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Solstice The Arts Magazine of
Smithtown High School East
————————
Volume 14
2020
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Editors
Megan Sigismonti
Alexis Yang
Adviser
Mrs. Kliphuis
Smithtown High School East
Saint James, NY
Principal
Dr. Kevin Simmons
Contents
———
Willow Pomisel — art 1 Luke Hampson — poetry 2 Angelina Quinn — art 3 Megan Sigismonti — poetry 4 Chadwick B. — poetry 5 Arianna Felber — art 6 Melissa Kiesel — fiction 7 Melissa Kiesel — poetry 9 Kyle Popko — art 10 John Oliveri — art 11 Gianna DiGiacomo — art 12 Alexis Yang — fiction 13 Emily Penna — art 18 Abigail Reavis — art 19 Marissa Formosa — art 20 Margaret G. — fiction 21 Emily Penna — art 25 Payton Zografakis — fiction 26 Vivianne Lee — art 32 Lindsey Douglas — art 33 Megan Sigismonti — poetry 34
Kayleigh Burtless — art 35 Demitra Inglezakis — poetry 36 Hannah Denenberg — art 37 Keegan Fleming — art 38 Megan Sigismonti — fiction 39 Jaquelyn Gorman — art 43 Amna Hashmi — poetry 44 Amna Hashmi — poetry 45 Amna Hashmi — poetry 46
Solstice Literary Magazine | vol. 14
1
Stones
Willow Pomisel
Solstice Literary Magazine | vol. 14 2
Shattered
Luke Hampson
Your warmth melted my soul
Thawed love
And mended a shattered heart
A touch, a smile
Tender words
Held together a shattered heart
A life strolled by
And the hearth of passion burned on
Melting a shattered heart
But time betrays love
And winter rolled in
Freezing a shattered heart
The winds blew cold
The frigid air
Shook a shattered heart
Alone, the fire faded
snuffed out by time
Until nothing remained
Of a shattered heart
Solstice Literary Magazine | vol. 14
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Angelina Quinn
Media: Graphite
Solstice Literary Magazine | vol. 14 4
Fall
Megan Sigismonti
Life is but a Leaf,
It grows, It changes,
It dies…
One must adapt:
Cherish the Leaves,
Rake the Leaves,
Destroy the Leaves.
Acceptance is key,
For while some will pass,
Others will stay—
Stay the same,
It’s almost worst,
No growth, no change.
Without the expectation
Of death
What is there to live?
One must go through life,
Knowing there is an end,
To grow and change.
For to live the greatest,
Everyone needs a Fall—
a Fall to Fall to live.
Solstice Literary Magazine | vol. 14
5
Chadwick B.
Underlying Truth,
Your endeavors will not bruise,
Life’s only a ruse,
Understand yourself,
Pain is only temporary,
Don’t lose the oni,
Live upon the ash,
Your words are everlasting,
Fast the anchor casts
Solstice Literary Magazine | vol. 14 6
Arianna Felber
Media: Mixed media
Solstice Literary Magazine | vol. 14
7
Dear Cathy
Melissa Kiesel
To Miss Catherine Browning, America
London, England; April 14th, 18 —
I write to communicate the powers of your absence. Sorrows I feel to which I am bound
by ball and chain, which, still blacker in disposition, entreat that you confirm the bloom
of your health and immutable ties to the enterprise of our friendship.
The Continent you occupy, and as you walk its darkening slopes, must suffer the
winds of distance. Are they familiar? Does the nocturnal chill, with its biting arrows and
cruel, infernal claws, which ever presents itself to your mind as having an immeasurable
agony, also devote itself to your destruction? Once I enjoyed the divinities of a breeze
which passed, I believed, through the open windows of the study, and liked the light
pressure on my skin: watched the gale knocking against the frames; listened to the little
bugs clinging to fragrance and fire; but perceived you at the point where the breeze
crossed the candlelight. Cerulean pupils scarcely filled up the eyes which I previously
conjectured to be yours, and a heavy countenance accompanied them behind a dying
flame. Cathy, you whom I had abandoned, who had abandoned me, swayed before me!
An assent to your presence seemed then to me impossible; I uttered no sweet air or words
of affection in greeting. Silence! Oh, thou didst afflict me then, cursed condition — and
the bugs and the breeze endeavored silence.
Presently were my spirits broken: I, perceiving with displeasure the agitation of my
limbs, wept your name; I felt a slight chill; I afforded to the gods that welfare of the fiend
from whom you would withdraw your society, and wept for your continuance. Ah! I try
in vain to deny that my first words of clarity were spoken in sorrow and in bitterness.
“Hast thou remembered me? Nay, this wickeder era of negligence I prefer,” said
I, my mind restored. “Absent in the heart of your oldest friend is her affection for you,
Catherine! I shall not consent to a conversation with thee.”
Whether you would leave or advance towards the desk which I occupied was not
known. Soon, Cathy, the breeze which played on our cheeks became sinister: it blasted
Solstice Literary Magazine | vol. 14 8
the study; fair hair whipped a little about your face, and appeared to me in tendrils; and
the exchange of our words was muted. I requested that you turn your back to me, and
depart.
“Not so,” was the passionate reply; “I shall stay till you've forgiven me, and
neither cruel tongue nor violent wind nor evil accusation shall shut me out!”
“Was marriage not your favorite plan? Did you not intend to seduce an American
thrice your age with your romantic notions of emigration, Cathy? and supplied the duties
of a friend elsewhere? I shall not consent. Fly from this residency to your American lover,
and nevermore bother me! A servant will return your coat once you are out of doors. I —
Cathy, the cold can kill.”
“It already has,” you said.
It was during not but noon, but winter, that the breeze broke and collapsed into
cessation; the candlelight was snuffed; you faded like smoke. I cannot describe the terror!
— I felt my pulse; it was quick — the memory of a thin, trembling hand caressed my
cheek; it burned with ice. My memory, which will pacify your abhorrence of me, should
join you in the Continent; I am suffering the presence of a specter or fever. Still I see your
face in the perpetual shadows and cold. No more shall I admire another breeze; the winds
of distance need benefit my oldest friend in the least.
Write soon, Cathy. Write to me for a final time. Without the assurance of your
welfare, warmth is impossible.
Your esteemed friend,
Mary Morgan
Solstice Literary Magazine | vol. 14
9
Survival
Melissa Kiesel
Beyond these dainty, dusty lips, slips bliss,
affection lighting the devils of glee.
His soul soars. For little portions of this —
he sips with little lips: red, rough, and free.
The nectar tempers his throat, thus received
from the pool molding thousands of dreams.
Desire, survival, treasures oft ill-grieved,
enlightens the drink he steals from God’s stream.
Darkened gold he drains. What drips from his palm
is Heaven, duration keeping him calm.
Solstice Literary Magazine | vol. 14 10
Knives
Kyle Popko
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11
John Oliveri
Media: Graphite
Solstice Literary Magazine | vol. 14 12
Gianna DiGiacomo
Media: Fabric Paint
Solstice Literary Magazine | vol. 14
13
Agatha
Alexis Yang
Agatha had begun to feel like she wasn’t real. As an actress, she had spent her life
portraying characters who didn’t exist in shows that were only made up. When her theater
company decided to cast her as a minor role for the umpteenth time ever since she turned forty,
she had begun to think that maybe she wasn’t real either.
It was the fourth night of performing their new play. She and the other actors had held
hands and bowed before a clapping audience; Agatha had spoken a few meager lines, shrouded
in shadow while a younger woman performed in the spotlight. The actors were going out for
dinner again, and Agatha dreaded that she would contemplate her face in the mirror above the
wine rack just she always did, wondering how time had caught up with her.
Agatha wrapped her wool coat around herself and shivered as she walked with the other
actors to the restaurant. It was February, and the New York City air was biting as ever. It was the
fiftieth February of Agatha’s life. Her birthday had passed a few days prior, and suddenly it
seemed that life was slipping away from her.
“You were wonderful,” Nate said. Agatha looked up as if he was speaking to her, but the
young actor was only complimenting Ella, the lead role in their play. In fact, he hadn’t noticed
Agatha at all.
Agatha sighed and bit her lip, gazing out at the busy street. New York was hopping
despite the cold, with young people rushing about to see this movie or that. Agatha recalled
reciting her short lines that night while boiling up inside, wishing she was young again.
Years ago, she had been the lead of nearly every play. She could act extraordinarily; she
worked well with the directors; she was pretty. It seemed to Agatha that she was always running
in those days—running from role to role, from one opportunity to the next. Running to escape
the fear that someday, she might lose it all.
The others found a small Italian restaurant. Agatha went along, feeling like a shriveled
appendage, an unwanted part. The restaurant was full of brick and candlelight and the aroma of
olive oil and tomatoes. She chose a seat blindly, and it wasn’t until everyone was studying the
menu that she realized she’d picked the chair right by the door, where she could feel the frigid
draft.
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First was bread, then soup, and then pasta and fish. Everyone else was growing a little
drunk on the red wine, but Agatha didn’t touch hers. “What do you think, Agatha?” Jonas, the
set designer, asked her at one point, and she only blinked, lost in the conversation.
“I think the problem with your script,” Nate said, pointing a fork at Patricia, “is that
there’s no reason to become emotionally attached to the main character. She’s one-dimensional.
She doesn’t have any real connections with any other characters. Just kind of floats around, you
know, carried along with the action. But she doesn’t take any action herself.”
“That’s the point,” Patricia argued, but Agatha had stopped listening. Agatha always felt
like this—alone even in a group, isolated even as someone spoke to her. She always felt like
people were acting around her, pretending to care what she thought, putting on a show to make
her feel included. It had been so long since a man had asked her out on a date. The last one to do
so was David, a dark-haired filmmaker, who one day just stopped answering her phone calls.
Acting made her feel wanted. Under the spotlight, it didn’t matter that she would go
home to an empty apartment or that she hadn’t had a proper outing with friends in a long time.
When she acted, there was nothing but the light and the crowd and the story, the invented tale
that was poignant and realistic and, if Agatha really tried, she could believe was the truth.
But acting wasn’t enough anymore. In the most recent play, she portrayed a character
who had a loving husband, friends and family who cared. Agatha knew that she needed a real
connection. She felt her fingers curl over her kneecaps beneath the table. Could it be possible
that she truly believed those stories? Was it possible that all her worth was held in those plays,
leaving nothing for reality?
She couldn’t breathe. The waiter arrived with the dessert menu, but the thought of sugar
made her feel sick. She got the sense that her life had merely been set up. It was only a series of
plays, and even though she loved those shows with all her heart, they took her over. There was
nothing but the stories. Beneath them all was a hollow shell.
“If you all will excuse me, I’m going outside for some air,” Jonas announced suddenly,
standing and placing his napkin onto the table. Agatha glanced up at him and then found herself
standing too, excusing herself and following him out the door.
Outside, the bitterly cold air hit her like a slap. “Sorry,” she apologized to Jonas, and he
squinted at her as he rummaged in his pockets for a cigarette.
“What for?” he asked, lighting it. “No harm if you’d like some fresh air too.”
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15
She watched him smoke and decided that she wanted a cigarette too. “Did you really
come out here for the fresh air?”
“Oh, hell no. I couldn’t stand Nate’s complaining anymore. I mean, he was tearing apart
Patricia’s play. Can you imagine how she feels?”
“Mm,” Agatha replied, because she hadn’t been listening to Nate at all.
“Want one?” Jonas asked, holding his cigarette box out to Agatha. She accepted, glad she
didn’t have to ask him. She often worried that others would judge her, even for a benign question
like, “May I please I have a cigarette?”
He shook one out of the box and lit it for her. “Thanks,” she mumbled around the
tobacco and smoke. Jonas leant against the brick wall of the restaurant, watching the cars pass.
“I’m making another model,” he said. Agatha was used to small talk like this; she didn’t
know anyone in the theater company terribly well, not enough for any meaningful conversation.
“I’ll show it to you sometime,” Jonas suggested. “I think it’s a little too dense. Not enough air.
The set needs to breathe, you know?”
“Yes,” Agatha replied, feeling like she couldn’t breathe at all right now, like she had been
gasping for breath ever since she turned forty and was living off the remaining oxygen she had
left. She began to swallow back her fears, but there was Jonas standing there right next to her, a
young man with hopes and dreams. Maybe, just maybe, he would understand. “I’m afraid of
losing this,” she admitted.
Jonas’ forehead wrinkled. “Losing what?” he asked.
“Acting. My role in the theater company. Everything.”
“You won’t lose all that, Agatha,” Jonas replied politely.
“This is my everything. I don’t have anything else.” Agatha watched the cars pass, trying
to memorize the order of their colors for no reason other than to do something, to have some
kind of purpose in this moment, in every moment. Acting had been enough for a long time, but
now she needed more. Not just stories, but something real. “I always wanted to write a play,” she
admitted. “It was my dream, next to acting. I wanted to write it and maybe direct it. I have a few
incomplete manuscripts, but I haven’t touched them for ages, and it just never… I suppose it
never came about.”
“So, why don’t you try it again?”
“I’m afraid people won’t like it,” Agatha replied instantly, like a reflex.
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Jonas studied her face. “What do you mean, people won’t like it? Of course they will. And
if they don’t, you try harder.”
“I’m too old.”
Jacob shook his head and laughed a little, flicking ash onto the ground. “I’m sorry,
Agatha, but nothing you’re saying makes any sense. You’re too old? What does that have to do
with anything? It’s never too late to start.”
“I’m useless,” Agatha said. Words began to pour out of her mouth like an unstoppable
flood. “I’m not wanted anywhere. So what if I have some fragments of manuscripts lying around?
Nobody would want to read them. Jonas, you don’t understand. Nobody has asked me to go out
for dinner in a long, long time, not alone. This evening, I’m just an extra addition. I—”
“No, no, no,” Jonas interrupted. “Agatha, you are the most brilliant actress I’ve ever met.
And I’m not just saying that to be nice.”
“You don’t understand. There is nothing inside me but the plays, all right? Nothing.”
Agatha saw Jonas’ surprise, and she brought her hand to her face. “I don’t have anybody.”
Jonas was uncomfortable now, unsure what to say. He was the best set designer that
Agatha had ever known. She knew without a doubt that he saw his future as a bright one. A
talented young man like him could achieve whatever he wished. She doubted that he imagined a
future like Agatha’s: bitter and biting like New York in February.
“I’m sorry if I shocked you,” she apologized quickly.
“No, no,” Jonas said, but she could tell that he was thinking. “Everyone deserves
somebody.”
“I wasn’t only talking about a husband,” she clarified. “I meant a friend.”
He looked at her for a long time. He’d stopped smoking his cigarette; it rested between
his fingers and glowed. “You don’t have a single friend?”
“No, I do. I suppose I do. I keep in touch with a few people, and occasionally we’ll have
lunch, but I don’t have anybody to really speak with.”
Jonas remained silent for a long while. Agatha was ready to apologize again when he said,
“Let’s produce your play.”
“Excuse me?”
“Finish up that manuscript of yours. I’ll design the set. You can be the lead role, or you
can direct, or whatever you want.”
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“Are you serious?”
“Dead serious.”
Agatha laughed. She opened her mouth and released a bright, full laugh into the icy air.
In that moment, she wanted everybody to hear that laugh—Jonas and everyone in the cars and
on the street. “Thank you,” she said.
“Sure,” he answered, taking a drag from his cigarette again. She smiled at him and he
smiled back.
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Flower Petals
Emily Penna
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Abigail Reavis
Media: Digital art
Solstice Literary Magazine | vol. 14 20
Beads & Bands
Marissa Formosa
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The Hard Part
Margaret G.
Late summer nights roasting marshmallows by the firepit with my best friends have
always made me feel like I was in a coming-of-age movie. Heat from the fire burned even with a
two-foot stick and a marshmallow between us. It was the perfect summer night. The sky was
completely clear but we still weren’t able to see any stars. A blackout tonight would’ve been
perfect, I thought to myself. We were almost done with our summer, almost back to school books
and migraines, you know, the important stuff. None of that mattered yet. For the moment we
could just be here in this moment, ignoring the realities of the impending school year and
pretending that our summer could last forever.
“Anyone want an ice cream sandwich?” Mike asked, standing alongside the pool only to
be cut short by Jason ramming into his side, pushing him into the cold water. A roar of laughter
exploded, probably waking up the entire neighborhood. “You’re dead,” Mike growled playfully
as he splashed his way out of the pool. He began chasing Jason around the lawn, slipping and
sliding against the already damp grass.
“Those two are never going to get sick of each other, are they?” Vicky asked me quietly
as she watched her boyfriend, Mikey, race around her backyard in a hopeless attempt to catch
his abnormally fast best friend.
“No, I don’t think so. You know how they are. But don’t worry, I’m sure Mike will at
least let you be one of his groomsmen at their wedding.” She laughed quietly. Vicky and I have
known each other for the better part of ten years. Half of that time was spent hating each other,
and the other part was spent being absolute best friends, almost inseparable. Vicky is the type of
person most people are immediately drawn to. Everyone wants to be her friend. Whenever
you’re with her she makes you feel important. The past few months have been a rough time for
us, but rough patches happen. We’ll get better, I thought to myself. “I think it’s sweet how
they’re so close,” I uttered in an attempt to lighten the already tense mood. “Everyone needs a
best friend, you know?” I tried to catch her eye, remind her that she’s my best friend. She
nodded shyly. Something was wrong. Something was always wrong.
Jason and Mike made peace, finally, and were making their way over to us with that
mischievous look in their eyes they wear oh so often. Jason swiftly lifted me from my seat, Mike
Solstice Literary Magazine | vol. 14 22
did the same with Vicky and they were running with us in their arms over to the pool while we
kicked and laughed and screamed. These were my people, I thought to myself. July was getting
all of this on video and laughing hysterically, and all I could think of was how I would be able to
remember this forever.
Vicky’s parents came outside as Vicky and I were searching for dry towels and decided
that waking up the neighbors a second night this week was not an option, so we were exiled to
her bedroom. We all made our way upstairs in somewhat of a hurry. Some of us sat on her bed
while others gathered on the floor. For about an hour we sat there in her room talking and
gossiping.
During our first intermission, after several dark secrets were spilled and many tears were
shed, Vicky stood up and went to the bathroom. Once she was gone and everyone else seemed
mostly preoccupied, July motioned me closer to her.
“Meg, there is something you need to know.” Her eyes had gone wild with what I
believed to be either worry or fear, quite possibly both. She was whispering in my ear, leaning
across the bed and several of our friends, not very inconspicuous. I didn’t take it seriously. She
always tried to scare me like this, and in the end it usually turned out to be a joke.
“Yeah, sure, what’s up?” I said, entertaining this.
July leaned closer, “Vicky outed you.” The words hung in the air.
At first I laughed, giggled. It was a joke, I thought to myself. That kind of thing only
happens in movies and TV shows to further a boring plot, not in real life, it’d be too terrible.
After everything, all of the late nights I talked her to sleep when the alternative was her death,
standing up to her attacker, all of the times I stood up for my friend—my best friend—I couldn’t
believe she would betray me like that. My laughs stifled when the look in July’s eyes did not
change, her somber expression now transforming into pity.
Staring at the wall above Mikey’s head seemed like the only appropriate response at the
time, the only thing I could really bring myself to do. I couldn’t cry, not here, because then
everyone would know and I couldn’t bear for that to happen. Laughing no longer seemed
possible. My sense of humor was lost. Screaming would do no more than wake up her parents
and annoy everyone. There was nothing left for me to do but wait to face her.
“Hey guys, I’m back,” Vic chirped, seeming to be in a better mood than before. “What’s
the matter, Meggie?”
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“Don’t call me that.” Now there was nothing but anger. A deep black pit of fury had
filled my stomach and was consuming my entire body. She didn’t know that I knew. She had no
idea that she had been found out. I finally understood how little she cared for me. After all the
late-night cries about her parents, about mine, midnight walks to Mike’s house talking about how
hard it is to feel alone, waking up at 5 AM to watch Titanic for probably the hundredth time
with our chocolate icicles, I never thought she’d jeopardize our friendship. None of that mattered
to her like it mattered to me.
I turned back to July with tears in my eyes, suddenly very thankful that the lights were off,
and asked her with a shaky voice, “How long ago?”
“About a month.” My heart dropped. July reached over and wiped a tear from my
cheek. “What do you need?” she asked me tenderly. There was nothing she could do. I didn’t
know what to tell her. Everything seemed to be going at a hundred miles per hour and all I
wanted was to slow down.
“Vic,” I said loud enough for everyone to hear. Now I wanted to make a scene.
“Yeah?” She said it so innocently. The anger had turned from black to a fiery red,
making my head boil.
“You outed me.” The whole room went silent, all eyes were darting between the two of
us, wondering whether I would scream or cry first. “How could you?” I said in a sort of scream-
cry as my hand started to shake.
“I—” she began and then took a long pause to compose herself. “It wasn’t that big of a
deal, Meg.” Tears were streaming down my face, leaving trails of mascara running down my
cheeks.
“I was there for you!” I cried. I didn’t care who heard or if I woke her parents or even the
entire street. “I was there for you when no one else was, when you felt your most alone, it was me
that brought you out of that pit. It was always me.” I took a minute to stop myself from
completely breaking down. “We’re done.”
I ran down the stairs, unlocked the front door, and ran outside. July chased after me and
got there just in time to see me fall on the ground with my head in my hands.
“This can never happen again,” I said more to myself than to her. I lifted my head just to
see if I could. “I can’t keep doing this, giving her everything and her hurting me. I don’t deserve
this,” now I was sobbing into July’s shoulder. Too many times I have let others hurt me like this,
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I have given too many chances just for them to let me down once again. Now I had to do what
was right for me. I owed that to myself.
“This is never going to happen again.” And that was a promise I intended to keep.
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25
Emily Penna
Media: Colored pencils
Solstice Literary Magazine | vol. 14 26
In His Eyes
Payton Zografakis
The waves crashed violently, without remorse, onto the footsteps left within the blackened
sand. Children were all gathered outside, having fun, while I sat, perched, on the swing of my
doorstep. If it was any normal day, I would’ve been with them. However, it wasn’t. And I got
some pretty major news dropped on me; not the good news that you’re getting a new toy or
we’re going away. No, the bad news. Well for me, at least.
In his eyes, I saw joy and fear. But no way that I was going to feel that same joy. Not a
chance.
You’re definitely clueless right now because you need backstory, so I should probably
start at the beginning.
Three, long years ago…
——
I was brought to him on a cold, windy day. The kind of day that you would love to take
your T.V. remote and click on that skip button until sunshine comes. But let’s not be silly.
Anyways, I shyly stutter-stepped until I reached a grand, blue house and was welcomed by a
man. The man, who I would come to know as Jonathan, was way taller than me and it hurt my
neck to look up at him. Jonathan had a smile that lit up his entire face and eyes as blue as the
ocean that viewed his lovely house. In his eyes, I saw youth and opportunity. As I began climbing
the stairs, he greeted me with the kind of personality that makes you feel funny about not being
as outgoing.
“Hey buddy, I’m Jonathan,” he spoke, excitedly with a voice that must’ve rose seven
octaves, “welcome to your new home.” It was obvious that he was nervous, but so was I.
In the next year, we bonded so immensely that it would’ve been crazy to think that day
ever happened—crazy to think that we weren’t always a part of each other’s lives. Jonathan was
my favorite person and I was his. We’d, what’s the word, binge? Well, late at night, when the
moonlight illuminated the entire beach, we would walk down and Jon would carry his laptop and
I would carry a blanket with my mouth. We would shake the blanket out and then smooth it
down like icing on a cake between ridges in the sand. Then, we would watch what Jon described
as the “funniest show to air.” It was The Office and I wanted to disagree, but the man was
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27
wheezing at every Dwight part. I still don’t get it. We would take long walks and have races
towards the end, which I would always win. And some days, he would be gone the whole day at
work, and in his eyes, I could see how much he hated it.
I had gotten so used to it just being me and him. Just us pals. Just us men. But one day, he
did his laundry and dressed in something other than gym shorts and a stained t-shirt. I mean, he
was wearing khakis and a polo. He looked like Jake from State Farm and I wanted to tell him,
but it was kind of funny. The only part that wasn’t funny was the amount of cologne he sprayed.
Stupid Axe. As well as how long he was gone for. Around the fourth hour, I got really mad and I
peed on the floor. Yes, I did feel instant regret, but I couldn’t clean it up.
When he got back, his smile stretched to his ears and that’s putting it lightly. My pee
didn’t even bother him. I tried to find his eyes and in his eyes, I saw something I had never seen
before. I guess you could say it was love, but that couldn’t be it. It had to be friendship, right?
Well, wrong.
He would go out, dressed like Jake, almost every weekend and come back with that same
goofy look. And when I nudged him to go to the beach because it was beautiful out, we ended up
watching The Notebook and he bawled like a baby. I mean, I would be lying if it didn’t make me
question if someone was cutting onions, but we don’t talk about that. And to top it off, whenever
his friend, Chris, would come over, he would repeatedly say:
“Dude, you’re whipped!” All I wanted to scream was what the heck and why the heck.
But in Jon’s nonchalant way, he would just respond with a shrug, followed by that smile.
This weird, newly emotional, whipping thing went on for months, until this bright, red
Jeep pulled into our driveway. While I had hoped it was the pizza guy, since I knew whatever Jon
was trying to cook was going to come out funky, this lady came out. I tried to convince myself
that delivery people are trying to step their style up, but she was wearing a bright yellow dress
and shoes that were taller than me.
“Okay, you gotta be good tonight,” Jon asserted, “don’t think I didn’t notice the times
you peed!” I looked down at the floor and plopped. “You’re meeting someone really important
to me,” he said and his voice rose seven octaves. Frick, he’s nervous. This is definitely not a
delivery person.
We both peeked through the window as she walked up to the door and when she rang the
bell, Jonathan jumped up like she was some celebrity.
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“Hi Miriam,” he spoke softly, “welcome to the bachelor pad.” I saw her smirk and in his
eyes, I saw the same look that I brushed off before. This was going to be a long and cringey
night.
“Really, a bachelor’s pad, hmm maybe I should rethink this,” she giggled. I rolled my
eyes and prayed that they would stop with all this uncomfortable, prolonged eye contact. And my
prayers were answered when the smell of burning pasta weaved its way throughout the house.
“Oh shoot,” Jon screamed as he ran to the pot and brushed away the steam. But Miriam
just laughed again. From the kitchen, he shouted, “and that little rascal is Scott.” Oh no, here
comes.
She dropped to the ground and gave me this weird baby voice. Me no likey. “Hey
sweetie, who’s so cute?” Miriam managed to get out, while trying to pick me up. Her smile was
beginning to look like his, so I did the only rational thing I could think of, I bit her. “Ouch!” she
stammered and Jon rushed over and scolded me.
The rest of the night, I stayed in my bed, but that doesn’t mean I couldn’t hear them. I
mean, sure she’s pretty and nice, but I’m cute, she even said so, and I’m a delight. There was no
competition and that mentality stayed with me, until he grabbed his computer and gave her a
blanket to carry. I ran to the door to block it, but I was too slow. Sure, I was a little jealous, but
more importantly, where’s the supervision? He shouldn’t be whipped!
When they came back, they said goodbye and got real close for the longest minute. I’m
disturbed, especially when I heard through the thin wall…
“I love you, Miriam,” Jon announced. Don’t say it back, lady. Don’t do it.
“I love you too,” Miriam responded. As if my night couldn’t have gotten worse. I knew it
was time to turn away when they started getting close again.
After a couple minutes, the Jeep sped away and Jon came back in, starstruck. I couldn’t
even look at his eyes.
“Scott?” Jon called, “you okay buddy?” I’m just peachy! But, instead of answering back, I
just stayed in my bed and pretended to sleep. And he even had the nerve to give me a goodnight
kiss on the head. I know where those lips have been, mister, and I never said I approved.
——
Miriam came over a lot after that night. I thought it was too much, but Jon thought
otherwise, evidently. Alright, so maybe I warmed up to her. A little bit. A lot a bit. Alright, I see
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29
why Jon loves her. She does give me more food, when he isn’t looking. But I wasn’t ready for him
to get on his knee like he was praying and stick this huge, shiny rock in her face. My sense of time
isn’t so good. But when he kept telling Chris that when you know you know, Chris said it’s only
been a year.
“Will you marry me?” he asked. There was an awkward pause. So, I peed. I’m kidding.
She answered right away. Or, not really answered but was crying a lot and nodding.
She finally managed to get out a small, “yes!” above her sniffles. She’s an ugly crier. He
slid the rock on her finger and I wondered why I had never seen that on the beach. I looked up
and in his eyes, I saw everything. It was in hers as well.
——
Though the planning for the wedding made me want to sleep the day through, I gotta
admit I was a little excited. Except when she moved all her stuff in and it was a never-ending pile.
I even heard Jon call her a hoarder, under his breath of course. She was a bridezilla.
——
When the wedding came, I really started to feel like family with her—not quite like me
and Jon—but still. Even though I hated how much prolonged eye contact went on when they slid
the rocks on each other’s fingers, it was still kinda cute. I was cuter though. I hope.
In his eyes, I just saw tears and I wanted to go cheer him up but I was tied to my chair
and Jon’s dad was eyeing me like a hawk. A hawk who couldn’t see me too well.
——
I’m skipping all the boring honeymoon stuff because despite my best effort and my puppy
dog eyes, they wouldn’t take me. Rude, but I get it. Anyway, I got attached to my new family.
Even if it used to be a guy’s thing, all three of us would have a binge session on the beach. And
jokes on you Jon, because Miriam is iffy about The Office too and she can actually tell you that.
Pretty soon, before I even realized it, I couldn’t remember a time when Miriam wasn’t
there. I saw in her eyes, this hope and love whenever she looked at us. That was the best feeling
in the world. The only bad thing is she tied me every time we raced. But we did dust Jonathan.
——
So, back to the present. You’re probably thinking, this guy has got the perfect life. Perfect,
my butt. I just got the worst news. There’s going to be another Miriam. And don’t give me all
that miracle of life stuff—it took me weeks to get used to having this chica! What the hell we
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gonna do now? I have absolutely no idea and I have to pretend like I don’t know because I’m
waiting for Jon to tell me. Bros come first. I’m starting to get impatient and she’s starting to get
mean. I keep thinking back to that candy commercial where the slogan is “you’re not you when
you’re hungry” so she’s gotta be hungry. But I can’t eat chocolate and I think she needs more
than that. Just imagine a baby like this, definitely not a delight. They should’ve just stuck with
me.
——
Okay, so here’s the update. The little Miriam is coming home today from the hospital.
And if you were wondering, no, Jon didn’t tell me. If you’re not saying “how rude” then I’m
disappointed in you. Oh, and yes, I did skip those months because it would probably give you
some beef about Miriam and that wouldn’t be cool. Miriam isn’t the problem.
They’ve been gone for three whole days and I had to rely on Chris to feed me. Not only is
my separation anxiety through the roof, but my caretaker can’t even remember to bring his key.
The dog days of my life.
When they finally arrived home, I thought I was going to pee out of excitement because
I’m passed the vengeance stage. I’m just excited to see my family, not the addition. Except she is
really cute and I felt my eyes widening. Don’t get sucked in, don’t it. You’re a macho man. Stop.
Do. Not. Look.
I’m not the sentimental kind of person, but Jon’s baby is a whole new level. And in his
eyes, I see Jon. Even though she kinda smells sometimes and takes all the attention—I’m not salty
at all—we bonded. Plus, I get the good parts of her, like when she’s playful. On the other hand,
Jon and Miriam have to deal with her crying and pooping. Which I’m pretty sure she just did.
Anyways, suckers.
I guess family comes when you least expect it. And I already said I’m not sentimental and
gosh darn, someone better stop cutting those onions, but this is my family.
“You know Jon, me and Scott have come a long way since he first bit me,” Miriam
chuckled.
“Scotty is a good boy, Miriam,” Jon replied, “I raised him good.” Oh yeah you did. Look
at me now. An absolute stud. “I guess it’s true that a dog is a man’s best friend,” Jon continued.
Oh, did I forget to mention that I’m a dog? Whoops. Now, the story is gonna make much more
sense.
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31
“Ahem,” Miriam coughed.
“Also, a woman’s best friend?” Jon quickly answered.
“That’s more like it,” Miriam agreed.
In all of our eyes, I saw love. Gosh darn, stop cutting those onions, I don’t wanna seem
like a chump. Anyways, I gotta go play with the baby, before she gets cranky. Ha, suckers again.
THE END.
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Vivianne Lee
Media: Ink and watercolor
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33
Lindsey Douglas
Media: Graphite
Solstice Literary Magazine | vol. 14 34
Pencil
Megan Sigismonti
I smell of slightly burned wood,
In my boyhood, I once was tall,
And above all—but I was cut.
Now I hardly know what’s what.
I rise early, and sometimes I’m
even a little swirly, or plain choppy—
a miscopy. Erasing, what an excellent
invention: facing a mistake is too much.
I create yet get no credit—
might as well see me on Reddit, unless,
unless I impress, and maybe give
you luck, to make a quick buck.
Without me, how would this great
world spin? I make up the within
of society—the life of big men.
How dare you write this in pen?
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35
Kayleigh Burtless
Media: Graphite
Solstice Literary Magazine | vol. 14 36
Haiku Poems
Demitra Inglezakis
Clouds are in the air
As the sun rises above the clouds
The old woman is dying
The flowers are laying still
As the wind blows their petals away
Someone threw up in class
They lay underneath the ocean
As the shells move with the sand
My dog is getting hungry
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37
Hannah Denenberg
Media: Mixed media
Solstice Literary Magazine | vol. 14 38
Keegan Fleming
Media: Graphite
Solstice Literary Magazine | vol. 14
39
Rocks at the Window
Megan Sigismonti
Tony threw a fastball at the window. The little pebble bounced from glass and dropped
down into the gutter that outlined the second floor of the tiny white house, with a distinctive
clunk.
That was his fifteenth pitch of the night, his arm was beginning to cramp, no wonder he
never picked up baseball. He raked his hand through his jet black curls and huffed into the thick
midnight air. He looked up at the moon, a small crescent surrounded by thousands of little dots,
and then he looked back at the window. He muttered a “c’mon” and picked up another pebble.
Maybe a curveball would do it, he thought to himself. He wound up for the pitch, his arm
wailing for a break, and he released the pebble. This time there was no clunk, rather there was no
sound at all. The window was open, he had hit the screen.
“Tony?” A delicate voice trying to mask exhaustion called. “What are you doing here?”
“To see you of course!” Tony grinned. “Is that your window over there too?”
Anna responded by opening her other window on the opposite wall. “Tony, you haven’t
answered my question yet. What are you—Tony!”
Tony climbed up the chain link fence that separated Anna’s driveway from her backyard.
He stretched on his toes to reach the roof of her garage and hoisted himself up with a deep grunt.
Tony stumbled onto the triangular surface until he was face-to-face with Anna Denton, who was
peering out of her window in a confusing mixture of rage and suppressing her own grin.
“Tony you could have fallen!”
“But I didn’t!”
The Death Glare. Her eyebrows met her eyelashes and the grin turned into a flat line.
Bright blue waves turned into stormy hurricane eyes. Tony couldn’t help but giggle a little.
“I am here to talk to you Anna Denton, and if you don't want me to fall I suggest you let
me inside.”
Anna opened the window all the way and stepped out of the way. Tony entered with a
loud thump, and Anna contained herself by pinching the bridge of her nose.
“Would you like to wake my parents up too? I can go get them for you if you want?”
Solstice Literary Magazine | vol. 14 40
Now it was Tony’s turn for the Death Glare, except in his case it was more of trying to
hold in a laugh or a smirk. Tony isn’t really capable of being serious for too long. He sat down
next to Anna on her bed and let out a sigh.
“What you did to Randy the other night,” he turned to big, waiting eyes, full of hope.
“That was wicked.”
She laughed and looked down. “Yet it felt so too.”
“I mean, the way you led him on only to shove him into the office—golden, Anna,
golden.”
“Yeah well, someone had to put him in his place. I mean who is he to think he can stomp
into where I work like the big brat he is, and make demands. I’m telling you he gets drunk by
both booze and creating problems. Maybe this time he’ll finally leave me alone.”
She laid her back onto the bed, her legs still dangling off the sides, and looked up at the
ceiling. Tony mirrored her movements.
“He’ll leave you alone.”
“That’s what Mary said last time, after the party.”
“Yeah, well, I’ll make sure of it myself. Randy will have another thing coming next time
he tries to mess with you.”
“Tony, don’t get yourself into any trouble, we both know it won’t end in your favor, no
matter the circumstances.” She put her small hand on top of his. “Promise me that, okay?”
“Okay.”
“Good. Randy never kept his promises to me. So you better, or else I’ll shove you into an
office too.” She giggled while Tony turned to her dumbstruck. Randy seriously messed with
Anna’s head. Yet, she was able to laugh it off like it was nothing. Tony turned his hand so his
palm faced hers, and he intertwined their fingers together.
Anna faced him and smiled. “My parents liked Randy a lot when we started dating. Said
he would get me a great big house on the west side, with a bunch of little kids running around.
They figured I wouldn’t have to work a day in my life, but I like working. It’s good for you. I
want to make my own money, mom does, after all. Being dependent on someone just isn’t my
style. It may be Susan’s, but it definitely ain’t mine. Mary’s still a toss up.
“Anyways, I liked him a lot too, in the beginning. He’d get me flowers every once in a
while. We’d go on super expensive dates. There was this one time, I offered to pay half the tab. I
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41
never saw Randy get so red so fast. It was the little things like that. I always wanted him to go to
one of my track meets, just one. Somehow the guy never had the time. But when it came to
parties, his attendance was perfect.
“The little things add up, Tony. I stuck with him longer than I wanted to, longer than I
should of, all cause my parents were happy. They thought the rest of my life after high school
would be set, that their worrying would be finished. I couldn’t break their heart, so I never told
them we broke up. Now it’s been so long, I’m afraid.”
“I think you should—you know, tell them.”
“But—”
“But what Anna?” Tony sat up. “You can’t go around trying to please everyone! That’s
not living. This is your life Anna Denton, not Randy’s. Screw Randy! Anna you got great parents
who care so much about your future! Sure, they may have been a lil’ blinded by the dough, but
that was only cause they care about you!”
“I’ll tell ’em.”
“Promise?”
“Okay.”
“Good. Now besides that, I also wanted to ask you something.”
“Shoot.”
“Now, don’t go shoving me out the window.”
The Death Glare Anna shot back quickly joined Tony’s laughter. She shook her head
trying to suppress her laugh.
“Okay,” he sighed. Tony could feel the butterflies knocking into his ribcage. “I wanted to
know if you well—you see, our break times at work sorta match up, and well, I wanted to know if
you wanted to spend yours with me.”
He scrunched his eyes slightly, as if he were bracing for impact. Anna was blank, so Tony
quickly filled the silence. “Doug would be there too, of course.”
“Yeah, I’d like that, Tony.”
“Really? Cause you don’t have to, but if you—”
“I said I want to. Stop complicating things Tony. Now you know what I’d really like to do
right now?” Anna sat up and leaned towards him. Tony stiffened in confusion.
“What?”
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“Go back to sleep.”
“Oh you’re a funny one Denton.”
“I try.” She suddenly shot up from the bed and grabbed something off her desk chair.
“Here’s your jacket, by the way.” Her hand stuck out, holding the brown leather mass.
“Keep it.”
“You sure?”
“I said keep it. Stop complicating things Anna.” He mimicked her tone. She put the
jacket down and crossed her arms.
“You’re funny too.”
Tony smirked and stood up. He walked towards the window and swung one leg out and
onto the roof of the garage. Anna followed him, arms still crossed. She hated when he mimicked
her. His voice was always an octave too high.
“Goodnight Anna.”
“Goodnight Tony.”
He stuck his head out the window and looked at the moon. He closed his eyes tight and
made a tiny prayer. Then he stuck his head back inside the window and kissed Anna on the
cheek. The last thing he saw was her deep blush before he flung himself out the window and
down the garage.
She watched him run down her driveway from her window. He stuck both his arms in the
air in triumph. She shook her head smiling, and closed the window.
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43
Jaquelyn Gorman
Media: Ink and Graphite
Solstice Literary Magazine | vol. 14 44
Caged
Amna Hashmi
I lie and rest silent.
I attempt to escape,
but there is no way.
There is no future,
So there is no point.
And if I make my escape,
I only cage myself once more,
Because I make light where there can be none,
But I find darkness where I make light,
For light comes with a price:
The burden of a shadow.
Even so,
What good is it to live in the dark?
What good is it to cower with fear?
What good is it to listen when you’re not being heard?
What good is it to live when there is no life?
Anything is better than living.
Because I want life, not to live,
But I have been cursed to live,
And spared from the burden of life.
Woe be to those who live.
Woe be to me.
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45
Silent Snow
Amna Hashmi
I don’t love, so I don’t cry
I don’t need, so I don’t break
And I do not speak
For if I speak, words do not evade my lips
Only a thundering silence escapes.
If you were me, you would fight.
You would break the deathly silence
Which impales the lust for freedom.
Simply because you cannot handle it.
But I can and I do.
But I can handle it for one reason only.
If I break the silence, then I will need and I will love.
So I would make myself break and cry.
So I let the crowd speak,
They think I will wilt like a flower in the bitter cold,
But I return them with silence,
And like the snow of the bitter cold
I fall. And I fall.
But I fall with grace.
Solstice Literary Magazine | vol. 14 46
Night Light
Amna Hashmi
The night is a time of magic.
Which other time could bring the gift of mind?
The day is filled with the responsibility of reality.
It consists only of that which you are,
And that which is.
But the night holds a different responsibility,
That responsibility which you serve to yourself:
To dream.
It is within dreams that you are capable of endless fantasies and adventures.
The wildest of creativity is drawn to existence,
Blissful are the dreams that you are at peace with yourself.
Alas the joy of wonder dies with the rise of the sun,
Light bleeding into the sky and into the mind,
And I awake once more to find myself in the shadow of day.
Acknowledgements
Thanks to
Ms. Stephanie Kostopoulos
Mrs. Christine Kuletsky
Mrs. Alyssa Santangelo
Ms. Dianne Shanian
Mrs. Kim Sundberg
The English Department at Smithtown HS East.
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