Table of Contents Nature Page 1 Sorrow Page 13 Community & Peace Page 21 Anger Page 31 Love Page 35 Humor Page 43

Dear Readers, This year’s print edition of Writing Enthusiasts Magazine is an ode to those little things that correspond to our emotions, specifically hands. Our magazine is divided into several sections, each headed by an analogous hand position; “nature” is represented by a hand cupping soil, “anger” by fists, “community and peace” by the peace sign, “love” by intertwined hands, “sorrow” by a hand-covered face, and “humor” by a thumbs-up. We hope you enjoy flipping through the pages of the 2010 W.E. Magazine and admiring the insightful creations that Cary Academy Middle School stu-dents have crafted. Thank you for your submissions and support! Sincerely,

The Staff of WE Magazine

Front and back cover illustrated by Tori Parrish (pencil sketch with digitally-added color).

Section covers illustrated by Erin Bednarek (pencil sketch with digitally-added color).

1

A Seed

Before I was a child, I was a seed Warm hands pushed me into the ground Dirt surrounded me like a blanket, trying to keep me warm I stayed in my home in the earth for many weeks But I grew tired of being surrounded of darkness I started to try to push out, and away It was hard, like trying to push up through concrete My roots dug down through the ground, trying to remind me that I would al-ways be tied to my home After a long rainstorm, I felt strengthened I gave a tremendous push Suddenly the world was light I could feel the warm breeze against my stem, playfully tickling me I heard the birds singing a cheerful tune Bees lightly landed on me, taking my pollen, then carrying it to the next flower I was content for many months But the air started to grow cooler My roots were still warm, buried safe in the earth's ground As time went on, I longed to go back to the place I had started from I got my wish Parts of my body fell back into the earth one at a time Petal after petal Finally I was back in my home I savored the warmth But it began to get too hot and dark I longed to go back up into the sunlight again —Ava Rosenbaum

Sunk

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Hide and Seek

Hide and seek, You're looking, I'm looking, For me.

I whisper to The crickets and the breeze, Who am I?

You plod amongst The withered leaves, The towering trees, Snapping every branch. You're looking for me.

I'm looking for me. I feel safe in the gray, The gray clouds that Grace the sky, Not dark, not light, Not day, not night. I feel safe behind this tree, Where no realization or epiphany Can hurt Myself Or anyone else.

You’re tense, You clench and unclench As you gamble on The unknown, Pacing at the edges Of the shadows. You're looking for me. I'm looking for me.

But It's a different kiYou're looking forMy skin and my bMy hair, my shoeclothes. You're looking for

Sunlight Swirls. Stained Glass by Gabrielle McArdle.

But It's a different kind of me. We're looking for me, For that me and that me. We're looking for a me. -Ted Waechter

ind of me. r bones, es, and my

r me.

I'm looking for me. I'm looking for My thoughts and hopes and dreams, Who I am and who I seem. I'm looking for the past, my memories, I'm looking for the future, who I will

I'm looking for me, I'm exploring, Finding, Learning about Me. I'm

You're searching for me. You're hunting me, You're watching, Hearing me, You're looking for me.

Haiti Concrete Poem

—Kiran Aida

Summer End. Mosaic by Beyla Patel.

Tilted. Photograph by Nisha Modi.

The Great Storm

Sitting, perched by the window sill,

I wonder when the destruction will end.

Lightning strikes nearby

Followed by a boom of thunder.

I wait in anticipation of the next flash.

The chill of the rain begins to creep up on me

With each step closer, I feel its grip around my waist;

The coldness hugs me.

The rain drops knock harder on the windows;

The wraith-like wind throws trees from the ground.

Another lightning bolt smashes the earth.

The thunder claps with anger.

As the whole world rocks with the noise.

The storm begins to retreat back to its domain in the sky.

Then there is one last flash,

And I see nothing,

Hear nothing,

As the world begins again.

—Casey Miles

Rocky Shore. Stained Glass by Thomas Marshall.

Apples and Tree. Mosaic by Owen Fitzgerald.

Sand Castles

We are sandcastles on an endless stretch of beach;

We stand in formation, together,

Shielding each other from the waves of life crashing down on us.

They sometimes come short and don’t affect

us,

Sometimes, they bring just enough sand to help

us,

Sometimes, they rip off part of us and drag it into the dreaded sea.

Sometimes, they totally engulf us, so we are no

more.

People come along to ei-ther help us or to demol-

ish us,

But we try our best to we try to stand tall and not let them knock us down.

We learn from our mistakes,

And over time, we learn to survive.

We survive the shovels digging into our sides, the hands, the waves.

We get scattered, but we always reform;

We are sand castles.

We are survivors.

—Alex Walker

Ima

gine the R

ainb

ow

. Painting by Tori Parrish.

Patterns of Nature One Circle, One Globe Four Quarters, Many Regions Let us begin at the end Last Quarter, Grey and White Nothing grows, all sleeps, Covered in cold, Blanketed in white. First Quarter, Rainbow Dawn. See the lilies, the pink cherry blossoms See the flowers growing among the grass See the rainbows bursting out of the green. Second Quarter, Yellow Sunshine Bright Colors, Sun Flow-ers Scorching hot of Sun, Soothing cool of Water Three-Fourths Through, Fire Season Red, orange, yellow, gold Showering onto the world, in the colors of fire. Gold crowns the trees, hanging on to its position in vain Four Seasons, Four Loves. -Grace Dietz

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They, They Whisper

Trees whisper. They whisper very important things. Storms whisper. They whisper very passionate things. Wind whispers. It whispers very secret things.

Thunder cracks Lightening strikes An argument occurs

Birds chirp Snakes hiss An argument occurs

Clouds whisper. They whisper very sensitive things. Squirrels whisper. They whisper very mischievous things. Leaves whisper. They whisper very colorful things.

It's pouring It's pouring water From the sky down to the ground.

It's ringing It's ringing bells From the tower across the city

It's flashing It's flashing light From your life until your death

Trees whisper. They whisper very beautiful things.

-Tori Parrish-

Above. Digital Photograph by Nisha Modi.

13

Numb

It's funny, how you don't feel the cold anymore.

The biting, stinging, throbbing cold that had been your bitterest enemy until moments ago.

Now, you can't feel anything. The lethal blows of icy wind that blazed like fire across your skin are reduced

to a whisper The painful punishment for those who have done wrong.

To one side is a warm building, to the other, is a bunch of friends huddling to-gether. Talking. Laughing.

Clutched in your skin taught, knuckles red, shivering white hand, is a jacket. A haven from the jaws of the beast.

But you do not give in to either option. You are alone in this fortress of si-lence.

Your eyes feel heavy, the skin around your eyes dry. Your body aches. It feels as if everything has come crashing down, with only you to hold it up.

A cold dull feeling wells up inside of you, but you're done crying. You're done watching those salty droplets fall to the ground.

This is your self-inflicted punishment. The words that should have been spo-ken, that should have been yelled echo in your ears.

Then a sudden emotion passes over you. Like the way the wind caress your bare arms; it happens for a fleeting moment, but the chill stays behind. It starts at your core, at your heart, and makes its way to the surface.

It's funny how you don't feel the cold anymore. It's funny how it doesn't seem that important anymore.

You are Numb.

—Serena Jarwala

A Winter Wonderland. Digital Photograph by Beyla Patel.

Through the Looking Glass. Glass by Katherine King.

Crayon and Crystal. Digital Photograph by Jenna Read.

Sad. Oil Pastel by Cari Neiswender.

Her Murderer

All around me I see happiness. Friends, happiness, and smiles,

But I have none She’s gone, she’s never coming back

She lies in the dirt Her pillow, the earth A train, her murderer

Her life, gone. My stubborn friend

Will never complain again A train, her murderer A train, my murderer

-Hannah Robison

The Monster in the Closet

When I was younger I thought I knew fear.

It was the monster that lived under the bed And in the closet.

It was a tangible thing That my parents could chase away

With a few simple words, Or a peep under the bed.

Now that I’m older I realize it isn’t so.

Fear is a monster, But not one that can be found

Or chased away. It is the kind of monster that hides

In the corners of our minds And the depths of our hearts

And eats away at us, until we are empty shells.

If I had a chance I might banish the monster Back to the closet, never to come out again.

If I thought I could I would escape into my dreams And live forever more as the child I once was

Without fear of fear.

-Lauren Knott

The Cat in Gray. Mosaic by Jacob Weintraub.

Lie

I welcome silence like an old friend, And suddenly, The air constricts and binds me, tying me to the post of ig-nominy. Flaming whips slashing at my sides and up my neck, My flesh is forever burnt. And whenever I see them, the wound festers and itches, Scratching and clawing at my insides. That feeling, of being in a dark room All alone, Thunders down on me as I mentally hang my head. And the worst part? They believed me. I cut one of the many cords—trust. Maybe they’ll return the favor and join in the lashing, But hopefully, Forgiveness will hand them the knife to cut me loose, And free me from that con-stricting noose.

- Katherine King Cheval. Pencil Sketch by Rebecca Tuzel.

Panda Paradise. Stain Glass by Layne Williams.

Milk, Oreos, Favorite Cookies. Nail Polish by Tori Parish.

Pondering. Oil Pastel by Katherine King.

Expectations

They wanted me To listen to all they had to say

She wanted me

To give her everything I had

He wanted me To look at everything he had

drawn

She wanted me To remember her

They wanted me

To stand out from the crowd

She wanted me To do whatever she wanted me to

He wanted me

To laugh at all his jokes

She wanted me To believe everything she said

I wanted me

To stop listening to them

They wanted me To have everything they didn't

I wanted me To be myself

- Niara Webb

21

The Speech

If there was one thing you could notice about Katelyn Stratsenburg is that she was nervous. She was sweat-ing like a dog with thick fur in the summer. Her teeth were chattering as if she were freezing to death. She was biting her lip so fiercely you could think that she was trying to hurt herself. Her eyes were darting back and forth across the floor. She was quietly chanting to herself. Her fingers were crossed so tightly that you thought they would fall off. She was shaking as if she were in a chair that vibrates. You could tell. She was nervous. “Katelyn? Uh, Katelyn?” Leia’s friend, Danielle, began to tap Katelyn’s shoulder. “Katelyn, um…do you want to practice? Katelyn?” “What?” Katelyn look around herself quickly. “Uh…what is it?” “Do you want to practice your speech? You’re up after the next two.” Danielle asked her. “I probably should. But, but… Danielle, be honest, is it good enough?” Katelyn asked nervously. “Yes, it is. Once you told it to me I thought it was amazing. It’s like you relate to people like—you knew them. They were your sister or brother or something! It’s incredible, Katelyn.” “I did work hard on it.” “Yes, you did. Now, say it once more to me. You only have a few moments.” “Okay,” Katelyn took a big breath and began. “Before the people that are here now…” Katelyn said her speech to Danielle. “I’m ready, finally.” “And it just seemed that a few moments ago you were worried.” Then Katelyn looked at the stage. The kid who was saying the speech was silent. He was flat on the floor. The crowd was quiet. It was like no one was there. Katelyn thought that this must be bad. Or worse, he had been so nerv-ous something had happened. “Eek! What if that’s me on stage, Danielle! I don’t want to be nervous!” Katelyn squealed. “Oh, brother.” Moaned Danielle. “Ugh. Its okay, Katelyn. You just said it fine to me.” “Yeah, but that’s more people!” “Pretend all of those people are…me.” Danielle said smiling. “You’re right. I shouldn’t be scared. The people are just…people. And, they all want to know about my topic.” “Correct! Now, you’re after the next person. Do you want to get a drink right now?” “Uh, yeah, sure…” Katelyn rushed out to the water fountain. Katelyn was still afraid. Her eyes were moving around and around. She bit her lip. Her breath was so heavy that it sounded like she must be carrying an elephant. She tugged on her hair. Her fingers clenched together. But she needed to calm down. She slowly stopped being so nervous. She began to breathe slower. She closed her eyes lightly. Her shoulders dropped and she was calm. A little smile slowly appeared on her face. She drank some water and went back behind the stage. “Katelyn! You’re finally here! You’re up! The last kid just fainted!” Katelyn was shocked. She blinked her eyes quickly. She put her hands over her mouth. “Oh my gosh. Really?” Katelyn asked Danielle. “Really. You’re up!” “No! No! No! I don’t want to go! Can we take uh—intermission?” “No, now just go out there. Remember, everyone is me.” “Okay. I can do this.”

Katelyn walked on the stage. She put her hair behind her ear and walked to the podium. Katelyn blinked and look around. She tried to smile and took a deep breath. She turned back to the curtains and saw Danielle. Danielle waved to her smiling. Katelyn giggled a little bit. She once more put her hair behind her ear very confidently. She placed her papers in front of her and put her mouth close to the microphone. And then Katelyn Stratsenburg began her speech… “Hello, everyone. How are you today on this rainy day? It was beautiful yesterday. You know ‘what happened to the sun?’ Ha ha.” Katelyn tries to laugh but quickly goes back to being serious. “Hi, my name is Katelyn Stratsenburg. I’m from Green Hill Middle School and I have something to say to you: never treat people differently. It sounds pretty simple and we all have heard it before, right?” Katelyn takes a deep breath. “At some point in our lives someone…bullies us. At times we don’t why they did what they did. But there’s one thing that we do know: it shouldn’t have happened. Not for any reason. There has to be a reason for everything we do. All of our actions. There are times when we don’t think before we do something. That happens to everyone. But usually when people do mean things they do it on purpose. That shouldn’t happen.” Katelyn breathes in and looks around, try-ing to stay calm. “I am trying to tell people that we should think and be more considerate. As my mother used to say, ‘If you aren’t going to say something nice, then don’t say anything at all.’ She was right. We must be all kind to each other. And I believe that one day in the future we can all accomplish it. With help in guidance you can achieve so many things. “Never treat anyone differently because they have a medical—uh, issue, also,” Katelyn looks into the crowd and doesn’t read her paper anymore. She just begins to talk. “It isn’t funny to joke about medical issues. Don’t fake stuff and laugh about it. For example, someone with epilepsy doesn’t like to hear—” Katelyn begins to cry a little. She puts her head back up and continues to speak. “People with epilepsy don’t like to hear people joking about seizures. Seizures can sometimes cause injuries. And people who have epilepsy can, they can…feel hurt. It’s like people have no idea what they’re talking about. They joke about something that can’t be prevented. And what’s even worse some-times is that they don’t know anything about why seizures happen. They have no idea. And, and…” Katelyn stops talk-ing and takes a breath and continues. “And some things cannot be cured or treated. If you are born a dwarf, then you can’t help being a dwarf. No one should laugh about something people can’t prevent. They are who they are. In fact, a person should not be judged by their height, but by their unique personality. People making fun of others isn’t…cool. If someone can’t help being them-selves, then don’t try to stop them from being themselves! Everyone deserves a life.” Katelyn smiles and looks around the crowd. She could tell that people were understanding her, the message she was trying to tell. Katelyn moved her hair behind her head. And all of a sudden, she was more confident than she had ever been in her life. Katelyn smiles as she realizes that she has just done what she has always wanted to do. Even without read-ing the speech she had done it. Katelyn felt relieved in so many ways. “Overall, what I am trying to tell everyone is that even though people are different, doesn’t mean they should be treated differently. I think that the world could be a perfect place if all people just understood that.” All of sudden, like magic, people began to clap. It was a unique clap. It was like everyone had their own unique clap. It was hard clapping. There were some fierce loud claps and some quiet claps. It seemed liked finally, after all these years, people understood her. And she didn’t even need a paper to tell her what to say. That’s because life isn’t planned. -Claire Goray

Entitlement

Humans have it better than bugs.

Bugs are always being squished.

Always being attacked by unwanted guests.

People just won’t leave them alone

like bees and rich honey.

It seems like a hobby to some people

like basketball or swimming

and just a habit to others

like picking their nails.

They take for granted all their freedom.

People just don’t give a thought

before they insert their foot into a bug.

They don’t think

about what that little in second might amount to.

Humans must not be very smart

since they don’t learn from their mistakes

and decide to do what they’ve been doing to those poor bugs

to their own race.

-Bill Peebles

I Like Froot Loops. Watercolor by Anjali Nagulpally

The Hardest Words

Sarah stared at him through red-rimmed, tear-stained eyes as she was led away by a cluster of her friends. Every single one of them had the same expression as they piercingly glanced at Will, walking past him. There wasn’t anger or resentment in their eyes; rather, there was pure, unadulterated disappointment. A chill ran through Will as he saw their faces. A pang of some unknown emotion ran through him…was it remorse?

*****************************

“I didn’t really mean to hurt Sarah’s feelings, so it’s not my fault! Her friends have no right to be glaring at me like that. I’m Will Rainer, for Pete’s sake! They can’t be doing that to me,” thought Will, a scowl on his face. Will had been pacing in his room for the past hour, the scene with Sarah playing on endless re-peat in his head. She had made a fool out of him in class that morning, so Will instinctively lashed out at her to save his pride. An impulsive, derisive comment about her being poor had burst from his mouth before he could even think about it. The next thing he knew, the girl had started crying!

“Stupid girls, always crying,” he mumbled angrily.

The door to Will’s room banged open as his roommate, Andrew, strolled in with a triumphant expres-sion on his face.

“Heard about your stunt in history with that Sarah girl, man. Nice job!” he exclaimed, giving Will a congratulatory clap on the back. “Apparently she’s still blubbering her eyes out in her room,” Andrew said, letting out a scathing laugh.

Andrew’s congratulations did nothing to quell the rising uneasiness in Will’s stomach; in fact, his last comment had made it even worse.

“She was crying her eyes out? Not good,” Will thought to himself.“I’m…going to go the nurse…headache,” Will muttered, groping for an excuse to escape from his room.

“Alright, later Will!” Andrew cheerfully shouted as Will almost ran out of the room.

Will gulped down breaths of fresh air once he got outside, after the awkward encounter with his roommate. Andrew’s congratulations did nothing to quell the rising uneasiness in Will’s stomach; in fact, his last comment had made it even worse.

“She was crying her eyes out? Not good,” Will thought to himself.“I’m…going to go the nurse…headache,” Will muttered, groping for an excuse to escape from his room.

“Alright, later Will!” Andrew cheerfully shouted as Will almost ran out of the room.

Will gulped down breaths of fresh air once he got outside, after the awkward encounter with his roommate. The room had seemed exceedingly stuffy. It was odd for Will though – they usually got along perfectly. Usu-ally it was both Will and Andrew congratulating someone else for insulting others especially “well”. It was different this time, though, because it was Will being congratulated. Somehow, it made him quite uncom-

fortable. It was very easy to congratulate someone else for throwing out a quite nasty insult; on the other hand, being congratulated was much different.

He shook his head. “What’s wrong with me?” he thought. “Here I am, going on and on about something I said to some stupid girl. Who cares if she’s crying right now? She’ll get over it.” Will felt a slight knot in his stomach as he thought that, but he ignored it. “Others make fun of poor people like Sarah all the time, and I don’t see them fussing. It’s not like anybody’s going to remember the incident tomorrow, anyways – they won’t hold it against me.”

*****************************

Will strolled into his history class a few minutes early the next morning, whistling a cheery tune. It was going to be a good day. Everyone would have forgotten about the incident between him and Sarah, and things would be back to normal. Besides, he had something that would definitely catch everyone’s attention. Will stopped whistling abruptly, though, as he saw his classmates clustered around Sarah’s desk, talking ex-citedly.

“That can’t be right,” thought Will, with a frown on his face. “Everyone is always clustered around my desk before class! What’s going on?” He set his books down at his desk and pushed his way into the huddle around Sarah’s desk to see what was going on.

“You can even watch HD television on it – real time! No lagging or anything. Just like a TV!” Sarah ex-claimed excitedly, holding up a small, shiny device.

“Whoa!”

“Dude, that’s so cool!”

Exclamations of awe rippled through the circle. Will scowled. Those were reserved for him, only. Just then though, he caught a glance at exactly what Sarah was showing everyone. It was the new iBot HD, what Will had received in the mail from his father just the day before. He was planning to show it to everyone just today, right in this class!

“How were you able to get your hands on that?” Will sneered. He couldn’t help it – she had stolen his glory!

Sarah turned around, surprised to hear his voice. This time, though, Sarah was ready for Will with a quick retort of her own. Her voice wavered slightly, but no one noticed. “I bought it, genius. It’s called money.”

“Don’t talk to me like that about money! I’m from one of the richest families in the US, for your infor-mation. I think I know about money. How would you, though?” he scoffed.

Her cheeks flushed a bright red. “I may not have a lot of it, but I do value it enough to know about it.” With that, she turned her back to him, facing the group surrounding her again.

Will snatched his own iBot HD out of his bag and shoved it into the center of the clump of people.

“Look! I have one too!” Will’s was gorgeous. It was a shiny, deep onyx color, with thin, silver trim. Not a single fingerprint, scratch or dent could be seen on it. It paled in comparison, however, with Sarah’s bright, happy,

turquoise one. No one could take their eyes off of Sarah’s eye-catching iBot. “Hello? I’m talking to you guys! Am I in-visible or something?” Will exclaimed.

“Yours is…not bad, Will,” Sarah said with a pitying smile, when no one else paid even a single glance to Will’s device.

*****************************

Will could not believe what was happening. Sarah Thomas, of all people, was overtaking him on the social ladder? She was poor! But she had an iBot HD! “How is that even possible?” Will asked aloud. He was used to getting what-ever he wanted with just a snap of his fingers – all he had to do was ask his rich parents to give it to him. He had never grasped the concept of saving up money.

“How is what possible?” Andrew asked, startling Will. He hadn’t even noticed him enter their room; he was so caught up in his own whirlwind of thoughts.

“Sarah, the poor girl, already got an iBot HD! They only came out a week ago!” Will cried, frustrated. “I just got mine and was going to show it to everyone, and then she goes and does that before I can! Now everyone thinks she’s cool and I’m not.”

“They’re probably just hung up about what you said to her the other day,” he scoffed. “I think they’re all poor, which is why take everything so personally. Maybe the lack of good ol’ cash in their life makes them grumpy or some-thing..stinks for them!” With that, he bounded out of the room, leaving Will to fend for himself against his thoughts. Andrew had brought back another point that Will had successfully pushed away to the back of his mind for a while: the incident with Sarah from a few days ago.

“If I just hadn’t insulted her, everything would be okay!” Will moaned. “Why do poor people have to be so compli-cated?”

*****************************

Will was surprised to see Sarah alone in History class the next morning. Only her two friends were next to her. The large group of people that had been clustered around her so excitedly the previous day was converged around someone else’s desk, discussing some inane topic or another. Her iBot HD was nowhere to be seen.

“Where’s your iBot?” Will asked her, honestly curious.

“I…had to return it,” Sarah said, a sad expression on her face.

“Why?”

“My parents needed the money it cost,” Sarah mumbled.

Will was confused. “What do you mean? It’s only $400. It’s not that much.”

“That’s a whole month’s rent on my parent’s apartment, Will!” she cried, exasperated. Frustration was clearly etched on her face. “It’s not easy to live in LA. Only a few, extremely lucky people get to live in big mansions and rot their lives away spending money left and right. The rest of us have to actually work and make a living to make ends meet!”

Taken aback, Will was speechless. He could only stand rooted to the spot.

Sarah’s face softened. “I know you’re not used to ‘poor’ people, Will. But just try to understand that some people are less well off, and that you’re very lucky to be living the lifestyle that you are right now.”

Will sputtered, “I – I – I …never really thought..”

She cut him off, “ – That’s okay. Just try from now on,”

Will was silent for a while, just standing in front of her desk. Thoughts were flying around in his head in a tor-nado of conflict. A frown twisted his lips. Finally, he spoke up again. “Listen, I’m sorry about the other day. I…it was just a reflex to make fun of your family living in a little apartment. My pride was hurt, and I just couldn’t help but lash out. It was stupid and I’m really sorry.”

“It’s…alright,” Sarah tentatively said. A smile twisted up her mouth. “I think you’re learning.”

Will took the seat next to Sarah, sliding his books onto the shared table. “You can borrow my iBot HD today if you want? You know, as a peace offering?”

“It’s a start,” Sarah said, “but it might take a lit-tle more than just an iBot. Sarah smirked. She had a plan. “How about a day help-ing out in a soup kitchen? I think you’d do wonderful there.”

Will’s mouth fell open. He was trying to say some-thing, but nothing was com-ing out, so he settled with gaping like a fish.

“Just kidding!” Sarah grinned. “But I’ve got a lot of things planned for you.”

-Anjali Nagulpally

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Broadway. Digital Art by Nisha Modi.

So many bumps in the road tugging at you like a rope

For one to succeed in life, one must not give up hope

Every day is a journey, but every journey has its downs

How you deal with the downs is how your story sounds

If you choose to do the right thing, you will surely see

When you live your life to the fullest, you are free like a bee

These goals seem distant, but believe me, they're not

If you don’t try, you're resting on a stove that is hot

You cannot turn lazy, and just give up your fight

Choose a destination, I promise that you will find light

The temptation is pollution to the mind body and soul

If choices are not thought out, you're digging your own hole

You are starting a fire that will burn like a torch

You are fueling it and like fire it will scorch

Bumps in the Road

Now hear me right now, or else you will fail

Every choice is a battle, and you must fight to pre-vail

So go home tonight and think these lines through

Maybe, just maybe they'll help you live a life that's new

So remember this: Know Yourself, And To Yourself Be True

-Braden Saba

Silent Love

Laura Bright

35

In the distance I hear a voice, Very faint and soft.

Like lamb’s wool Or a newborn’s bottom.

The voice is low, deep and feminine Like a cupcake with butter cream frosting.

A voice that is proud to be alive and is glad to be her-self.

A voice that is a lighthouse shining a pathway for suc-cess.

A voice that is a mountain That cannot be pushed or moved by anyone.

It is a bright voice, a smart voice, a brilliant voice.

A raven soaring above the earth.

A pretty voice, a champion’s voice. Whose voice is it? Mine.

-Raven Watson

Voice

My Special Place Dedicated to

Ms. Daley’s Great–Grandfather

Right now I am in my pearl pink room. Writing on this paper

Sitting on my bed No lights on

And windows open Natural light inspires me as it dances on

the walls like fireflies It makes me think

And dream And believe.

I write to you

To see how you are doing To tell you of my special place

Where I laugh and cry On my big bed, staring out the window

The open window With the breeze rustling my blond hair

My blue eyes look into space as I release my troubles

Into the heavens Where you could hear them

And see me In my special place.

-Audrey Daley

All You Need is Love. Digital Art by Ted Waechter

You sit there

Hunched over,

Skin stretches over your cheeks,

Papery flesh gathers

At the corners of your eyes

When you try to smile.

I smile back.

You sit there,

Knitting away

Your plump cheeks are red with pride.

You beam when you hold up

The soft knitted garment

You have just created.

I’m proud too.

You sit there,

Holding your baby girl in your arms.

Your ears take in

The wails of your new infant.

You caress her wet cheeks,

And your eyes take in the sterile room.

Cherry Blossom You sit there,

In the lovely white dress

Next to your new husband,

A shiny ring on your finger.

You run your hands over the facets,

Fondling the diamond

I saw you wear every day.

You sit there,

On the kitchen stool.

Your pink hands

Hold a pencil as you

Solve math equations,

And write reports.

I work there too.

You sit there,

With your spidery hand over mine.

I remember the life

Of the wilted cherry blossom

Stooped next to me.

-Isabelle Blank

On Will Brunwit’s first day of second grade, he fell in love. He knew eve-

ryone in his class of eighteen children except for one new student. As Tina was demanding to know about Jenny’s trip to Italy and Robby was questioning how much homework Sam’s sister had said Mrs. Wilcox would give, this new girl just sat at her desk by the window. She tried to smile bravely, but the shouts and laughs and other exclamations of these strange new people overwhelmed her. At roll call, Mrs. Wilcox knew everyone’s name- everyone’s- except for hers. This teacher was able to pronounce Tommy Khodinstrohen’s name, but still hesitated before reading the name of Colomba Biltmore.

When her name was called, every one of the students turned their heads. Colomba bravely tried not flinch at the stares directed toward her. She nearly gave up to these curious children, preparing for her eyes to be resigned to the marks on her desk, but then someone smiled at her. A boy named Will, his two front teeth just growing in. Sud-denly, Colomba felt strong. As she smiled back, her eyes glinted with the joy of a new friend.

At recess that day, Colomba sat alone on a swing. Her legs hung several inches above the red and orange leaves plastering the mud. She looked dolefully at the chaos of recess that somehow ignored her. Tina and Jenny and Maggie and most of the other girls were playing with a jump rope; Carson, Richard, and Ed were playing four-square; Sam, Robby, and Tommy, and a few other boys were playing kickball, and Will… Will was walking over to her! She had made a new friend after all!

Will sat down on a swing next to Colomba and an amiable silence followed. The companionship of these two people would have been utterly visible had anyone been looking at the forest shadow in which the swing set hid. Co-lomba uttered only one word, however, “Thanks.” Her voice was sweet, and Will realized that Colomba hadn’t talked all morning. His sparkling hazel eyes looked up to meet her milky brown ones, and, at that moment, something happened to Will.

Back in the kindergarten days, he’d always heard about how Charles was “married” to Emma, or how Julie and George had “divorced” because he was chasing Zoë too much. But nothing like this had ever happened to Will. Now, a few years later, Will experienced the feeling of a first crush, a belated first crush, but still his very first crush.

<3

Will and Colomba sat on the dock by the lake. It was the summer before fifth grade, and they hadn’t been friends for long, but everyone who knew Colomba knew Will, and everyone who knew Will knew Colomba. The two of them talked, their toes tickling the lake water, Colomba and Will laughing and smiling and laughing some more. As the sun set, a devious idea crossed Colomba’s mind and her cheeks took notice. A rosy blush spread across her tan face, but she managed to continue nodding her assent to Will’s comments. She nudged him and nodded toward the glow-ing orange sun.

“Pretty, don’t you think?” Colomba asked.

“I guess, but the sunset last week was better. You know, with the clouds tinged pink and everything.”

“I know something I’ll be much happier to see.”

“What is it?” asked Will, still gazing at the sun.

“You, soaked in the lake!” With these words, Colomba pushed Will towards the edge of the dock. He nearly fell, but caught his balance on the edge of the dock and grabbed Colomba’s hand, ready to thrust her into the water. As

A Brown Cow Moment

As soon as Colomba recovered from the fall and the brisk cold of the lake, she swam toward the dark green ground and its constant companions, towering pine trees. Will laughed at her distress, easily catching up with her.

When he noticed Colomba’s stubbornly annoyed expression, Will said in a slightly mocking tone, “You were the one who pushed me in the first place!”

Colomba, still somewhat aggravated, said, “I guess.”

“Oh, don’t make me sic my three year old self on you. I get really mad when I’m forced to say ‘you started it’!’”

“Come on, Mom’s going to kill you when she finds out that you made us late by pushing me,” Colomba laughed. “I can’t wait,” she added smugly.

“And I’m at it again… you started it!”

<3

“Welcome to Aster Farm everyone!” Every time she talked, Mrs. Hallisay was greeted by a fit of snickers. Though the class had been with her in the fifth grade for three months now, Mrs. Hallisay had only just dyed her hair the color of a baby chick, and this, apparently, was great reason to laugh.

“On our field trip, we’ll be viewing all the animals and learning how Aster Farm, as well as other farms, adds to the production of chief exports here in North Carolina. I’d like to introduce you to Mr. Benny Elm, the farmer here,” continued Mrs. Hallisay, trying to ignore the laughter regarding the hair color her hairdresser had mistakenly given her.

“Hey y’all! My name is Benny Elm and I am the owner and farmer of this here farm. We got over 20 different animals, 12 of which are bred and the rest just make their home in the trees and ponds of our two hundred acres. We also grow many fruits and vegetables, and we’ll be talking about them as well as viewing the animals.” Mr. Elm’s Southern accent was both exciting and somewhat exhausting.

The farmer gestured for everyone to follow him, and led them to a small hill overlooking a long, grassy field. The lush green was dotted with scores of white sheep, and a chorus of lazy “baa”s greeted the group. “Only 90 percent of our flock o’ sheep is out at one time. This means that the remaining sheep are being sheered, or having their fur shaved off. The wool is sent out to 9 different textile companies.”

The farmer turned and indicated the other side of the hill. Here, a group of 70 or so cows grazed, their heads turned solemnly down. “Here at Aster Farm, we have just ‘bout 120 cows,” Mr. Elm continued. “The ones you see here are the Hol-stein-Friesian cows. They’re the ones who are used most by farmers, ‘cause they produce the most milk. The other 50 cows we got are Guernsey cows, which are mostly brown. Anyways….” Mr. Elm rambled on about how some of the cows had been born from mothers whose mothers’ mothers’ mothers were born there.

The class, growing impatient, constantly shifted feet and whispered to another. Finally, Mr. Elm stopped talking about different cheese-making processes and took the students to the chicken coop. He allowed everyone to hold the baby chicks, and the girls cooed over the small yellow puffs of feathers, passing them around. As he was naming all of them, Mr. Elm realized that one was missing.

“Where’s Hickey? Where’s Hickey? We lost a chick! Anybody seen a chick run away? Hickey is the one with the really puffed out fur- he looks really fat, you can hardly see ‘is legs. He’s the only rooster!”

“OK, class!” Mrs. Hallisay yelled. “We’re looking for a chick, it’s small, yellow, and it’s a boy. Has anybody seen him?” As the class started laughing hysterically, the teacher grew impatient. “Now is NOT the time to snicker about my hair color! We need to find that chick!”

Mrs. Hallisay shrieked and grabbed for her head, but Colomba was already there, cupping the chick in her hands and carefully carrying him to the ground. As the chick touched the dirt, he chirped happily, puffed out his chest, and strutted away. A relieved gale of giggles swept over the class, and Mr. Elm somewhat nervously led them over to the Guernsey cows.

Most of the brown cows approached the group comfortably, and the class gave pats and smiles. Mr. Elm was much more at ease; these were obviously his favorite animals. The cows, after about twenty minutes of laughs and pets, returned to eating grass, except for one, who wouldn’t leave Will and Colomba alone.

Barbie Lou was exactly the type of cow that toddlers think makes chocolate milk instead of the kind in their bottles. Her markings were many shades of brown, and her wide eyes peered up at everyone she met, her lashes shad-owing the deep chocolate of her irises. She playfully nudged Will and Colomba’s legs, and mooed long and loud. Her ban-ter was joyful and free; nothing clouded the freedom to rollick and play among the grasses and visitors of the farm. When Mr. Elm finally shooed Barbie Lou away, she gave him a doleful groan and a doleful glance, but the light in her eyes hinted at mischief.

Mr. Elm paid no attention and herded the class to an observatory porch on the other side of the farm. The porch overlooked long stretches of plants, vegetables, and fruit. Mr. Elm explained that the farm grew cotton, wheat, fourteen vegetables, and twenty-seven fruits. As he was gesturing toward the rows of wheat, a distant spot ap-peared, gradually coming towards the group. As the spot grew closer and closer, it became recognizable as a brown cow, lumbering clumsily toward the class. When it finally approached, it barreled into Colomba, sending her flying into Will’s arms. The class snickered.

The cow, who was, of course, Barbie Lou, mooed joyfully, its snout pointed at the sun and its eyes bright with sunlight. It had followed Will and Colomba all the way around the farm. It delightfully pranced, leaping and skipping among the class, until it once again reached her new favorite students, gazing up expectantly. This unmistakable cue for praise was marked by another victory dance. Finally, Will gave in, rubbing the cow and tousling its head.

Moments of happiness and triumph would be known to Will and Colomba from that day on as “brown cow mo-ments”, a term decided upon by the long reminiscence of the day on the bus ride home.

<3

Colomba rolled her eyes, and bit her bottom lips. Jor-dan liked Danny; everyone guessed at that, but Colomba still couldn’t believe what was going on in front of her. Will, on the other hand, nearly laughed out loud at the irony of the situa-tion. This was hilarious- so very hilarious. Blonde haired, blue eyed Jordan was flirting with Danny, and he, bouncing brown curly hair and twinkling turquoise eyes, was playing right along. Jordan obviously thought that they were meant to be, so could they just “be” already? Will wasn’t so sure it this meant they would annoy more or less, but he certainly hoped that it would be less, because their not-so-disguised court-ship totally marred his coveted seventh-grade theater class.

Birds. Stained Glass by Alec Schleicher.

Cubism. Paper by Serena Jarwala

Will didn’t understand how the prompt “greeting a new student” could lead to so much eyelash fluttering. And there was the shoulder tap, and the sweet expectancy of Jordan’s voice.

Colomba didn’t understand either, but it wasn’t Jordan that was killing her, it was Danny, because, of course, Colomba liked him. Will was oblivious to the fact that the only girl he’d ever liked (or, as he’d admitted to himself in the deep dark of the night, loved) felt that way towards Danny. This is why he was somehow taking an expectant joy out of the situa-tion, for he was sure that the two would either become a laughing stock or be told off by the teacher. Colomba, however, was fuming.

As they walked out to their next class, Colomba mocked Jordan: the shoulder tap, the fluttery eyes, and the fluctuating pitch of her voice- all of it. Colomba was simply being the tiniest bit cruel, which, she felt, she had every right to be, but Will be-lieved Colomba was trying to say something. He thought she was trying to get her to ask him out.

She wasn’t, but because he didn’t know that, the rest of his day was amazing. He never stopped smiling, and all he could ponder was what would happen when they finally started going out.

He didn’t think about how or when he’d ask her; so he was put on the spot the minute they were alone. Sitting at the bus stop the next morning, under a dreary grey sky, he said those eight words: “would you like to go out with me?”

Colomba nearly gasped, but a part of her, hidden deep inside, asked her one question that changed everything. “Why is that so… absurd?” This being, rooted long, long ago, reminded Colomba of all the good times she’d had with her best friend. The field trip, where Barbie Lou the brown cow saw something in each of them, the many summer nights when they talked and talked, and always came home soaked through, and the first day of third grade, when this part of her was born, and when she found her best friend.

Colomba’s eyes, which had glazed over, cleared, and she smiled. “Yes,” she said.

In that moment, Will’s face met hers and their lips touched for their first kiss. When they looked up at the heavy clouds, through which a single ray of light had escaped to shine on the two of them, they said in unison, “A brown cow moment”.

<3

Will swung back his arm and let lose his last hard, white skee ball. It rolled up the ramp, flew into the air, and landed right in the 10,000 hole. The crowd watching him, which included Colomba, cheered, and the attendant at the carnival booth grudgingly con-gratulated him. Will had just made 75,000 points, entitling him to a jumbo prize. Upon the attendant’s inquiry, Will pointed at a huge stuffed brown cow hanging from the ceiling. He handed it to Co-lomba, took her hand, and the two walked off toward the Ferris wheel.

-Ted Waechter

Tree

I was so relieved to see her.

She was like a tree--

Tall and strong,

Yet soft and kind.

With open arms she stood.

Soft, smooth branches

Wrapped around my heart.

I felt like I could fly.

Her voice,

soft and gentle

lulled me into her arms.

It was like she already knew what had happened.

With tearful eyes

I explained what had me down.

I could feel her,

Not just see her,

Not just hear her.

Feel her.

And then I heard it,

Faintly at first

But unmistakably wind,

Rushing through trees.

Soft and smooth branches

Wrapped around my heart.

My mother.

-Lauren McCoppin

Wall Flower. Acrylic painting by Sarah McCroskey

Flower. Photograph by Laura Cabana

Hippitea Hoppitea. Ceramic by Gabrielle Mc Ardle