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Transcript of Magpie 2014
Magpie
The Bryn Mawr Middle School Literary Magazine
2014
Front Cover: Alexandria Miller
Editorial Staff 2014:
Jordan Brice, Alice Carnell, Charlotte Crawford, Ana Earle, Lydia Eastman, Zoe Leonard, Lillian Naill,
Sage
Okolo, Mason Philippe-Auguste, Elizabeth Sacktor, Leah Timpson
Contributors:
Hannah Grace Agudo, Alice Ball, Serenity Bennett, Jordan Brice, Alice Carnell, Elizabeth Cavallon,
Charlotte Crawford, Ana Earle, Lydia Eastman, Charlotte Edwards, Frannie Esposito, Gabby Forbes,
Anabelle Franks, Maddie Grant, Grace Harlan, Catie Huey, Lucy Kaufman, Anna Killingstad, Zoe
Leonard, Alex Marino, Alexandria Miller, Leah Mitchell, Maggie Hopkins, Lillian Naill, Sage Okolo, Julia
Philippe-Auguste, Mason Philippe-Auguste, Liza Plant, Elizabeth Sacktor, Maggie Smith, Leah Timpson,
Maddie Weinfeld
Middle School Faculty:
Claire Hruban, Beth McDonald
Vices
As ice my eyes are cold, yet my hands shoot fire. Never do my worlds grow old, for with the earth I do conspire.
Once my fire meets my ice, you surround me as dark steam. People say deceit’s my vice, but its truly my regime.
If my ice melts, how long will I burn?
And if the flames die, will I be frozen?
I know it is soon my turn, that one will become my poison.
Oh when will I, myself, learn, that only for one, I will be chosen?
by AoCarnell
Fahrenheit
Sometimes the fire is not warm enough
To thaw my frozen soul To bring light to my frosted heart
While I shiver in the cold
Sometimes the water is not cool enough
To drown my burning fire
To quench my smoldering eyes as they
Blaze with hatred and desire
Sometimes the sunshine is not bright enough
To beam upon my cheer
To brighten those around me
And extinguish every fear
Sometimes the darkness is not dark enough
To hide away my shame
To camouflage my eyes as I
Swallow all the blame
Sometimes the room is just not big enough
To carry all my cries
To warn others of the coming storm
Of deception and painful lies
Sometimes the room just isn’t small enough
To make me feel I’m loved
To be the comfort that I need
When I know it’s never enough
It’s never enough
It’s never enough
I know it’s never enough.
by Zoe Leonard
By Alice Ball
by Maddie Grant
The Dragons of Sowka
The Clan of Sowka had always been close. Never had anyone been mean, or rude to another. That all
changed when Malspar joined.
I was sitting at the lip of the Clan’s cave. Our Hoard was in the back, to keep it safe from predators. I
had been trying to figure out how I could get my fire. I had been born without fire, which was not good when
it came to hunting and defending. Off in the distance, I saw a bright red shape moving towards the cave. I
knew it was a dragon, but not from the Clan. All of these dragons had green to blue scales, often with a few
patches or a stripe of white going down the back. I warned the others of this unknown dragon. That was my
job, because in all other areas of work, I was deemed useless. I crept back into the cave, as dragons of bright
green to dark gray-blue zoomed by, out to the small red shape in the distance, which was, actually, getting much
larger with time. I was hidden with the younglings and elders in the hiding cave, while the Defenders went off
to fight. Night grew, and I soon fell asleep.
* * *
When I woke up, everyone had left the hiding cave. I silently crept out, only to see a large red dragon
standing in front of the hiding cave entrance. He was turned away, talking to a dark green dragon known as
Eterment, the head of Defense. I hid in the hiding cave until he was gone. Seeing him up close, I had noticed
that he was actually close to my age, just much stronger, and about twice my size. I started to walk back to the
Cave entrance, when he saw me. I continued and pretended not to see him, when he stopped me. At first I
freaked out, as would any small, flameless dragon who has just seen an intruder talking to the head of Defense.
Then, he said to me in a gruff, slightly annoyed voice, “Why are you not in training?!”
I replied, stuttering a bit, “T-Training for w-what?” He glared down at me sarcastically when Eterment
came over.
The dragon turned from me instantly and saluted Eterment, when Eterment said, “He isn’t in the De-
fense, Malspar. He has no flame.” The dragon, Malspar, looked down at me and started laughing. My face
burned red underneath my turquoise scales. I sulked off over to the mouth of the Cave, trying, unsuccessfully, to
forget the encounter.
As it grew darker, I went off to the eating cave. The eating cave was already crowded with blue, green,
and the occasional gray-ish dragon. I sat in my usual spot, when a bright red dragon came in. He was being led
by a few other dragons in the Defense, looking around the high-ceilinged cave, when his eyes landed on me. He
stared at me for a few seconds, before walking to the special Defense table. There was also the Hunter’s table,
the Crafter’s table, the Younglings’, Elders’, and the Healer’s tables. I sat at a small table in the corner that did
not have a name, alone. For dinner, the Cook dragons were serving roast elephant, a feast much enjoyed by
many dragons, including myself. By the time one of the elephants came to me, there was not much left, just a
few morsels. This is what always happened, but I did not complain.
I was midway through dinner when I saw Malspar get up and start to approach me. I looked for some-
where to hide, but it was too late. “I see you get to have elephant,” he said gruffly, with a bit of sarcasm in his
voice. I nodded carefully. “At the Defense table, there is only venison,” he continued. “I see they serve the de-
fects here the best food.” With that he snatched my plate and went over to his table without another word. I sat
for awhile thinking about what just happened before leaving and going to my sleeping place, near the lip of the
Cave.
* * *
This went on for awhile. Malspar calling me names, taking my food, insulting me, etc. One day I woke
up, ready for yet another day of misery, when, to my surprise, Malspar was nowhere to be seen. I looked
around, and none of the Defenders were in the Cave. At first I assumed that they were in early morning train-
ing. Then, I looked outside the cave, when I saw an army of knights marching towards the Cave. I flew out, to
go warn the other dragons, when I saw the Defense already flying above the knights. The Defense flew down
towards the knights in a great, swooping motion. The knights paid them no mind and just held up their
shields. They marched on, closer and closer to our beloved Cave. I was frozen in fear as they steadily came
closer and closer. Finally, I passed out.
* * *
When I woke up, fighting had broken out. The knights had invaded the Cave, and I had been moved to
a different part of the Cave. I left the small area of the Cave, walking towards the Hoard. When I reached it, I
saw the scariest thing that I believe I shall ever see in my life. Knights were swarming the Hoard, picking up
every piece of gold or jewel that they could find. Dragons lay bloodied and dead on the ground of the Hoard,
staining the treasure with red blood. Blue fire spread through the air, and the sound of dragons roaring echoed
throughout the Cave. They were trying to defend, but without much luck. I sat there in a mix of awe and terror,
when a knight came up to me, seemingly unnoticed. By the time I noticed him, he had already raised his sword
ready to strike. I froze in terror and waited for the end. He started to bring down his sword when a flash of red
zoomed in front of me, knocking the knight off balance. Another flash, and the knight was gone.
* * *
After the fighting, the dragons had won. Unfortunately, though, many were injured and killed. I went
into the Healing cave, and went up to where Malspar lay, with a large cut in his upper front leg and several deep
gashes along his flank.
To him, I said,“You saved me.”
He looked up at me, and said back, “I know.” Then he smiled a warm, red smile at me.
by Charlotte Crawford
Come With Me
Come with me
and let us flee
from the absurd idea of insanity
We fly and leap and soar and dream
lying in the light of the cold moon beam
We run from prejudice, fear and hate
forget the ideas they create
forget the judging, taunts, and jeers
continued on for years and years
But for now let us run wild
remember when we were but child
when times were simpler, easy and loose
when life was of painless use
We run and laugh and think and ponder
of all that lays beyond the yonder
Come with me and we will see
the true meaning of insanity
by Elizabeth Sacktor
Eero’s Funeral
The mourning cries of the A’ledanyi people echoed across the plain. The stronger members of the tribe, men and
women alike, carried the wood to the huge funeral pyre. A tiny nine year old girl, draped in a flowing red dress
that was blowing wildly in the wind, stood among the mourning crowd. Unlike the throng behind her, she was
completely silent, and not a tear fell down her cheek.
“Young one,” murmured the gravelly baritone of Solon, the head of the Elder’s Council, “You do not
have to watch.” She turned to him, hazel eyes wide and glazed, like a doe.
“No, Solon. I must stay.”
“They would all understand if you did not want to watch, Dari.¹”
“They would think me weak,” she replied. “If I am to rule, they must respect me, almost fear me. My fa-
ther was too kind.” She turned away, leaving Solon with a troubled expression. Heaving a deep sigh, he lightly
grasped her petite shoulders. The young queen’s head only came up to Solon’s paunchy stomach, but she was al-
ready so fierce, he thought.
“I will be behind you if you need, Ahee.”
When the corpse of her father, wrapped in a scarlet burial shroud, was set on fire, Ahee did not hide her face.
The reflections of the flames danced in her eyes.
¹“Dari” is an A’ledanyi form of endearment
by Ana Earle
by Elizabeth Cavallon
by Julia Philippe-Auguste
It wouldn’t surprise me
An Alliteration poem
It wouldn’t surprise me, If seas could fly,
If skies could sink, If sunny days were filled with clouds, If snowy days were warm as summer,
If sweet candy was sour, It wouldn’t surprise me if surprises weren’t sur-
prising.
by Liza Plant
by Frannie Esposito
No Such Thing as a Lifetime Guarantee
I wish I lived in Paris, but with the beauty of a Caribbean paradise to my left, New York’s taste to my
right, and London’s people in front of me. Instead, I feel like I’m trapped in a cage with two backdoors and no
windows. I could leave easily, but where would I go without a heart to follow? Until I find an unbroken heart
to replace my current one, I will have to fake a smile like I have since I first longed for somebody who would
love me.
Maybe I could steal that somebody’s heart and tuck it away in the place of mine. Would they like the
pieces of mine own? I wonder if they would. Should I tie them up in a bow and hang them from the rafters to
be found in hide and seek? Did he do the same to force my labor to win it? Why is life never easy like a fairy
tale with a Fairy Godmother who says a spell to fix it all? Instead it feels like the clock chimes midnight every
time goodness peeks its glowing smile.
I will pray for the someday that I live in Paris with the beauty of a Caribbean paradise to my left, New
York’s taste to my right, and London’s people in front of me. Dreams would cascade lazily down the rivers,
catch the sun’s shining light as it tumbled down a waterfall, and be captured in my cupped hands for me to
keep close to my crumbling heart. Dreams would curl up in my palms and purr like a kitten before drifting off
into sleep. When dreams wake, I won’t be able to breathe because all air is sucked from the world as the dream
flourishes into a monarch butterfly and takes flight, soaring to the kingdom of the clouds.
Before I have taken flight in a plane, but never like a monarch does upon its orange and black wings.
Each time I take off I miss the clouds, yet I never seem to reach the sun, the moon, or the stars. Constantly, I
seem to fall straight down so quickly that when I fall, I fall out of it all. If I could find somebody with wings,
would he fly with me to the sun, the moon, or the stars? Or would he drop me so that I fall straight down so
quickly that when I fall, I fall out of it all and forget my own name. If I forget my own name, would I just
mumble his and be blinded by my fake love? Would my heart ache? Or is it shattered and broken enough for
this big world. Oh damn, I wish I lived where hearts came with a lifetime guarantee, and somewhere where
when I broke, you could return me. When I came back, good as new and all shiny too.
I wish I lived in Paris, but with the beauty of a Caribbean paradise to my left, New York’s taste to my
right, and London’s people in front of me.
by Lydia Eastman
When I Leave You
when I leave you
don’t cry
when I leave you
don’t sob
when I leave you
don’t regret all that you did to me
when I leave you
smile
when I leave you
laugh
when I leave you
remember all the good times we had
when I leave you
think
when I leave you
reminisce
when I leave you
don’t forget about me
by Elizabeth Sacktor
On Loving You
You said we’d travel the world together
feeding our insane obsession to travel You repeated wanderlust a word so delicate, like paper dolls, crumbling with touch
You did a lot of wandering for our age
finding some sort of pleasure on the comfort of pavements
those laced fingers filled with desire
this was our beginning, getting ready for our middle and inevitable end
by Sage Okolo
Sunset by Maggie Smith
Tiger
From the shadows of the cage stepped the beast, her tail swaying back and forth,
her eyes focused on mine. They gleamed with allure. Unlike most tigers, her eyes were
green and not yellow. They were big, deep, and glistening. Her whiskers wilted like dead
flowers. The fur on her back seemed to shine and glow in the light that was not there. Her
pelt was all black streaks along an orange ocean. These vertical bands blended into the
shadows of the bars that contained her. Her face was sad and sorrowful. Sitting there
trapped, confined in this prison, wasn’t natural for such a strong, powerful creature. She
pulled the pity from my heart like a magnet. Every time she took a step, her big paws fell
to the ground like heavy burdens. I could not have felt more despair. Like a beautiful but
cursed queen of the jungle, she sat imprisoned in this circus cage while her kin frolicked in
the jungle to their heart’s delight. You saw the power she had in those muscles that she
was just aching to use. I couldn’t see her like this; those big sad eyes, those burdened
paws, those dead-flower whiskers. Everything showed me how lifeless she would become
if she stayed here. by Elizabeth Sacktor
by Serenity Bennett
Giant
I am a Giant Not size wise
but spirit wise
Yes I make mistakes
but that means I am a Giant-in training
I am still growing
but when I am ready I will be a full grown Giant I will not let bad spirited people bring me down
Yes I am a Giant and you can be one too
By Gabby Forbes
by Maddie Weinfeld
Untitled
Don’t you hear the blood curdling shrieks around?
Don’t you hear the sickening cackles that surround?
Don’t you feel the icy, dry air on your skin?
Don’t you feel that cold emptiness within?
Leaving is the goal.
Which costs a great toll.
Get out of the way.
Open your eyes!
Before it’s just too late.
Don’t you hear the dead silence of all the voices lost…
by Mason Philippe-Auguste
by Maddie Weinfeld
Oh the Poor People!
Oh the poor people
Who have to listen
To our insanities
Our insanities
Insanities!
Oh the poor passersby
Who have to listen
To our talk
Our talk
Talk!
Oh the poor children
Who have to listen
To our thoughts
Our thoughts
Thoughts!
Oh the poor friends
Who have to listen
To our chatter
Out chatter
Friends?
by Elizabeth Cavallon
Oh the poor innocent Who have to listen
To our fighting
No one is innocent What friends?
Oh the poor listeners
No one listens to you
Together we’re together
Everyone does something wrong
You’re delusional
Oh the poor people
Can you shut up?
I don’t have to talk to you
At least we have each other
Lunatic
Oh poor me
I have to listen
To myself
To yourself
To me!
by Zoe Leonard
The Locket
You wonder if she’s ever gonna be here, if your brother is crazy. Simon, with that fire in his eyes
and the warm assurance of his smile, bent on the floor with the sickness in his mind and his hands crusted
in salt. The sickness stole your mother, your father, and now it’s got its claws sunk into your brother. The
storm rages on outside, the clap and beat of the thunder matching his spasms in a twisted tempo, the wind
matching the howls torn from his mouth.
You’d scream and you’d cry if it was still in you. You’d shout and run and break the circle. You’d
gather him in your arms and never look back. You might even break these bonds, whisper into the carvings
until they melt and drip into oblivion (but you know that it isn’t the metal shackles keeping you in the high
backed chair). Above all, you’d smash that damned locket. Crush the cursed object beneath your heel (you
could’ve done that by now, the voice whispers in your head, but you couldn’t, you are far too weak).
But it’s too late now. The clock is stuck, time has paused and stretched into this one very moment,
tearing down the middle. The dust and cobwebs swirl together on the floor, making her shape. Her hair
isn’t as shiny as you remember it, something dark lurks in her eyes (perhaps it was always there, maybe you
just ignored it), and her collar bones stick out like sharp knives. Her dress looks like an extension of the
carpet, floor length and made with a corset, from a style long past.
Your brother is foolish to think of her as she was. You cannot tear your eyes away as she swishes
forward, cradling his face in her hands. He turns to you, his smile wide and childish. You don’t even flinch
at the crunch, wondering why it took her so long to kill him. You feel a door close in your heart as your
brother’s broken body is dropped to the floor, that same stupid grin fixed on his face.
The bonds on your wrist break open as the life leaves your brother’s body. She goes for you as you
roll out of the chair, shrieking at you as your hand closes in on the locket. You burn a hole through the
floor, letting the fire light make the chain gleam before you drop it. She really screams then, a horrible
wicked sound that makes your flesh want to peel off your bones and pitch itself off the side of the moun-
tain.
She tries to claw at you as she is sucked into the hole, gouging your arm with her overgrown claws.
You can only hear the echoes of a scream when the floor heals itself, when the fire springs back to life with
vigor. The house styles your brother’s body in an elegant pose on a chair, as it does with everyone who dies
in here (as you shut the door behind you, you pretend as if it’s gonna stay like that, not like it’s going to be
lying in a stories-deep pit, staring up at the square of sky forever).
It’s stopped raining as you make your way to your car. You flip the heat on as you peel down the
mountain track (you’d like to think because it’s cold outside, rather than the icy sweat making it’s way
down your back), tapping your finger on the wheel. The migraine sets in when you get far enough from the
house. You have never liked Mother’s Day.
by Jordan Brice
By Maddie Grant
by Elizabeth Cavallon
Don’t Complain When You End Up Dead, You Followed Me
I can tell when you are lying. I can read it on your face.
Everything you do, You say
Just seems to leave a trace.
I see a hardness in your eyes, Or a waver in your voice,
You think that you have fooled me. I think it was my choice.
Was that a laugh I heard from you?
Something you don’t believe?
Well believe me when I tell you, You are no match for me.
Can you see me when I’m lying?
If you do you never say. And if you did,
(I know you don’t) You’d likely run away,
Because I’d break and steal and lie and cheat and gamble any day. As long as I end up on top
And you’re in disarray.
But I smile when I am lying! You know when I tell lies!
Oh honey, I think it’s time I told you, It’s all just a disguise.
It’s honor among thieves
One thief
That’s me. But you know I’ll never take the blame.
Because by my side are me, a fence, And the criminally insane.
I’ll set a trap and watch you go, And smile as you lose.
Because sometimes psychotic people like me
Just need to be amused.
My honeyed lies and silver tongue
Will always come of use, But really the thing you should fear the most
Is my mind when it’s let loose.
Does my narcissism impress?
Oh yes, But maybe that’s just me.
I’ve got poison in my pocket, And a dagger up my sleeve.
Just look into my eyes
And think, Of all the plots I could conceive.
You think that I am dangerous?
Well, you know what?
So do I. Because every word I say to you,
Could easily be a lie.
I don’t purse my lips, Or have my secrets in my eyes.
I don’t have that telling trait My honor must abide
But don’t think you don’t know me, I mean, I’m an open book!
Oh yes, I spill my blood and guts
If you just know when to look!
When I was sane, I was lying. But I lost that one thing I had.
Now half the time I’m completely honest Because that’s when I’m completely mad!
Oh woe is me! But what am I?
A criminal, a madman, or simply alive?
But I’m tired now, And so should you be.
I don’t know why you even listen to me.
You may hold me in the light, Of whatever I have said,
But remember I’m immortal. Immortal in my head.
And I’m freer than most. I’d be freer than free.
But today I’m weighed down
By a chain of worry
So don’t follow me
I won’t follow you
Please
I worry that you will end up like me too
by Zoe Leonard
by Elizabeth Cavallon
Stress
Stress, You are a horrible thing,
But sometimes you are a great thing. You can make me want to cry
But you can make me get things done
You can make me feel like there’s no time, But you give me comfort once everything’s done.
Stress, I can’t imagine a life without you.
by Leah Mitchell
Mother Nature by Maggie Smith
Good Girls
Good girls don’t die young. I suppose that’s why fairy tales are immortal. Yeah, immortal. Right now
forget everything you know about fairy tales. Because this is the after ‘happily ever after.’ Snow White leads
witch hunts for her evil stepmother, and Cinderella gives out free witchcraft lessons to those needing to get even
like she did. Little Red (well, not that little anymore), and the Wolf are head of ‘Help The Starving Werewolves
Association.’ Let’s not forget about the villains. I am one. Well, legally. Being the daughter of the Snow Queen
ain’t so cool. I mean you have ice powers, and mind control, but it’s not as fun some kids. It’s not very helpful
when anger management classes at school are required. I froze the last guidance counselor. Way too perky for
my taste. I still don’t get why I’m here and the point for me being here. Just target the villains kid. No matter
how many times I apologize to Kai about my mom’s stupid idea, it never works.
At least I have friends to get me through this. There’s Em, short for Ember. She’s half dragon, and Lo-
gan’s a Werewolf. But not just any werewolf. He’s the son of Lycaon. The first werewolf. Evil too.
Without them, I don’t know how I’d survive high school. It’s hard enough with the actual academics. I
mean it’s the same thing every day. Music, Mythology Through The Years, Magic And Charms, Advanced Pow-
ers, Monster Combat Training (which is a lot like PE, but you know with monsters, and demons) and Math.
Ugh, Math. Then there’s Crisis Support-which is the hero’s support group. Like SB (Sleeping Beauty, if you’re
new to this whole fairy tale thing), whose immortal age of sixteen has left her hormonal, has got serious issues.
Her prince didn’t come until 1943. While her castle was being bombed. Which was better than any alarm clock.
Her soldier left her for another girl which totally scared her for life. Every time I think of her, I get kind of an-
gry. She’s waiting for her Prince Charming. I’m not waiting for mine. Just look at Rapunzel: After her seven-
teenth, she couldn’t wait any longer, even if her Prince Charming was stumbling around the woods blind as
Grandma Z. She escaped, which is why she’s my favorite fairy tale. She leads feminist rallies now. I’d gone to
a couple before my mom charged in and gave me frostbite.
I remember when I met her. She told me that when we’re children we listen to the stories our mothers
tell us. The ones about princesses, and we so desperately wanted to be them. We wanted to be loved by all
and loathed by the wicked. Sometimes for our beauty. We want a prince. So we’re locked in a tower with the
comfort of books and animals. But soon we realize old princey can’t always be relied upon. We’re armed with
our wits and devices we make. We learn old princey has run off with another girl. We unlock the doors and
fight off the dragon that the Hero slays. But we can to do it. We’re twice as capable as any man. Especially a
prince. It’s time for these stories to get new Heroes.
Let’s do a little erasing.
by Sage Okolo
by Lillian Naill
The Underworld
Tartarus
And
The Fields of Punishment
Deep, deep down
Underground
In Gaia’s depths. Even beyond the reaches of death
Lies Tartarus. The land of the evil. The land of the dead.
Where corrupt souls lurk. And everyone’s just a reminder of the past.
Waiting for the torture to end.
The Fields of Asphodel Those who have sinned,
But have done good deeds. Spend forever wandering in the fields.
Never knowing, Never showing
That they remember
Their past lives.
Elysium
Not as deep into the ground. Lay the fields of Elysium. Where the dearly departed
Sit happy as can be. As they spend all life after death
In eternal bliss. If three times
They strike Elysium
in the happy game of chance. To the Isle of the Blessed they go
To spend in never-ending delight.
by Lillian Naill
Graveyard Girl
combat boots once pretty with fresh laces now stink like the corpses
black hair pony-tailed hair that deserved washing
and in the crevices of her nails dirt found a home
an amateur grave digger
silly graveyard girl out to dig up love
just a skulled shadow, she drifted over evanesced love
the ground wailed as it ripped apart dig! dig! dig!
And she bundled the earth in her arms
bed it back to the ground
and tucked it in
the stars buried themselves in her eyes
understanding each piece of her iris
she thought about the broken love
cars, drunk, and a careful blond boy
sew him back together
follow through with the blue thread
keep it steady
a red thread lined the hole over the heart she breathed in the resurrected air
its grim and bitter taste fired in her throat And she liked every last bit it, savoring in its flavor
she bit the thread and pulled it apart Gasping to breathe
he swallowed her life, slowly
Don't leave me She twiddled her fingers and combed his blond hair
Don't leave me again
All she wanted was his heart beat
his chest grimed in dirt
and once again, they breathed
tied hearts and withering breaths
they fell through the earth
bonded to new sewed limbs
Isis and Osiris
Resurrection and Death
She sewed him back so he could live again
and again
and again...
by Sage Okolo
by Anabelle Franks
Pavel’s Prologue
Pavel the Gatekeep was huddled as far away from pelting rain as possible. He sat hunched under the
stone archway of Ayon’s Gate, waiting for travelers to inspect and then let through into the city, but he knew that
none would come. Not in this weather, not at this time of night. Because of this, he felt safe enough to sink into
his thoughts, and was considering a rumor he’d heard from his wife, Reta, who chatted about all the gossip she
heard at her stand in the marketplace. The Night Terror, she’d said, They come when most people are warm in their beds and
have the city in an iron grip by first light. Marva the grocer’s wife told me her sister’s town was taken by them. A figure on a black
horse, and a small army already within the city walls. Of course, he believed this to be ludicrous, and it only served as a
reminder of the warmth and liveliness of his wife, rather than a chilling herald of what was to come. Pavel was a
simple man; he didn’t believe in rumours and gossip, just the rising of the sun and the rising of the moon, and the
routine of gatekeeping at night.
Still wrapped in these thoughts, he barely heard the harsh clop and slide of shod horse hooves against wet
cobblestones, the soft breathing of the broken-in leather saddle, the gentle collision and wrinkle of well-used
leather armor. He was unaware, that is, until the figure was at his gate.
Shambling up to the wrought iron, joints made creaky and stiff from sitting in the damp cool, he said
tiredly, “Inspection. Please dismount and provide your papers and all weapons you may be concealing.” The fig-
ure didn’t come down, though. The huge black mare stamped her foot and snorted steam into the night air, but
no other movement was made. Only a chilling voice, cold and flat and distinctly female, emanated from the hood.
“Step aside, peasant. I do not wish for you to regret this night. Then again, you will not live to regret it if
you do not move.” Pavel heard the faintest brush behind him, and the world narrowed to a point of starlight.
by Ana Earle
Newspaper Blackout Poem
by Catie Huey
Lights: An Avengers Fanfiction (unfinished)
Chapter 1: Nightmares
Our story begins in a journal. Not just any journal though, but the journal of a ten-year-old god. But not just any god, a Norse god. But not just any Norse god, no no, a particularly mischievous one with a dark past. And it is being read by two other gods, one who had the knowledge to step back, and another who has discovered the consequences of opening the journal of someone who knows spells. The two gods reading the journal are, of course, Thor, and Sif. In case you do not have an image in your head of what they look like already, Lady Sif is a tall skinny warrior, with long golden locks literally made of gold. At the moment she is yelling at the other god, Thor, quite loudly. Thor, on the other hand, has a tall, muscular figure, long blond hair and a clean-shaved blonde beard. But, instead of what you may think, he is covered in a orangey goo, which will not get off of him no matter what he does. That is why Sif is yelling at him.
“Thor, you idiot! We do not want your brother to find out about this for as long as possible, and your in-credible amount of stupidity is not helping!”
“Lady Sif, my brother will find out about this whether or not we want him to, no matter what we do.”
“Well, that is what he is known for.”
At this Thor gave Sif a glare, which was not at all taken seriously. Partially because of the orange goo still running into his eyes. “Just start reading,” Thor grumbled.
“Are you sure you do not want a towel first?” answered Sif, unsuccessfully hiding a tiny smile. ~-~-~-~-~-~
about two o’clock in the early morning, Freya’s day
So, this is Father’s idea of controlling my anger. Sometimes I just wish he would leave me alone. Anyway, if he expects me to write down my feelings in here, he’s wrong. I guess I could use it as an idea journal. Or a dream journal. Not that kind of dream journal, but one in which I write my true dreams and daydreams. And nightmares.
about eleven o’clock in the late night, Moon’s day
I realized that if I had a journal, the journal should know my name. I am Loki, and my occupation is, at the moment, god of mischief and trickery. I have been having nightmares. It is the same every night. I wake up in an icy place. I know it cannot be actually happening, but my mind says different. I look around. Everything is made of ice. I cannot feel it, but I know that it is extremely cold. It is also very des-olate. Nothing living is visible, but I am curious so I go closer, even though I know what will happen. A scream, a terrible, bloodcur-dling, scream tears through the air. Then an image flashes through my mind, it is father, without his eye patch. Where his eye should be is a bloody mess, and the eye itself is not there, and without the gore, would have looked as if it had never been there in the first place. He is looking down on me, or at least I think it is me. He is smiling, something I have rarely seen him do in my direction. about three o'clock in the early morning, Woden’s day
I do not think I was made to be good. I lose my temper all the more often, and have lashed out multiple times. It is almost as if every little thing annoys me all of a sudden. I cannot sleep. I do not want to sleep. Early last night, I slid out of the palace and off the porch. I was almost caught by Heimdall, but got away. I do not know where I am, but I will probably be in my room by late tomorrow. Heimdall is always able to find me.
~-~-~-~-~-~
“I had no idea what Loki was feeling,” Thor muttered, an amazed look in his eyes. “Maybe if you had asked him and been kinder to him he would have told you,”Sif replied, serious. “Well that is not important anymore. He is missing and we need to find him. I am starting to think you
brought me here to see me get covered in goo,” Thor said, a sad look in his eyes at the mention of his lost broth-er.
“I was hoping we would find something to help us,” Sif muttered, Thor barely able to hear her. “Let us go. Volstagg and the others are most likely waiting for us.”
Thor left the room, but Sif stayed behind. She read the last pages of the journal. When she came to the
last page, she noticed a page torn out. With a little bit of magic Loki had taught her, Sif was able to see the
writing clearly. She read over the page quickly. Then, she ran from the room, and in her haste dropped the
book. It was open to the last page, her magic still deciphering the hidden writing. What was written was why
she ran. It was the most recent and last entry;
I feel as if I am slowly being taken over. I cannot control my magic very well anymore, and I have noticed my eyes turning from
vibrant green to pale blue. Frigga says it is just a phase....I can sense something following me...This will most likely be my last
entry.....Happy Birthday to me.
~-~-~-~-~-~
The scariest part was it was written three months ago. Two months after Loki had gone missing. And
two months before Frigga, the queen, was murdered.
Chapter 2: Hints from a journal
Heimdall was worried. If Loki was missing, it was usually only for a of couple hours, and then you
would find him, or he would jump out from behind a corner and scare you half to death. That mischievous
one had been giving Odin and the late Frigga gray hairs since he was first brought to Asgard. He didn’t need
gray hairs as well! But just because Loki was missing doesn’t mean he was dead. After about half an hour of
trying to decide what in the universe he was supposed to do, he decided to visit the lost prince’s room.
~-~-~-~-~-~
As soon as Heimdall walked into the room, the god felt something strange in the room. As he looked
around, he noticed something; the door had been unprotected and unlocked. He looked around some more;
the table was overturned, there was broken wood everywhere, torn curtains, and the bed was unmade; either
Loki had struggled against a force stronger than the mischievous god, or he had completely lost his temper.
Heimdall stared down at the floor. “I should have seen this coming,” Heimdall thought. “I should have-” Heimdall
paused. He felt something. The watching god, now cautious, carefully and slowly walked over to the bed.
There was one part of the bed that lay untouched. In the small circle of perfect normality, there lay a book,
bound in a simple brown coat. When Loki was much younger, Heimdall had seen him carrying the book, mak-
ing notes in it, and keeping it to himself, no matter how much Thor pestered him. Heimdall then cursed him-
self getting lost in the good old days.
But one thing was wrong. He knew it more than he knew Loki and Thor had fought about just about
anything. The book. The book. The journal of prince Loki of Asgard. The journal the young prince had refused
to let anyone know what was inside for over two millennia. That very book. The simple leather-bound book
was glowing green. The green was incredibly important. Green was the color of objects that Loki had possessed
with his magic. And that particular book had never glowed before. In short, Heimdall decided to take a look at
the book.
Chapter 3: Loki’s mission
Loki dropped from the roof, knowing exactly what she was doing. She fell into a crouch and held her
breath, looking for security cameras. She was is Hydra’s secret headquarters, where the organization had stolen
and kept the most magical and dangerous items they could get their hands on. Her mission was to replace the
disks in the security cameras which gave the feed to Hydra with disks that would give the feed to S.H.I.E.L.D.
If she didn’t complete the mission, not only would she be caught, but she would also be the cause of possible
world destruction.
by Charlotte Edwards
by Anna Killingstad
Graveyard Angel
In the graveyard, where the ghosts roam and the demons lurk.
Where the nightshades play and bats fly.
Where the skeletons chatter and the ghouls groan.
A small little angel sits there on a grave.
To guard over the one whom she loved the most.
To guard him from the loneliness of the graveyard.
Where the crows call and the black cats hiss.
Where the little demons play in their little demon ways.
To sit on a grave, never standing, never talking.
How lonely the life of a graveyard angel must be.
To guard him forever, and ever to be.
What would it do to a little angel?
To sit on a grave,
In the dead of the night.
With the nightshades lurking ‘round.
And the crow’s cawing sound.
With the demons scattering bones
‘Cross the dirty ground.
With the moans of the dead.
Echoing ‘round and ‘round.
Would it drive you insane?
‘Till your mind bonkered about?
‘Till something just snapped
And you left?
You left your grave unguarded.
To leave him exposed.
In the loneliness of the graveyard.
To rot with the ghouls and the ghosts.
Of old tales and stories.
To be unguarded forever and ever to be.
How would you feel?
With the demons cackling ‘round.
At the evil of your actions.
To break a promise you promised.
On the river of Styx.
You would die.
But you can’t.
You’re just a block of marble.
With a reputation for staying.
Why do you leave him?
In the loneliness of the graveyard.
With the nightshades and the bats.
The crows and the cats.
The ghosts and the skeletons.
Not guarding a simpleton.
Who died in an accident.
Before you were made.
From a block of marble,
Meaner than the rest.
Not even filled with sorrow.
You left him.
by Lillian Naill
An Angel Should
I stepped down, and everything was heavy. My head felt like it had come to a sudden stop after rotating around my past like the moon around the earth. My wrists were as if golden bracelets tugged upon them, drag-ging downwards. My feet did not wear anything upon them, yet when I shifted they were as if stones had re-placed my skin and bones. This heaviness was around me, but my back still felt a stinging lightness. The weight I had carried upon it for all the days of my life had been lifted. And I felt heavy at heart due to this. My hands reached backwards feeling for the feathers that could not be there. Fears were confirmed when I grabbed for nothing and received exactly what I expected. Hope slipped through my fingers with the oxygen, hydrogen, and carbon.
I think that moment should have been when I realized what was happening, but what should happen is not always what really does occur. That is yet another thing that I should have known.
But what I thought I knew for a fact in that moment was that everything was a lie and everyone was a liar because otherwise I would be back up. Instead I could see the outline of brick and steel fingers reaching towards the side. Each cruel finger represented what humans thought of as achievement, but what is far too often just destroying other humans.
I had known I was there for a reason. I knew I had seen what I saw for a reason. I knew that I should have remembered why I was there, but I could not. I just knew that the human’s reaching steel fingers were call-ing me in their terribly human voices, and I began walking down the road of smooth gray before me towards them.
“Angels should fly.”
The wind flicked the words off her tongue and into my ears and all around me as she pushed me forward. “Angels should not die.”
She disappeared leaving me, and I walked alone again. I knew her words like they were tattooed upon my lips, “Angels should comfort those who cry. Angles should never lie. Angles should stay in the sky.”
But what should happen is not always what really does occur.
by Lydia Eastman
by Elizabeth Cavallon
In Their Eyes
He held the world in his eyes
a finger painted, funhouse palette of the earth’s colors
splurged upon his blank canvas
In his oceans, she was drowning
and in his earth she wilted
Chapped lip kisses
Cold floors, and closed basement doors
He brought her back to life
She held the moon in her eyes
silver splintering morsels of her
shot through him, like the mirror she broke, or the words she wrote
On her planet, he was suffocating
Starry nights, with forgotten breaths
Cheap Dollar Store lipstick kisses on gelid earth, never felt better
She breathed new life into him
In both of Their eyes they held the universe
some types of glittering infinities shone
his oceans were killing
and her moons were smothering
They were killing each other alive.
Young lust kills
When it breaks, it collapses in dolor
each piece a fragment, each fragment a piece of the universe
In the eyes of a broken boy, the world exploded
the oceans ceased to move
And in the eyes of young girl, the moon fell from orbit
by Sage Okolo
The Other Side
We’ve been shielded for all of our lives
From what is real, the other side
You must stay in your shell You must not tell Once you know
You must put on a show
They will always try to reprehend
So you must continue to pretend
You haven’t seen the other side
At any point in your life
You must learn to leave behind
Everything from the other side
Keep it inside of your mind
You must live an intrapersonal existence
There is no use of resistance
They hide us until we are out of sight
Until we escape into the night
And finally experience our harsh awakening
Into the world, that’s truly frightening
by Mason Philippe-Auguste
Mechanical Bird
Click, click, click
Tick, tick, tick
Chirp
Click, click, click
Tick, tick, tick
Flap
gears grind
they click and chirp
tick and flap
they rub against each other and interweave to create life
Click, click, click
Tick, tick, tick
Chirp
Click, click, click
Tick, tick, tick
Flap
slowly
cogs
connect slowly
gears
collide
wings flap
rustle
rustle
beak opens
creak
creak
Cage unlocks
kechunch
kechunch
gears work together
slowly
slowly
the bird flies away
wings up
wings down
goodbye bird
goodbye
click
click
goodbye
tick
tick
goodbye mechanical bird
by Elizabeth Sacktor
The Judges
Walk. Look down. Don’t let them catch your eye. If they do, you're done for. They like to catch loaners.
Like cats hunting on the savanna they find one straying from the group and attack. Not physically, not at this stage
at least. But if they find something wrong, they will dispose of it. Here differences are looked on as flaws. The
cameras help the judges spot the differences among the children. Everyone wears the same white button down
shirt. Boys wear grey shorts and girls wear gray pleated skirts. No color. Hair is kept short. Boys always have it cut
to their ears and girls have it cut just below their shoulders, wearing it pulled back into a ponytail. You continue
walking to class with your arms filled with books. Even though they are heavy, you stand straight up with perfect
posture. If your spine bends once, the cameras will catch it, and the judges will see, and you will be taken away to
the camp. The camp is where they put different children. Once there, children are trained to be normal again. That
is why everyone behaves. They behave so as not to be judged. Here everyone is judged. From birth you are judged.
As soon as you are born, they take you away to judge your appearance. If you look normal then you can go back to
your parents, but if there is something different they dispose of you immediately. Few children make the cut. You
are lucky to be one of them, right? Sometimes if someone isn’t behaving properly, they might have a trial with the
judges. If they are found guilty of “disturbing the System,” they can be put away in camp temporarily or even
placed into permanent camp. These places are supposed to teach you the rules of the community and the punish-
ment of disturbing the system. But you know better. After all, no one who goes in ever comes out.
In class you sit down and take out a pencil and paper for taking notes. Up on the board are the Notes for
the day. You write them down. It takes up exactly one sheet of paper. Next, you put the sheet of paper into your
binder. For the rest of the period, you study the sheet until it is memorized. You repeat in the next class and the
next, and the next. It is then time for lunch. This is the scariest part of the day. Most children are sent to the camp
at lunch. Differences in preference of food, where to sit and who to sit with. You always sit at the same table with
the same people and the same meal so as not to get into trouble. Eating is tough work as well. To try and not spill
one drop on In class you sit down and take out a pencil and paper for taking notes. Up on the board are the Notes
for the day. You write them down. It takes up exactly one sheet of paper. Next, you put the sheet of paper into
your binder. For the rest of the period, you study the sheet until it is memorized. You repeat in the next class and
the next, and the next. It is then time for lunch. This is the scariest part of the day. Most children are sent to the
camp at lunch. Differences in preference of food, where to sit and who to sit with. You always sit at the same table
with the same people and the same meal so as not to get into trouble. Eating is tough work as well. To try and not
spill one drop on your uniform and to continue with perfect posture. You eat your meal at a normal pace. And
when lunch is over you get up and take your tray to the cleaning station. And continue on with your day. It is al-
ways like this. No changes. Ever. Not until today. You are walking down the hall when everything stops. The
doors from the end of the hallway open and in walks a girl. She has never been there before. You know this. This
is strange, but not as strange as what her attire is like. She wears a loose navy blue shirt and bright red pants. Her
hair is cut as short as boys and is the same color as her pants! Resting in it, is a pale blue bow. Her legs are long
and she is quite tall. She walks down the hall everyone stares at her. There is something wrong. Girls aren't like
this. That isn’t how it works! She should be sent to a camp if not disposed of. She is different from everyone else.
She stands out. She is an imperfection from others. Everyone can see her and notices. Everyone including the
cameras. They all spin around and look right at her as she walks down the hall. They are programmed to see even
a quick change in tone or color, and this girl is sending them on red hot alert. Whispers start to fly. Usually the on-
ly noise is the clap of children’s shoes hitting the ground, but today the whispers buzz like the sound of bees. They
rise and rise until they are almost deafening. Girls and boys alike bend towards each other to tell their opinions of
this new girl’s appearance. “Why does she looks like that?” “Where did she get those clothes?” “She should be put away in a per-
manent camp!” “Why hasn’t she been disposed of by now!” All the questions and observations fly across the hall like flies.
The noise continues to grow until a loud beeping blares at us from the speakers. An electronic woman’s voice
sounds, “Children, please continue to your classes, or you will be sent to the discipline room” The discipline room
was where children who behaved naughtily go. There are chairs, and children sit in the chairs until they have un-
learned the behavior that got them there and proved that they won’t do it again. It isn’t fun. Feedings are only
once a day with unappetizing food. All the children immediately stop the whispers and continue on with their day.
The odd girl walks down the hall. People see her and keep walking. No one likes her; it is clear. She is different
and almost got you to the discipline room. You go into your next class, Mathematics. And do the notes and exam-
ples. After class she is sitting on a bench outside the judges’ chamber. She is reading a book. It is quite long. The
next day she is still there. But this time she is eating a sandwich. Her hair and clothes are the same. She has obvi-
ously been there all night. There is a scratch on her arm. And she has a black eye. She has been fighting. You don’t
understand this girl.
As you walk, you overhear a classmate whispering, “I heard that she is part of the resistance! That her entire family
goes into places like that and refuses to leave until the cameras are taken down! That they are trying to abolish the judgment!”
The other child whispers back, “I know! My father told me to stay away from her, that she is bad news! He told me the
judges are about to give in. Apparently there have been attacks on judgment houses and escapes from camps!” You have never
heard of these things. But the sound of not having to fear the cameras all day long and striving for perfection eve-
ry second sounds nice. You want to stand with the girl but are afraid of the punishment.
The next day she is still there and the next. She is there for three weeks, and somehow never runs out of
food. Every morning that school starts, she has a sandwich in her hand and the same outfit. One day you walk in-
to school, and a strange sight awaits. One other girl is wearing a pale blue bow in her hair blond hair like the odd
girl’s instead of the regulation ponytail. The cameras go off, and she is summoned to the judges’ chamber. As she
walks in, she smiles at the odd girl on the bench. The next day she isn’t back, but instead two other girls have tak-
en action. They both have pale blue bows in their hair. They are also taken to the judges chamber. The routine re-
peats itself again each day, and the amount of children at school goes down. Boys start doing it too. But instead
they wear pale blue ties. After about two weeks of pale blue bows and ties, and children being sent to the judges’
chamber. It stops. Not the blue, the punishments. Children keep wearing the colors but are no longer punished.
The judges aren’t caring. They’ve given up. Because of this children start wearing more than just bows. They wear
full outfits filled with pale blue. Some children dye their uniforms the blue. You want to participate with the rebel-
lion. You hate the rules, but fear rules your mind. Soon there are other kids wearing more than blue. There is red
and green there are combinations of other colors. Soon there are patterns. Sometimes there are stripes or dots of
floral prints. Soon everyone is wearing something. You walk out of class in your navy blue striped shirt with green
floral leggings and look around. There are millions of colors and patterns around you. There is chatter amongst
your friends. The buzz of people talking fills your ears. Everything is how it should be. But something is missing.
You look around the hallway and look for whatever is wrong, and then you see it. The bench is empty.
The bench outside the judges’ office is empty. The girl is gone. Where is she? You look up and down the halls but
don’t see anyone. But there, among some of the younger kids, she is. You run over to the girl. Your mind doesn’t
know why. You have never talked to her in your life. You don’t know anything about her. But you run over,
through the bunches of kids talking and laughing. She tries to open the doors, but your grab her arm. She flips
around at you. Her eyes are big, and her lips are pursed. She stares right at you with her piercing green eyes.
When she sees you, her face softens, and you see her fingers relax. She is a couple inches taller than you, so you
have to look up.
Millions of questions and words pound against your head, but only one reaches the tongue, “Why?” the
words leave your mouth and she smiles.
Her lips begin to speak but she holds herself back and stops. “Why Not?”
by Elizabeth Sacktor
Why Do You
why do you criticize me
everything I do
why do you tell me no
that it’s you I must look to
I have my ideas
my own beliefs and plan
but you have to put me down
making my life bare and bland
I don’t put faults in you
nor do I point out flaws
it’s like you are controlling me
filling my life special laws
Someday I will leave
Fly away and break free
someday you will know
all you did to me...
by Elizabeth Sacktor
Stop
Start. Perfection.
Success. Idyllic.
Everyone is just the same, And yes, I’m a part of them.
But do I want to be?
Pause. Look around.
Everyone is just the same. Everything is just the same.
Torturous. Conservative.
Sticklers. Rewind to the memories.
Fast forward to the rest of my life. Stop. I can’t be like this.
by Leah Timpson
My Everything
My Everything
Eat, Sleep and Live for you
My Everything
Grow, Laugh and Play for you
My Everything
Do whatever I can for you
My Everything
Go across the world for you
My Everything
Love and care for you
For only you
You are
My everything
Know That Cherish That Love That
By Hannah Grace Agudo
Forever and Ever
There was once a girl With dark blond hair
Who would get off the bus
At the same stop
Every day
Forever and ever
And there was once a dog
With ticked gray hair
Who would sit at the bus stop
Waiting
Every day
Forever and ever
The dog would wait For when the girl came
they would walk
Walk together down the road
That stretched on forever and ever
There was once a girl Who loved a stray dog
Took care of him
Nurtured him
Loved him
Forever and ever
And there once was a dog
Who loved the little girl Took care of her
Nurtured her
Loved her
Forever and ever There was once a day
When the girl did not come
Did not get off the bus
At the same bus stop
Like she had
Forever and ever
But the dog still stayed
At the lonely bus stop
All alone
Waiting
Longing for the little girl Forever and ever
The dog did not know
Yet would he ever want to
The girl had died
He never knew
He still waited
Wishing for the little girl The one who loved him
The one who cared for him
Forever and ever ago
The wind blew cold
And the sun burned hot Yet he waited
Faithfully
At the empty bus stop
Forever and ever
by Charlotte Crawford
Julia Philippe-Auguste
by Maddie Grant
Our Universe is Made from Tiny Stories
Ever since I was little, I’ve told stories. Of course they weren’t really my stories. They were just fairytales
or books I read or heard with different faces and different names. They looked different. They loved different
people. Once I had a black Snow White. So my childhood was basically one big fan-fiction. That is until I
watched my first movie. The Titanic was apparently one of my favorite movies growing up. Right next to the Day
After Tomorrow. I must’ve had a life-ending, apocalypse thing going on. For a little while, I stopped telling stories,
but still loved movies. I often yearned for that escape to Wonderland. Or for the thrill of staying in Bates Motel.
For a long time, I thought I was going to write. That’s all I did. That’s what my brain was constantly
thinking about. 85% writing, 13% breathing, eating, etc., and 2% homework. I forced myself to do it, day in, day
out. To expand my ability, I went to a writing course at CTY. I spent three weeks there, learning how to grow
my writing skills. I’d wake up and write, and go to bed working on my personal writing. Although I loved writ-
ing, it didn’t feel right doing it. I could see myself, doing it day after day of my life. I didn’t get it at first, but I
realized that writing wasn’t going to be my career. It was like I had this part of me missing, and I hadn’t even
noticed. Like a chain reaction, another thing hit me. My best friend was moving away. To commemorate my
friendship with my friends, I made my first iMovie using videos I’d recorded on my phone, or on the camcorder
I’d gotten for Christmas. My friends loved it. I loved doing it.
Skip forward to this school year. I still wrote, just not as avidly as I did the year before. I still watched
movies, same as I always did. I hadn’t made another movie in the past two months. That was until I was asked to
make a movie. It was for science. An air pollution project. I’d spent a solid two nights editing and editing it. It
was my first time working in iMovie without using 100% pictures. Tutorials became my best friends. I used,
and found clips that addressed the subject, and incorporated them into my movie. With the right music and with
the clips edited the way I wanted them to be, I had made my first movie. My science teacher was impressed. Like
really impressed. My class was too. It was then I realized what I wanted to start doing. Make movies. It wasn’t just
a phase I was going through. This was something I wanted to do. Maybe even for the rest of my life.
I had created several more movies for science, and one or two for other classes. All positive comments,
and reactions. So far I’ve won three minor school awards for my films, lots of praise and encouragement to go
farther with it. I’ve also been asked to create some for special events. I haven’t received any special training. I am a
self-taught filmmaker, using sources like Youtube, or how-to books from the library.
It wasn’t until very recently, that I was asked to broadcast my video in front of the entire Bryn Mawr
School. I had a time limit of three days, and with my partner out with a concussion, I had to do it alone (with the
aid of Fudi). I dedicated one day to filming, which meant filming the statistic section, and three individual sec-
tions. I only had forty-five minutes to complete this. There was no rescheduling, just those forty-five minutes. An-
other day was left for me to find clips, and music, while the last day gave me time to edit the whole thing. With
minutes ‘til my deadline, I finished it. At first I was terrified to present, but once it happened, all the fear melted
away. I’d given people a story. I’d found that drive again. This is one thing I definitely see myself doing. With the
right tools, and the right mindset, I can help people with my films.
Out of life, there is that one thing we want. I want the chance to tell stories again. We can all change peo-
ple, but I want to inspire. I want to give people that escape from reality that movies give. That chance for people
to disappear into the rows of red seats, being comforted by the souls of those there before. If I can do just that
one thing, I know I can make a mark on the world, and that’s I all I really want to do.
Thank you for reading, Sage Okolo
Mirror
I step to the mirror. I check my reflection. It’s not me there. That’s not me. She has long, loose red hair. She has short, brown hair. Her tank top is light blue. She’s wearing a blue vest on a black t-shirt. She has long blue jeans. She has long brown leggings. She’s wearing red sneakers. She’s wearing blue boots. She looks adventurous. She looks smart. Her hands look rough. Her hands are dainty. Her skin is pale and freckled. Her skin is tanned. Her nails are painted. She holds a book. Her ears are small. She has her ears pierced. Her nose is pierced. Her nose is small.
But those eyes... They’re mine.
by Liza Plant
Matryoshka
Beautiful, Delicate, Unique.
I could go on for ages about you
and your attributes, and your loveliness,
and the frustration you cause me, but you’re just so special,
Matryoshka.
by Leah Timpson
Broken by Maggie Smith
The Guide To Being A Porcelain Doll
I am a porcelain doll. A perfect model to the young girl of society
Don’t forget to smile! Make sure your face is painted on. And remember eating is bad!
We are porcelain dolls, ready to produced by the masses. A porcelain doll remembers to keep her face clear, No cracks, no splits. because the slightest imperfection is smashed and leaves a girl broken. Now we don’t want broken girls, do we? Or need them.
Fix that smile! Broken girls are unwanted. Happy girls are always wanted. We’ll fix those raw emotions. Replace them with synthetic, won’t we? Much easier to be that way. Don’t eat! Suck in your stomach. Keep smiling. Fix your hair. Paint your face.
We’ll revolutionize the young girl. We are the revolution! We are going to make her perfect! Curl that piece of hair. Stop crying. A porcelain girl doesn’t cry. Mask the emotions keep them inside with the weakened heart A porcelain doll doesn’t cry They die inside.
by Sage Okolo
Popularity Ends
You embrace the attention
Piled high in adoration
You flaunt your perfection
In every possible direction
When you look in the mirror
You always see her
The girl with no flaws
When you leave, you receive applause
What if that all went away
What if you no longer had it after today
What if you were left alone
What if you had to do things on your own
What if you stopped to take a pause
When you’re taken into fate’s claws
What if there is no one to hear your cries for help
What if you scream until it turns into but a faint yelp
What if you missed all of them who adored
What if you knew what it feels like to be ignored
by Mason Philippe-Auguste
Before
Have you ever felt that moment... Before the sun sets?
Before the curtain falls?
Before the tears roll?
Before the clock chimes?
Before the jump?
Have you ever heard the silence... Before the music plays?
Before the bird sings?
Before the party begins?
Before the child laughs?
Before the barking starts?
Have you ever seen the wonder... Before the stars disappear?
Before the tower falls?
Before tragedy hits?
Before the gift is opened?
Before the show starts?
Have you ever had that feeling before the story is done?
by Liza Plant
By Maggie Hopkins
Spotlight
This story is 100% true. Not one word of this entire story did not happen. Every horrible thing described in these few sentences happened to me.
I couldn’t breath. Is it hot in here? I listened to the boy on stage recite his lines clearly and formally to the audience. I cracked my knuckles. One finger at a time, wanting me to remember my lines with every pull, push and crack. My costume was a large trench coat. I had put it on about half an hour ago. Is it hot to anyone else? Man my throat’s dry...
Suddenly, I was on stage. I was supposed to look at everything in wonder, the search for the ghost. My character is a cook who just adores ghosts. She took the job just to have a ghostly experience. I stood there. The boy finished saying his line. My head was swirling, with every line but the one I was supposed to say. I ad-libbed. I said I loved ghosts. I wanted to meet one. I urged the boy to say the next line under my breath. He quickly recited his next line. The swirling of words in my head settled to help me see clearly what came next. It’s so hot. Man, when was the last time I had some water? The spotlight must be doing this to me. I was off stage... I saw black dots. I ripped off my trench coat. I quickly ran into the dressing room that leads onto the stage. I walked over to the trash can. I felt like throwing up. I spit into the trash can. Come on, you’re needed on stage soon! You can do this! The director rushed over to me with a small bottle of warm water. I took two sips. I pulled on my apron and grabbed my rolling pin.
My cue... I had to walk onto the stage right then. I took a deep breath, and plunged back into the spotlight. The words in my head strung a timeline of each sentence. The scene went well... enough.
Intermission. Sweet, sweet intermission. I had 15 minutes to not puke, pee, drink two and a half bottles of water, pee, sit down, and go over my lines, and not puke.
All too soon, I was in the wing, waiting to enter. I realized that I had drunk too much water and had to pee.
I found myself on the stage again. The words made sentences; the sentences made lines, I was reciting them carefully when I found myself back in the wing. My character was off. I was finally finished until curtain call. I sat down, and smiled.
by Liza Plant
by Elizabeth Cavallon
Dancing
An Assonance poem
I can’t imagine life without dancing, I love prancing on stage,
Though people think it a labor, I think of it as a vacation from worries and doubts,
The spacious stage lying before me, Waiting for me to race upon it,
Dancing takes me away from troubles, Dancing makes me weightless.
by Liza Plant
The Poet
She sits
on the
beach, with no
means
to write, but still the words
fly…
from sand to sea, from sea to sky.
By AoCarnell
by Anna Killingstad
Creativity
You are the one helps me see more views
You are the one who helps me pick and choose
You are the stars that glisten in the sky
You are the one that keeps me asking why
You are everything that I want to be
You are creativity
You can be both careful and careless
You are both strong and fearless
You make me let go of all worry
You remind me that there is no hurry
You are everything that I want to be
You are creativity
You are the ocean that sings such beautiful songs
You are the one who knows no doings of wrongs
You are the one who takes care of all troubles and doubts
You are the one who reminds us to scream shout
You are everything that I want to be
You are creativity
You are the one that can be a child’s toy
You are the one who knows both sorrow and joy
You are the one who encourages us in our worst of times
You are the one who helps us think of the next rhymes
You are everything that I want to be
You are a world that I have yet to see
You are the one who gives us individuality
For you are creativity
by Mason Philippe-Auguste
by Alice Ball
How to Build a Strong Community
I couldn’t believe it! My mind was buzzing with excitement and thoughts were swimming all around my
head in disbelief. It was finally happening!
I did a happy little jig as I reread the note that was waiting for me, taped to my locker. It read:
You have been chosen. Meet us
in the girl’s bathroom at lunch.
Make sure you’re alone.
~ M
M as in Mackenzie. Mackenzie is the most popular girl in school. She sets the trends, eats at the cool table at lunch
and wears the best clothes. Not to mention she looks like a model. Everyone looks up to her and her wannabees,
and they are an exclusive group; it’s hard to get in. And she had chosen me! Me!
But I still had one more period until lunch. How would I be able to concentrate? I hurriedly shoved my
books into my bag and speed - walked to class. I would’ve run, but the school has a strict no-running-in-the-halls
policy.
I literally almost fell asleep as I listened to my science teacher, Ms. Jaffe, drone on and on about the sci-
ence of snow and ice. The bell snapped me back to reality with it’s obnoxious ringing. I silently cursed that annoy-
ing bell.
The bell! Lunch! I packed up my books and practically sprinted to my locker, ignoring the school’s policy. I
frantically threw my books back in my locker. An envelope fell out. On it, it said, To Future Me. At first I was con-
fused, but then I understood; last year, we had a day filled with activities on how to build a strong community.
One of the activities was to write a letter to our future selves about our goals to accomplish building a stronger
community. The idea is that we can go back and read it to see how much progress we’ve made. I opened mine up.
It read:
Dear Future Me,
I want to build a strong community by reaching out to others and including others.
I want to be supportive of everyone else and build a friendly community. I think this school
has too many cliques. I want to try to break them up, so different people can hang out. I wish to accomplish
these goals in order to bind our community together.
Sincerely,
Past me
I threw the letter back into my locker and giggled. Sure, I may have thought that last year, but this was
now. I was about to be accepted into the popular group! Forget not having cliques. I’ve never had a real group of
friends, except for my best friend, Joe, who is a total dork. Speaking of which…
“Tori! Tori!” Joe came running down the hall to meet me. “Hi!” she said brightly.
“Hey,” I answered halfheartedly.
“I’ve been looking for you! Where have you been?” Joe asked, out of breath.
“Oh, I’ve been around,” I said casually.
“Oh, well are you ready to head to the cafeteria?” asked Joe, already going for the door.
“Actually, I have something I have to take care of,” I said, rummaging through my locker, hoping she would
take the hint and go to lunch without me. But she just stood there.
“What do you have to take care of?” she asked suspiciously.
“It’s not important,” I said, heading to the bathroom. I heard Joe giggle.
“If you have to go to the bathroom, you can just tell me, you know!” she said, laughing.
“Um, yeah, the bathroom. See ya later,” I said, hurrying to the bathroom door.
“You’re late,” said a voice. I stepped further into the pitch black bathroom. Why were all the lights off?
“Well, do you talk or not?” The unmistakable voice of Mackenzie wafted from the shadows.
Finding my voice, I manage to choke out, “Um, yeah, I got your note. Sorry I’m late,” My voice is so
hushed it’s basically a whisper.
“So, you really want to do this?” Suddenly I’m surrounded by all of Makenzie’s wannabees: Quinn, Julia,
Jamie and Zoe.
“Yes,” I manage to squeak out. Mackenzie stepped out from the darkness and takes my hand.
"If you’re going to be one of us, you’ll have to follow some rules: You can’t hang out with anyone other than
us. You have to sit with us at all times. Dress cutely. If you’re going shopping, never leave us out. Don’t make a fool
of yourself; it’ll damage our reputation. Think you can handle those rules?” Mackenzie goes through all of them so
fast I find my head spinning.
“Yes,” I said nervously.
“Good. Everyone, please welcome our new crew member, Victoria!” Mackenzie lets go of my hand.
“Um, actually, I go by Tori,” I said, my voice still hushed.
Mackenzie leads the group the lunch table smack dab in the middle of the cafeteria, otherwise known as the
“cool table.” I sat down, amazed of how different the perspective is from this table.
“What do you think you’re doing?” snaps Mackenzie. Oh man, have I done something wrong already?
“That’s my seat. Sit over on that side of the table,” she says, pointing to a chair next to Quinn. But Quinn shoos
me away, too.
“This is Jamie’s spot.” Jamie comes over and shoves me aside. “Move,” she says pushing me into the table.
Um, ow? I try to sit next to Zoe next. Luckily she’s fine with me sitting there. Phew. I looked around and found
Joe glancing my way. She was sitting alone. I almost felt bad for her.
“Don’t even think about it, Tori,” said Mackenzie, reading my mind. I immediately looked away.
When I got home I was exhausted. Lunch was not as I had planned, and the rest of the day wasn’t any bet-
ter. I considered texting Joe, but thought better of it. I didn’t find any new messages from her, which hurt because
she always texted me first.
The next day wasn’t any better. I found my letter to my future self again in my locker. This time I didn’t
just laugh it off. I reread it several times. As if on cue, Mackenzie, Zoe, Quinn and Jamie walked past me. I reread
the line about not wanting any cliques in school. I asked myself: Is this the right way to build a strong community,
ditching my best friend and going off with some clique?
I rushed to Joe’s locker. “Hey Joe!” I said brightly.
“Hey, Tori,” she said weakly. I realized then how bad a friend I was being. I apologized for everything and
begged for forgiveness.
“Oh, alright,” said Joe, after I cleared everything up.
Mackenzie was furious. She turned and left me in the dust with Joe, which was fine by me. After that expe-
rience, I learned to reach out to people in their time of need. I branched out and started my own group. I ignored
Mackenzie and her group and the icy stares they always seemed to be giving me. I learned to be tolerant of that. I
learned to be supportive, reliable and respectful, too. I love my new friends in my group and once a week a reach
out to someone else. Things couldn’t be going better! I’m finally in a group where I’m not judged for whomp I
talk to or what I wear. I’ve learned the true meaning of building a strong community.
by Grace Harlan
Wait for Me, Augustus Waters
I feel like we have a choice in this world, about how we tell sad stories. On the one hand you can sugar coat it. That nothing is too
messed up that it can’t be fixed with a Peter Gabriel song. I like that version as much as the next girl does…It’s just not the
truth.
-The Fault in Our Stars
Hazel Grace closed her eyes. The world around her was alive. Lush and colorful. Phillip was gone, and of
course she missed him, but without him, she felt incredibly liberated. Like she could somersault down this hill,
stick the landing, and score a perfect ten. But she couldn’t. She was waiting. Five more minutes.
Recount the moments.
How many songs…over a billion maybe
How many literal heart of Jesus support groups…probably forty.
How many times would I fall in love?
With a boy, with dark hair, and a sexy smile that sold her on the first intense staring contest they shared. A boy
who only feared oblivion, but that’s not all. She knew that. Four more minutes.
How could I be so lucky?
To be part of the life of Augustus Waters. He was so amazing. How'd the universe come up with him? His
ability to find the goodness in something totally wicked, or the darkness in an empyrean moment. A sweet con-
trast that filled a hole in Hazel Grace’s chest. One of those holes that even family can’t fill. Not even a friend.
That thought made her heart flutter, and not in a bad way like before.
Three minutes.
Two minutes.
It was like being forced to wait for a bomb to explode. I’m so close now. Without really thinking, Hazel’s parents
popped into her head. They were just as excited for her as she was. They'd even cried tears of joy. They’d
bought her flowers. It was just a lot. Isaac visited her a lot before she left. It was fun. Hazel Grace stretched
herself on the earth, her fingers spreading over the fuzziness that the moss had. Her flowy white dress made
her feel prettier than ever.
One minute.
She could barely contain it anymore. She twirled on the earth beneath her. Sometimes the best moments can be
expressed through movement, or words. The only words that came out of Hazel Grace’s mouth were shouts.
Really, really happy ones that crawled all over the universe. Her feet provided the movement, dancing like no
one was judging.
Twenty seconds.
Her body jumped a little, jerking out in awkward movements. Almost like it was her body who was choreo-
graphing the frolics, and not her mind. Then all of her memories flashed before her. Remembering when she
was told about her cancer, and then getting her invitation to womanhood. The countless cancer-support
groups. Her desperately lonely swing set. The skeleton playground. Van Houten. Period. No going back there.
Her parents. Oh, how she loved them for letting her leave. Isaac breaking trophies.
And last but not least.
Falling in love.
With a boy, with dark hair, and a sexy smile that sold her on the first intense staring contest they shared. A boy
who only feared oblivion, but that’s not all. She knew that. Four more minutes.
How could I be so lucky?
To be part of the life of Augustus Waters. He was so amazing. How'd the universe come up with him? His ability
to find the goodness in something totally wicked, or the darkness in an empyrean moment. A sweet contrast that
filled a hole in Hazel Grace’s chest. One of those holes that even family can’t fill. Not even a friend. That thought
made her heart flutter, and not in a bad way like before.
Three minutes.
Two minutes.
It was like being forced to wait for a bomb to explode. I’m so close now. Without really thinking, Hazel’s parents
popped into her head. They were just as excited for her as she was. They'd even cried tears of joy. They’d bought
her flowers. It was just a lot. Isaac visited her a lot before she left. It was fun. Hazel Grace stretched herself on the
earth, her fingers spreading over the fuzziness that the moss had. Her flowy white dress made her feel prettier than
ever.
One minute.
She could barely contain it anymore. She twirled on the earth beneath her. Sometimes the best moments can be
expressed through movement, or words. The only words that came out of Hazel Grace’s mouth were shouts. Real-
ly, really happy ones that crawled all over the universe. Her feet provided the movement, dancing like no one was
judging.
Twenty seconds.
Her body jumped a little, jerking out in awkward movements. Almost like it was her body who was choreographing
the frolics, and not her mind. Then all of her memories flashed before her. Remembering when she was told about
her cancer, and then getting her invitation to womanhood. The countless cancer-support groups. Her desperately
lonely swing set. The skeleton playground. Van Houten. Period. No going back there. Her parents. Oh, how she
loved them for letting her leave. Isaac breaking trophies.
And last but not least.
Falling in love.
“Ah, there she is, Hazel Grace.”
“You waited for me Augustus Waters.”
The two hugged each, in hopes of never being pulled apart again. She kissed him. Without any interruptions, or
bumps from her tube. It was just even more perfect than it had been in life. When he touched her hands, her
memories surged through her again.
And last but not least…
getting unplugged from life…
“You coming Hazel Grace?” Augustus asked. He half smiled and reached for her. Hazel paused for a mo-
ment. She hesitated before making any movements.
“Yeah,” she said simply, and followed Augustus Waters off the earth.
by Sage Okolo
Fly Away
Wings spread apart Flying high
Soaring free
I wish to join thee
To the hill
Crashing into the window’s glass
You fall from the window sill I wish that you heard
Oh, little bird
That I wish to join you still
by Mason Philippe-Auguste
By Maddie Grant
Jumping
Thump, thump, thump, My heart pounds
Butterflies dance in my stomach
His feathery mane flies in the wind
His hooves pound the ground
Ba-da-dum, ba-da-dum, ba-da-dum
Grass rips from the ground
As his feet make their mark
And the jump looms closer
Ba-da-dum, ba-da-dum, ba-da-dum
My heels press into the stirrups
Pushing down to the Earth
Keeping me anchored
As they have, without fail, for so many years. My hands tighten around the leathery, braided reins
His feet pound faster
Ba-da-dum-ba-da-dum-ba-da-dum
I arch my back and stand out of the saddle
I’m his now
Whether we land
Whether we crash
It’s up to him
But I trust him
He’d never hurt me.
And we fly.
by Lucy Kaufman
by Maddie Grant
PaNiC! There’s a lot of people here. Are you going to dance or not? No, I don’t like this song. You can’t just stand here. But no one thinks I can dance. No one thinks I can have fun. That’s not what’s expected of me. You can change that. No, you don’t get it. I can’t change that. That’s what people think of me. People are looking at me. You need to calm down. People are going to talk about me. You’re going to cry. Not here. I need to cool down in the bathroom. Just until my eyes stop watering. I’ll just hide in the stall until I calm down.
Ok, breathe. In. Out. In. Out. There are so many people here. I can’t leave. It’s only 7:53. When does this end? 9:30? 10:30? That’s too long. I shouldn’t of come here. Stop, you’re crying. Why did I come here? I want to go home. There’re so many people here. You NEED to calm down. Breathe in. Breathe out. Breathe in. Breathe out. Breathe in. Breathe out. Slow down! Breatheinbreatheoutbreatheinbreatheout You’re hyperventilating. No, I’m not hyperventilating. I am NOT hyperventilating. Breatheinbreatheoutbreatheinbreatheout Too fast. Too fast. SLOW DOWN. Sobbing. I’m sobbing. Panic. Panic. No, no, NO. Don’t let this happen. Too late.
People are coming. Don’t hear me. Don’t hear me. Don’t hear me. I know these people. They’re looking for you. And laughing.
STOP LAUGHING, WHAT IS WRONG WITH YOU? GET AWAY FROM ME! Cover your face. Good, speak calmly. Nothing is wrong. Go away. Now. Gone. Breatheinbreatheoutbreatheinbreatheout WHY IS THIS HAPPENING? I sound weird when I cry. Like a hysterical woman. Breatheinbreatheoutbreatheinbreatheout Breathe. Breathe. Breathe. I’m okay. Good, open the door. Dear god. Back in the stall. Breatheinbreatheoutbreatheinbreatheout No. More hyperventilating. Who’s out there? Leave me alone. They left. Come back. Help me. I can’t feel my legs. Breatheinbreatheoutbreatheinbreatheout You need to open the door. I can’t open it. I literally cannot move my hands. My legs. I can’t move my legs. Or anything. I can’t move anything. Breatheinbreatheoutbreatheinbreatheout You’re taking in too much oxygen. You need to slow down your breathing. I can’t! Someone PLEASE help me. How will punching the walls help you? GET ME OUT OF HERE. Breatheinbreatheoutbreatheinbreatheout What time is it? About 8:10. My legs. Again my legs. It’s because you’re breathing too fast. There’s too much oxygen in your blood. I really can’t feel my legs. Breatheinbreatheoutbreatheinbreatheout I need to sit down. No, you can’t sit down. You’re going to pass out. Breatheinbreatheoutbreatheinbreatheout Fine, just let me pass out.
I want to pass out. Let this be over. People are coming. Get up. I can’t. GET UP. On the count of three: One. Two. Three. I’m up. Get it together. I’m trying! Breathe. Breathe. Breathe. Breathe…Breathe…Breathe. NO. NO LEAVE ME ALONE. DON’T LOOK AT ME. How long has it been? It’s 8:30. Too long. HELP ME. So many voices. Here. Here? Can you hear me? PLEASE hear me. Don’t leave! Breatheinbreatheoutbreatheinbreatheout Please… please, don’t leave. No, wait. Who is that? Does she know who I am? Yes. Breatheinbreatheoutbreatheinbreatheout She heard me? Someone heard me? Thank God. Breatheinbreatheoutbreatheinbreatheout I’m fine. Whatever you are, you are not fine. I’m f I’m fi I’m fine Breatheinbreatheoutbreatheinbreatheout I’m fine. She can’t hear you. I’m fine. That was a stupid thing to say. I don’t know what I’m saying. I don’t want to open the door.
Are there people outside? I can hear them. Breatheinbreatheoutbreatheinbreatheout Are they here for me? Are they listening? Breatheinbreatheoutbreatheinbreatheout Calm down. Breatheinbreatheoutbreatheinbreatheout I can. Hear. Them. All. Look. She brought a teacher? Yes. Open the door. Open. Breatheinbreatheoutbreatheinbreatheout NO NO NO THERE ARE PEOPLE Breatheinbreatheoutbreatheinbreatheout They came to watch me. It’s interesting. I’m interesting. You should do this more often if you’re going to attract a crowd like this. NO GET AWAY. I DON’T WANT TO SEE ANYONE. I DON’T WANT ANYONE TO SEE ME. Breatheinbreatheoutbreatheinbreatheout
Breatheinbreatheoutbreatheinbreatheout Calm. Calm. Breatheinbreatheoutbreatheinbreatheout Do what they tell you. Breatheinbreatheoutbreatheinbreatheout Breathe into the bag. Breathe in breathe out breathe in breathe out You’re okay. Just breathe. Breathe in. Breathe out. Breathe in. Breathe out Don’t panic. Breathe in. Breathe out. Breathe in. Breathe out It’s over. Breathe in. Breathe out. Breathe in. Breathe out It’s over. Breathe in. Breathe out. Breathe in. Breathe out. Breathe in. Breathe out. Breathe in. Breathe out. by Zoe Leonard
Starry Sky
Dreamt did I
the starry sky
filled with lights
that shoot and fly
sparkles soar
and comets blaze
as I watch face to amaze
Oh starry sky
why
that you must leave
when dawn comes breaking in
oh starry sky
I do cry
when the blaze grows dim
My sleep did fade
as I shade
the daylight from my eye
I wake up I say
for a new day
goodbye my starry sky
by Elizabeth Sacktor
That Night
Just hoping, for a while
Holding on to sweet denial But the insensitivity
Falls from her lips, so carelessly
Not having the heart to grieve
I just did not want to believe
I felt the tears coming
I just felt like running
Alone in my room
With sadness and gloom
Losing another to a thing called death
I took another gasping breath
Although I did not want to begin, I gave up and let the determined tear win
I lay down in my bed
Thoughts and memories racing through my head
I wanted to see her one last time
And finally say a real goodbye
Time just wasn’t on my side
For now it is too late, she has died
My sister knocked on my door
She walked in, saying what she had not said before
There were tears on our faces, we were hurt to together
Both afraid that this was something we could not weather
by Mason Philippe-Auguste
By Alex Marino
Darkness
The dark absence of light Cloaked in the dark of the night No need to be corrected
For you feel oddly protected
Maybe darkness isn’t the absence of light
Maybe light is the absence of darkness
Day, the absence of night Some things cannot be explained
Yet superior knowledge, you think you attain
Walk through the tunnel with no light
In sight Focus on the dark, the cold, the bliss
Instead of assuming there is something to miss
For you have never escaped into the night
For you seem to only believe in light Seeing isn’t believing
Believing is seeing
So in the rich darkness see
See the beauty of the dark with me
by Mason Philippe-Auguste
Shadows
There’s a reason honey
why they only call us to come clean up
or why they never award us the shining metals
in front of our proud families
( probably cause none of us have any ) And there is certainly
a reason
why the things we do
never see the light of day
( it’s better that way darling, trust me )
And there is most definitely
a reason
why our “assignments”
are never discussed over a shiny wooden table top
in a building with a glass front
and a spot on the list of government organizations
but rather a back alley
with a hushed whisper
and a grubby hand
full of hundred dollar banknotes
But don’t worry
we’ll stay in the shadows
after all, where else could we go?
by Jordan Brice
Cold is Coming
It is cold and I hide
from the biting frost outside
it is coming
faster
faster
run
hide
smother in warmth
the cold is inside
make it last as I fast
from warmth
and sun
from warmth
and sun
by Elizabeth Sacktor
Frozen Breezes
bite my nose
take my gloves
frost does what it does
I want to fight I must take flight But I wait for the sun
for the sun will be back
and then the frost
it will attack
by Elizabeth Sacktor
Afraid to Fly
Oh, why yes I wish to fly
But I am afraid of the sky
And I never feel safe and sound
For I am afraid of the ground
I see the stars, constantly glowing
But I am afraid, forever unknowing
I want what is best for you
But I need more time to think it through
I see the tears behind your eyes
Underneath of your disguise
You are, too, afraid to fly
Because you are, shall it be I?
The one to soar up to the sky
For we are both afraid to fly
Yet here you feel safe and sound
And I am afraid of the ground
by Mason Philippe-Auguste
by Anna Killinstad
To The Sky
I rushed down the hill, feeling the wind blowing the opposite direction of me. The sun lightly shone down
on me, as i allowed the earth and sky to liberate me from all worry. “You’ll never catch me!” I shouted. Although
my friend must’ve thought that I was indicating her as the subject of you, i meant all of the things that I was free-
ing myself from. The stress. The worry. The doubt. The hardship. The despair. I just ran away from all of it,
never wanting to look back. “Wait!” Paige shouted. I stopped, as I began twirling around. I closed my eyes. I
spun, leapt, kicked and danced. I jumped, feeling myself getting closer to the sky. I opened my eyes, to see Paige
standing in front of me. “We should get going,” she said. I sighed. She, being the responsible one, was the only
one who kept me from escaping forever. Forever. The concept of it seemed as if something extraordinary should
come of it.
I opened the glass doors and stepped onto the balcony. Sunsets were too good to miss. I’ve always won-
dered which the sun preferred. Was it the sunrise, that time which it is ready to have a whole new beginning? Was
it the sunset, the time that it could end it all of a period of time? Or was it the middle of the day? The time when
the sun is at it’s highest point, the time when it can shine, and just be noticed. I sighed. Everyone wants an-
swers. No one can enjoy the sweet, wondrous joy of questioning. Answers are overrated. They keep us from see-
ing endless possibilities. They corrupt imagination. They crush the best of dreams.
I began running down the hill. “You’ll never catch me, world!” But that time, I meant it.
by Mason Philippe-Auguste
by Anabelle Franks
January Poem
A few years ago, January came in with mountains of snow. Frosty white blankets towered four feet high
My sister, our neighbors, and I wrapped ourselves in coats
And ran to the park to go sledding
We sped down the hills
The wind roared in our ears
Mingling with the sound of our laughter
And screams of happiness.
That was the best January
Snow decorated my hair
And all of our eyelashes
We looked like fairies like that. And when the cold finally seeped through our many jackets
And chilled us to the bone
We trudged inside and sat by the fire
Until the chill in our bones was replaced with a lovely warmth. And we went out again. That was the pattern of every day
Play outside, warm up, go outside again. Repeat. I never wanted it to end.
But the sun’s rays reached down
And turned the snow to water
And I watched everything
That I’d loved that month
Disappear
That year, my neighbors’ dad got a new job
That required them to move
To North Carolina
So we made the best of the time we had left But it just didn’t feel the same
As it always had. There was this knowledge among us
That this happiness couldn’t last.
Then they left. It’s OK. We still see them
Sometimes
Every year, I wait for the snow. But perhaps it left with them
Because it hasn’t snowed yet.
Not like that.
by Lucy Kaufman by Elizabeth Cavallon