Pandora's Ink Digital Magazine

Written By Anna Kung from Phillips Academy-Andover, Massachusetts, USA Though I don’t have a driver’s license, I borrowed Marcy’s Prius to drive to my second interview for a job I wasn’t sure I even wanted. She said it was fine—“You’re a great driver, just not, like, legally.” I told her I’d be careful. I was. Until I wasn’t. It happened barely two blocks from my apartment. A red Buick stopped short in front of me, and I tapped its bumper. A soft crunch. Not dramatic, but eno

Written by Alvin Su from Benjamin Franklin High School in New Orleans, Louisiana, United States The basket’s ribs remember: how calloused hands (cathedral pillars) cradled each golden globe like communion wafers, how the command was Take Eat This is my body, never this is my leaving. Five years, seven months, thirteen days since teeth last split peach skin, since the attic swallowed every promised return. Now the fruit swells with unspoken law: she is fading. The trees bow lo

Written by Alvin Su from Louisiana, USA I Remembrance - 缅怀 Monday, June 26th, 2023, Taipei Accompanied by my father, we landed in Taiwan under a soft, grey sky. The air, thick with the smell of rain, clung to our clothes as if it too remembered things better left forgotten. The old days are woven in like a piece of brocade with faded patches here and there, certain memories now unclear and worn out. As I stood, the wind whispered through the willow trees like a gentle l

Written by Y. W. from Canada Every July 12th, she bakes chocolate cake. His favorite. The same recipe. The same chipped plate. She places it on the table beside his last postcard from Vietnam: “Sun’s brutal here. Don’t worry, Ma. Love you.” Upstairs, his room is still neat: model planes dusted, socks folded, bed made military-tight. She lights a single candle. Waits. By midnight, the cake remains untouched. She eats a slice. She chews slowly, like if she eats slow en

Written by Cindy Miao from Maryland, USA you’re wearing the yellow jacket your daughter lent you despite her protests, you say, it’s my time to go your knees shake as you climb aboard the bus, and as it pulls away years fall from your shoulders, folding away into city dissonance despite her protests, you said, it’s my time to go raging fire against your mother’s watery eyes, home spilled down her cheeks years fell from your shoulders, folding away into city dissonance wou