Vintage Official

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-The Wheatley School Literary Magazine-

VintageM a g a z i n e

2014/44thEdition


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The Wheatley School

11 Bacon RoadOld Westbury, New York 11568

Phone: 516-333-7789

Fax: 516-333-7458

www.ewsdonline.org

VintageA Literary/Art Magazine

The 44 Edition

2014
http://www.ewsdonline.org/http://www.ewsdonline.org/


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For 44 years,Vintage, The Wheatley Schools literarymagazine, has given students a safe environment to explore thearts. I believe the arts encourage the development of higherorder thinking skills, benefitting all aspects of an education. Asa result, Vintagechampions and collects a variety of originalsubmissions from a myriad of students ranging grades 8-12.Although several themes persist throughout the magazine, eachpiece is decorated with its own unique, observant, and artisticoutlook.

The Vintagestaff embodies Wheatleys core principles andstrives to re-create them in printed form. Each member of theVintageteam serves a pivotal role in the success of thepublication. Being that the magazine is created with computersoftware, Vintagestaff are responsible for doing much of theirwork independently. The staff designs the layout of themagazine and conduct all of the behind-the-scenes business. Iam particularly impressed with the dedication and camaraderie

among the 44th edition staff.Like art, Vintagereflects the times. Throughout the years,

Vintagepublications have been decorated with graphics ofgrapevines. While these graphics are tradition, the increasingpopularity of graphic art has inspired Vintagestaff to design anew graphic system. These additions to the magazinedemonstrate our publications willingness to share all forms ofstudent art.

Keep an open eye for unusual and captivating short stories,fascinating prose poetry, and thought-provoking art. Themagazine boasts an original play, multi-medium artwork, andeven a poem dedicated to van Gogh. I hopes you enjoy

experiencing Vintageas much as I do.

- Michael Lituchy

Editors Note


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Table of Contents

Short Stories: Page

Sister Within a Coach/Samantha Palazzolo 10

Violet Blackwood-Backstory/Sienna Brancato 16The Price of a Dream/Madison DAmbrosio 25The Canyon Story/Michael Kokotos 35A Fiendish Plan/Emma Belson 49Chapter 1/Shannon Murphy 52A Slaves Best Friend/Jillian Baker 70Firsts/Hannah Mittman 75Imperfections/Farrah Siegler 81William Blackwood-Backstory/Rebecca Besada 102Dear Diary/Joy Bestourous 110The Gift/Chintan Datt 114I Noticed Her/Jordan Pollack 120

Merhamet/Ana Ainechi 124

Poetry:

Survival/Sienna Brancato 1Survived/Chintan Datt 4A Haiku/M.G.E. 5Frame/Joseph Jacob 12Violet Blackwood Epitaph/Andrew Zuckerman 13Dream House/Adeel Anwar 19Vincent/Nicole Cutinella 21Gender Roles, Social Norm/Shannon Murphy 27Paths/Erin OKelly 31I am/ Andrew Schloss 33Hallucination/Shani Hogan 45Untitled/Hebah Hassan 46A Haiku Dedicated to Romeo and Juliet/Jessie Cao 63Ignominy/Alex Boubour 66Becoming Me/Talia Rosen 72Monsters/M.G.E. 76Hope/Neil Shahdadpuri 79

My Murder/Jaclyn Mellone 99William Blackwood Epitaph/Rebecca Besada 101Because of my Color/Lauren Bennis 107Prepared for Me/Rachel McPhilliamy 117The Monarch/Shani Hogan 122Lost and Found/Talia Rosen 127


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Visual Art:

Self-Portrait/Samantha Siegler 3Untitled/Cara Mattioli 5Independence, A Self-Portrait/Heather Chau 11Neon Face/Priya Prasad 17Self-Portrait/Emily Giunta 18The Traveler/Zach Wolff 20The Movement of Nature/David Rosenzweig 23Still Life/Natalie Tabib 24Untitled/Brandon Rothstein 29Big Ben/Zach Wolff 30Flute Player/Andrew Zuckerman 34Day of the Dead Skull/Kurtis Bassmann 43Capricious Cranium/Heather Chau 44Untitled/Jen Dioguardi 45Wires/Uzayr Arif 50

The Little Things/Chloe Tso 51Medusa by Starlight Galaxy/Sufia Ainechi 62Untitled/Emily Giunta 64Untitled/Samantha Siegler 65Untitled/Samantha Siegler 68Torso/Kurtis Bassmann 69Snowflake/Andrew Zuckerman 73Flowers/Lauren Miceli 74King of the Jungle/David Rosenzweig 77Cat/Andrew Zuckerman 77Untitled/Kelsey Beresheim 78Fencer/Zach Wolff 80

Powder/Emily Giunta 83Smog/Kurtis Bassmann 95Untitled/Samantha Palazzolo 96Turn Away/Priya Prasad 97Untitled/Cloe Southard 98Untitled/Zach Wolff 104Forest/Lauren Miceli 105The Kraken/Uzayr Arif 108An Aesthetic Melody for Phil/Isabella DIorio 109Untitled/Danielle Wasserman 112Sunrise/David Ronsenzweig 113Another Me/Keziah Chung 115

Untitled/Samantha Siegler 116Untitled/Danielle Wasserman 118Untitled/Jordan Shaked 119The Hidden Beauty/Sufia Ainechi 121Radiance/Heather Chau 123

Play:Act One/Josh Dinetz 84


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Surviva l

One pink polka dotted backpack, three protein bars, the 4th

Harry Potter book(yes, its my favorite),

one berry blast juice box, and a floral patterned umbrella.

In other words, what survival means to an eight year old. I was

a very little girl on a very important mission,

filled with enough M&Ms and defiance to make up for the gaping

holes in my

thought process

As a right of passage, I decided to do what everyone stuck in

between

childhood and the mysterious kingdom of teenagerdom does,

and with illusions of grandeur, I was out of the house

before my mother could protest. I was

running away from home.

Long story short, I lasted around three hours.

In that time, I depleted 75% of my food supply and

basically ended up wandering aimlessly around my neighborhood,

the ill advised Harry Potter book becoming heavier

with every step. The culmination of my adventure came when

a deluge of biblical proportions rained down upon

the sun-dried streets of East Williston,and, of course, my gorgeous floral umbrella was

broken.

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Reminiscing about those times, it almost seems as though it

happened half a lifetime ago

Oh, wait. It did.

But now, survival means a little more than a

few protein bars and a dream.

These days we dream of hemming ourselves.

With confidence as fragile as a house of cards, we try

squeezing ourselves into the narrow constraints of beauty

that have been constructed for us to emulate,

the essence of ourselves lost in the process.

Is there a trigonometric ratio for perfection?

(If so, please contact me because that would be the only useful

thing Ill ever get out of that class.)

Did you know, a life sized Barbie constructed to scale would be

seven foot two and forced to walk on all fours, subservient and

obedient, because otherwise her ankles would snap like toothpicks?

The circumference of her waist would

equal that of her head because,if youre tiny over there, then its okay to be tiny up here

right?

Barbie would have a neck twice as long

and six inches thinner than the average woman, and

her miniature waist would only allow room for half a liver and

a few inches of intestine.What is this monstrous creation we epitomize as the ideal of

beauty?

When I take a step back and think of

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all the women in my life: my mom,my neighbors, my friends, my grandma,my aunts, my cousins, I realize that

all of them are exquisitely beautiful,and not a single one resembles a Barbie doll.This is what helped me realizethat when unrealistic and impossible expectations are set for me,I dont have to bend over backwardstrying to reach them.Im surviving just fine on my own.

- Sienna Brancato

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Self-Portrait/Samantha Siegler


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Survived

As you walk through a graveyard of dead dreams

Reading the unwritten stones of your future

You see him standing in the darkWaiting for you to join himHolding your heart in his hand

You slip into the slithery windLetting the memories seep outWanting him to see your victory

The nave child you once wereStands by your sacrificed memoriesWaving goodbye to what you've become

The dark cries out a song

Sung by past souls starting a beginningWishing you a strong journey

He's still standing in the darkIlluminating it with a smileOffering your innocence back to you

You tell him to hold onto itWalking away as he frownsFinally escaping the man named Childhood

- Chintan Datt

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A H a i k u

The sun, moon, and stars

Are nothing but specks of dust

Compared to your eyes.

(m.g.e.)

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Cara Mattioli


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I was in seventh grade when I first started playing Varsity Field Hockey. Iloved the sport! Before playing field hockey, I played ice and roller hockey,so this sport came naturally to me. Since I began playing, Ive won Allstar

Athlete and All Conference awards twice. Since I was so young when Ibegan, I developed a special relationship with my coaches. Both coaches,

Adamski and DePalma, play a big role in my life. DePalma and I have aspecial bond, and she is my role model. She helps me with my skills on thefield and in life. When she tells me to do something, I dont always want tolisten, but I know its best for me. DePalma gives me tough love by pushingme to do my best and always looking out for me. On October 16, 2013, I

was involved in a horrible accident, and I wouldnt have wanted anyone else

but DePalma to calm me down. Without her on the field with me the dayof the accident, I would have been even more of a mess. Since DePalmaknows me so well, she knew the right things to say and do in order to calmme down. My trust in her was a huge factor in calming me down. This isone memory I will never forget; it is now carved into my brain.

The day the accident happened, we, The Wheatley School, were playingLocust Valley. Locust Valley is a very tough and aggressive team. A lot ofteams seem to pick on me, since Im one of the better players on the team.

To other teams, Im like the green Skittle that no one likes.Before the game even started, I knew that it was going to be a violent

one. Last year when we played Locust Valley, a hard drive came up and hitone of our players in the nose. A drive is somewhat like a golf drive, butyou are not allowed to raise the stick higher than your waist. She ended upshattering her nose, and there was blood everywhere.

This year, when we were warming up, players seemed to remember thisaccident, and soon they became very scared. As captain of the team, I

knew I needed to show my teammates that I wasnt afraid. I told everyone, That was last year, and it was a freak accident. You need to forget aboutthat and go into this game with confidence, and play hard. I felt like Ihelped lift my teammates spirits, and we were now ready for game time.

The game began, and it was already going badly. Both our players andour coaches were getting mad because there were many high sticks from

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A S i s te r Wi th in a Coach


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the other team that werent getting called. I knew I had to take a stand. Ipolitely went up to one of the officials and said, Could you please watchthe high sticks on the other team? Its getting to the point where it is verydangerous, and someone is going to seriously get hurt. She just shook me

off and blew the whistle to resume playing. She didnt even say a word backto me, which I thought was very rude. A player on our team, Perri, wasupset about that. She exclaimed, Sami, yell at them! Youre the captain.Tell them! Its getting ridiculous. She started to freak out. She came rightup in my face and was screaming at me.

Then I said to her, Perri, dont worry about it. When someone gets hitin the face, it will be the officials problem because they dont seem likethey want to call anything today.

After I made that comment, I continued playing the game. Locust Valleyhad a free hit. A free hit is when a foul occurs on a player, and the oppositeteam usually takes a shot from the spot on the field where the penalty tookplace. The player on Locust Valley wound up like she was Tiger Woodsdriving a golf ball. I knew this wasnt going to end well, but I had no timeto react. The ball came flying at me, and it hit me square in the mouth.Everyone heard it; it sounded like the crack of a bat making contact with aball. The force of the ball was so strong that my mouthpiece went flying

out of my mouth like a torpedo. I remember seeing a river of bloodcoming out of my mouth, and I fell straight to the ground. You could hearthe sound of my screams from the soccer field. I closed my eyes andstarted praying that I was alive and that my teeth were still in. The nextthing I knew I saw my coaches, the athletic trainer and director, and mymom running over to me. I could tell everyone was in a panic and scaredby the amount of blood that was on my face and on the ground. They alltried to play it cool, but I knew what was going on. It was bad. I startedscreaming at the girl, Im going to kill you!

The athletic director told me, Sami, you need to stop telling the girlyou are going to kill her and worry about yourself.

I was so mad. After they stuffed my mouth with gauze, I was broughtover to the utility car. My parents and the trainer were talking about whatthey were going to do next. It was just DePalma and me sitting in the car. I

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looked her straight in the eye and said, Tell me the truth. Are my teeth stillin? Are they still perfect? Is it that bad?

DePalma then said, Sam, I need you to stop crying, take a deep breath,and trust me. Your teeth are still in. You will be fine. I promise they will befine, and you need to trust me. She put her arm around me, and I knew atthat very moment I needed to trust her.

As this was going on, my parents and the trainer decided that we shouldcall the ambulance because it was an injury to the head, and my lip wasswelling up out to the moon. Blood was still pouring out of my mouth. Iasked DePalma if she wouldnt mind coming in the ambulance with me.Both my mom and I were in no condition to be riding alone, since mymom was still in shock. Of course she said yes, without a doubt she would

come. Having her and my mom in the ambulance gave me a feeling ofcomfort. The EMT was trying to make me feel better on the car ride, buthe was just awkward and made things worse. He asked me, Is your lipswollen, or is that its natural size?

I just got hit in the mouth with a field hockey ball. Yes, it is swollen, Isaid. Meanwhile my lip was bigger than ever.

He then said Oh, I thought your lip was actually that size, you know?Since this is the East Williston District, with Botox and everything.

We all were in shock after we heard this. We all were thinking the samething, Just get us to the hospital! We finally arrived at the hospital. Thedriver apparently decided to take the scenic route, so it took a lot longerthan it should have. I was taken off the stretcher and brought to a hospitalbed. Hospitals give me an uneasy feeling, though one would think Id beused to them due to all my sports-related injuries. But I had my parents andDePalma to calm me down once again. Shortly before I had my CAT scantaken, my dad took DePalma back to Wheatley. I told her a million times

that I greatly appreciated her coming with me. The nurse then took me toget my CAT scan done. I thought it was going to hurt, but it was done inseconds. My parents and I had to wait patiently for the results. The resultstook forever because the ER doctor was trying to call other doctors for asecond opinion, but no one was answering. A few hours later, we finallyreceived the results. I had broken my nasal spine. I was so upset when I

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heard the news. The doctor told us that we would have to visit an oralsurgeon due to my teeth looking like a jigsaw puzzle.

When I was sent home from the hospital later that night, I went straightto bed hoping that I would wake up to find that this had all be a baddream. I was wrong; it was now my reality. I needed to face the facts. WhenI woke up, we went straight to the orthodontist to see what he thought ofmy teeth. He was very upset to see my perfect teeth looking not-so-perfectanymore. My orthodontist, Dr. Lucarelli, told me that by the end of theprocess, he was sure that he could get my teeth back looking good as new.Dr. Lucarelli then sent us to an oral surgeon. Going to the oral surgeonscared me because I was afraid to see what he was going to say. He told myparents and me that he would need to rearrange my mouth by pulling my

two front teeth forward and up. This plan would require surgery and mebeing drugged. It was a lot for my family and me to take in all at once, butwe knew it had to be done. To make sure that everything this oral surgeonwas doing was right, we headed back to my orthodontist to consult withhim. Dr. Lucarelli then sent us to another oral surgeon for a secondopinion. This oral surgeon, Dr. Keene, said the exact same thing as the firstsurgeon. The only difference was Dr. Keene gave me a feeling of comfort;I was no longer scared.

I still was a little nervous about getting surgery done, but I thought of atime when I was nervous and DePalma helped to calm me down. Let meset the scene for you. It was just like any other game, me sprinting up anddown the field while the rest of the team was walking and being lazy. Thescore was only 1-0, so we actually had a chance of winning. On one of mybreakaways, I took a shot, and the goalie sat on the ball. When the ball iscovered by the goalie, a penalty occurs, resulting in a penalty stroke. It wasnow just the goalie and me, one-on-one. I was so nervous. DePalma pulledme aside right before it was time to take my penalty shot. She said, Listen

Sam, I know youre nervous, and you have every right to be. You have beenworking your butt off this whole game, and I know you dont want to ruinit now. But just think about all the other challenging things that you havedone; hitting home-runs over the fence, being on many varsity teams at ayoung age, and much more. You did all these things with no problem, sothere is not a doubt in my mind that you will be able to smash that ball past

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the goalie. I need you to believe in yourself. After DePalma said this, Ihugged her and ran right onto the field. I said a quick prayer and then tookmy shot. Those quick seconds between me hitting the ball and the ballreaching the goal seemed like forever. GOAL! Everyone started cheering,

and I jumped up and down. I gave DePalma a smile, so she knew I wasthanking her. She gave me a smile back. Thinking about this amazingmoment when I overcame my fear then made me realize that I can doanything. No matter how nervous I am, I will always be stronger than myfears. Now, it was showtime. I was ready for surgery, and I wasnt nervous...Not one single bit.

Within a half an hour, I was all drugged up and out cold. I didnt feel athing. Dr. Keene did an amazing job, and there is no other doctor that I

wouldve preferred to operate on me. When I woke up, I was still drugged,and I was a little out of it. I couldnt feel my mouth and only tasted blood,yum! It wasnt until later that I realized I had train tracks on my teeth. Ithought I was done with braces in the seventh grade, but I guess they wereback on. That night was a long night of throwing up due to the drugs, butthe next day I began feeling better.

I am now on my way to recovery, going to different doctors every week.It is not easy having all this stuff done to me, but somehow I still manage

to continue to smile. The liquid diet and the medication arent easy to dealwith, but I make sure I continue with it so that I can get better. Thisaccident made me realize that every moment I am with DePalma, whetherits her yelling at me or helping me out, she is always teaching me lifelessons. I learned a lot from this horrible experience, but one thing I willalways remember is that you need to believe in those you trust. WithoutDePalma there with me that day, I dont know what I would have done. Shecontinued to check in on me all the time to make sure I was doing ok.There was not a second that I did not believe in what she said. Not only

did DePalma act like a coach that day, she acted like my sister, too. She willalways hold a special place in my heart

- Samantha Palazzolo

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Independence, A Self-Portrait/Heather Chau


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F ra m e

A carcass of the past,

cosmic within,fails to show its pith.

Its lacquered cage shines,

transparent barrier glistenstrivial.

Nomadic in nature,

memories grace the domes

in its locus, but

are only able to leave

ephemeral marks.

Rooted to the surface,

it teemed with life

but harbored by isolation.

Time was lost,

recall suffered.

Incomplete in presence,

joint when mended.

It occupies its shell,

no longer forgotten,

supported by its cage.

Joseph Jacob

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Viole t Blackwood - Epitaph

I was closest to my mother:

Physically.We did housework side by side, in our house, not a home.

I was closest to my father:

Emotionally.

He held me tight, one of his strongest handshakes.

But, my father was away most of the time,

And my distant mother was distant from my heart.

And the little warmth I could feel during the day came from the

reading of

great English poets and composers.

Their sonnets and songs.

Their metres and syllables.

Thomas Wyatt, Nicholas Grimald, Thomas Nashe,Robert Southwell, Thomas Campion, Richard Tottel,

William Byrd, William Shakespeare, Walter Raleigh.

How like a winter hath my absence been

From thee, the pleasure of the fleeting year!

- William Shakespeare

When my father was at work, those men replaced him,

But they could not replace him permanently. He would always be

my father, eternally.

One morning, though, when I awoke, my father was gone.

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Like the dew.

Like the darkness.

Gone.

How could he leave me?

He knows I loved him.

I know I loved him.

He left me with nothing but a snowman.

Was that sculpture a farewell, a goodbye?

Whatever it was meant to be, I hugged it for hours; I wouldnt let

go.

I absorbed the care. I absorbed the cold.

I contracted pneumonia, which finished me cold.

- Andrew Zuckerman

Viol e t B la ckwood - Backs to r y

My name was Violet Blackwood, the young daughter of William and

Constance Blackwood. My life was severed too quickly. Id say I had a pretty

generic childhood, filled with the usual petty problems. My father was never

around, and my mother was always distant and awkward. Our house never

felt like a home; there was too much silence. I attempted to fill the frequent

pauses with poetry and literature. Quotes from famous authors substitutedparental advice. My only source of warmth was provided by fleeting visits from

my father. I used this sacred time to confide in him and share new discoveries.

He always listened attentively, something that could never be said for my

mother, who always seemed as though she was off visiting distant universes

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that only existed in the complex realm of her mind. My father taught me to

read by quoting Shakespeare, and from there on out, I taught myself.

Anything to pass the time. I became enchanted with the complexity and beauty

of the English language. I suspect my mother was beautiful once, but her eyescontained too much emptiness. There was life in my fathers eyes. It burned out

swiftly and premature as though snuffed.

I was looking forward immensely to my fathers upcoming time off

from work, since it held the promise of Shakespeare and companionship.

When he finally did come home, I found the harried expression that marred

his features odd and disconcerting; something was wrong. I had never seen my

father anxious before. I decided to ignore it as though it was imagined and

attempted to enjoy my time with him in spite of it. However, the issue became

difficult to ignore. Hed drop out of a conversation at a completely random

place and then act confused, as if he didnt even realize how hed gotten to be

sitting next to me. That night, as I drifted off to sleep, I felt an ominous chill

to the air, almost frosty. I woke with a start, the sound of a door closing fresh

in my mind. After peeking into my parents bedroom, I noticed that my father

had disappeared. I decided to go out and look for him. Met with a ferociouswinter chill the moment I ventured outside, I found it difficult to persevere. My

love for my father coupled with my desperation seemed to battle the cold. I felt

an unexplainable pull towards the town square. When I arrived there, all I

found was a stoic frozen statue in the middle of the street. Something clicked in

my mind. I would never see my father again. Overcome with grief, I flung my

skinny arms with surprising strength around the neck of the statuesque

sculpture I suddenly viewed as a work of art. I stood there for heaven knowshow long. The sun began to peek over the horizon, and I vaguely sensed a

crowd gathering behind me, craning to get a looka circus spectacle was all I

became. Tears clouded my vision, but I heard my mothers call, surprisingly

loud and distinct. I finally released him, a melted mess. As I spun around, I

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was hit with a wave of fatigue and dizziness. I felt very weak. I half-dragged

myself back to our home and stumbled into bed immediately. I lay there,

unmoving, for almost three days. In that time, my mother underwent a grueling

trial for both the murder of my father and the sin of witchcraft. My mother, amurderer? That was the one thing I was certain she was incapable of. There

was no way that a frail, meek woman like her would have the strength

required to do something that unthinkable. I was sure shed be acquitted.

When she wasnt, I felt a sinking sense of dread. She would surely be put to

death! I ignored the pounding in my head and raced from the confines of my

bedroom to the lake. I knew theyd take her there. Struggling to catch my

breath, a horrible coughing fit overtook me. Through watering eyes, I glimpsed

my mother being dropped like an anchor, as though her life had no more

meaning than an inanimate piece of stone. There was no struggle. Unlike my

mother, I fought my demise with all the strength I possessed. Four days later, I

died of pneumonia.

- Sienna Brancato

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Neon Face/Priya Prasad


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18

Self-Portrait/Emily Giunta


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Dream House

The sweet smelling, welcoming flowers,

As if theyre on a canvas, with varieties of watercolors,

they all lean on my house.

My red brick, cement house.

The trees with their branches,

dance.

And their leaves show, like stipples of emerald green paint.

My beloved natural skyscrapers of Earth.

With might,

I close my hand around the golden handle.

And I push open

my brown, wooden door.

And then, I can see,

the little, cheerful, chocolate colored eyedhair combed to the side,

treasured children.

I release the pressure,

of my black, heavyweight bag.

And

My shoulders exhale.

As the sun falls asleep,

a scene of hot colors appear,

with a mixture of chalk and oil pastels, all gallantly brushed

together with a cotton swab.

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My wife, silky, straight, smooth haired stands beside me.

- Adeel Anwar

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The Traveler/Zach Wolff


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Vincent

And sometimes there is relief,sometimes there is new inner energy,and one stands up after it;till at last, someday, one perhaps doesn't stand up any moreVincent van Gogh.

I would go to bed each night empty.I would close my eyes,fatigued from the constant rush,from a swollen day of work.But it was only so brieflybefore the colors would start again,crashing and then receding.Alwaysfilling up my mind.

Even in the darkness I could see themswimming, ceaselessly.

In the morning I awake turgidAnd I had no choice but to paint,Or I would burst open.The only escape was through my undulating brush

The colors cascaded out of me,Muted blues cool like ice waterShining yellows warm like tea,splashing frantically onto canvas,I would paint until the color drained

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from my face, from my mindand was absorbed to form sunflowers and night skies.Until I was tapped dry,

And I would collapse into bed, empty.I would close my eyesSo exhausted I felt I would never stand again.Then did relief come.Oh, but only so brieflyBefore they started again.During the night, the colors would replenishAnd, by morning, I'd be brimming and saturated.Always.Threatening to drown me.Maybe one day I will let them.

- Nicole Cutinella

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23

The Movement of Nature/David Rosenzweig

Jumping across the floodplain, a red lechwe can escape nearly anything.

- David Rosenzweig


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Still Life/Natalie Tabib


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She stares at the mindless, unimportant document resting

on her desk within her three-walled cubicle. The words start toblend together, and her focus on the matter at hand begins to fade.As she sits there trying to pull herself together before she leavesfor the end of the seemingly endless workday, her mind begins todrift. She begins to recall the memory of an event that occurredlong ago yet seems so familiar. As the flashback evolves in her mind, she watches her teenageself on the cusp of her future. At eighteen, the beautiful andbrilliant girl was at a crossroads, forced to choose which path totake to begin the rest of her life. Her two college acceptance letterslaid in front of her, one pushing her to become a teacher and onetrying to convince her to go to law school. All her life, she haddreamed of becoming a teacher. If she had the opportunity tohelp kids every day fulfill their greatest potentials and see theirfaces light up when they understand a new topic, she would be

happy. But the daunting pile of bills forming on the corner of herkitchen table made her choose another path, one that would makeher more money than she could have ever made being a teacher.As she listed the pros and cons of each career over the finalmonths of her senior year of high school, the sulky look she sawtoo often on her mother's face when she couldn't pay the bills atthe end of the month made the young girl choose the undesirable

path in order to avoid the same fate. So, as she went on to lawschool to pursue a career as a lawyer, she wondered often what herlife would have been like, who she would have been, and what herfuture would have held if she had chosen the other path.

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As the flashback came to an end, she couldn't help butwonder what her life had come to. How did she get here? How didher life become so full of what-ifs? She tried to shake off this

feeling the way she had done a thousand times over the years.However, this time, she couldn't seem to get rid of it, the feelingthat she was destined for so much more than sitting at thisclaustrophobic cubicle for ten hours a day.

Five years later, we see a whole new woman. A woman whowalks around with a smile every day. Every time she walks into hersecond-grade class and is greeted with the smiles of twenty-twoshining children, she realizes all over again that she has found herpurpose in life. She no longer spends her nights dreading work inthe morning, rather she faces each day with excitement andpassion. She finally feels that her life is meaningful, and no dollaramount could have ever made her feel this way. In terms of herlife, being a lawyer was expensive, and following her dream waspriceless.

- Madison D'Ambrosio

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Gender Roles, Socia l Norm

Halloween, twenty-thirteen,

Children leaping around

The leaf-littered sidewalk

Hyped up on sugar and adrenaline

Superman waddles to my door

Alongside Princess Jasmine;

This has been the days routine,

Giving out candy, handing out compliments.

One child caught my eye,

Equipped in a shimmering,

Pink dress, he must have

Been around six years old.

His blue eyes glimmered

With pride, reflecting off

The silver chain slung

Around his neck.

Its astounding to seeThis boy, so brave,

Dressed like a princess

When the world is shouting,

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Youre a boy! Be a ninja!

A prince! Youre not a princess!

Hes so little, a tinySkeleton rests beneath

His costumeunaware of

Gender roles, or the

Social Norm.

- Shannon Murphy

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29

Brandon Rothstein


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30

Big Ben/Zach Wolff


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Paths

To start down a path with utter confidencethat you won't falter or trip or stumbleis foolish, impractical, naive.Admirable.I am sick with the affliction of Orpheus,a curse of determination, regret,and looking back.To begin a journey on uncharted watersBurning maps and dismantling compasses before hauling offLost at sea with no life raft and no one to blame but yourself.I'm afraid.Not of being lost at sea,but of stranding myself.Turning down a dead-end, one-way streetNo U-turns allowed

No change of heart, no take-backs.I'm afraid.That my only choice will be to walk the plankAnd hope I've learned to swim with my hands tied behindmy backAnd weights bound to my anklesBy the time I hit the water.

- Erin OKelly

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I am

When will my reflection show,

Who--- am I?It is not who I see in my 9 by 5 pixelated mirror,

Or how others view me through the dimly lit halls.

Inside past the veins and arteries,

Who I am:

A soul with no meaning?

NO! A life worth living!

Green, Yellow, Blue, and Red,

and sometimes a carefully mixed pigment of

The indecisive, fair-weather palette

of a confused painter.

Oh full soul,

Who am I?A unique and altered image

Spied from one side the same yet inside very variable

Is it the trademark brown hair?

Or the omnipresent smile,

With deep dimples and size-13 suede shoes,

Towering over the unsuspecting?

Or the petulant creator,

Who trashes every iteration,

With the recurring frown,

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And some days doesn't feel so tall after all?

Who am I?

I am ME.And ME is not a mirror's screen.I am the covered truth.

I am.A passion for the peculiar,I am an altered view of the world,I am of everything that isn't quite something.I am the internal truth within external lies.

I am:

A- aspirationN- nonsenseD- direction

R- radianceE- essence andW- wonder

- Andrew Schloss

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34

Flute Player/Andrew Zuckerman


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The Canyon Stor y

Often I am reminded of these hills. I remember growinghere as a child. I would roam these vast hills day and night. I

remember meeting its inhabitants. I learned to run from the fox, to

swim from the fish, to climb from the raccoon, and I learned to

fight from the Bear. I remember my entire childhood. I remember

when the great sickness came, and when most of our people were

dying, I stood firm. I remember when I came of age at the most

important ritual in our society, if only it had lived for you to see it.

There was feasting, dancing, and singing as we were sent off on

our own into the woods. It was then, with nothing but a knife with

my name engraved upon it, that we were sent into the woods. We

were told that we had to support ourselves until the Maker came to

us. It was said that he would provide us with a vision where he

would reveal to us what our purpose was. With this knowledge, I

set out into the forest in order to find my purpose. I wandered

many days and many nights. I used the skills I had learned to my

advantage to gain the upper hand in feeding myself while I waited

for the Maker to come to me. It went on for a long time. I could

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feel myself slipping away, giving in to despairing thoughts that the

Maker was not real, that he would never come, that I would be

forced to wander this forest until the end of my days. It was onlythen that he came, like a breath of fresh air to starved lungs; he

came carrying me to salvation. He showed me a mountain. But this

was no ordinary mountain, dear child, this was The Lonely

Mountain. Called this because of its vast height, it dwarfed

everything around it.

The Maker told me that I was to climb the Mountain, and that

my purpose would be revealed to me only when I reached the top.

And now that I knew the Maker had not abandoned me, that I was

still worthy to bathe in his great light. I felt a sensation of extreme

relief as if I had been unknowingly carrying around an object of

great weight. A weight that, once released, disappeared from this

world to be replaced with strength, the strength to find my way

and achieve the goals that the Maker had set for me. And so I set

forth, journeying day and night until I reached the Lonely

Mountain. It took a long time, and there were many hardships. The

animals that surrounded the area were incredibly violent. Unlike at

camp, where we were the natural predators, here we were the prey.

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I could only sleep for a few hours at best. And I was forced to

conceal myself so no animals could find me. It was a journey that

you should most definitely never attempt, my dear. Because if itwere not for the most incredible of miracles and a very large

amount of luck, I would have died on that mountain. Now while

the Mountain was most definitely home to dangerous beasts, much

to my surprise, there was also civilization there.

They were an incredible people, and I wish I had spent more

time among them. You see, on this mountain, after going up about

halfway, there was snow everywhere. I have difficulty finding

reason for this as the mountain is surrounded by warm forest and

desert on its sides. The reason I feel the need to tell you this is

because of the people I met that lived inside this frozen wasteland.

They lived in buildings made out of carved ice. It is a sight that is

truly incredible to behold. I saw the workers carrying the blocks

they used to build the houses. They showed me a frozen waterfall.

There were long blocks of Ice that formed spikes. This went down

the side of the cliff, which, much like the rest of the mountain, is

covered in snow and ice. I met with the leader of the locals. He

was a small man, a thinker, not a warrior like our people were. I

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explained to him my goal to journey to the top of the mountain

and find out my purpose from The Maker. It was then that

something most unexpected happened. The man laughed. Helaughed, and laughed, and kept on laughing. I could feel my anger

rising, an urge to silence this man who had insulted me so. A man

who thought that my quest to find my purpose from The Maker,

the creator of all who had shaped the world in all its glory, was

funny. I then had a realization, a realization that this man who had

just laughed at the Maker and spit in the face of our culture, this

man was also the man who had healed my broken body, saved me

from the danger of starvation, and kept me alive even when he

had no reason to do so.

What was wrong with me that I was willing and wanting to kill

someone who had saved my life? I left the village without another

word. I returned my sights to the top of the mountain. I had

recovered from my time spent at the village. With renewed

strength, I resumed my ascent of the mountain. It was by far the

most dangerous part of my journey. The top of the mountain was

covered in wolves. Not wolves like the ones that we live near.

These wolves were snow white and masters at blending in with

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their surroundings. This made the wolves the most dangerous

animals on the mountain. My ability to traverse land went through

a drastic decrease. I was forced to examine every aspect of mysurroundings in order to prevent an ambush. And even then, I was

taken by surprise more than once.

The last time was when something significant happened. The

attacks were vicious, and my strength had long since been lost due

to blood loss and sleep deprivation. This was when I met her. She

was a warrior unlike any other. I was lying down in the snow,

bleeding everywhere, and waiting for the wolves to finish me off.

She fought with the speed of the wind, attacking one wolf with a

spear. Quickly removing the blade and plunging it into another

wolf, she fought with skill that the mightiest of warriors could only

hope to match. My vision was going, and I could barely remain

conscious. The last thing I remembered before passing out was her

face. Her face was covered in the blood of wolves. I remember she

told me to relax and that she would keep me safe until I recovered.

When I woke up, I was no longer bleeding. My wound had been

bandaged and treated. My clothes had been changed as well.

Before, I was wearing my warrior skins from our tribe, but now I

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was wearing the clothes of the Ice People. I was lying in some sort

of makeshift shelter. I could feel a fire burning before I saw it. The

walls looked like a cave, and I could smell rotting carcasses. It wasclear to me that my savior from earlier must have brought me here.

And judging by the smell, she had probably killed the original

occupants as well. It was then, as I was thinking of her, that the

woman who had saved me returned to tent. She was carrying her

spear, which had been freshly cleaned and was reflecting light off

the snow. She noticed my return to consciousness and told me to

relax. She told me that my wounds were more severe than I had

originally realized, and I was at risk of tearing them if I pushed

myself too hard. When I asked her who she was, she laughed. I

knew she was from the village of the Ice People based on the

bright blue and white clothing she wore. But I didnt know why she

was here. The people at the village told me that they did not

venture this far up the mountain, as it was foolhardy and suicidal if

not done with a large enough group. I wished I had listened when

they told me. She laughed again. She had the most amazing laugh.

Her laugh managed to feel slightly condescending while still not

overly aggressive. She told me that she followed me up the

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mountain. She claimed to find me curious, and she told me that

there had not been a visitor to the Lonely Mountain for

generations. I was unique, and she wanted to study me. I told herthat I needed to make it to the top of the mountain. She laughed

at me again. She quickly responded by telling me that no one had

ever been to the top of the mountain. I told her of The Maker and

how he had sent me there in order to find my purpose. This

caught her attention. Apparently there were old superstitions of a

God who lived at the top of the mountain. She also told me that it

was time to leave. When I questioned her, I was given a bemused

answer. Her exact words were, and I quote, We dont want to keep

your Maker waiting then, do we?

I smiled. It was something I hadnt done in a long time. The rest of

the journey was easier. Now that the wolves were no longer after

me and I had another hand to help carry all the supplies, I was able

to reach the peak of the mountain. When I got there, I sat. I didnt

see any Gods, but what I did see was something far more

impressive. I saw the Ice People. From the top of the mountain,

you had a clear view of their entire civilization, from where they

fished to where they ate, and then I realized my purpose. I was to

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stay with the Ice People, and I was to show them the gift of The

Maker. And so that is what we did, and that is why we are here

now. Looking over this cliff and staring at our civilization.

- Michael Kokotos

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43

Day of the Dead Skull/Kurtis Bassmann


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44

Capricious Cranium/Heather Chau


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Hallucination

The brain drained, I staggered on the streets hollow-eyed at

midnight wondering where to go. No angels. My brilliant eyesdestroyed, the light now lonely.

- Shani Hogan

45

Jenn Dioguardi


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1.spilled ink on the pagetearing holes in the rigid paper as you try to eraselooking at the next blank spothoping not to make the same mistakesthe past is forever etched into itprobing will only cause further damage

2.taking a deep breath in

oxygen filling my lungstaking a leap of faithhope filling my soulfirst step forwarddarkness blinding mefallingfalling

fallingreaching the unwelcoming groundonly to brush off the dusttaking a deep breath in

3.spine frowningarms slouched by your sidessmile plastered onhesitantly stepping forward into the worldhidden beneath skin that isn't yoursheart beating furiouslytrying to escape from the chains

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and be free

4.

eyes burningheart racing

muscles tensing

soul failing

hope fading

waiting patiently

faith trembling

knees stumbling

this

is

it

- Hebah Hassan

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A Fiendish Plan

Rosabell knew her hostess, Lady Thompson, was trying to

ameliorate her son and her courtship, but had recently discovered

that he dissembled himself just to get her money, not for her wit

and beauty as he had originally said. This made her want to throw

propriety out the window and seek revenge. Maybe she would

make a deal with one of the hidden alley fiends. Shed have them

use their fetish for evil spells to curse Henrik Thompson so that hecould never have an heir or heiress. Sitting in the Thompsons

parlor drinking tea, Rosabells mind was quickly formulating a

scheme that would allow her to meet with a fiend. First, her best

friend, Natasha Maxwell, would come secretly to her house and

switch school dresses with her. This would fool her math and

history teachers who were both half blind and deaf. Pretending tobe Natasha, she would walk through the smoky shadows that

smelled almost as though they were made of gloom, pain, and

misery incarnated. Arriving at the slimy, brick side streets of the

slums, Rosabell would channel her hidden, vindictive thoughts and

ask the fiend instead for information that she could use as a

calumny to ruin Henrik. This, Rosabell thought, was a fool-proof

plan.

Two Days Later

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Rosabell stood facing the corner of her suite, trying to

make herself look like she was in penitence. Lady Wilkson, her

mother, was ranting on about how wrong it was that she had tried

to use guile and create a paradox by switching places with Natasha.

Rosabell counted in her head to sixty. Then, she tried to propitiate

her mother and get a slight reprieve, just enough for her mother to

forgive her, by saying, I am sorry Mother. Let me purge myself of

my sins at church this afternoon. Let me go to church as soon as

the carriage is ready, so I can immerse myself in theology. I will

never make another grievance such as this! Lady Wilkson stoppedher rapid pacing and gave an almost imperceptible hug to let

Rosabell know that this was a good plan. Lady Wilkson knew in

her innermost mind that her inculcating had not gotten through to

her youngest daughter. She knew that, one day, Rosabells feelings

of abomination toward people who had supposedly wronged her

would get her into trouble, but there was little she could do. Shewould keep trying to explain to Rosabell that it is an iniquity for

people to wrong her.

For that is all she could do, in the end, short of locking her

away in a tower.

- Emma Belson

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50

Wires/Uzayr Arif


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51

The Little Things/Chloe Tso


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C h a p t e r 1

A loud beeping noise came from the hallway outside Kristen

Marcades room, startling her awake. Her eyes went wide when she

saw the flames that devoured her light green curtains, walls, and

wooden furniture, lighting up the room in the middle of the night.

Kristen flung herself out of her bed, which was about to catch

fire. The bookshelves that lined two of the four walls were slowly

crumbling to ashes. All her books, memories, and the pictures thatshe won awards for were no more. Everything, gone.

Glass shards broke away from the window, falling by Kristens feet.

When she tried to scream, smoke filled her lungs and prevented

any noise from coming out. She knew there was something she

had to do, that there was a safe way to get out of the burninghouse but failed to think of it. In a state of panic, she ran out of

her room, gripping the hot doorknob and searing the skin of her

palm. On her way out, she grabbed the camera that rested on her

nightstand. Kristen knew that she wouldn't have all her old

memories, but she could make new ones.

When the door opened, Kristen was blasted with even more heat

and saw that the hallway was engulfed in flames. Her mothers

room was just a few steps away, but the fire did not allow her to

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get there. Intimidating flames claimed the walls, dancing up the

sides, giving Kristen the feeling of being mocked. If the flames

had voices, she knew theyd be laughing at her, hounding her with

the question of why she wasnt turning around to run out of the

house.

The only thing on Kristens mind besides getting out was getting to

her mom. Her dad was never really in the picture, and she barely

remembered anything about him. Although everyone who knew

him claims that that's where Kristen got her hazel eyes from, her

brown hair was from her mother. All Kristen knew was that after

Peter turned two years old, when Kristen was five, their father left

them for good. Since they lost Peter three years prior to cancer, it

had been just Kristen and her mom. They were all the other had

left, and she was not going to let her mother go. Just the weekendbefore, they had finished visiting schools for Kristen to attend for

her Masters degree. And, after a long discussion, they finally

decided that Kristen would stay back for a few years, earn some

money from her photos, and then go back to grad school. It wasnt

the right time for either of them.

So Kristen fought against her lungs and her common sense and

ran through the flames to her mother's room. The tips of the

flames tried to grab onto her clothes but were, luckily, just out of

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reach. The door to her mothers room was open, and Kristen

could see even more red-hot light coming from inside.

"Mom!" she shouted, getting more smoke in her lungs. The entireroom was in flames, mirroring Kristens. Even her mother's queen-

sized bed was ablaze. There was a different smell than the fire in

the rest of the house, something distinct. It was too late to save

her mother, if she was still inside.Maybe, Kristen thought, maybe she

got out and didnt have time to get me. Maybe she's waiting outside for me.

Although part of her doubted it, she hoped that her mom was able

to get out.

The ceiling in the hallway collapsed in on itself, blocking the

doorway, leaving the window as Kristens only escape route. It

started to become harder to breathe, and her vision blurred. Only

now had she begun to feel her skin burning, the pain too intense

to keep her moving. Everything slowed down, and Kristen fell to

the floor, surrounded by flames. She was struggling to keep her

eyes open and her mind going, but she fought as hard as she could.

It was easier to breathe once Kristen was on the floor. In attempt

to crawl to the window, she began thinking about jumping. The

room was on the second floor of the house, so it wouldve been a

fifteen foot fall. So, I could either die in the house, she thought, or outside

on the lawn.

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There were sirens coming from outside. They slowly became

louder and louder, ringing inside the walls of Kristens skull.

People were coming, someone could save her. Kristen tried

shouting for help, but her throat burned whenever she tried to

breathe. Flames kept coming closer to her body. Why would I want to

survive when Id be on my own?Thoughts flew through Kristens mind.

The fire was inches from her skin; she could hear the sizzle as it

climbed up her hair. There was no way, Kristen thought, that

someone would get to her before the flames claimed hercompletely. Her last thought before she fell unconscious was, this is

it. I'm dying.

The fluorescent lights inside the ambulance hurt Kristens eyes

when she woke up. Her head was throbbing, her skin was stinging,

and her mouth was dry. A groan rose from Kristens throat; herentire being ached, and she just wanted to numb her pain away.

The smell of burnt hair filled her nose, and she wondered if she

had any hair left on her head. Im alive? Who saved me? Did they save

Mom? ...Im alive.

Two people were on both sides of Kristen trying to keep her alive.

She scanned their faces, and her mother was not one of them.

Kristen tried to speak, but her words got caught in her throat. She

managed to choke out, Mom?

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Oh good, youre up, the younger of the two men said. He wore a

black zip-up sweatshirt and matching black pants. Dad, shes up,

what do we do now? Underneath the hood, the mans face was

tan and glowed against his hazel eyes.

Kristen was confused. That guy just called the other man his

father. Was it a normal thing for families to work on the same

ambulances? And why wasnt the younger man wearing a medical

uniform? Kristen wanted to know how she was still alive.

Check her vitals again, make sure shes stable, the man in a lab

coat and rectangular glasses said. And when youre done, make

sure she falls asleep again.

Dr. Valo, a voice from the front of the ambulance said, Were

almost there.

A needle sank into Kristens arm, pinching a little, and her vision

blurred again. It was too difficult to try and focus on her

surroundings, so she shut her eyes and tried to listen.

Dr. Ellison will want to check this one out, like she does every

patient, but youll have to do the cleaning up, Xavier, Dr. Valosaid.

Like I do with every patient, I know. How many more patients

does Ellison need for this?

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Its Dr. Ellison. There was a period of silence before Dr. Valo

spoke again. Kristen could feel the tension fill the air, Xavier

mustve said something wrong. I dont know, son. His voice was

sharp enough to cut diamond. We have to do what she says.

Unless you want to end up like--

No, I dont. But do you really think this is... right?

This is not a conversation we can have right now. Not in front of

a patient. After that, more silence filled the air. The only noisewas the thud of the ambulance going over potholes. The bumps

and holes that were scattered along the road caused Kristens head

to bounce on the hard stretcher she was on. After a while, the

liquid they had put in her arm caused her to fade back into the

unconscious state she was in before. Thank God, because the pain

was becoming unbearable.

Whered you get this one, Eric? a womans voice sounded from

Kristens left.

A house fire. Her mother died, leaving just her and no other

family, Dr. Valos voice was muffled, and there was a crackling

sound underneath it.

Suddenly, Kristen felt pressure on her eyelid as it was pulled open.

A bright light flashed over her pupil and made its way over to the

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other, burning that one as well. Did you leave one of the extra

bodies?

Yes, one that was unidentifiable. Even dental records wont helpwith that one. The coroner made his statement an hour ago.

Manner of death was accidental; the cause, suffocation.

Good, the woman took a long pause to examine the rest of

Kristen, who was now awake but trying her best not to react.

Kristen realized that this must have been the doctor mentionedbefore in the ambulance, Dr. Ellison. When Dr. Ellison finished,

she turned to Xavier, You know what to do, right?

Do the same to her like every other patient.

Correct, good boy. Now get to it.

Dr. Ellison took Dr. Valo out of the door to the left of thecold

slab Kristen rested on. Once they were out of sight, Kristen heard

Xavier mumbling to himself. Good boy? What am I five years

old? He flipped a few switches on a board behind a reflective

glass window, probably meant for people on the other side to see

in while the person inside could not see out. However, while thelight was on in the room behind the window, Kristen could see

everything Xavier was doing.

Upon his return to the room, Xavier lowered a machine around

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Kristens head. It reminded Kristen of the x-ray machine at the

dentist, only it wrapped completely around her skull. Once it was

completely lowered, a light humming noise filled her ears. A feeling

of panic claimed her whole body, causing Kristen to have a

difficult time breathing when she finally realized this was more

serious than originally thought. This was not a hospital; it was a

dark room with a metal slab on which she laid. Xavier was not a

doctor but rather a technician, and who knows if the other

doctors were actually doctors? And finally, what the hell was thisthing that trapped Kristen in place? Why did these people need her

and only her? What about her mother? They said she was dead, but

how do they know?

There was a sudden pain in Kristens arm, a stinging sensation that

began to slowly numb her body. Xavier injected a strong drug intoher arm, but it didnt knock her out. All Kristen could see was

darkness from the machine, and all she could hear was that

humming sound.

And... go, Xavier said, muffled. A button was pressed on the

switchboard, causing the machine to start circling her head. A

strange feeling washed over Kristens brain. The tingling, numbing

feeling that comes before Novocain wears off crept its way up

from her spine to her frontal lobe. Memories slowly started

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slipping away from her brain. It started with the memories from

her childhood; she could no longer remember who came to her

fifth birthday party, nor could she remember the name of her pet

guinea pig from sixth grade. The haunting image of the terrible

haircut her mother made Kristen get in sixth grade vanished from

her memory, right after the crush she had on Billy Turner that

lasted for five years faded away.

Before the machine got to Kristens memory of the eighth grade

dance, there was a loud boom that sounded from the opposite side

of the room, followed by silence and complete darkness. Of

course, Kristen only saw darkness the entire time, but this darkness

was different than the one just in the machine. She could feel

everything stand still around her.

The machine was lifted away from Kristens head, and she could

finally take a deep breath. The room around her was completely

dark, preventing her from seeing if anyone else was still in the

room with her. Kristen thought about getting up and running, but

whatever was injected into her arm did not allow it. Her mind was

racing while her body was forced to sit still.

When the lights finally came back on, Kristens eyes stung. Xavier

had his back facing her and was focused on mixingsomething. She

could hear the slush of some sort of liquid being poured back and

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forth. The noise stopped, and Xavier turned around and brought a

cup to Kristens mouth. Im sorry, he whispered quietly. Kristen

wasnt sure if he knew that she had been awake for this whole

process, but she could tell he felt guilty. What was he setting her up

for? Who is Dr. Ellison, and what was she doing to Kristen?

Xavier opened Kristens mouth and slowly poured the liquid down

her throat. She felt the cold liquid rush over her tongue, following

the route to the rest of her body. It was tasteless, but the texture

was distinct. It felt like crushed ice cubes mixed with something

else, thicker than water but thinner than a milkshake.

Kristens body went completely limp, almost dead-like, and her

brain began slowing down, relaxing her. For a few minutes, she felt

completely relaxed and blissful. It was the first time in months

since she had that feeling. It only lasted for a moment before

Kristen went unconscious one last time.

To be continued...

- Shannon Murphy

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Medusa By Starlight Galaxy / Sufia Ainechi


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A Haiku Dedicated to Romeo and Juliet

(Romeos Perspective)

Luminous jewel,

Too bright for my eyes to bear.

Tis reality?

O, gleaming angel,

I beseech of thou to speak

Thy voice of music.

Henceforth, Juliet,

Thou art min eternity

Min love awakens.

Nay, a Capulet!

Wherefore art thou, Juliet?

O, a bitter name!

Nay, tis no matter!

Min love for thee shades that name

Brawling love of hate!

O, what happens here?

I cannot live without thee! Heres to my angel!

- Jessie Cao

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64

Emily Giunta


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65

Samantha Siegler


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Ignominy

The trees bowed

Upon the cumbersome massOf words once

Thrown out the window and

Seized by branches

That dove athwart

A blue velvet vista.

The winds breath had

Sucked a vague truth away

Into the void

Of emptiness

In a tainted damper.

The soul of a man

Dwells in an alternate land

As a knocking ricochetsAmidst the woodland overgrowth.

In the dimly lit metallic jungles,

Dusted memories lay

In stains of peeling wallpaper

While floorboards bellow

An ill-fated droneWith a musty scented

Reincarnation.

Vaulting to the window,

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(A painful cavity that leads to

A gruesome reality),

To divorce the humble drapes

And sanction a piercing sunlightInto the darkness,

Which hampers

Seducing shadows.

- Alex Boubour

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68

Samantha Siegler


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69

Torso/Kurtis Bassmann


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A S lave s Bes t Fr i end

It was strange how it all began. Long before the war, I was just an

innocent boy that didnt know where his fate lay. The time thatGabe and I spent together was thrilling and enjoyable. The color

of his skin didnt matter to me, and we became inseparable. We

had been through so much together, and when I abandoned our

friendship, he still saved me from my demons. I hadnt noticed the

man whom I had become. It seemed as if I were wearing a mask;

the mask of my father, the man I never wanted to become....

Simon, Im going to find you, and then I will eat you Gabeused to say in a loud, mocking tone. I loved playing hide-and-seek.

Personally, I loved being the hider because it was stimulating trying

to run from your opponent before he killed you. However, Gabe

was fast, and I mean really fast. Once he saw me, I was a dead

man. Eventually, Gabe would find me, and I would go inside to

sneak a glass of milk and cookies for us. I didnt understand at the

time why mom and dad werent in favor of Gabe coming into ourhome, but I didnt think much of it. I would laugh at his funny

jokes; oblivious to what he had been doing earlier in the day.

When I was ten years old, I discovered the truth about Gabes

daily life. I decided to follow him one morning onto the

plantation, and that was when I first saw the cruelty that existed in

the world. Gabe had been whipped by a man, and then had

returned to his farming like nothing had happened. Immediately, Iran to my father and told him what I saw. Except I didnt see

surprise in his eyes, instead I saw conflict. He had been debating

whether or not he should tell the truth. He did.

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I was appalled and suddenly became overwhelmed by guilt.

How had I not known? I thought to myself. I didnt want to own my

best friend in the future, nor did I want to harm him in any way.

Ironically, I mirrored my fathers previous reaction and becameconflicted as well. Sadly, I didnt have a choice in the matter and

our friendship came to a close the day he became my slave. I

began to sell and buy slaves like I was exchanging a broken toy for

a new one; if I wasnt impressed, I bought another one. I stood

idly by as my old friend was whipped daily, and I eventually

became immune to the pain of seeing him hurt.

After a couple of years of owning the plantation, I had madesome unwise decisions. I had joined a pro-slavery union, but once

I became aware of the extent of harm they were willing to do, I

immediately withdrew myself. Consequently, some men came after

me one night, but Gabe had rescued me before they could do any

fatal damage to my body. I was thankful for my old friend, and

that was when everything hit me. Gabe had been faithful and

kind, and I had given him no remorse. As an act of gratitude, Ifreed him and the rest of my slaves. He had fought in the Civil

War and I became an anti-slavery advocate. When The Union had

won the war, Gabe came back to thank me for his freedom. I

began to cry, feeling foolish for treating my best friend as a piece

of property. However, some friendships are so strong that it is

impossible for them to ever be truly broken.

- Jillian Baker

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Becoming Me

I was not selfish

I was not disobedient

You made me this way.

I was not ungrateful

I was not indolent

You turned me into this.

I was not a liar

I was not a loner

You did this to me.

I was not unfeeling

I was not stuckYou changed me.

I was different

I was better

You broke me.

- Talia Rosen

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73

Snowflake/Andrew Zuckerman


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74

Flowers/Lauren Miceli


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Firs t s

The steps loom in front of me, their enormity paralyzing me. Thisis it. These steps lead to something new. Something stressful.

Something exciting. High School. How did I get to this moment?

It seems like yesterday that I was learning how to multiply. I think

back to moments in my life. Learning my first big word, getting my

first report card, losing my first tooth, having my first visit from

the tooth fairy... This, the first step, taunts me. One foot, then the

other. Deep breaths.

Freshmen orientation in the auditorium, a voice calls from up

the steps.

Breathe, I tell myself. I squeeze my eyes closed and walk up the

steps. I almost trip on the last one, so I am forced to look up. This

is it, the door to the next four years of my life. Oh, the possibilities

of what may lie ahead. Am I going to be the popular kid or thewallflower? Am I going to be a jock or a nerd? Before I can think

about this, I first have to go through the door in front of me. It

looks so dark inside, but when I open the door, my eyes find the

light.

- Hannah Mittman

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Monster

How much could

someone like meknow about life?I am young.I am bright.I am innocent, you say.I havent been hitby the real world yet, you say.I dont understand, you say.

But the scars on my wristsay otherwise.

They say the real worldhas done more than hit me.It has beaten me,bruised me,

cut me.They say my innocencehas been broken,my future has beencompromised,my childhood is over.They say How couldsomeone like you

think you could succeedin life?

But now, as my scars fade,I know it was not the world thathit me,

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beat me,bruised me,cut me,robbed me of

my innocence,my peace of mind,my childhood.No, sir, it was not the world.

It was you.

(m.g.e.)

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King of the Jungle/David RosenzweiCat/Andrew Zuckerman


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78

Kelsey Beresheim


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Hope

A little boy sits on a rock.He waits for someone to come.

All the other boys stand and mock.

He stays in the cold, numb.

He has doubts that anyone will show,

But he makes sure not to mope.

He stays and waits through the snowBecause he has that unbreakable hope.

- Neil Shahdadpuri

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80

Fencer/Zach Wolff


86/136

Imperfect ions

Every month, Isabellas subscription to the most popularmagazines would come in the mail. Cover after cover, Isabella saw

flawless models and celebrities. She couldnt help but admire these

individuals. They had it all: beauty, courage, and self-respect.

Isabella had none of these qualities. Well, at least that is what she

thought.

When Isabella looked in the mirror, she became blinded bywhat she believed to be her ugliness. She saw her pale, dull skin.

Looking at her ears, she compared them to an elephants. Isabella

glared at her nose, which she thought looked like it went on for

miles. The slim stomachs Isabella saw on the covers of all the

magazines made her dissatisfied, since hers didnt look exactly like

that. She was looking at all of this with her droopy eyes that could

not possibly see the beauty she possessed.

Day after day, Isabella would stand in front of her mirror and

pick out all the minuscule flaws she could find. The amount of

flaws Isabella found grew and grew. She had brainwashed herself

into believing she was ugly. Aside from her believing that, Isabella

had no courage and most definitely had no self-respect. Every

morning before school, Isabella would put on tons of makeup todisguise herself. She didnt want others to look at her. It was as if

Isabella thought she was doing everyone a favor, but in reality, she

wasnt. Isabella was a beautiful girl who was hiding herself.

Everybody else knew that she was beautiful, and it was a shame

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she couldnt see it.

It was a Saturday morning, and Isabella was heading to the

dermatologist. After weeks of complaining about a few breakouts,

Isabellas mom agreed to take her to the doctor. The two walked

into the office, checked in, and waited. There was only one other

person in the waiting room. Her name was Julia. She had gorgeous

brown hair and was in perfect physical condition. It was not until

Isabella saw her face that she realized why Julia was at the

dermatologist. Half of Julias face was burnt. Isabellas mom broke

the silence and asked what happened.

Julia sighed, I was a victim of the Boston Marathon

bombing.

Oh, my gosh! So, what has the recovery process been like?

asked Isabellas mother

Well, I was lucky. I only got burned on my face. There areplenty of others that have it much worse. So, right when the

bombing happened, I was rushed to the hospital. There were so

many people there, and in comparison, my case wasnt horrible.

The doctor just cleaned it, put a bandage on it, and allowed me to

rest. After a few days, I came here so that they could treat it. Ever

since, they have been trying to treat the skin I have, but I am here

today to see how the healing process is coming along and learn if I

need a skin graft, Julia responded.

Isabella was in shock. Here she was crying over a few

blemishes while the girl sitting next to here was thankful that she

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only had half of her face burned. Isabella had spent all of her time

obsessing over her looks, and she finally realized that everyone has

their imperfections. Isabella finally got that feeling of happiness,

the same feeling youd get after watching forty-four sunsets.

- Farrah Siegler

83

Powder/Emily Guinta


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SCENE ONE- THE MEETING

EXT-NICK SITTING ON A SMALL CHAIR. HE IS IN AN

ORANGE JUMPSUIT WITH HANDCUFFS ON HIS HANDS.

RYAN, THE PRISON PHYCOLOGIST, IS HAVING A

SESSION WITH NICK.

RYAN

Now Nick, whathappened that night?

They sit there in silence. Nick is staring into

space.

RYAN

Nick?

NICK

It was a crisp Friday morning in April.

INT- GOES INTO A FLASHBACK. YOU SEE NICK SITTING

IN A CAR AT A GAS STATION. HE IS LISTENING TO

THE RADIO. THE SONG "NEW YORK STATE OF MIND" IS

ON THE RADIO.

RADIO

We interrupt with

this breaking news

flash. We have an

amber alert for 9

year old Brent

Merryham. He was last

seen Thursday at

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around 9 PM in his

room. An eyewitness

said she saw him

enter a silver Toyota

with a man in his

late 40s. That isall that is known so

far.

Nick turns off the radio and starts the car.

BRENT

Where are we going?

Nick turns around and looks at Brent.

NICK

Well, we are about 15

minutes away from my

beach house on Long

Island. We are going

to eat, and then we

are going to see if

we need to go back on

the road.

Nick starts driving.

BRENT

I want to go home!

Nick stops the car abruptly. He pulls a gun out

of the glove department.

NICK

Shut up! One more

word and this gun

will go right against

your head.

The flashback ends.

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THE SHOT IS NOW BACK INTO THE OFFICE.

RYAN

Is that gun licensed

to you?

NICK

Im right in the

middle of a story.

RYAN

Keep going.

INT-

GOES BACK TO THE FLASHBACK. NICK TURNS BACKON THE RADIO. THE SONG "I'M A BELIEVER" IS ON.

NICK

Oh, I love this song.

(singing)

"Then I saw her face,

now I'm a believer.

Not a trace of doubtleft in my mind."

Sing along kid!

There are a few moments of silence.

NICK

You can talk now, I

wont kill you.

BRENT

Im sorry.

NICK

For what?

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BRENT

For whatever I did.

NICK

Yeah, okay, shut up.

Back to the song.

(singing)

BOTH

"Then I saw her

face"-

EXT- THE CAR PULLS INTO A DRIVEWAY ON LONGISLAND

NICK

Get out of the car.

BRENT

Where are we going?

NICK

Can you not see that

we are at the house?

BRENT

Okay.

INT-GET OUT OF THE CAR AND WALK INSIDE THE

HOUSE. THE HOUSE IS DARK WITH BOXES EVERYWHERE.

THEY WALK INTO THE KITCHEN.

NICK

What do you want to

eat?

BRENT

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I get a choice?

NICK

You don't get a

choice when youre

home?

BRENT

Daddy has the chef

make dinner every

night, even if I

dont like it. I eat

it, or I go to bedhungry.

NICK

How does pasta sound?

BRENT

Okay.

Nick walks over and starts to cook and the phonerings.

BRENT

Phone!

NICK

Its probably some

tax collector...dont

answer.

BRENT

Daddy said that

people who dont pay

their taxes are bad.

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NICK

Dont listen to him.

Brent looks over and sees a fish tank. He runs

towards it!

BRENT

Fishy!

NICK

Yeah, you can go

look.

BRENT

Daddy doesnt allow

us to get any pets.

NICK

Your pasta is done,

come over here.

Nick puts the pasta in a bowl and gives it to

Brent.

NICK

Do you want anything

on it?

BRENT

What do you mean?

NICK

Butter? Cheese?

Tomato sauce?

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BRENT

You can put stuff on

pasta?

NICK

Uhh, yeah.

Nicks cellphone rings.

NICK

I have to take this.

Sit tight and eatyour pasta.

INT- WALKS OVER INTO THE LAUNDRY ROOM OFF THE

KITCHEN

NICK

Yeah, I have the kid,

but I didnt, you

know, think this out

fully...what do I donow with him?...

Yeah, I will talk to

you later.

INT-WALKS BACK TO THE ROOM AND SITS ACROSS FROM

BRENT AT THE TABLE.

NICK

So...how about dem

Yankees?

There is a pounding knock on the door.

COP

Nick Breeze! Police.

Open up the door!

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(whisper)

NICK

Crap! The cops. Okay,

go to the back room,and when I open up

the door, go into the

backyard, and hide in

the car. I will be

there in two minutes.

Brent does what he is told.

INT- NICK ANSWERS THE DOOR IN THE ENTRY WAY.

NICK

Hello, officers. Is

everything alright?

The cops walk in and start searching the house.

COP

We got a tip that

Brent Merryham is in

this house.

NICK

Well, I can assure

you-

Nick punches the cops and goes to the car.

INT- RUNS INTO THE OTHER ROOM GETS BRENT AND

RUNS TO THE CAR.

EXT- GETS IN CAR AND SPEEDS AWAY.

NICK

You all good?

Nick looks back.

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BRENT

I'm scared.

NICK

Dont be. You'll be

just fine.

You hear a loud horn, and then the screen goes

black.

INT- BACK TO THE OFFICE.

RYAN

What happened afterthat?

NICK

Brent died later that

night in the

hospital.

Ryan sees that Nick is upset. He grabs a tissue

box and gives it to Nick.

RYAN

Do you miss Brent?

NICK

I hardly know him,

how can I miss him?

RYAN

You are clearly

upset, there must be

something that caused

this.

NICK

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I just hate seeing

Laurie upset.

RYAN

Who is Laurie?

NICK

My ex-wife.

RYAN

Oh. Well, is there a

reason why she is

upset?

NICK

Brent was...her

child.

RYAN

So he is also your

child.

There is a moment of silence.

NICK

No.

RYAN

Oh.

NICK

When I worked at the

construction site of

the World Trade

Center, she worked at

our Towns Hall. The

mayor and her were

always close, but I

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never thought

anything of it.

RYAN

Did they have anaffair?

NICK

Can we move on?

RYAN

Actually our time is

up. Its 3 o'clock.

Will I be seeing youon Sunday?

NICK

I might have to

cancel. I might go to

church.

RYAN

That'll be fine. Havea great weekend Nick.

NICK

Im in prison. How

can it be great?

Nick walks out and into his prison cell.

- Josh Dinetz

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95

Smog/Kurtis Bassmann


101/136

96

Samantha Palazzolo


102/136

97

Turn Away/Priya Prasad


103/136

98

Cloe Southard


104/136

My Murder

I was placed in a basket yesterday

It was a peaceful place when there I stayedI was in with the cozy blankets warm

The old, the torn, the nice old blankets worn

I was picked up, disturbed from my cocoon

And found myself in little Sydneys room

Fourteen years old, so young and full of life

Laughter and joy and happiness, no strife

But little Sydney looks quite sad today

As if inside her head a demon stays

She walks around just pacing here and there

And Im completely helpless in this chair

I look up at her and shes crying now

The voices in her head are way too loudAt least thats what it seems like, when she picks the pillows up

Screams into them loud, and throws them down rough

She picks me up and ties me in a knot

The tight knots hurt, and I wish she would not

She stands up on her desk made out of wood

She says a prayer then says, I knew I would

And now Sydney puts me around her neck

I think were driving straight into a wreck

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She ties the other half of me up high

She whispers through her tears a last goodbye

She jumps and I feel the bones as they break

And then my whole body begins to shake

- Jaclyn Mellone

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William Blackwood Epitaph

Passerby, as your gaze lingers upon my headstone,

learn to spend your days cautiously,

But live as if there will be no tomorrow.

My wife, Constance Blackwood, once said,

God gave us this gift of life to spread his morals, so pay

attention.

I loved my wife very dearly,

But I made a tragic mistake.

I spent my life as a leader,

An adventurer.

However, I took it too far.

Errors are made,

Do not fear them,But learn,

And prevent them from reoccurring.

Heed my advice,

And that of others,

For they will they show you the way to a steady, successful life.

Something I could not achieve

Because of my tragic mistake.

My shortcoming not only affected me,

But everyone else around me.

It was as if I threw a pebble into a pond,

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And observed the ripples,

The effect it left behind.

However, to what extent can we forgive?

The heavenly father forgives us for our sins.I wonder if Constance ever forgave me.

For she lived by Gods words,

And forever remains faithful to him.

For now, I lie here

Because of my

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