Besides, Brie is lesbian. She only fell in love with one
person in life, and it was her best friend in college. She
confessed but was promptly rejected. Her best friend never
told others that she was lesbian, since she’s not that type of
person, thankfully. They are still friends and meet up once
a year.
Brie and Horace didn’t talk at all, even less than
their previous short and sparse conversations in the car.
That is until Horace finally ran out of patience.
“Hey, woman! How long until we reach
destination?”
Brie was off listening to music, bopping her head
accordingly to the beat of the song.
“Hey! I’m talking to you!”
His patience ran thin, his string of patience being
very close to snapping. At last, it snapped. His arm reached
for her earphones, snatching them, grabbing them rudely.
Brie stopped the car and shoved him in the back seat.
“Now that I have your attention, how long until
we arrive?”
“How about you drive yourself, you useless piece
of scum!”
“You’re the piece of scum! You always use
violence and even shot my leg with a rifle! It still hurts!”
“A rifle? That was a paintball gun! How blind are
you?”
“That still doesn’t dismiss everything you did!”
“I’m doing this for you, but if you want to
embrace death with open arms, go ahead!”
She opened the door for him and pointed the
thick bosquet that lay endlessly ahead of them.
 Volume 5, Issue 1

The cottage was small, painted pink, and had a

He stomped his way out of the car. veranda at the front ornamenting the plain cabin. Small
lights were hung on the edges of its roof covered in white
Brie screamed “Good riddance! Get lost!” and tiles. Despite being daytime, fireflies where swarming
hurled a bag of spoilt milk in his direction. around the bungalow.

They both went their own ways: Brie, to find When they reached the front door, they hesitated
Merinda and Horace, to find his way back home. to open the door. Before, they could decide who was going
to do it by settling it with “rock, paper, scissors”, someone
After another whole day of driving, Brie was at opened the door. Light bathed the svelte silhouette and
the end of the road and spotted a group of trees that blinded the two standing on the veranda.
looked different from those she saw on the road. She could
finally rid herself of this painful quest and soon go back An uneasy feeling invaded Horace. His heartbeat
home! grew faster, his queasy stomach felt like it was suspended
upside down by a string.
She hesitated whether she should carry a
backpack with all her supplies in the forest or simply drive Horace opened and rubbed his eyes. It was
through it. She settled for the second option; it was less morning. He was in bed, in his dinosaur covers, bathed in
physically demanding. a familiar lavender scent. He was no longer 18, he was 40
years old, confined to a 9 to 5 office job, no longer
As soon as the Beetle penetrated the entrance of attractive, no longer a brat. “What a sweet dream,” he
the forest, it swallowed the vehicle whole. The trees were thought. “That is, until Brie died. Maybe I miss her. Maybe
swaying, moving, then revealed a path. Brie was
indifferent to the unusual behaviour of the vegetation: she
simply wanted to reach Merinda, since it would benefit her
too. The roads weren’t bumpy at all and just right for a car
in terms of width as well as consistency, despite heavy rain
the day before. She drove for a while and didn’t even
brake when she saw a human silhouette. She reacted at
the last moment and stopped at one millimetre of the
pedestrian.

“This silhouette sure looks familiar,” thought Brie

while squinting.

Upon a closer look, she realized that it was

Horace! Horace made the same realization at the same
time. She invited him inside, only after Horace begged,
cried, and put on a dramatic performance worthy of an
Oscar. Violet-blue bruises covered his face and there were
twigs nesting in his once glorious and flowy hair.

The roads were less friendly the further they

went, but they didn’t pose a problem. They only stopped
when they saw an adorable cottage, straight out of a
videogame. They stepped out of the car, and slowly
approached the lodge, each with a weapon in hand. Brie
carried her paintball gun and Horace held on firmly to a
spatula.

50
 The Ink Stain
Systole,
Diastole
Jody Zhao
“
‘Is Hannibal… in love with me?’”
“‘Could he daily feel a stab of hunger for you and
find nourishment at the very sight of you? Yes. But do
you… ache for him?’”
It’s late, so late that even the moon is eerily dim
with her exhaustion. Will kicks a pebble into a fissure of
the sidewalk, a small thing that worsens with each passing
winter. The town hall has overruled long ago the
restoration of his cul-de-sac and the few that still live in it
do not complain. Will wonders oftentimes when he is
weighed down by oppressive exhaustion and minding his
feet, so they don’t catch in the cracks, why the scarce few
neighbours never protest against the blatant neglect. He
doesn’t understand the way this dingy street corner, not so
far off the downtown, seems to wilt and cave in on itself,
as if to ward off trespassers? He doesn’t understand how
they can love the slums in which they live, but he doesn’t
query.
Will deigns to play along with this trite, genteel
dinner small talk for now. Every Sunday he returns to the
family house to dine with his parents, more out of courtesy
than of appreciation for his parents. He is too aware that
his parents only have eyes for each other, or dearth of, Will
only a byproduct of their love. His mother recounts, more
to herself and her husband than to Will, the story of their
meeting. She evokes the colours that had burst forth
behind the veil of her eyelids in immediate response to the
gentle touch of this man, before all had gone dark. She
51
had found solace – Will questions the accuracy of the word
employed – but his mother insists that she found sanctuary
in the dim but ever-present glow, the warmth of a feeble
light that was his father. Will does not think he would ever
hold his father in the same regard as he does Light. Light is
free, she is victorious and burns with an ardent passion
that Will wants to dissect; to divide and class its
components by wavelength. And yet his father is a middle-
aged white man, with nothing particularly remarkable save
for his fair cheekbones, which Will had not inherited, to his
dismay. His father has a slight diastema, ironically made
less obvious by the plaque that clings between his front
teeth. He wears plaid suits to work, plaid sleepwear at
home and skips showers when he is tired. He is the
product of flawed idiosyncrasies and be as it may his
mother turns a blind eye, quite literally. And his father is
all the same regarding his wife. Will shifts in his seat,
palms sweaty around the worn cutlery he holds. The nerve
stamens that protrude from the cavities of his parents’ eyes
unnerve him, especially so when they gaze upon him to
ask how his day at the bookstore was. He has never asked
why evolution had forgone a pair of eyes for the twain,
among many a besotted couple. He wonders if divorce
rates would rise if eyes did not pop out when people fell in
love with each other. It would make the world a much
more interesting place, he thinks.
His parents dismiss him with a cursory smile and
a gentle tilting of the head, but he feels he was dismissed
the instant he stepped foot in this house. He retreats to his
room in the attic, where he can see the lights of the city,
glinting like flint in the moonlight, wavering with the
wind, winking in and out of existence, like virtual particles

the quantum fluctuations that he is told of in the books he
pores over. They appear in pairs, a particle and an anti-
particle, to annihilate one another mere seconds later. One
cannot exist without the other, and one exists for the other.
I should relate a story that Will was often
subjected to endure in his early youth. In the beginning,
Man was an entity borne of two conjoined humans. They
shared two heads, four arms, four legs and two minds. It
was said the power they held, shaped by the unshakeable
bond between the two, rivalled that of God, and he, in
light of the risk to his Self posed by Man, sent his wrath
down on them, striking each Man and halving them so
irrevocably their progeny would be unable to return to the
status quo antebellum. And so, the new bipeds were
cursed to roam barren earth in search of their other half. I
must inform the reader that Will did not like this part, but
he was loath to tell his mother. Should he ever remind his
mother, she would reprimand him. To punish the humans
who had found their long-lost love, He would assure they
were privy of sight, in the most horrific means possible.
This part Will largely enjoyed. And mankind would
continue to put up with this burden. Now, Will is pushing
his twenties. He doesn’t remember this story.
Hitherto the stalks of his parents’ eyes have never
bothered him. Now, he wonders where they have gone.
Humans are not so uncaring as to sacrifice sight for a
pattern in which their synapses fire in the presence of
another. What good does ignoring your lover’s flaws in a
relationship do if it is intrinsically based on acceptance?
There is no adequate explanation, any rational one, that
Will can come up with by any stretch of the imagination.
That was his best trait, his practicality, and he tried to hone
it daily into a wise pragmatism that has always been the
mainstay of his beloved authors. Will is immune to love,
insofar as Will can deliberate.
He nods in quiet resolution. One time, then again,
firmly, because an avalanche doesn’t stop for the trees in
its way and Will’s mind will not so easily be swayed.
——
The grey light of predawn was just creeping over
the horizon when the dusty gold of Helios’ rise threatened
to overtake it and paint the sky with the first streaks of
dawn. He lurches forwards suddenly, as the bus comes to
an abrupt stop for a girl who had almost missed it. She
clambers up the sill of the bus door, hastily thanking the
bus driver for letting her on and drops a few coins in the
Volume 5, Issue 1
machine, flinching when they make a too-loud clinking
noise. She turns to scout a free seat and freezes. Will
follows her gaze curiously from the back of the bus. A
flaxen-haired student is watching the still landscape
distractedly, dawn casting her face in shadows that dance
across the apple of her cheeks. He watches as Woolen-
Scarf-Girl (he has decided to nickname her as such – he
doesn’t have the leisure of knowing her name) fumbles
with her bag, retrieving a half-crushed box of Valentine’s
chocolates. Right, today was the day of lovers. No wonder
his parents were especially enamoured and seemed to gaze
– as much as they could- into each other’s empty eye
sockets. The girl with flax locks breathes a laugh and slips
a few unheard words to the still-standing one, who is
presenting her gift with both eyes squeezed shut and a
searing face. Will leaves the two to share an intimate
moment. On their way off the bus, the two schoolgirls link
pinkies, albeit shyly, in an open display of affection. The
whole scene is rather heartwarming, heads huddled close
together, save for the blood seeping from the Scarf-Girl’s
tightly clutched fist. Through the windowpane he sees her
freshly marred eyes, sclerae lovingly excised. Perhaps that
is what love does.
Will gets off near the middle of downtown and
rounds the corner to open his bookstore. He is a buyer and
seller of rare books; first print editions of Do Androids
Dream of Electric Sheep, a few Huxley firsts, some
Heinlein. Today, Will would rather be at home, in bed. It’s
not like he has a choice, but he should not have let himself
sleep so poorly last night. He dreamed in fits, jolting
awake with the lingering feeling of phantom hands trailing
across his face, his eyelids, his clavicle.
He ensconced himself in work, exhausted by his
dreams. Just one more email, another quick search for a
hand-bound Kafka, and then sleep. One more, he would
repeat, before he stopped lying to himself and sat there,
half tucked in his bed, bent over his computer until he
tipped over and jerked awake.
And then he slept.
Poorly.
A bell jangles his nerves as the door to his shop
tips open. He is in no state of mind to deal with his
customers – and they are usually quite polite. He closes his
eyes, hoping to quell the festering headache he feels in his
temporal lobe – or maybe his parietal one. It doesn’t. He
doesn’t recognize the man who enters, which is rather
52
 The Ink Stain

strange, because no one walks into an antique bookstore in
the twenty-first century, not even on a whim. It’s always
auctioneers or rich old men in search of something to put
up for auction. This man smells of ground coffee grains, an
honest-to-god welcome distraction to Will’s morning. Will
watches the man browse his shelves, all elegant
movements and inquisitive hums. He draws a breath, and–
It has just been a very long time since he had
given his name to anyone not wanting to trade him a
priceless antique.
“Hannibal Lecter,” the man – Hannibal finally
responds. And Will offers his own full name in return –
Will Graham.

“Your latest, Moby Dick, did you get it?” “It is a pleasure to meet you, Will.”

His thick accent makes Will’s lips purse in
intrigue, and his eyes dart quickly to the front of the shop.
Right, he put up a poster asking for white-end paper
editions of Moby Dick in a desperate last attempt to bring
one in his possession.
And just like that, Will closes up his store,
because he owns the place, and who’s to tell him what to
do. He tells Hannibal of his endeavours in the book trade
world, and they both muse upon the wonders of science-
fiction.

“No. Wouldn’t it be ironic to keep chasing after it?
The more you love something, the harder you make it on
yourself when you lose it. Love blinds when buying, it
makes you spend more than you would if you didn’t care
about whatever you’re after. And it makes it that much
worse when you have to give them up. It becomes an
amputation, self-administered.”
His throat clicks as he swallows harshly. He tends
to get carried away when talking about books, or lack
thereof, and he doesn’t want to scare off the man he
intends to ask out for coffee. In his café, Will snickers in
his head.
Occasionally, he catches Hannibal’s smile, that
soft, almost profound thing that rattles him more than he
wants to admit. He imagines the touch of Hannibal’s
thumbs across his eyes, the ridges of his bloodied fingers
tracing the pit of his retina. He knows Hannibal’s thinking
the same.
It may just be that he is not so immune to love
after all.

“Sorry, I shouldn’t have kept you listening. Is

there anything you’re looking for? If you would care to
follow me in the back, I have a few more books you can
select from,” Will offers sheepishly, an apology of his
previous spiel.

“It is quite alright; I did not mind in the slightest

– I had enjoyed it. I am fond of people with passion, and a
certain connoisseur of books. May I be graced with the
pleasure of knowing his name? This Mr. Bookkeeper,” the
man smiles, soft and intimate, the joking nickname more a
term of endearment.

“Only if he may learn that of his client,” Will

breathes. He studies the coffee-monger; he’s all broad
shoulders, clean-cut lapels, tantalizingly snug waistcoat
and ash-blonde hair. Will hadn’t really thought his curiosity
would come free, and there should be nothing problematic
in giving his name, surely. He is not on the run or in
protective custody. His name is known, in fact, among
those in the book trade. It is hardly a secret.

53

Lady Edith
Arteaga
Celina Chang
A
s she marched into battle, she knew that it
would be her last. She could feel it in the
depths of her bones. And so, she carried her
bow and arrow, sword at hand. Had there been anybody
waiting for her return, she would’ve acted differently. She
would’ve fought to survive. But ever since her partner’s
passing there was no one. Even when they thought they
were safe, the stupid ideology of witches, people who only
wanted to love who they wanted to, needing to be tortured
to death, stripped of everything, and burnt at the stake,
followed. They had dedicated their lives for the empire.
But it was never enough. Treason was always a possibility,
and they got the short end of the stick. It was never
enough.
As tears flowed down her cheeks, she held the
picture to her chest. Revenge had crossed her mind more
than once. The grief had become unbearable. And the
idiotic society in which she lived never gave her the time
to mourn. She’d worked her whole life to climb up the
ranks, but people always stuck theirs noses in other
people’s matters. Gaining the title of Lady had only been
the beginning. What followed was worse than what she’d
endured beforehand. Worse than having to kill her best
friend. As rumours flowed through the streets, she stayed
holed up in her dwelling, desperate to avoid them, to
avoid everything. Perhaps things would’ve turned out
differently had the poor little orphan chosen to remain at
the bottom. Perhaps then they would’ve left her alone.
Perhaps then they wouldn’t have stripped her piece by
piece until she broke. Until she was forced to break the
Volume 5, Issue 1
vow she’d made when she hit rock bottom so many years
ago.
No matter how it was put, people were cruel.
Even though she was torn down every day, she used to
have something to live for. But now, when even that was
taken away from her, she only had one more duty left. If
she were to go down, she’d have to take all of them with
her. Not a single one could be left behind.
As she stood alone, she took a deep breath and
roared into motion. A swipe there, a tug of the string next,
she slashed at her own army, for they had betrayed her. A
crimson blanket covered the area and as she heard the
satisfying howls of pain, she pushed herself until she stood
on a mountain of bodies, wearing the smile of insanity.
As the enemy stared in horror, she grinned at
them and stalked to the middle of the field. She dropped
her weapons. Thunk. “Kill me,” she said. “FINISH ME OFF,”
she cried. And they could only stand still in shock as tears
streamed down her face and her eyes shone in pain. A
puddle of sanguine red was splashed around her feet.
Hesitantly, a young man stepped forward. He’d
recognized her from his childhood. When he was beaten
and starving, she was the only one to lend him a hand. At
the time, he hadn’t realized that meager piece of bread
she’d shoved into his hands was her only meal for the
entire day. At the time, though her face was sunken in, dirt
and grease adorned her hair, there was a fire in her eyes.
As he eyed her, that sparkle in her eyes had vanished and
in its place was pure agony. “What happened?” he
54
 The Ink Stain

thought.
She’d changed so much in the span of a decade, made a name for herself, became Lady Edith Arteaga, the
complete opposite of little orphaned Nara. But her blazing inferno of passion was gone, and she was nearly unrecognizable
now. He studied the warrior, now kneeling, before the unit. As he realized how alone she must’ve felt, his heart ached for
the selfless individual. Thus, the decision was made.

“Please,” she begged, “end me.” He raised his blade and swiftly ran it across her neck. She dropped with a final
smile but not before choking out a “thank you”. Briskly, the general shuffled away from her body and whispered, “No…
Thank you.” He then rallied the troops back into the territory, leaving behind the purest soul he’d ever met.

55

The
Unnamed
Kailey Liang
H
e quietly shut the door behind him and turned
on the lights. They flickered to life as he peeled
off his overcoat, the pale light reflecting off of
the soaked garment. As usual, he hung it on the metallic
coat rack, watching the coppery liquid drip slowly onto
ceramic tiles — now soiled by a repulsive mixture of
rainwater, mud and blood — placed his rain boots beside
it, and headed to the bathroom in a slow, deliberate
shuffle.
He felt around the wall for the light switch with
his left hand; upon discovering its presence, he turned on
those lights too and, consequently, the deafening fan that
sputtered to life on command. With clumsy fingers, he
opened the tap. A steady stream of hot water burst out of
the faucet, gushing over his hands. The water swirling
down the drain was tainted a murky pink; and still, his
hands were stained crimson.
It was an unfortunate accident, he told himself.
Just another one of life's unexpected presents, the type he
had never received beforehand. One he wasn't expecting as
a guest that night. Maybe he should've walked away
instead of opening its contents, but it was too late for such
thoughts — after all, what had happened could not be
altered.
Now, how did he get himself into this mess?
Perhaps the root cause traced back to a few days ago,
when he had picked up a ghost call during his coffee break
at work, maybe even before. The weekdays consisted of a
very mundane schedule: wake up, eat a slice of toast, take
Volume 5, Issue 1
the bus to work, sit in his cubicle until lunch break, pray
that his coffee break would come soon, and sign off at five
o'clock. Go home by bus, eat, sleep, and repeat. On the
weekends, he would take a morning walk around the
neighborhood and let the sounds of the city jolt him into
the waking world. Maybe he'd even get a cup of coffee or
two with a friend; usually, he drank it alone. During long
evenings, he'd stare at the old clock in the kitchen and
count the seconds. Wish for something to happen.
Anything would do. He didn't really care what the
consequences were. If a corpse were to drop dead through
his bedroom window, he'd welcome the change with open
arms.
The call had closed after the start of a breath, a
clipped, hollow beginning that might've been the start of a
wet cough. There was no number displayed, or anything at
all to indicate that he should call back. He didn't think too
much of it, though. He wasn't interesting enough to be
bothered by something as important as a person's vitality.
He returned the phone to his back pocket and sipped the
hot coffee. The bitterness enveloped his tongue and seared
it all at once, like all coffees did. Although that time,
instead of having just shy of a minute to scuttle back to his
seat with a third cup in hand, he was caught enjoying his
last gulp by none other than his superintendent's wife,
Angelica Goldsmith.
Contrary to himself, Goldsmith was well-liked by
almost everyone, and not only by the many employees of
the company: she was kind-hearted, smart, witty, open-
minded, jovial, prone to laughter, confident — the list
went on forever. However, he was a part of the
56
 The Ink Stain
minuscule fraction of people who held a grudge against
her.
One thing Goldsmith never tolerated was wastage of time,
and tardiness slotted perfectly onto that shelf. Generally,
she would stalk out of her office during afternoon coffee
breaks Mondays and Thursdays to round up the slackers,
and make sure that no one hung around the vending
machines after Wednesday lunches, and this meant that he
couldn't take more than a second cup of coffee, since the
machine always brewed it piping hot and he was already
pushing the human limits of his tongue.
"I suggest you return to your post," she said with
a radiant smile. "After all, running a company is a team
effort, and your work contributes to its functioning."
The coral lipstick matched her black suit and
curly hair. Red would've made her bold personality stand
out too much, and it would've clashed terribly with the
little purse she bore, just large enough to fit a human hand
or two. Of course, there were no hands stuck in the bag,
just a phone, a handkerchief and some extra makeup from
what he had previously observed. It really was a shame; if
he had seen any extra human appendages on the lady,
maybe he would've been able to wiggle himself out of the
situation he was in.
She folded her hands in front of her, awaiting his
response, her smile thinning imperceptibly. "I really must
ask you to take a seat, or I will be forced to report this
incident to Mr. Goldsmith, and I don't fancy doing that."
He snapped out of whatever stupor enraptured his brain.
"Oh. Yes, of course, ma'am. I wouldn't want to put you in
such a position." That was a load of baloney. Everyone
knew that Mrs. Goldsmith basically ran the company in her
husband's place, and thus, was held in high regard by all.
He then decided that it was in his future's best interest to
hurry back to his cubicle.
"Good day, Mrs. Goldsmith," he expressed with a
hint of urgency. Thankfully, she let him go his merry way.
There was no real stress in his body, though.
Instead, he felt oddly light, like a huge burden had been
lifted from his shoulders. Alas, it came crashing back just
as soon as he focused on the opened documents littering
the computer screen. They weren't of much importance; he
wasn't of much importance in this building. He was only
one data clerk out of dozens.
57
He tediously made his way through the virtual
stacks of lists. There was maybe an hour and a half left
until the end of his work shift, but time seemed to slow the
longer the day dragged on. His eyelids started drooping
despite himself — if Goldsmith were to catch him snoozing
on the job, he'd be kicked out of the office faster than his
friend could say 'deal'.
Speaking of Antoine, where was his cubicle
neighbour? He peered over the left glass panel, where the
space was oddly unoccupied that day. The name plate
"Antoine Lévesque" was still sitting pretentiously on a stack
of printer paper, and his pen holder was still stuffed to the
brim. There was a sticky note adhered to the computer
screen, supposedly a reminder to pay his office neighbour
back — that money was long overdue. There were a few
more below the monitor: some of the bigger amounts were
linked to bank loans; Antoine was a betting man, but he
won very little. Snapshots of various tropical destinations
were taped on either side of the screen. He didn't
recognize any of them.
"Ahem. Lévesque requested a sick leave;
something about catching a cold, I think." The new voice
startled him, making his spine snap into a perfect posture,
something he had neglected to do for years.
"I've never spoken to you before; the name's Kris."
"Pleasure."
He straightened his tie for a moment or two,
made sure that he wouldn't lose his nerve, and looked up.
He found the steady gaze of the facing cubicle's occupant
stare right back at him. They didn't really look special in
any way, just like himself, but they still held an air of
importance and dignity around them, something he
might've envied in another life.
"Ah. I was hoping that he'd show up today."
"Any particular reason as to why? You don't have
to deny it: he's a bit of a pest."
He did deny it. Although Antoine always made
bets he never won, complained too often about small
misfortunes that had happened throughout the day, and
never paid his dues, he was still the one familiar
acquaintance he had.

"He owes me a couple hundred." That was true.
Plus, it was best to cater to this person's opinions. Not
many knew him, so it was best to leave a decent
impression on those who did.
"Oho, that's new," chuckled another. This one sat
to the right of Kris. "He usually leaves the poor sod alone
after a hundred. What made you give so much to that
lump?"
"He was investing last month and lacked a bit of
money, so I lent him some. He'll pay me back this week."
"I wouldn't trust the little businessman. Gave him
a fifty for a 'very important project', saw the same bills the
next day at the casino."
"How'd you know it was the same bill, Fred?"
Asked Kris.
"Well, someone scribbled out the face on one of
the twenties," Fred explained. “I decided to spend a little
of my evening over there — I live a few bus stops away —
and lo and behold, I saw Lévesque at the slots with a
couple of bills. He didn’t see me, though, he was too
invested in the game. Utterly useless one, if you ask me.
You’d have better chances at Blackjack.”
“Sounds like the guy, all right.”
He stayed silent. This meant that he’d have less
chances of getting his money back, but that was fine: it
wasn’t like he’d be spending that money on anything
notable in the foreseeable future.
The sharp sounds of heels drew close, and that
was the signal to refocus. Before long, Goldsmith padded
past their small section, shoulders relaxed but eyes alert.
She stopped right in front of Antoine’s desk.
“So he is absent. It’s a shame. Whatever he
wanted to tell me seemed important,” she said to no one in
particular. Then, she continued her customary sweep of the
area.
The day moved along much faster after that. The
monotonous work allowed a fraction of his brain to think
about Antoine and his overdue loans.
After the end of his shift, he had followed his
usual routine and slept until the next morning.
Volume 5, Issue 1
Seeing as his hands were about as clean as they
could get, he shut the faucet and wiped them on his black
shirt. Perhaps, taking account of the irregular day, he
should’ve just stuck with his usual schedule and ignored
the next coffee break-phone call. After all, monotony had
suited him just fine; nothing good or bad ever happened.
But of course not. No, he just had to stick his
long, Pinocchio-like nose into affairs that didn’t concern
him. And for what? Now he had a dead body, the
knowledge of illegal affairs and a case of murder on his
hands. It wasn’t really an accident, not after he had
intentionally dug his own grave and lined his coffin with
secrets.
It did give him a sick sense of satisfaction, but
that was besides the point. If he was lucky, then the
authorities would take him away and might listen to his
side of the story. If not, then he would be found dead in a
ditch by dawn.
He stepped outside of the bathroom and stretched
out his arm to bolt and lock his front door. At least no one
would be breaking in without him noticing. Then, he
collapsed onto the dining room chair as the evening’s
stress caught up to his brain, wholly unused to this type of
pressure.
His spine dug uncomfortable into the groove of
the backrest and his arms couldn’t stop clenching his
trousers. His socks were cold and damp. His head hurt.
Everything seemed to be blurred by a film of rainwater
clinging onto his eyelashes. Breathing in the apartment’s
stale air, he wondered how he could’ve ever agreed to such
an adventure.
The answer lay in the second call. A day or two
later — he could never keep track of the days without a
calendar, and his was already a year too old — the same
faceless caller had contacted him, this time a few minutes
earlier to the first call. To his surprise, it was Antoine.
“Hey, bud ! Uh, I’ve got a favor to ask of you,” he
said.
“Yeah, I’m all ears.”
“Could you meet me outside of the building after
work? I have to give you something.”
“I hope that ‘something’ is the missing
58
 The Ink Stain
money,” he said impatiently. Tax season was over in a week
or two, and some extra cash never hurt in case he forgot to
fill them in by the deadline.
There were a few breaths of nervous laughter
from the other end of the line. “Not exactly, but that stuff’s
somewhere in my house. Maybe tomorrow?”
“Maybe. I’ll meet you outside.”
“Great! Great. I’ll see you soon, then.”
“Goodbye.” The dial tone rang loudly in his ear.
Strangely, Antoine didn’t sound sick at all.
Again, he only had time for two cups of coffee.
Being scolded by Angelica didn’t seem like such a welcome
prospect, so he carried the second cup to his seat, where
his fellow workers had overheard parts of the
conversation. It was as expected; no effort had been made
to conceal his words.
“Still not paying you back, eh?” Fred
sympathized. “He’ll have to eventually. Say, that’s the most
worked up I’ve heard you be in a while!”
“I have been waiting.”
“Indeed you have,” chimed Kris. “I also have to
get back at him for ruining my filing system. I need to re-
arrange all of the documents, and that’s going to take ages.
I have a husband and family, you know? All of this
overtime is killing me.”
“I bet,” said Fred. There was a pause. “By the way,
where’s Mrs. Goldsmith? She’s usually out supervising our
work.”
“That is pretty weird. I feel bad for the lady,
though. Her husband should do more.”
“Definitely. But hey, at least she’s a decent boss!”
Without a solid conversation topic, they dissolved
once more into silence.
Five came by quicker than he would’ve liked.
Tired and slightly grouchy, for once, he took the bumpy
elevator ride down to the ground floor, and walked
outside, where Antoine was anxiously awaiting his arrival.
59
“Antoine,” he greeted. “What do you have for
me?”
“Just these documents. Important ones. Say, can
we go somewhere a little more… reserved? It’s a tad too
open here,” Antoine whispered, gesturing vaguely to the
general hullabaloo of workers racing to get home.
“Sure. Whatever’s more convenient.”
Without another word, Antoine pivoted on his
heel and led him to the alleyway separating their building
from the adjacent one.
“So, what do you have for me?”
“Well, first of all, Miss Angelica here is actually
something like a small criminal.”
“Huh?” A criminal? Angelica Goldsmith?
Beautiful, strict, hard-working Goldsmith?
“Yeah, her. Turns out she’s got herself a little lover
on the side, one with a big company. They’ve been sharing
inside news with each other to raise their stocks, and her
husband is completely unaware — that might actually be a
blessing,” Antoine grimaced.
“Are you the only one who knows?” he asked.
“For now, only me, her and — what’s the guy’s
name? Tucker. There we go.”
“What do you plan to do with this? How did you
even get your hands on this information?” He was quite
curious. Angelica had always kept this perfect image of
herself. To reveal this to the public would be disastrous —
or maybe no one would believe him.
“I dunno. Maybe send all the proof to the press
anonymously. I spent quite a bit to get all of this stuff, by
the way. Totally worth it. She wants to fire me for my bad
work ethic, you see, and I spent a long time working to get
my current salary. There’s no way in Hell that I’m giving
that up.”
“Can I go, now?”
Antoine sputtered. “Can — Can you go? Don’t
you want to know all of the nitty, gritty details? We can

meet at a restaurant later tonight, if you want! You know,
chat over a nice burger or something.”
“I don’t know about that-”
“That wasn’t a choice,” he said in a sing-song
voice. “The Hare’s Den, eight o’clock, tomorrow night. I
might even bring your money.”
Now he was hooked. “Fine. I’ll go, but if you
forget to pay me back, I won’t hesitate to sell you out to
Goldsmith.” Of course, he wouldn’t, but Antoine didn’t
need to know that.
“Cool, cool. I’ll see you tomorrow, then!”
Lévesque rushed out as abruptly as he came, leaving him
to make his way to his bus stop.
The bus had left, and the next one was to come in
half an hour. He only shrugged half-heartedly. With the
number of unusual events that had occurred over the
course of a week, another setback didn’t affect him in the
slightest.
There, he definitely should’ve stopped, thought
about how stupid of an idea it was, and kept Antoine
waiting at the pub. Getting that money back was not worth
the ensuing trouble, especially considering that he had
filled out all of the required tax forms that same evening,
like every other year. Nevertheless, he had carried on with
this appointment of his, and, at seven and a half the next
day, took the southbound bus to the Hare’s Den.
The day at work was surprisingly normal, save for
Mrs. Goldsmith’s absence for a good chunk of the
afternoon. That meant no constant coffee break
supervision, but he was punctual as usual, since there were
no more phone calls to disrupt his quiet coffee-sipping. She
did show up near the end of the work day, though, as if
searching for someone. She seemed quite distraught,
which sent the workplace abuzz with concern and
empathy. Whoever she was searching for, she obviously
couldn’t find.
Kris and Fred, his newest acquaintances,
speculated that Antoine had something to do about her
plight. After all, he had been absent these past few days,
his self-accorded record of ‘most money borrowed within a
week’ had been broken, and her strange behavior had
begun around that time period. If only they knew.
Volume 5, Issue 1
A short while later, he hopped out of the bus to
walk the last stretch of the way. The setting sun was
shrouded behind the smokescreen of angry rainclouds,
unleashing their wrath on the pavement below. As he
walked, his boots stepped into every invisible puddle on
the way, dirty water seeping through the seams near the
soles. At eight o’clock sharp, he was inside the homely
establishment, ears and nose warmed substantially by the
heat of twenty people packed into one small building. If
Antoine wanted quiet and secrecy, this wasn’t the place for
it.
A hand stuck out of the crowd and waved in his
direction. Assuming that it was his work partner, he gently
squeezed his way through the rows of tables and stools, to
find Antoine sitting at a table in the corner furthest away
from everyone else, pint of lager in hand.
“Welcome to my favorite place in the whole
world!” He exclaimed.
“It’s quite nice,” he said as he took a seat facing
Antoine.
“As dry as ever,” he remarked with a sip of beer.
“But yes, anyways, about those stocks-”
“Stop. Money, first, Antoine. That was my
condition for meeting up with you.”
“About that...” he trailed off. “It’s not ready yet.”
Antoine exhaled loudly, and downed the rest of his mug.
“Sorry about that.”
He stood up, pushed in his stool, and started to
pave his way through the crowd again.
Panicked, Antoine chased after him. “Now wait a
minute! Slow down there. We can talk about this! Just
don’t tell her, alright? I’ll get your money tomorrow! I
promise!”
Frankly, he had zero intentions of snitching, but
his friend seemed to think otherwise. It wasn’t his fault,
though, he had made it quite clear to the other that he
would not tolerate any more delay on his part. Maybe if he
had held his tongue rather than take his discomfort out on
Antoine in that secluded alley, he could’ve avoided the
following events.
60
 The Ink Stain
“We had a deal. You took it.”
“Yes, but- Well, I- I’m working on it! I’ve almost
gathered all that I owe you, so just- just hold it off for
another day, yeah? Let’s talk things out a little, sound
good?”
“If you want to talk, we can take this outside.” He
stuck his hands into the pockets of his trench coat. The
damp poplin was a familiar shade of soft black, and was
generally unworn. He felt it suitable for this special
occasion.
“Fine, then! Let’s take this outside,” he
stammered. The din simmered down. All eyes were on
them and their dispute.
Without looking back, he left the restaurant in
long strides, taking a sharp left to yet another alley. It was
better than the sidewalk, at least, where at least a dozen
people passed every minute from restaurant to restaurant.
“Please, don’t tell her,” Antoine begged in the
smallest, most pathetic voice he’d ever heard. “I’ll be
roasted alive!”
“I won’t.”
“You won’t?” A glimmer of hope shone in his
dark, beady eyes.
“No. I’m not a habitual tattletale.” He usually
wasn’t much at all, let alone a rat.
“That’s a huge relief, actually. We could profit a
lot off of this.” he procured the folder of papers from his
briefcase again. “So, as I was saying yesterday… Hey,
Jackie. Is that someone behind-”
The next thing his brain registered was sharp bits
of gravel digging into his face, and a great ringing in his
ears. It was as if someone had cracked open his skull like a
coconut and left the milk to run by itself. There was a loud
bang, then another, which worsened his agonizing
migraine, and a flurry of steps. Something cool was
pressed into his limp hand.
Groaning, he propped himself up onto his
stomach.
Like coconut milk, blood oozed out of two neat
61
holes in Antoine’s skull. His body now lay pliant on the
floor, like a recently-gutted fish. Antoine was dead. He
turned away before he had properly registered the
gruesome sight before him; to his regret, he could not
escape the metallic tang of blood in the air. He was close
enough for his palms to be coated in a thick layer of his life
blood.
The papers were gone as well — taken, no doubt,
by the same person who had just shot Antoine — and the
cold metal in his hand revealed itself to be a pistol.
Startled, he dropped the firearm, and heaved
himself upright, tottering violently to the side. Standing
meant having a perfect view of the corpse. Standing up
meant that he had to escape. Flee. He couldn’t stay; the
killer didn’t know and could never find out that he knew
somewhat about the contents of that folder.
With shaky steps, he hobbled out of the alleyway,
where his migraine had reduced marginally into a violently
throbbing headache.
He had walked home that night, pistol, friend,
appetite and future lost all at once.
And here he was, nursing a head wound and
lamenting the past as the old kitchen clock ticked on. He
had never done this before, and would likely never do it
again. The evidence against him was quite damning: the
documents were missing, his fingerprints were surely
recorded on that gun, and plenty of people had heard the
escalating with Antoine. And now he was dead, and he had
run away.
For most of his life, he had wanted change; and
he had gotten it. He was Pandora opening the box, and he
had cursed himself with misfortune and suffering. Even
hope had left, this time. There was nothing left for him to
do, no one left for him to talk to.
So, when his door burst open the next morning,
he didn’t resist as they took him away.

Bitter Honey,
Dark Nights
May Makdisi
M
elting snow and dirt swirl together on the
floor, mud fills the cracks of the worn wood.
The air is stale, a mixture of burnt pine and
tobacco – distinctly bitter, irritating Margaret’s nose that
hasn’t gotten used to the sudden warmth. She sniffs.
Snowflakes slide off her long black coat and join the slush
on the ground. Margaret wrinkles her nose and steps
forward, the floorboards creaking under her feet.
The redhead looks around the inn, painted
golden by the candlelight and Christmas decorations.
They’re tacky and battered, failing to give the inn a cheery
feel and instead reminding Margaret of a pile of old
ornaments hidden in the attic, having lost their lustre. The
radio is on, playing a soft, joyful tune with tinkling bells
between every note. The place looks deserted, and
Margaret thinks of following the wisdom of the masses and
leaving this place before its depressing apparel sinks in.
A chair scrapes the ground in the distance and
Margaret is pulled away from her thoughts, whipping her
head around quickly, finding the source of the noise.
There’s a woman sitting in the corner, newspapers in front
of her and a flickering lamp hovering above her head that
looks more hazardous than helpful. The firelight reflects
softly in her glasses and Margaret is mesmerized.
Margaret still thinks that it would be wiser to
leave the inn, but she doesn’t have the luxury of wisdom.
The dripping of water on her back reminds her to
take off her coat, and she pulls off her scarf with it and
Volume 5, Issue 1
places both on the iron coat stand. Margaret runs a hand
through her locks and looks around once more. She
hesitates before taking another step. It’s too warm and too
bright – Margaret doesn’t think she can handle so many
flickering lights. Still, she strides forward, trying not to be
too loud or too quiet.
Only one table in the room is occupied. Margaret
halts next to it and grips the back of an empty chair. The
woman doesn’t look up, though she freezes, sensing she
has company. Margaret takes a moment to study her. The
woman’s burgundy shirt looks thin and there’s no coat in
sight. She must have rented a room and come down for a
late-night drink. The cheerful, hovering lamp illuminates a
lengthy article with a large black and white photo of the
Prime Minister.
Margaret’s throat is dry, and she struggles not to
cough.
“Small world,” sounds tempting, as does “Fancy
meeting you here,” but Margaret bites it down and says,
“Blanchet.”
Blanchet looks up. Her hand twitches, then
clenches into a fist, right atop the Minister’s photo. Instinct
is a curious thing, Margaret thinks. Blanchet has calmly
ignored the unexpected company, but the mere sound of
Margaret’s voice has made her tense and set her jaw.
“Wright.” Blanchet startles, not bothering to hide
her surprise. She looks around, as though expecting to find
more old classmates hiding behind Margaret and declaring
it’s time for a High School reunion. Margaret can
62
 The Ink Stain
hardly blame her – they’ve barely interacted since
graduation.
Blanchet looks expectant. It’s Margaret’s turn to
speak, she’s aware. Don’t ask why she’s here, she instructs
her mouth, willing it to obey her. Don’t explain why you’re
here. Don’t comment on the weather. The list of topics grows
thinner and thinner. The reflecting fire in Blanchet’s
glasses hides her eyes – not seeing which emotion they
hold isn’t helpful.
Margaret’s eyes flick to Blanchet’s unruly mop of
hair. “Still don’t own a comb, I see,” she says.
Oddly, Blanchet relaxes at the dig, as though
Margaret’s insult has reassured her that all is right in the
world. “If I comb my hair, people might not be able to
recognize me. It’d cost me free drinks and autograph
requests.” The corner of her mouth quirks up as she adds,
“Well, which will it be?”
Margaret stares. “Pardon?”
The brunette’s lips stretch into a wide smile she
tries to contain, as though the hilarity of the situation has
made her unable to. “Are you here to buy me a drink or to
ask for an autograph?”
It takes Margaret a moment to recover. “I’ll buy
you a drink, Blanchet, if it keeps you from begging,” she
replies haughtily, “That would be rather unseemly. I’d
rather not witness it.”
“That’s quite alright. I’m sure you have better
things to do.” She looks down at her newspaper and falls
silent. Margaret has been dismissed. It’s not a surprise –
the handful of words they’ve just exchanged is more than
they’ve said to each other in five years.
A log cracks in the fireplace, disrupting the
silence. Margaret runs her hand through her hair again; it’s
wet and resembles a light maroon more than her usual
fiery red, and the movement only serves to ruffle it further.
She bends her neck, pulls her sleeves down and relaxes her
shoulders.
She came here for a reason.
“You won’t ask me to join you, will you?”
Blanchet looks up, her mouth agape as though
63
she intends to speak, but no words come out. It must have
worked. Margaret must have looked like a frozen puppy
about to be kicked out in the cold.
“Well, if you want…” The reluctance in Blanchet’s
tone doesn’t stop Margaret. She pulls out a chair and sits.
“I do want.” There’s no need to look wretched
anymore and she smiles. “My choices are limited.” She
jerks her head toward the old man sitting at the counter.
“It’s either him or you. I’m afraid he won’t appreciate my
jokes.”
Blanchet glances at the man before focusing her
gaze on Margaret and raising her bushy eyebrow. “And I
will?”
“You were always a responsive audience, if not
appreciative.”
“And you must have an audience?”
“Obviously. It’s the holidays, Blanchet. Am I to
drink alone, read and listen to the radio? How sad. No
offense meant, of course,” she adds, insincere.
Margaret can see Blanchet’s eyes now; her copper
eyes twinkle in the firelight, her gaze is sharp and
disconcerting. She looks too suspicious not to ask the
question Margaret wants to answer as soon as possible.
Sure enough, she sighs and asks, “What are you
doing here, Wright?”
“Following you around, obviously,” is her prompt
reply, “Hoping to catch a glimpse of our much-worshipped
hero. Caught the last train to Edinburgh just for that.”
Blanchet waits, the picture of patience.
The redhead laughs and shakes her head. “I’m
here on business, what else? I was supposed to meet
someone not far from here.” She gauges Blanchet’s gaze.
“It seems I’ve been stood up, though. Thought it better to
wait somewhere warm, either way. Certainly didn’t expect
to run into Lucy Blanchet…” Stop, her mind screams and
she shuts up. Blanchet stares at her, silent. “And you?”
Margaret blurts out. Blanchet’s eyes narrow and Margaret
regrets asking. She attempts to fix it, knowing she’ll regret
that too. “No, wait, don’t tell me, you’re on very important
Police business. Let’s see…” She looks around, pausing on

the man behind the counter. “You’re investigating our
esteemed yet uninterested host? Or the man he’s
entertaining? I have to say, he does look suspicious. The
pipe could be used as a weapon.”
Blanchet opens her mouth to speak. But Margaret
continues – she can’t stop.
“No, of course not. I’m sorry – I forgot. You didn’t
comb your hair; you couldn’t possibly be undercover.”
“I had no plans to investigate anyone in this inn,”
Blanchet says. “Nothing here seemed particularly
suspicious. Pipes notwithstanding.”
Margaret notes the past tense and smiles
wickedly. “Until now,” she says ominously, mocking. “Sorry
to disappoint, my business here is merely illegally tedious,
but hardly illegal. But please,” she leans forward,
“investigate me, Officer, if you so desire.”
Blanchet’s eyes widen and only then does
Margaret realise how suggestive her tone had been. The
innkeeper finally appears, and she has no time to ponder
Blanchet’s reaction.
“Anything for you, ma’am?” he asks.
Margaret looks up. “I’ll have – is that mead?” She
glances at Blanchet’s glass, filled with golden liquid. She
shakes her head and tsks. “I’ll have some mead, too.”
“Of course. We have the finest mead you can find
in Edinburgh. Oak-matured, of course. We use cinnamon-”
“Yes, yes,” Margaret waves him off. “That will be
fine.”
He turns sharply and leaves, his head high,
sniffing with disdain.
Blanchet’s gaze is fixed on Margaret. “He’ll spit in
your mead, you do realize?”
Margaret frowns and considers the brunette’s
conclusion. She calls out, “Mister Torres – it’s Mister
Torres, isn’t it?” He turns and nods. “Just bring the whole
bottle,” she instructs. “And… I’ll open it myself, thank
you.”
Volume 5, Issue 1
He quirks an eyebrow before turning away and
Blanchet chuckles. “Has it ever occurred to you that it’s
simply easier not to be rude?” she asks.
“Well,” she sniffs, “I’m not the only rude one here.
You haven’t closed your newspaper, Blanchet. It would
only be polite considering you have company.” She stands
up to dim the lights.
“Have the lights been so rude that you had to kill
them?” Blanchet asks when she sits back down, her voice
full of false sympathy.
Now your poor myopic self can’t read”, she says.
“How will this stop me? It might be difficult for
you to think so far ahead, Wright, but I can simply turn the
lights back on,” she says slowly, emphasizing every word,
as if speaking to a small child.
“You can, but you won’t.” Margaret smiles, smug.
“I won’t?”
“If you turn them back on, I’ll just turn them off
again – it would be very childish. We can’t stoop to that.
What would Mister Torres think of us?”
Blanchet rubs her temples and reaches for her
glass. She leans her head back and swallows the sweet
drink. Her throat is long and dark, Margaret notes,
distracted.
“Fine,” Blanchet says. She sets the glass back on
the table and folds the newspaper. “Tell me a joke, then.”
The mead in her glass is disappearing more
rapidly than expected. Margaret smiles and thinks of a
joke.
——
“I don’t believe you,” Blanchet says, her face red
from mead and laughter.
“It’s true,” Margaret says, fake-serious. “Poor him.
Would you believe Millie dumped him after that?”
That sets Blanchet off again. Her laughter is
quiet, but her smile is wide, showing off a set of yellowing
teeth. “How unfair!” she cries.
“That’s what I said. I said ‘Millie, the bloke is
64
 The Ink Stain
prepared to make a fool out of himself for you – he’s a
keeper’, but…” Margaret gives a long-suffering sigh. “Say
what you will about Cedric, he was a good bloke. Dimmer
than a tree, but more harmless than anything,” she adds
fondly.
Blanchet has stopped laughing; she must have
picked up on something in Margaret’s voice. “Was?” she
asks, her tone gentle.
Margaret’s throat constricts. She pours more
mead into her glass and takes a sip. The sweetness burns
her tongue and leaves her with a slightly bitter aftertaste.
“He died a few years ago. Owed some money to the wrong
people.”
“I’m sorry,” Blanchet says quietly.
Margaret shrugs. “We hadn’t really kept in touch.”
She huffs, suddenly angry. “Idiot. He could have still asked
me for a loan.”
Pity creeps into Blanchet’s gaze. Margaret ignores
the heavy feeling in her chest and changes the subject.
“What about you? I assume you’ve kept in touch
with all your admirers?” She doesn’t wait for Blanchet’s
answer but instead looks at her left hand. “No ring. I’d
expected you to become Mrs. Matt Mitchell by now.”
Blanchet’s smile is forced. “I find it hard to
believe you’ve missed all those headlines two years ago,
Wright.”
She laughs. “Matt Mitchell Replaces Blanchet with
a Football,” she quotes, “Is Quarterback Career Better Than
Our Hero?”
“You made those up!”
“It’s how I remember them.” She laughs at
Blanchet’s outrage. “Damn football players,” she says,
imitating Blanchet’s outraged tone. “They even pushed you
down on the Celebrity Magazine’s Most Eligible Bachelors
list. Only number seven,” Margaret gasps. “How
scandalous! At least Mr. Mitchell’s fiancée is number
twelve.”
Blanchet scowls. “You’re a gossiping old lady. I’ve
always known it.”
“I did think you were on business, but… Well,
65
you don’t look very busy to me. May I suggest something?”
she whispers conspiratorially. “At this point, I’d go after the
bachelors above me on the list. Matt’s fiancée… that’s a
lost battle.”
Margaret must have hit a nerve because Blanchet
sits up straighter in her chair. “This won’t be as
entertaining in a few days once you read all about what
I’ve been doing here today.”
“Blanchet Saves the World by Sitting In a Dodgy
Inn. Oh yes, that will certainly make the papers.”
Blanchet gives her a filthy look. “As will cracking
a smuggling ring that has been distributing illegal
substances out of the country for years.”
Margaret’s smile widens; it feels frozen on her
face. “I’m sorry, I really am,” she lies, “I just… I’m not a
cop, but if you can crack a smuggling ring by drinking
mead, I have to ask myself, why the hell aren’t I one? I
think I’ve found my true calling.”
Blanchet reaches for her glass and finds it empty.
She stares at it for a second before looking up at Margaret.
She seems to hesitate, but she eventually speaks.
“I apprehended a man this morning. He was in
charge of sending the drugs across the border. He doesn’t
seem too bright, but I’m certain he knows quite a bit.
He’s… incapacitated at the moment, but I’m sure he’ll be
cooperative and provide me with a list of names.”
Margaret bites her lip to keep herself from
smiling. “I see… let me get this straight. You’ve arrested a
potential witness, and then left him unprotected and went
to have a drink? I see this ending well. Truly.”
“As do I.” Blanchet leans forward; there’s barely
any distance between them. Margaret finds it hard to focus
on Blanchet’s words. “See,” she continues, “right before
I’d… incapacitated him, he sent a message to someone. His
associates, I imagine. I expect them to be quite worried by
now.” She pauses and then grins. “Which would be
fortunate. We might not even need him to talk. He might
lead us straight to the people involved.”
Margaret forces a laugh. “Don’t you think they’ll
anticipate that trick?”
“You haven’t thought of it.”

“I’m not a hardened criminal.” Margaret looks
away, but she can still see Blanchet’s piercing gaze; it
follows her. She blinks to clear her vision. “I can’t be,
remember?”
“I remember,” she nods. “Your parole ends soon.”
“Yes, a few more weeks and I’m free of it,”
Margaret says, smiling. She looks up again.
Blanchet doesn’t smile back. “Until it does, your
movements will be observed. Performing illegal activities
would not be impossible, though, merely foolish.”
“Fortunately, I find foolishness impossible to
achieve.”
Blanchet bursts out laughing. “Saying that after
all those jokes! Quite bold, I must say.”
“I know it pains you to admit it, but I have some
good jokes. I recall you laughing. Uproariously.”
“Yes, well, I’m drunk.”
“Yes, you are. It’s the only thing that explains
your belief you’ll catch any criminals tonight.”
Blanchet’s laugh sounds forced this time. “No, I
think not. I know how these people think. It’s a small
organization. Just like you,” she grins, “they aren’t
hardened criminals. I think they’re merely desperate
individuals trying to earn some money on the side. They
aren’t ruthless enough to eliminate the witness. They’re
only anxious not to be mentioned, which’ll make them
panic and make a mistake.” She stops smiling. “Not very
wise. They’ve all but been caught. It’s inevitable. It would
be smarter to cooperate at this point. The consequences
would be minor, if they would only come forward.”
Blanchet’s eyes are as maroon as the curtains
behind her. “Well then,” Margaret says and raises her glass.
“Here’s to foolish criminals falling into Blanchet’s trap.
May they rot in prison, just as they deserve.”
Blanchet stares at her for a moment longer, then
straightens and accepts the toast.
Margaret lets the mead burn her throat.
——
Volume 5, Issue 1
For the third time that night, the innkeeper wipes
their table with a dirty rag.
“Think he fancies me?” Margaret asks after he
leaves.
Blanchet snorts. “I think he’s eager to see us retire
for the night. It is quite late.” Her tone suggests she agrees
with the innkeeper’s sentiments. Margaret pretends not to
notice.
“Just as well. I don’t fancy him, either.”
“Why not? He’s attractive. His family is of
status…” She grins teasingly.
Margaret tilts her head and feigns surprise. “My
personal life has yet to make headlines, but surely you’ve
read the Social pages? If you did, you’d know that my
dating preferences aren’t based on status these days.”
Blanchet’s gaze sharpens. “But you knew that,” Margaret
concludes. “You merely wanted confirmation. Who’s a
gossiping old lady now, Blanchet?”
The woman shrugs. Margaret laughs; the sound is
too loud to her own ears. She can feel her cheeks burn, not
from embarrassment or heat, but from the copious amount
of mead she has consumed.
“Well, Mr. Mitchell always did have good taste in
women, I’ll give him that.” Blanchet’s cheeks look red, too.
Margaret can’t be sure if it’s the mead’s doing. “Present
company excluded, of course. Nobody’s infallible.”
Margaret awaits Blanchet’s reaction, but a
buzzing noise distracts her, and the room darkens.
“Did Mister Torres just turn off the heating?” she
asks in a stage whisper.
“He seems quite cross,” Blanchet murmurs,
amused.
Margaret glances his way. He’s scrubbing the
counter vigorously, as though the grubby wood is the only
thing keeping him from going to bed.
“How subtle of him.” Margaret sighs loudly and
adds, “We really should go to bed.” She nods. “You should
invite me to your room.”
66
 The Ink Stain
She can’t see Blanchet’s face clearly – only
colourful Christmas lights twinkling in her glasses. It looks
funny, but Margaret is too nervous to laugh.
“Is there a reason you can’t rent a room?”
Blanchet asks, “Or go home?”
“I’d go home if I planned to sleep. I had
something more… pleasurable in mind.”
The radio isn’t on anymore; Margaret hasn’t
noticed until now. It’s eerily quiet and she can hear herself
swallow.
The silence stretches, until Blanchet breaks it by
asking, “What makes you think I’d be interested?”
Margaret can’t stand not seeing her expression
anymore. In the dim light, Blanchet looks composed; she
doesn’t even look drunk, though her cheeks are still
flushed.
“It’s quite simple,” Margaret replies, “Let me
demonstrate.” She picks up her glass, frowning. “Observe”,
she instructs.
Blanchet looks baffled, but she stares at Margaret
as asked. The latter takes a sip, licking the sweetness off
her lips.
“There it is,” she says, grinning. “How very
focused your gaze is, Blanchet.” Her eyes snap back to
Margaret’s, but she must have known it was too late. A
blush creeps down toward her neck. “Do you know you’ve
been staring at my lips the entire evening?” Margaret
lowers her voice to a whisper. “You know what I think? I
think you want to kiss me.” She waits for Blanchet to deny
it; she looks forward to proving her wrong.
Blanchet’s reaction is not one Margaret expects.
“What sort of business?”
“Pardon?”
Blanchet’s jaw tightens. “You said you were here
on business. What sort of business?”
Margaret shakes her head in genuine disbelief.
She had expected the question sooner, certainly not now.
“You’re paranoid, Blanchet,” she says, setting her glass
down. “But if it will make you feel better… My family
67
owns a townhouse in the vicinity. I was meeting a potential
buyer.”
“You’re in dire need of money, then?”
“I don’t need the house, and I can always use the
money. It was a generous offer,” she shrugs, “Too generous,
obviously. It seems the woman changed her mind. Though,
I suppose I could have waited a bit longer.” Margaret
purses her lips.
Blanchet doesn’t believe her. She stares at
Margaret as though waiting for a better explanation.
“All right, then,” Blanchet says. “All right, let’s go
up to my room.”
Margaret’s mind mulls over Blanchet’s words
slowly, “Oh.”
She waits for Blanchet to laugh and say she’s only
joking, but instead, Blanchet hesitates and then says,
“Unless you’ve changed your mind.”
“No!” Margaret exclaims, grateful her dry throat
has allowed her to speak.
Blanchet nods, then pushes her chair back as she
stands.
Margaret feels dizzy and wonders if she’ll manage
to stand as well. Her feet are unsteady, but she doesn’t
stumble as she leads the way up the stairs.
——
The room fills with candlelight the moment they
enter. Candles stand proudly near the ceiling, their soft,
flickering lights hiding the dust. The bed is small, but it
still takes up most of the space in the room. The sheets are
old and grey, and Margaret hopes they’re clean. There’s a
small closet behind the door, a dirty green backpack on the
floor beside it and a sturdy-looking table with two wooden
chairs next to the window. A black fur-lined coat with the
Ministry emblem is tossed haphazardly over the back of a
chair.
The door clicks shut and Margaret turns. Blanchet
watches her like a predator stalking its prey.
Margaret forces a smile. “Nervous?” she asks.
The word barely leaves her mouth before
Blanchet leaps forward, heading, unexpectedly, to the

closet. “I’m drunk,” she says. She sounds tired. She takes
out a wooden box and sets it on the desk. “The drugs.
They’re here.”
Margaret blinks. For the briefest second,
Blanchet’s statement makes no sense.
“What?” she asks, even after confusion has
cleared. Her stomach twists in anxiety.
Blanchet isn’t looking at her. “The drugs I
confiscated today. You’ve dabbled in some of them. Your
location matches their conception perfectly. That is why
you’re here.”
Pressure builds in the back of Margaret’s skull;
it spreads to her ears and face, burning her skin along
the way. It edges to her throat, constricting it painfully.
“You knew?” she asks as loudly as her aching
throat allows her to. It is like her perfect illusion has
shattered around her, leaving nothing but emptiness
around her.
Blanchet’s eyes snap to Margaret’s. They mirror
the hurt Margaret feels, as well as surprise. She laughs
suddenly; it sounds hollow and bitter. She turns away,
shaking her head. “Goodness, I’m such an idiot.”
It feels like a punch to the stomach. Margaret
wants to turn back time and deny everything while she
still has the chance, even though she knows it would
have been pointless. Blanchet would have found out
eventually. Postponing the moment made no difference,
except that Margaret had never planned to see
Blanchet’s face and listen to her voice as she found out.
“Knew.” Blanchet spits the word. “I was sure
they’d send someone to distract me. I was waiting, and
then you were just there. I told you about the monitor,
expecting you to warn the others. But you never left my
sight. I thought… I thought I was wrong. Paranoid, just
like you said.” She snorts. “I forgot how selfish you are.
You don’t care about the others. You just wanted to save
yourself. Get hold of the evidence that incriminates you.”
Margaret wants to defend herself, but she
doesn’t know how. “I didn’t know—”
“Didn’t know what?” Blanchet turns sharply,
her brown eyes burn as brightly as her anger moments
Volume 5, Issue 1
ago. “You knew I had the drugs. If you hadn’t guessed
before, you knew the moment I told you about the trick.
You knew I wouldn’t leave the evidence with the bait. You
knew I haven’t been to the Ministry. You knew they had to
be in my room.” She pauses as though waiting for
Margaret to deny it.
I didn’t know I’d feel sorry, Margaret wants to say,
but instead she says, “I’m not… I don’t do this for a living,
Blanchet. I just—”
“Wanted to earn some easy money? Better than
selling properties, isn’t it? This probably looked like it was
made for you. Once out of the country, no one would
bother to trace their origins – stop looking like that.” She
snaps. “You have no right to look like the injured party.
Just take them and get the hell out.”
Margaret looks up, shocked. “You won’t arrest
me?”
“Arrest you?” Blanchet scoffs. “Your plan worked
so well. You volunteered to deal with me, sacrificed your
friends, and then made sure I’d never mention what
happened here after you disappeared with the drugs.
Wasn’t that the plan? Blackmail? You have a witness, Mr.
Torres, who couldn’t possibly have any doubts as to what
happened in this room, not after all the flirting, and your
monitor ensures our connexion in this magical little tale.”
She grimaces.
Margaret’s vague, scattered thoughts merge to fit
withing the plan Blanchet has outlined. “I didn’t know
you’d be… interested,” she says, omitting that she’d hoped
for it.
“Well, aren’t you lucky?”
Margaret doesn’t feel lucky.
Blanchet huffs and tosses the box on the bed.
“Another officer will be here in a minute. Just… go.”
She burns whole as she leaps out of the room,
box secured in her arms. She pauses to stare at the back of
Blanchet’s dark hair, her shadow lingering in the doorway.
She runs away before she can say something stupid, like
thank you.
68
 The Ink Stain

Take a Deep
Breath
Caroline Du

W
hen Ellen was still a child, her mother would
repeat a sentence to ease the pain in certain
circumstances. Now, these four words couldn’t
leave Ellen’s mind and continued to make her whole soul
vibrate to the rhythm of her pounding heart.
She could still hear her mother’s voice:
“Take a deep breath.”
Ellen shut her eyes, waiting for other words to
come after this, but she was stuck there. Her brain couldn’t
work, it couldn’t control itself; it was just replaying the
phrase with each passing minute. Slowly, Ellen visualized
her mother’s face in front of her, the imaginary fingers
touching her cheeks as invisible tears streamed down her
cheeks. The unbearable torment she once felt as a kid
seized her. Her legs shook as an indistinct sound, one like
the wind makes, surged, taking possession of her ears. Her
mother and the voice disappeared, a cruel flash burned her
eyes, and a cold sensation made her shiver unexpectedly.
Afraid, Ellen abruptly opened her eyes. A drop of sweat
rolled down her forehead and dripped on the ground.
Ellen pushed back her front bangs with an unsteady
movement.
when I’m at the worst point of my illness, when I’m about
to leave this world of mine forever?”
Astonished, Ellen let herself fall on the wall she
was facing to support her weight. She was lost, confused
and she didn’t know where to go anymore.
“Take a deep breath.”
As her mother addressed her for the last time,
Ellen cried, gasping. Finally, could that be it? After all this
time, could she have found a little harmony in her
wretched soul?
“I will remember you, mom,” Ellen whispered to
the dead spirit, thankful. “I will remember you and we will
be able to see each other sooner than you can imagine...”
One last smile illuminated her face as Ellen said a
final goodbye to everything that was once dear to her in
this world.

“Take a deep breath.”

There, her mother’s advice came back to her, and

for once, she followed it. Then, something struck her with
surprise: it was the unusual silence reigning in her soul,
the apparent peace that was installed.

“No, this is impossible,” she thought to herself,

not wanting to believe what was happening. “I never found
balance in my soul despite all my efforts. How could I now,

69
Fallen
Leaves,
Adorn
My
Nights

Camille
Khamphouy

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 The Ink Stain

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 THANK YOU
to our partners for making this
issue possible