Issue 34 · November 2021

Art & Lit

Flashes of light stung my eyes, exposing the thousands of glass pieces concealed deep inside. I shuffled forward, security picking up the graceful nude train that trailed behind me. It was evident that they were excited for me, a human just like everyone else, to attend the Met Gala this year. Calling towards me, they scream, “Look over here!” or “Turn for the camera!” I gazed blankly into the cameras, a shattered smile and pretentious pose captured that I knew would haunt me for centuries to come. Looking back, I can barely recall whatever happened. As I ambled towards the meticulously designed tables, the roses, dandelions, lilacs, and dozens of other dreamy flowers tilted towards me, eager to grasp my attention. Despite this, only one stood out to me: the marigolds – a token for the Day of the Dead – as their vibrant colors lure souls back to Earth. For a sweet moment, I stare as the marigold engulfed all the flashes, the noxious demands, and blur my surroundings. Tears streamed down my cheeks, smirching my extravagant dress. Security tapped my shoulder, making sure I felt fine. I loosened up; shaking my head. I turned to the side looking at all the other invited celebrities, Alicia Keys, Timothee Chalamet, the list was endless. They waved at me, welcoming me as if I was a soldier, having won a battle, and was finally coming home. Something, however, was missing. Through my watery eyes, I noticed them smiling. To me, their skin was full of scratches; just like how his skin was. I recall watching as the storm caught him off guard; lighting striking him as he became clouded by agony. In a second, he laid there, jerking on the ground. Steam rose from his corpse as his skin burned with the fern-like patterns. He turned, showing me my last reminisce of him: his broken and yet lovely smile. 


The doors of my closet swung open, exposing a corpse inside a beautiful satin gown. I held his arm, but the feeling was different, his warmth in his hand had withered away. His nails had retracted leaving his blood-clotted veins overt and obvious. I dropped his hand like they were contaminated and looked up, his missing teeth lingering in my head. Even though he was physically missing, he was still not afraid to smile as he knew I would still love him. I drowned the whole house in torturing screams before I was reminded of who I was without him: broken.

"Skeletons in the Closet" Jason Yu