The Theory of Everything

by Matthew Fairchild

The Standard Model and M-Theory

No matter how big the object, everything can be broken down into the same elements, the ones on the periodic table we had to memorize in chemistry class. Those elements are in turn created by protons, neutrons, and electrons. Protons and neutrons are made up of quarks (up, down, strange, charm, top, bottom), leptons (electron, electron neutrino, muon, muon neutrino, tau, tau neutrino), and bosons (photon, w, z, gluon, higgs, graviton). Quarks, leptons, and bosons are made up of vibrating strings attached to membranes. We know these as the most basic elements that create all matter and life in the universe. Continue reading

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Addiction

by Ken Tokuno

Coming of age on a farm in Sacramento was not my choice.
I spent my teen years driving tractors through dust so thick
I would emerge at the end of the day with nostrils clogged
With black grit. I would watch the sorghum seeds we planted rise
Like the soldiers sowed by Jason, knowing I would have
To fight through them all summer, being scalded by the sun. Continue reading

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Derelict Orders

by Donald Carreira Ching

I used to count the cars like the next one would be the last one, but there’s
really no point. There’s always another one abandoned on Dump Road, on the side of the highway near the military base, or at the beach park. If I troll along Kamehameha Highway near the pier, I’ll usually find at least one just before the road curves toward the waterfront homes that look out onto the sandbar, Ahu O Laka. Continue reading

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Another Immigrant Story

by Holly Karapetkova

In the 1980s you were a movie star in a small Eastern European country. You played a prince, an attendant lord, and other roles of note. We watch them on YouTube. “That’s me,” you say, though it really isn’t—not anymore. You have to point yourself out because none of us can recognize you, the muted color of 30 years passing. On screen you watch the war escalate. Continue reading

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Dick Fleming Is Lost

by Jeff Ewing

George wasn’t friends, exactly, with Dick Fleming. He knew him well enough to nod to in the halls and, later, at the meeting house. He thought Kip might remember him, might even have kept in touch, but all he said was “sort of a washout, wasn’t he?” Which bothered George more than he would have imagined. It wasn’t a fitting way for anyone to be remembered. Continue reading

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