Tides of Change

Written by The Students of the Paramount

TIDES of CHANGE

Stories from Within

TIDES of CHANGE

Stories from Within

WRITTEN BY THE STUDENTS OF THE PARAMOUNT PICTURES WRITERS WORKSHOP

This book was written by the students from the Paramount Pictures Writers Workshop in 2025.

The views expressed in this book are those of the authors and do not necessarily reflect those of 826LA. We support student publishing and are thrilled you picked up this book.

All rights reserved. No part of this book may be reproduced in any form without written permission from the publisher.

Este libro fue escrito por los alumnos del Paramount Pictures Writers Workshop in 2025.

Las opiniones expresadas en este libro son las de los autores y no reflejan necesariamente las de 826LA. Apoyamos la publicación de jóvenes autores y estamos felices que hayan recogido este libro.

Todos los derechos reservados. Prohibida la reproducción total o parcial de este libro sin autorización escrita del editor.

Editor(s):

Alexis Yan

Helia Khandanroo Javang

Mike Dunbar

Ophelia White

Book Design:

Rachel Zhu Cover Artwork: Rachel Zhu

TIDES of CHANGE

Stories from Within

In celebration of our 20th Anniversary, 826LA dedicates this publication to all of those who have helped make our community what it is, what it was, and what it will become.

Thank you to the students, volunteers, educators, donors, staff, community partners, and time-travelers who have filled the last 20 years with such creativity, joy, and hope.

We look forward to another 20 years in partnership!

Illustration by Loris Lora

INTRODUCTION

A Long Goodbye

Transformation is a fitting theme for this anthology. The book you hold in your hand is the product of the Paramount Picture Writers Workshop, a partnership between 826LA, Paramount Pictures Studios, and the Cinematic Arts & Creative Technologies Magnet at Helen Bernstein High School, a partnership that has just completed its sixth year.

Three years ago, the project underwent a major change. We had just come out of the lockdown phase of the COVID-19 pandemic, and the original cohort of students that the project started with were about to graduate out. That year also we saw an influx of a whole new cohort of students, including a group of amazing sophomores.

This year, those sophomores that started that journey with me three years ago are now graduating. Additionally, the project has seen another influx of new students—the most since the turnover of the original group. Another shift is taking place.

This book was written in another moment of upheaval. While no longer actively contending with a global pandemic, the future nevertheless still seems all the more uncertain. What we’ve taken for granted has suddenly disappeared overnight, institutions are being uprooted, and the very essence of who we are is being brought into question, for better and for worse. The times, as they say, are a’changing. Again.

These student authors are all too aware of this, and it shows up in this anthology. It’s there in a story about a path of destruction laid out by a god gone rogue. In a vision of the future under a dirty sky and full of tall, dirty buildings in which an army of robots build unseen and unused marvels while humans lurk in the shadows. In the claustrophobia of a toxic relationship, or the taphophobia of being trapped by the inevitable.

And yet, there is hope. Darwin famously said, “It is not the strongest of the species that survives, nor the most intelligent, but the one most responsive to change.” In these stories and poems are also powerful moments of adaptation. Changes are initiated through the excitement of new relationships: with teammates, family members, a newfound friend met at the bus stop, and an unexpected ally in the fight for the future. They are also initiated through the bittersweetness of saying goodbye, of letting go, and in the acceptance of that which we cannot control.

This anthology captures the lives and imaginations of students brave enough to confront the forces of change thrust upon us, and courageous enough to adapt to them. It is one of the reasons why I have faith in those sophomores-now-seniors leaving this project and going out into the world at large. It is why I’m excited to embark on a new journey with a new cohort, and to see in what unexpected directions their hearts and minds will take this project. For as this book teaches us, the flower will bloom. The sound of the footsteps walking away are steady, and headed toward a future that they are capable of changing.

—Mike Dunbar, May

13th 2025

STORIES

Peculiar Souls

Aisha J. Baylon

Notes in an air, existing alike, living within key, neatly in place, blending in.

Harmonizing with each other.

A change of key—unalike, out of place yet breathtaking.

Like the summer breeze, and dancing trees, the melodies sung by the sea, flowers blooming, chirping birds, and church bells ringing.

Adored of its sound, despite its divergence. The melodies in which are sung by souls.

Souls who judge, souls who hurt.

Souls who are apathetic.

An ugly duckling—unalike, out of place, neglected upon.

Like the crying clouds, torn hearts, cold nights, breaking bones, and sad eyes.

Spreads and flails its wings, flapped his wings too fast and gasps for air, takes to the air and plunges to the mud, takes to the air and swivels around, wanting to quit lays down, sees a mother with her babies,

watches them fly and go to the sky, watches them fly and endeavors to try.

An ugly duckling—unalike, goes to fly one more time, flails and spreads its wings, takes off to the sky.

Ugly duckling stays afloat, in the clouds with the sun, and the swaying palm trees, soars all over the place.

Ugly duckling in the air, had lost his mind, free of its own cocoon, like a butterfly, but found himself.

In the melody he is the change of key, the key of change in which souls are in awe.

Souls who think of themselves best.

Ordinary souls who think less, of ugly ducklings.

Souls who judge other souls that don’t fit in, making them feel like ugly ducklings instead of changes of keys.

Why criticize souls when they don’t fit in?

A high school junior from Helen Bernstein High School, Aisha Baylon loves caring for and spending time with her family and sometimes simply wonders where society has gone wrong.

Never Saying Goodbye Was Even Harder

Ale Herrera

When people ask why I stayed, I never know what to say. Did I stay for love, obligation, anger, or did I stay for validation? I don’t think I’ll ever really know why I stayed for as long as I did. Everyone around me saw how it tore me down and how I wasn’t fine. What no one saw was the bruises, the tears, the anger, and the self doubt.

I turned to my mom for help. She told me I should quit. She saw how depressed I was and how much I really didn’t want to be there. I knew I could connect with her but she would never understand. So why did I stay? I have this internal battle that was never resolved even after basketball was over.

Maybe it’s all the reasons and more. You have to understand, I love basketball. I always have and I always will no matter what happens. When I first started playing basketball I just did it because I was bored and I wanted to try something new. I quickly grew to love basketball. I loved being on the court with my friends, I loved when it was just me in my own world when I was in the “zone.” I loved the feeling when I got a point on the scoreboard, a good block, and the adrenaline from being out on the court. The cheering on of my teammates, and of course, winning. Slowly the love of being on the court and playing was replaced with dread. The high only lasted so long. It’s hard to leave someone or something you love.

I played basketball for three years from my sophomore

year to my senior year. That’s a long time. So how was I going to give it up? It was like a relationship. I was committed and dedicated to the sport. I would choose basketball over my family, friends, and even my actual relationship. But it wasn’t as toxic and manipulative as a relationship. I know it sounds silly but seriously basketball was my life. I felt an obligation to stay and an obligation to my girls. My teammates were not just teammates, they were my friends. They were like sisters. We were so close. How could we not be? Maybe it would have been easier to leave if I didn’t get along with them or I didn’t love them, but I did. They were like my family. When I was captain they looked up to me. I couldn’t let them down. Plus I wanted to be captain. It made the pain a little worth it.

I was so mad and angry going through this. I always think that if you put 100% of your effort into something and if you love it so much it would give back to you in a positive way. So why when I put in everything I had and more, did it do the opposite? Basketball tore me down and ripped me apart. I don’t think I’ll ever recover from the physical or mental pain. I only got past it, but I never recovered. I put my body through so much pain and I rarely got a self win.

At times I hated basketball, but now that I look back it was my coach. A coach makes or breaks a sport for you and I was so mad that I couldn’t let my coach win. I know it sounds weird but that’s how I felt. I felt if I left I was giving into his terror. Even though I had a hard time with my coach, I still wanted his validation. Through this whole season I put in sweat and tears and proved to my coach that I was worth being a starter.

Near the end of my junior year I never played. Over the summer and before the season, I worked hard and then even harder the next day. Every practice and every game I

tried to prove to my coach and myself I could do it. I even wanted to be captain, so I worked hard to make that spot mine. And my hard work paid off. I was a starter, I was captain, and my girls were doing so well. I was so proud of myself, but it got to the point where it was mentally draining. But I was finally at my goal. I was doing so well I couldn’t leave. I got everything I wanted out of basketball.

There were so many reasons why I couldn’t leave, and so many reasons why I should have left. I don’t regret my decision. I’m so glad I played basketball. I am disappointed that my senior year we didn’t get into the playoffs. It was a bitter goodbye to basketball. The last game I played I didn’t know it was my last. If I would have known, I would have cherished it more. That’s the only thing I regret: I took that last game for granted. I hated basketball and I loved basketball, but I will never erase the three years of memories.

Violet and Veronica’s Adventure

Alejandra Castro

Ale is a senior getting ready to graduate and go to college to study in music.

I was bored out of my mind in history class and I was just looking around not paying attention. Until I noticed Veronica wasn’t there. I always knew Veronica missed class, but never history since it was her favorite subject. No one seemed to notice she was gone, not even some of the students that would talk to her. An attendance paper was being passed around and I was the last person to get it. Everyone’s name was on there, even Veronica’s. I was confused. She wasn’t in the bathroom. The hall passes where still in the classroom. So where did she go?

History is my favorite subject and I was looking forward to it until I found out we had a substitute. I walked in and took my seat and I already wanted to be somewhere else. Everyone came to class and we had this attendance sheet to sign. I signed it and I immediately started to daydream about the beach. All of sudden I heard seagulls and the sound of waves. I opened my eyes and I was at the beach.

The period ended and I still hadn’t seen Veronica. Part of me thought she just left school but then I saw her in the hallways. She looked like she had gone to the beach. She looked like she just got a sunburn and I saw small bits of sand on her pants. I was going to go up to her and ask if she was okay but then she just randomly disappeared. I was so confused because no one else seemed to notice, especially because the hallway was semi-full. I looked around to make sure I wasn’t seeing things, but Veronica

was nowhere to be found.

I had no clue why I ended up at the beach, but I needed to get back to school. If not, my parents were going to kill me. I closed my eyes again and the next thing I knew, I was in the hallways of school again. I was weirded out because I had no idea what was going on. I felt sand in my shoes so I looked down and saw there was a little bit of sand on my jeans. I needed to get to the bathroom fast. I closed my eyes embarrassed and next thing I knew I was in the bathroom.

I stopped thinking about Veronica and decided to go to the bathroom to freshen up. Next thing I knew, I opened the door and saw Veronica. She looked freaked out trying to get sand out her clothing. I was confused about how she got sand on her, so I decided to ask if she was okay.

I was dusting off the sand on my clothing when I saw Violet walk in. She looked at me like I was a ghost. She whispered, “What happened to you?” I didn’t know how to tell her since I felt like she was going to think I was crazy. So I said nothing.

Veronica told me nothing but I knew something was off so I decided to ask her a direct question. “Can you teleport?” It probably sounded dumb but it was a genuine question.

The only answer I could give Violet was a yes. Her jaw dropped to the floor.

When she said yes the first thing I thought of was how we should test it out. I also just wanted to see it for myself. So I asked her if we could test it out. She gave me an unsure look but she agreed.

I was shocked by Violet’s question, but I agreed because I also was curious.

Do you think you can teleport to the Eiffel Tower? As soon as I said it, she was gone again.

Once Violet asked me that question I thought about it, and next thing I knew, I was at the top of the Eiffel Tower.

I didn’t know what to do. She just disappeared. I decided to sit down and wait to see if she would come back. I felt like I waited for hours because it was dark and I had to leave the school, but I was extremely worried about where Veronica was.

I was in Paris now. What should I do? I decided while I was here I should explore and maybe get a macaroon. The sun was rising and the streets were empty. I saw a coffee shop far off in the distance and I decided to go. Once I got my coffee I thought about taking a boat ride along the river, but then it hit me that everytime I thought of a place I’d teleport there. This time it didn’t. I tried thinking of going back home but I couldn’t. I was stuck in Paris. I tried calling Violet but my phone wasn’t working.

I was home and I still hadn’t heard from Veronica. I called her a few times but my calls went straight to voicemail. I stayed up late hoping she would at least text me back, but still nothing.

My phone still wasn’t working. I started to freak out and think of home, but I was still stuck in Paris. I realized I had no hope of calling Violet or anyone else since I did not have anyone’s phone number memorized. My legs were hurting from all the walking I had done. I decided to sit next to a fountain and just look at the water. People were walking around having a great time. The sun was bright and the weather felt nice. I liked being here but I wanted to go home. I thought of home so much and still nothing. It actually felt

like I was going to be stuck here. I had two dollars left, so I couldn’t even buy a phone. If I went to the police they would probably think I’m crazy.

It had been hours since I saw Veronica. It was 11 PM, and I fell asleep hoping I’d wake up to Veronica sending me a message that she was okay.

I was still at the fountain looking at the water when I looked up and saw someone looking straight at me. They were wearing a long black coat and a hat. I got up and left the fountain and walked to the park. Next thing I knew, I saw the same person in the park. I couldn’t tell if they were a girl or boy but I started to get paranoid. I found a small bakery to hide in and see if I was just being paranoid. They were there. I was being followed. I left the bakery and saw that the sun was starting to set. I needed to go somewhere that had a big crowd. I ended up at some event. I think it was a baking contest. I was so invested in the contest that I didn’t realize the same person in the black coat was there. I made eye contact and left. They started to follow me. I started to speed walk. I looked back and they were still following me.

I had no idea what to do, so I ran. So did they. I turned a corner and ran straight ahead and hid behind a few boxes. I was catching my breath and looked back to see if they were still following me. I didn’t see anyone so I left my hiding spot. I had no idea who they were but I really needed to get back home.

It was 6:35 PM and I was sitting on a bench in the park. It was getting dark and I thought of going home so many times, but nothing changed. I was looking at the ground and then I saw the person in the coat again. I got up and started walking away. I turned around and they were getting closer. They were catching up, so I tried to run as fast as I could, but I ended up tripping over a rock. I fell to the ground and when

I closed my eyes I was not in Paris anymore.

I was in some room I’d never seen before. I looked around and saw a desk with school books and a mirror hanging on the closet door. It was a very neat and nice room. I turned around and saw Violet asleep in a bed. I I tried waking her up but she wouldn’t wake up. I tried shaking her a bit. She woke up and looked terrified.

I woke up confused. It was 2:36 AM and I had just had the weirdest dream about Veronica. I had to wake her up and tell her what happened. Once I did, we were both laughing about how she could teleport and how her favorite subject was history when in reality she didn’t like any of her classes.

This is Alejandra’s third year with 826LA. She enjoys spending time with her friends, listening to music, and also spending time with her family.

Subtext

A. H.

My fingers are getting worn out. I have been messaging my wife for hours, but there is still no response from her yet again. Maybe one day she will respond to my texts and calls again. She is still pretty petty about our fight that happened five years ago. Even though I apologized over and over again, I never got a response from her. The only thing I got in return was her cold gaze. Did I really mess up that badly? I look down at my phone, rereading the messages I sent her. Reading them back, it really doesn’t seem like a lot, but I could’ve sworn I typed more than I anticipated.

My Angel �� Sat, Feb 10 at 12:45 PM

I’m really sorry. I know what I did hurt you and I’ve been thinking about it for a while. I know I have no right for your forgiveness, but please, at least give me a chance to be a better person for you. I just freaked out and I knew seconds after I said those words, my actions… I regretted them. I regretted everything, I’ve just been so damn stressed due to my sister-in-law… I know it’s not an excuse, but please I’ve finally gotten my shit together. I want to make it up to you.

I want to make sure you actually want to see me… or at least to get to the point so we can talk things out. Can we talk, please? Just give me a chance to explain myself.

Not Delivered

Sat, Feb 10 at 12:45 PM

I miss you so much.

Not Delivered

None of my messages are going through. Does she still have me blocked? Dammit. I thought she would have unblocked me by now. Why? Why do you keep pushing me away like this? I’ve given you everything I have to offer, but this is what I get in return? All because of one simple mistake I made? I know my mistake, but please... I never intended to hurt you like that. It was all a misunderstanding.

“I only ever loved you Hazel. Only you… ” I mutter to myself. After I send that last message, I set down my phone on my night stand. I close my eyes and take a deep breath. I haven’t felt this much anxiety in a long while. The last time I remember having this much anxiety was when she threw divorce papers in my face. She caught me in the act and I can’t blame her for it. But I swear it was all a misunderstanding! None of that was supposed to happen. It wasn’t supposed to go like that. But there’s nothing that can change that now. If god would let me go back in time— no, I don’t think that would change things either.

My Angel ��

Mon, Feb 12 at 4:20 AM

I know you’re not gonna read this but a guy still has to try, right? I believe there’s still some glimmer of hope for us to talk this out. . . Please my love, I can only handle so much.

Not Delivered

My Angel ��

Mon, Feb 12 at 4:20 AM

Hazel my love, when are you finally gonna answer my texts? I tried reaching out to your sister again, but it was just the same result as before. Amber refuses to tell me where you are. Please... I was drunk that night and I wasn’t thinking straight. I know that doesn’t really solve anything but please give me a chance.

Nothing again.

Not Delivered

My Angel �� Sat, Feb 10 at 12:45 PM

Hey, love. I miss you. Can I tell you about my day? Well, this morning when I woke up I watered those tulips. You know, the ones I gave you a few years ago? You know I couldn’t forget about them. They were beautiful, just like you. They’ve lost their colors and they look really fragile, but I’m sure a few more days of watering them they’ll start to gain back their strength. I ate some breakfast before heading to work. My co-workers have given me a lot more work today because I’ve constantly been coming in late. But they just don’t understand. I had to make sure to wash all your clothes in the closet too. They’re fresh and clean now for you to wear.

Valentine’s has passed… Those flowers are still on your side table, the chocolates too. Could you at least smell them for me? Eat a chocolate or two? Just so I know you like them. It’s almost midnight… I should sleep now, huh? I love you. And no… I love you most. I miss you most. When you come home later can you cuddle close to me so I know you’re here? It’ll help a lot with my anxiety lately. Goodnight my beautiful girl.

Not Delivered

When will you finally respond to me?

Ashanti Alert Fri, Mar 3 at 11:49 PM

25th St, Brooklyn, NY 11232

I read the address she gave me and waste no time. I immediately hurry my way down stairs, not caring that I am only wearing my boxers and a shirt. I don’t care if I look stupid right now. All I care about is seeing my wife. Why did she now tell me where she is after all these years?! No, no. Focus. I have no time to be angry right now. I’ll be angry at her later. I rush to my car and immediately drive to the location without even thinking about it. My mind is blank. All I can think about is having her in my arms again, to hold her close even if I have to apologize over and over

That’s her current location.

again.

When I finally reach the location, all I see around are tombstones. I am confused as I step out of the car and look around to see if she is anywhere in sight. Maybe she’s sitting by her mother’s grave chatting with her again as always? Oh how much I miss those monthly visits. I make my way to her mother’s tombstone.

And there she is finally. But I am confused. Why am I… standing in front of a grave? “Is this some sort of prank right now?” I mutter to myself as I fall to my knees. I keep reading the tombstone in front of me, making sure I’m reading it correctly. This has to be some sort of prank right? Right? It can’t be real. None of this is real.

Iris J. Huxley, Jul. 27 1967 – Jul. 30 2024 and… Hazel S. Huxley, Sept. 12 1992 – Jul. 30 2024

Anthony Garcia Today is the day grandpa shows me what he’s been working on. He’s been working on this secret project for so long. Grandpa has locked himself up in the basement for so long, he almost never leaves unless he has too. He’s missed special occasions and holidays doing whatever it is he’s doing down there. It’s genuinely concerning at this point.

I’m Oliver Malis. I’m 15 years old and I live In New York with my mom and dad. Grandpa has also been living here rent free. He came here a few years ago when his old place went up in flames after a small explosion. The cause is still unknown. Grandpa was devastated when he heard that nothing was retrievable. Everything had turned to ash and scraps. So now for the past few years he’s been living here. Although it doesn’t really feel like it since I often forget about his presence.

Dad never really liked it here. He’s always said he liked being in a more “natural environment” since his family comes from Greece and he was raised by the oceanside. My mom, on the other hand, likes being surrounded by buildings and man’s creations. She loves getting her usual caramel drizzle iced coffee every morning from the corner store. I can always smell it whenever I take out the trash. I have a very good sense of smell. The aroma reeks from outside the bag, along with all the other gunk that gets squished in there. My mom is a white lady by the way. If you couldn’t already tell. Grandpa comes from my dad’s side, and unlike dad, he is really into inventing stuff and from what I’ve been told he’s a very stubborn man. Today

mom told Grandpa to eat something because as far as we know he hasn’t eaten anything in two days. Which just proves my point more.

“Oliver! Your dad and I are going out now. Come here!” Mom calls out. She wants to go out and donate some old clothing to a few charities, and she’s dragging dad with her. He’s carrying everything of course. I head towards the door to say bye.

“How long until you guys get back?” I ask, not wanting to be home alone with Grandpa again. Last time I was home alone with Grandpa, I felt like the whole house shook from something happening downstairs in the basement. I don’t want that happening again, especially after it happened to me while I was on the toilet.

“We will be out pretty late, Oliver. The only charities who are accepting donations are over an hour away,” Mom says. They don’t let me go with them because the car is going to be too crammed. At this point I’m willing to tape myself to the top of the car. Anything to avoid being home with the potential ticking time bomb of Grandpa.

“I’m sure I can squeeze myself in the car somewhere! I can help you guys out!” I say. I’m desperate at this point.

“You are staying here, Oliver. We need you to stay home with your grandpa,” Dad says while struggling to lift two huge boxes filled to the brim with clothing. “Just make sure to stay out of the basement. We don’t want you interfering with Grandpa’s work, got it?”

“Yeah,” I say in defeat.

“Careful Oliver. We’ll be back soon,” Mom says while she kisses my forehead goodbye. She always does that to

make fun of how short I am. She closes the door behind her before I get to say goodbye.

Sometimes I feel like I’m not even a priority anymore around here, like I’m being pushed to the side all the time. They could have at least made me some dino nuggies to make me feel better or at the bare minimum some hummus. Actually nevermind, they can keep their hummus. That stuff is a disgrace to humanity. I have no idea how mom eats that stuff. How inconsiderate of them.

All of a sudden, I begin to hear this weird sound. It almost has the sound of a jet engine, but I’ve never heard anything quite like it before. I peek through the door to the basement and I see a bright light illuminating nearly the entire basement. I never get to see what Grandpa’s working on, and I know I’m not supposed to be going down there, but it’s not like I’m going to distract him. I’m sure Grandpa won’t mind.

I slowly creep down the basement stairs. The wood flooring is too slippery for my socks and I have to move slowly so I don’t go tumbling down the stairs. I continue down the dark stairway—Grandpa rarely turns on the light bulb. The only light I see from the stairs is a miniature lamp placed on a desk cluttered with a variety of tools, some unrecognizable to me. It smells like something was burning down here, yet I see no fire. The ground is a mess, covered with different objects, some shattered into shards of who knows what.

As I am looking around, I spot two huge circular looking structures of some sort, both across the room from each other. They seem to be made of metal and wires connect them to each other. What is this even for? Suddenly I hear a huge thump coming from a corner. I see Grandpa

standing there.

“Hey Grandpa! What are you doing?” I called out. He quickly pivots in my direction in shock.

“No, no, no! Oliver, what are you doing here?” Grandpa asks, seemingly worried. I forget how thick his accent is sometimes.

“I just wanted to know what you were up to. I saw a light and… ”

“You saw it too?” He asks with a serious expression on his face. Suddenly the room goes quiet for a moment, my ears begin to ring, and a massive headache hits me. My body begins to feel weird. What is this feeling? My head feels light and my vision goes blurry for a moment. Grandpa rushes towards me. “Oliver! You need to listen to me!” My ears feel clogged and there is a high pitched sound drilling into them.

Grandpa writes something down on a piece of paper and makes his way to me. “Listen Oliver, there’s not much time. You have been exposed to radiation from my machine. You need to use my machine if you want to survive!” He hands me a piece of paper and quickly injects me with a mysterious liquid. “You need to leave. I need to send you through my machine to a time where you can be healed!” He takes me to one of the circular objects and presses a few buttons on his machine. He gets down to my height as the machine makes the sound like I heard earlier. It sounds almost exactly like a jet engine. Metal fragments rise and spin around me rapidly.

Grandpa is crouching just outside of it. “Listen Oliver, there’s no time to explain! You are going to travel to another world. I’m sending you into the future, where I

know there will be a cure for you! I Injected you with a temporary radiation poison neutralizer. If my coordinates are correct, you should end up only a few years into the future. Although wormholes are unpredictable, you have nothing to worry about, I have tested it numerous times!” I am struggling to hear him. It’s getting hotter here. The metallic object spins faster to the point that it lights up and electrical sparks surround me.

“Onwards Oliver! In three... Two… ” before I can say anything, I’m gone in the blink of an eye. My vision fades to black and it feels like I just dropped downwards at an exceedingly fast speed. I can’t feel my body anymore. I’m surrounded by bright diamond stars and it is hard to comprehend what I’m seeing. My eyes feel heavy and my head feels fried. I begin to lose consciousness. In a dark alleyway the speed of the shards decreases and the wormhole appears. I get chucked out.

I begin to feel my body again. I blink my eyes trying to get my vision back. I attempt to stand but it feels like my body is stretched like dough. There are burn marks all over my legs and arms, and a scratch across my cheek. I think some of the metal fragments managed to cut me. My hair is a little messy and grew a bit longer. That’s odd. Where am I? Why does it smell so bad here? Pollution has gotten bad here. I find an old rag to cover myself to hopefully bring less attention toward myself. I feel somewhat better. I think Grandpa’s remedy is working. Didn’t Grandpa give me something before I left? Maybe it fell out of my hand. I can’t remember. I need to get moving.

I look around. This isn’t New York, is it? All the buildings have doubled in size, and clouds of smoke block the sun. Now everything is a dark shade of blue and gray lighting lights up the city. I didn’t expect Grandpa to send me to

such a futuristic time. All the buildings seem dirty and haven’t been maintained. There are only robots inside, making unknown items. There are many flying vehicles, almost like your typical futuristic movie scene. I’ve seen many movies about the future but something about being in such a place feels different. Nothing in my world could ever compare to this. Most of the sky seems to be covered by very tall buildings and some sort of blanket covering the sky. I realize I’m not feeling the effects of the radiation anymore. The liquid Grandpa gave me must have helped, but it won’t last for long so I must get moving.

While walking around I notice that nearly nobody is walking on foot. There are very few people who are on the street, possibly because there are other, more efficient ways of transportation here. I notice that people are using strange gadgets and strange looking vehicles to hover off the ground and fly around. There are not very many things I’m familiar with here. Everything seems pretty high off the ground. I see an old and very trashed flight of stairs leading up into the mist.

There are lots of people who look homeless and not nearly as futuristic as the rest of the world. They are living in the same conditions as the people at home. How could people be living this way in a city full of such new advancements. People could figure out how to make all these new technologies yet they couldn’t figure out how to solve such a common problem as homelessness?

I want to ask one of the homeless people for directions. There’s this guy in a thick leather jacket sitting against a wall in a corner and wearing a mask who seems to be holding something. It’s hard to tell from the smoke. The smoke seems to be pumping out through some sort of vent. I want to ask this dude where I can find what I’m looking

for. Grandpa gave me a handwritten note. “Excuse me sir, where does this stairway lead to?” The man stays silent. I take a closer look at what he’s holding and it looks like he is sharpening this metallic blade with the edges glowing red. This is such an unusual weapon. Now I’m getting a bit worried because I don’t know his intentions. He extends his arm using the tip of the blade to point towards the top of the stairway.

He says in a deep voice, “It leads up to the main offices. Worker bots are doing who knows what up there,” he sounds annoyed.

“Thank you,” I’m still a bit unsure of his intentions. I walk up the flight of stairs, mist emerging at the top of the stairway. Closing in on the top of the surprisingly long flight of stairs, I see a single door. It’s slightly cracked open. I peek in to see a room filled with robots and they all seem like they are doing different tasks. I see a group of robots typing on computers and I see an array of different objects and items being made by even larger bots. It’s almost unsettling how much they are constructing within this single building. I’ve never seen anything come even close to the amount of industrial work being done so efficiently. The only thing that comes close to this in my time period are vending machines with the little robot arms grabbing you a drink or something, and even the large industries with big factories don’t even come close to this. These mechanical arms are at least three times the size and twice as many of them are working simultaneously in one large room. It’s almost frightening.

I see a face mask on one of the tables inside the room. Maybe if I wear the mask it will help me so I’m not breathing in so much of the pollution. I take one step into the room and suddenly alarms are ringing in my ear piercingly loud. The room goes red and siren lights

flash. Suddenly a hand grabs me by my shirt and I get yanked out of the room before cameras spot me. I can’t even react! I can’t tell what is holding me right now. It’s grabbing me by the waist and dashing down the stairs moving at great speed, nearly sprinting. I yell out of fear, “LET ME GO YOU RUSTY PIECE OF SCRAPS!” Surely this robot will reason with me right?

“Relax kid, I’m not rusting yet,” he says. It’s the dusty dude who was down stairs! His cloak feels rough. Why does he kinda smell weird? He sprints all the way down the staircase, nearly reaching the end when suddenly two robots appear from a corner. With a swift motion he hides within a shadow and hides me in his cloak. The robots seem to be floating up towards the room I was just in. They seem to be security robots, but something looks awfully disturbing about them. “Don’t say a word or we are screwed, you hear me?”

I nod. Everything appears to have gone silent for a while, except for the thoughts in my head. The robots seem not to notice us hiding in this cloak. They zoom right by us, blowing dust off the ground with such power. What is so special about this cloak that we appear invisible to them? Once the menacing looking robots are out of sight, the man in the cloak stands up and starts walking away without saying a word.

“Hey! Sir!” I exclaimed. I’m too curious now. I’ve got so many questions to ask this man! What even were those robots? What’s that blade he is holding? Why does he smell so weird? I have to know. I yank on his cloak to try to get his attention. “Sir!”

He puts his palm on my forehead and pushes me away. “Stop annoying me, I’ve got important things to do. Go

home.” He sits back down and sharpens his weird red blade.

“Hey! Why is that knife red? What’s your name and why do you smell weird?” Seriously, this guy smells weird, but oddly familiar.

He sighs, “This is not a knife, it’s a dagger. It’s for the bots. It heats up to pierce through the metal and you don’t get to know my name.” He takes off his hood and lets down his hair.

“Why is your hair so long? You almost look like a girl,” I say. At this point, I want to annoy him.

“You have no filter, do you? It’s not even that long, and I don’t have the money for a barber. Can you go away now? I saved you from being taken by those bots. Isn’t that enough for you?” He’s clearly annoyed now. He throws an old coffee cup at me, like I’m some sort of pest.

“Hey!” I exclaim as I pick up the cup to throw it back at him, but something catches my attention. On the cup, there’s a sticker with an order number on it, a name, and a date. The sticker on the cup says, “Order 016 6/2/2626.”

That can’t be right. I don’t remember Grandpa’s time machine being set to that date. I freeze for a moment in shock. I yell in disbelief, “I TRAVELED NEARLY 600 YEARS INTO THE FUTURE?!” I tumble to the ground. I feel so weak all of a sudden. I feel… dizzy.

“Time travel?” He asks in a confused tone. “You’re not from around here, are you? I knew something was off about you, walking into a restricted work zone like you did.”

“You need to help me! Grandpa warned me about this.” The man in the cloak stands up and begins to walk.

“Follow me, we don’t have much time. I might be able to help you.”

I stand up. “Wait! You’re helping me?”

“Don’t make me change my mind.”

He stretches and then sprints down the staircase. How is he going so fast?! I try to keep up. He leads us into this trap door not too far from where he was originally sitting. As if he were protecting it or guarding it. Was that his intention from the start? We look inside as we open it, and there is a cold breeze. “What is this place?” I ask, still unsure what to make of this. It seems to be a hole going very far down.

“My buddy and I live down there. He’s been working on something that I think you will be happy with.”

Unless it’s a cure for this radiation, I don’t think I will be able to stand it for much longer. Grandpa’s radiation neutralizer won’t last much longer. This place has a similar scent to Grandpa’s basement lab, old and science-y. We climbed down the ladder. I think it’s about 15 feet deep. Once we arrive at the bottom, I see another man. He seems to be the same age as the leather jacket over here. I see the mysterious man working at a table. He’s wearing circular glasses, he has short hair with a few white strands near the tips, and he’s wearing this big, faded, dark green cloth around his neck that nearly covers his mouth. He has this strange circle on his head with lines like a clock. It looks like it was engraved on his forehead. Who is this guy?

“Oliver, this is Crone. He is my guy behind the scenes and an important asset in making a lot of what I have to combat the bots that sweep away the less fortunate.

Items such as this red dagger to melt through metal or my cloak that appears invisible to robot cameras.” Crone waves without looking up at me. He seems very busy with whatever he’s working on. “He has such a way with words, am I right? Haha!” Jacket Man says sarcastically. “He doesn’t talk much. He only does when he has to. He is currently working on a new tool to slow down the bots. It makes it almost as if time has stopped for them forever and it’s almost impossible to escape.”

“That’s actually so overpowered!”

“Anyways, Crone, this boy needs to get home. We need you to send him back. Can you do that for us? Crone processes what was said and examines me with his eyes.

“The boy. Radiation poisoning. His skin. Can’t send him back like that,” Crone says. I didn’t realize he had an accent. He kinda sounds like Dad. He must be Greek as well. He spoke in a soft tone, but almost sounds like he has no emotion when he talks.

Wait, I just realized. He noticed I have radiation poisoning? My arm, my neck, it’s all red, but not the way it would look naturally. There are bumps that look purple. It’s getting bad! The neutralizer must be fading off. “I look… disgusting! Crone, can you help?” I say in panic. Crone stays quiet and pulls me towards a contraption on the wall. I strap myself to it and now I’m hanging on the wall.

“What is this for?”

“Hey, Crone! Are you sure you should be using this on a mere child? This is a kid we are dealing with here, I don’t think he can take it,” Jacket Man says out of confusion.

“He will be fine,” Crone says as he uses a type of brush to apply this thick gel on my affected skin and has me drink a

bubbly liquid that smells bad and tastes worse.

“What happens now?” I asked.

“Breathe.” He pushes a button on the desk. Suddenly there are injections that pierce my neck, arms, and legs. They cause me to feel an intense coldness. I grunt at the unusual pain this causes me to feel. I can feel my muscles in my entire body tense up. My veins are becoming more visible every second I’m on this machine. The straps he put on my arms and legs make it so I can’t move. Freezing cold mist flows out of my mouth when I open it. I try my best to breathe like Crone said, but this is intense. This is too agonizing and I feel like I’m taking my final breaths.

The two of them watch me as I struggle to take a normal breath without inhaling the freezing mist even more. Within a second, the pins that injected me retract and the grip from the arm and leg straps loosens. I hung from the machine with my arms out in relief that it was over. I finally try to catch my breath.

“You did it kid, your radiation poisoning seems to be healing!” says Leather Jacket Man in relief. My skin seems to be turning back to normal! Incredible! I feel no side effects either. To think Crone must have worked alone while making this.

“Now that you’re cured, we can send you back home. Right Crone?” Jacket Man asks Crone.

“Of course I will. Come here boy.” Crone makes me stand on a small pedestal and places these strange stones around me. Crone then gets on a pedestal of his own. “Ready?” Crone asks. Jacket Man just stands there without saying a word.

“Hey, Jacket Man, will you tell me your name now?” I ask. Might as well know before I leave.

“Listen kid, I never give my name out to anyone. I prefer staying anonymous.” A little disappointed, I just nod and accept it.

“This is goodbye then. This has been a crazy experience. It was nice meeting you two. I’m ready to go home.”

“Will do,” Crone says as he stands tall with his arm right in front of himself facing me. Suddenly, his eyes turn a light green and begin to glow. Our surroundings somehow turn pitch black and I see stars in all directions. Crone scrolls through these frames that shine bright gold and selects one. This looks like the power of a god! I remember dad telling me stories about Greek gods, this power seems similar to something in their power.

A frame appears to have some text that Crone begins to read. The words he says are like a mumble, close to a whisper. It causes these vibrations through space. The words he speaks sound familiar, yet the language is bewildering. These sights and sounds are beyond my comprehension. Is this real? Is this some sort of illusion? As he finishes reading the mysterious words, I can feel myself lose consciousness, like I did before I arrived.

My vision goes blurry and I slowly lose more and more consciousness. My body relaxes as I begin to recall memories. My parents. I can see them so vividly in my head. I can almost hear the words they spoke to me before they left the house. It feels like an eternity since I’ve seen them. I miss the feeling of home so badly, I want to feel at ease again. I want to go back to find my peace again. I’m on my way, I’m on my way grandpa.

I hear a loud distorted screech along with cracks in space. Suddenly everything becomes dark, I can see Crone begin to panic and fidget. The cracks get bigger and on the other side I see Jacket Man trying to tell us something. He looks worried and is trying to signal to us. I can’t quite hear him due to his voice being muffled through the cracks. With one swift swing of his arm, Crone shatters the galactic bubble he had placed us in. It seems we were in a sphere where it appeared to be in space. As I tumble to the ground, Jacket Man rushes over in a panic.

“We need to get out of here! They’re here! They found the lab and are trying to break in!” He seems to have placed some sort of barricade at the entrance to the lab. It’s shaking so aggressively. “Crone! Get the kid out of here! I’ll hold them off, I’ll buy you guys some time as you escape,” He says as he grabs a few dull daggers.

“Who’s coming?” Crone asks. I haven’t heard Crone sound this worried before.

“Bots. A lot of them! They are the highest tier bots too! They’re here for us and the stuff!”

Crone steps in front of Jacket Man. “No, you go and take the kid! Those daggers won’t do any good.” Crone opens a case with these silver spheres in them.

Crone, using those is too risky! The radius in which they freeze the bots in place is not certain.” Jacket Man says, trying to convince Crone.

“There’s no time!” Crone exclaims. “You can’t stay here! I won’t allow—” Crone stares Jacket Man in the eyes and hands Jacket Man one of the silver spears and places his hand on him. “Go.”

There is a pause between both of them for a moment. “Thank you, Crone. Thank you for everything.” Jacket Man accepts the sphere and places it in his pocket.

“Get the boy home my friend. Promise me that,” Crone says. Jacket Man nods. We both sprint towards this vent in the ceiling and climb inside. Jacket Man looks back at Crone one last time. Crone turns facing towards the entrance with the silver spheres in hand.

As Jacket Man closes the vent, there is a huge crash in the lab. A barrage of medium-sized bots drop in and hover towards Crone at intense speed. Crone tosses daggers at the incoming bots, which pierce through them. A flow of persistent bots keep entering and Crone keeps up. Suddenly, a giant metallic arm reaches down into the hole. The daggers can’t effectively pierce through it. It’s too strong! As bots surround Crone and the giant hand reaches out to grab him, he makes one last move. He grabs the metallic spheres, and tosses them around the room. In an instance, the room goes quiet, both his and the bots’ world comes to a pause.

The Jacket Man and I get out of the vents and make a run for it. “You need to go. We have already been spotted and they will find our location soon,” he says in despair. I assume he is devastated about Crone. We rush to an undisclosed location where there are no street lights. There is a door at the end of the alleyway. The smell of this place is unbearable and foul like sewage. “What you need is in there,” Jacket Man says.

“Do you have a key or maybe there is something inside?” I say. Jacket Man proceeds to kick open the door.

There are pressure plates all over the floor and at the end

of the room there is a machine. It looks so familiar. I’ve seen this machine before. This looks like grandpa’s worm hole machine! “How is this here? My grandpa made that machine! That’s how I got here!”

“And that’s how you’re going back. There were rumors that there was a time machine here. These traps are here to make sure nobody gets to it.”

Before he is able to get another word out, I accidentally step on one of the pressure plates. The pressure plates are so hard to spot! Sirens go off. “You need to leave now! Bots are going to get here any second!” With the worm hole machine in sight, we sprint towards the machine and the room flashes red. Similar to the way the sirens went off in the first building I entered when I got here. The difference now is between staying here forever and going back home is on the line!

I step into the machine. Jacket Man types something into the panel connected to the machine. I assume the year in which I came from. I never got to see how grandpa did it.

“This is where we part. I can’t guarantee your arrival home. You need to go now.” The machine looks rusted and out of use. I’m not quite sure how much I trust It, but there’s not enough time to worry about that right now! The sound of bots does not sound far away. They are getting closer! The machine sounds like it is working, although time definitely has taken a toll on it. The metallic fragments rise. They slowly hover above the ground. A pair of bots are in sight and begin to dash through the door.

“WATCH OUT!” I scream, trying to alert Jacket Man about the incoming threat. The machine isn’t going to generate a wormhole in time for me to escape!

Jacket Man reaches for a dagger and pierces the first incoming bot. The second one tases Jacket Man on his side. That bot was going the speed of a car! That had to have been extremely painful along with the shock. “NO!” I scream out. Jacket Man without hesitation grabs a second dagger and punctures the second bot.

His jacket must have been enough to avoid the shock but he definitely felt that hit. He yanks both daggers out of the bots’ bodies and uses those same daggers to take out a barrage of other incoming bots. He is soloing multiple bots at a time. His combat skills are immaculate!

An incoming bot flies right towards me! Jacket Man tosses a dagger at it with such pinpoint aim and pierces right through it. Jacket Man is getting ambushed by an overwhelming amount of bots. How is he able to keep up?

One of the bots lands a powerful blow to Jacket Man’s leg and it drops him to the ground on one knee. Another one lands a hit on his chest and another tases his arm. It is enough to make him drop the last dagger he has. Jacket Man has an enraged expression on his face. “I’m keeping my promise to Crone! I’m getting that kid home!” he shouts. He grabs one of the bots and collides it with another by slamming them against each other! He begins to rip through these bots with his bare hands. His arms and face have cuts and bruises but the bots continue to be persistent. The wormhole machine begins to gain more speed. He is buying enough time.

Suddenly a giant metallic hand appears. Just like the one back at the lab. Just like the one that pushed Crone to his limit. It’s here! Jacket Man has a sinister smirk on his face.

“I knew you were here too! I’ve been waiting for you!” He grabs the last of the silver spheres and tosses them

towards the bots. All of the bots immediately freeze along with the hand. The shear force of the silver spheres causes dust to rise. I can’t see! Where is Jacket Man?!

He did it! The bots are all frozen in place! I spot him within the dust cloud. He’s okay! Suddenly my heart drops, my body is engulfed in terror. Jacket Man’s left arm and leg are stuck within the freeze radius. “You are okay, Oliver. They’re gone,” he says, gasping for air. The radius in which his limbs got caught must be crushing them. I can tell he is hurting just by his voice.

“Listen kid, more bots are on their way. I won’t be able to get out of this.” The metallic shards begin to ramp up in speed. The wormhole will appear at any second. Tears shed down my chin. “Crone would be disappointed if he knew I got stuck like this, heh,” he says jokingly. “He would also be happy to know you’re going home. He was my best friend and the look I saw in his eyes in that moment was the most serious, and yet at peace, I have ever seen him. In that case, my work here is done,” he says with a smile on his face.

The machine makes me hover off the floor. I can hear the sound of bots outside the building. “Thank you for helping me, sir!” I say as tears flood my face.

“My name is Atlas Malis. Remember my name! Onward Oliver!” he says as I fall into the wormhole. I begin to lose consciousness… Wait, did he just say Malis? My body relaxes, my eyes struggle to stay open, and everything fades to black.

After what feels like eternity, the wormhole drops me on the ground. I slowly regain my consciousness. “Grandpa?” I call out as I look around. Something feels different. I

wake up in a room similar to grandpa’s lab, but nothing’s here. I don’t smell anything familiar. Everything looks off. I get out of the basement and see that the house is empty. All of our belongings are gone. The sky is red and I don’t see people around.

The wormhole sent me off course. Everyone told me wormholes are unpredictable. I understand that now. A single tear sheds from my tired eyes. I’m not home…

The Move

Ariahna Espinoza

The day my mom sat my sister and I down and told us we were moving from the only place we knew as home, my heart sank knowing I would have to leave everything I loved behind. This day was the beginning of the end, or at least that’s what I told myself, not realizing it really was just the beginning of a happier chapter of my life.

When we moved to Hollywood, I was only in the fourth grade and I didn’t want to transfer schools yet. The idea of being able to walk to school to then having to take the train everyday was a hassle in itself. I woke up every day at 6 AM and walked to the train station. I rode the train with my older sister for an hour just to get to school. I kept up with this routine until Covid started, which became boring after a while.

However, once the beginning of quarantine started, all of my classes moved online. I decided to start going to middle school in my area. I was really nervous because I didn’t know anyone at all. On the first day of school I had trouble with pairing up into groups and doing the ice breakers. I’ve never been very talkative so that made friendships harder to form.

Eventually I made friends that I adore to this day. If I had stayed in Highland Park, I don’t think that my middle school experience would have been good. During elementary school, I didn’t talk to many people, so I’m not sure why I was so adamant on staying there. At the time, the idea of moving was terrifying because I thought that people would act differently, but I fit right in.

The way that Highland Park is layed out is completely different. There’s long walks that hurt your calves because they’re all at an incline.There’s shops lined up on the block, but none that are interesting enough to enter. While I was there, and even now, there’s nothing to do in the area. I know now that I would have hated still being there.

In My Heart Is Art

Dayra C. Martinez

I found my cousin in a peaceful space, lying flat upon the floor,

With pencils and papers scattered galore.

“What are you doing?” I asked with curiosity,

“I’m drawing,” she said with generosity.

“Can I join?” I eagerly said, She nodded and handed me paper instead.

Excitement bubbled inside my chest,

A chance to try—I’d do my best!

I took a pencil and lay beside her, but as I stared at my empty canvas,

My mind stood still, it went bananas.

I glanced at my cousin, and there it came,

A spark of thought, that kindled a flame.

Perhaps my cousin, or my mother dear, Their warmth and kindness were always near.

From that moment, my world had changed, My hands and heart are forever engaged.

To something new, so big, so vast, My love for art that would always last.

Whenever paper and pencil met,

I’d sketch and doodle without regret.

I love art, specifically drawing, I’m being true,

My cousin inspired the art, the passion came through and made it so I wasn’t blue.

It turns out I was good at it so, but not as good as Van Gough,

I tried painting, photography, and dancing shoes—I found joy through and through.

Then I got busy at school and art started to fade away,

When I got home there were chores and homework of the day,

With no time, my connection with art started to astray,

But I wanted joy back in my day, I needed to shift it back my way.

And so began my endless quest,

To continue to create, to dream, to draw my best.

When I had time, I’d draw to my heart’s content,

Weekends and nights, I spent.

For art had lit a fire inside.

And on my face, a smile so wide, Nothing else could bring such bliss, I didn’t want to reminisce.

Art is joy and fun that makes me stay, I regret the days I missed with art, they were gray.

So I recommend this to you, without delay,

If something brings you joy, stop making excuses and don’t run away.

Can It Really Be Water Under the Bridge?

Elvia S.

Life is meant to be lived boldly dazed.

Unrestrained from public ideology, living for the craze.

Feelings and moments, leaving one fluttered.

Like star crossed lovers, doomed to be ill-fated.

Polar opposites, where tension is stated.

Either way devotion is discovered.

Decisions made one after the other.

Leaving one thinking fate is a bother.

Dayra is a Junior at Helen Bernstein High School. She hopes to go to college and study graphic design. Dayra clearly loves art but she also loves cats, musicals, and reading!

Fate, the one thing I don’t truly believe in.

Why should I devote my life on something so uneven?

Devoting blood, sweat, and tears,

For something that has underlying shears.

“Don’t cheat fate,” but look how fate’s shown!

Events, goddesses, and destiny, it’s three denotations.

Not even fate can make up its own exhibition,

So why should I devote my life to the vast unknown?

Devotion to fate means outcomes I can’t foresee.

Devotion to recklessness, addresses my impulsivity.

Addicted to living off of impulsive, decision-making adrenaline,

Fate is then not a comparison.

I’m no longer living in the unknown.

Impulsivity controlled decisions and outcomes, My changes in appearance now come.

What a way to disrupt my atoms.

Changing my hair more than the tides change their stride.

Black to red, from red to black. Unfortunately, back-to-back.

Cutting inches off when I couldn’t respite.

Giving myself piercings, out of pure boredom.

Making the public say, hey perhaps have some decorum.

The grasp my devotion has to impulsiveness,

Is one that got me into this place.

Applying to this school, joining this program.

Writing poems and my life story,

Gratefully accepting praise in school place glory.

Although I now cherish it’s embrace, I never would’ve thought impulsive thoughts would lead me here.

Oh wait, there’s one last thing I would like to clear.

As much as I try and try to free myself from my past.

I cannot escape my devotion to that impulse-making grasp.

The very words you were reading were born out of that devotion.

Poems written during witching hour, failing to restrain my thought commotion.

So as much as I wanted these poems to guide me.

And as much as this phrase puts me in agony.

I’m afraid this is not my impulse elegy.

Elvia is a junior that enjoys learning about films and the film industry. She enjoys making art and also really enjoys listening to the bands The Beatles and HIM. In her free time she will alter her old clothes into clothes she’ll actually wear, instead of buying new ones.

Echoes Within

Emiliano Esparza Hernandez

How would it feel if you woke up in a two-dimensional world? Imagine you’re getting ready for bed in the evening or at midnight, dozing off to an entertaining dream until… The next morning you lay are flat on a table, not as a human, but as a drawing confined to a sheet of paper. You are surrounded by a vast variety of color pencils and markers, with crayons to your left and to your right a bunch of broken pieces of lead.

You soon realize the rules of this world have been narrowed down to left and right along with the embedded gridlines of a sketchbook. In an instant you get up with an alarming expression on your face and try to push, bang, and kick the edges of the paper, praying to escape, but with no success. All you can try now is yell for help.

“MOM!!” I cried. There was no response and I could hear my own voice echoing within the outlines of the paper. Hearing footsteps nearby I tried again. “MOM!!!” The door handle, pushed down slowly but firmly, opened. She came in looking for me inside my room and heard nothing but a low-pitched sound.

“HEY! Don’t forget to clean your room. Your friends are visiting today.” I wasn’t sure what to make of this since I knew my friends considered me as a crazy or erratic person. I continued to try to push out of the borders of the paper at breathtaking speeds, but to no avail. Then I heard three dreadful knocks on the front door. My mom opened the door and welcomed my friends inside my room, greeting them in a warm-hearted way. “Hello! Wait here.

He is probably taking a shower right now.”

My friend group consists of three people, one of them, Vincent, is particularly witty when it comes to mischievous doings. He will always be a role model for those students engaging in some sort of delinquency around his neighborhood and never a good sight to see when it comes to authoritarian places such as school.

“Hey! What are you doing? Sit down.” He spoke in an aggravated way to Jeffrey, another person in my friend group.

“HELLO! Can you hear me!?” I cried. Vincent seemed to have heard it very slightly and turned around in my rotating chair. He noticed something moving within the paper laying flat on my wide desk. A moving drawing.

Vincent tilted his head and very slowly inched closer to listen. “Hey, is that you Emiliano?” he asked, taking in mind that there weren’t any sounds emanating from the shower.

“I was shrunk overnight and I can’t seem to leave this piece of paper!” But Vincent heard absolutely nothing. Even as he tried to hear something, he only saw what seemed to be a picture of a bunch of yelling and gasping for air.

Suddenly Jeffrey jolted up and said, “Come here Vincent!” They huddled in a group, whispering their thoughts to each other. “Emiliano was never as cool as I thought he would be. You know what? Let’s take some stuff. Think of it as grabbing some souvenirs.” They came back and started fidgeting with pencils and staplers, as well as my notebooks, my tablet, and even my phone!

“NO! What are you guys doing?!” I yelled as they pulled

their backpacks out and stuffed them full of materials, supplies, and valuables.

“Thanks for the free stuff buddy. I won’t forget it,” Vincent murmured in an evasive tone, hoping my mom wouldn’t hear him. He proceeded to walk out the door whispering to my other so-called friends.

There I laid, grasping what had just happened, sobbing at the situation and feeling both dumbfounded and gullible.

Lost in Change

Ernesto Sandoval

Emiliano is a person who loves enjoying his time with leisurely activities. On this day, April 22nd, 2025 (three days before his publication deadline) he is in ninth grade and ready to embrace the world with the exciting opportunities it has to offer. Emiliano loves socializing with others and welcomes new friends. Not to mention he has exceptional skills with building gaming PCs and is soon to be trilingual.

To wake to the warm touch of my mother’s hand shaking me awake

The smell of pancakes I’m sure of it there’s no mistake

Getting a few pancakes for the road to school, how excited I was to see my friends

I worked on my homework all the way till 10

Turning it in wondering if it’s right

Playing with my friends right after lunch

My friends and I knew nothing would ruin this bunch

And then everything came till a halt

He was sick we didn’t really know

He was so sick his body was taking a toll

As soon as we heard he was gone

His death was so hard it felt like a bomb

Tears flowing as if they were being drawn

When the bell rings and schools done and then everything became undone

I wonder to myself now that he’s gone if life will always stick to this dawn or will it change just like the wind now that my life has begun to spin

If I can stand whatever I land upon, to cry to hurt why do I feel this way that hurts me dear

Would my life always be just a ginormous tear

With this new feeling I feel so confused I was happy not to long ago so nothing is new

With this great pain it hurts me to remember his name

I am Ernesto and can I ever feel the same

My brother is basically my everything but also a great fear

He is my best friend, my greatest peer

We laugh we play games we do everything just about the same

Can’t go a day without him in my day

He’s much younger than me six years in fact

Even so that doesn’t change his impact

We are basically the same

Every food every color every game is all the same

We love to laugh that’s what we’re always doing

Laugh at a joke or a face or even a sound

One thing is different that we aren’t the same

He isn’t always well fine or acting the same

he sometimes begins to shake

Each time he did the more my heart would ache

I think once again why is my life a big tear and why is his such a hurting place

Will everything stay the same or will everything begin to change

My brother is even in pain felt like looking through a frame I didn’t feel how I did now a day before it was sadness to the friend I had lost but so different and you might even call it insane

But sometimes I hardly remember his name

I wake to my noisy alarms oh how I hate the sound they make

I smell pancakes yet again oh boring I say again

Up for school yet again I think everything is boring nothing to happen or change

A tear what a joke my life is just a boring joke

School is so easy and there is no excitement I wish for some fun, something loud something that goes dun

Something cool I wish would happen everything is different but feels all the same

I wake and do what I do and done not much at all not even a shock

I feel like a boring old broken clock always ticking but never going stuck oh how boring

My stomach fat and my arms so scrawny why can’t I be thin cool and boney

What’s one meal missed I wasn’t really that hungry

I’m sleepy but also not a few more hours more ‘til I drop

So tired but not regretful I’m maxed level in a game with two petals

No sleep but something is different but nothing has changed but I somehow can’t see myself the same

Why should I change why should things be different I’m just a kid always messing and kickin’

Change so boring like me not a fan not siree

But I want to be different I want something to happen to me

I wake the same as always no breakfast for me

I’m all fat not a bit boney

I feel so tired because I hate to sleep

But I feel so different I don’t have a clue how

I feel I’ve changed but don’t know how

I tend to forget what has happened ‘til now

What was his name I still wonder now all I can do is look back to that space with a friend who I can hardly picture his face

It’s not like he was forgetful to me it’s just I don’t know what to think

He meant a lot I think

I feel I can handle it now from crying and whining to not even a spout

I feel more open that I don’t have to whine about a time

Who am I am I still the kid who I once was

I don’t play ball or run at the park

I like to be by myself that’s all that there is to it

I feel I’m boring but not to far gone

I’m never sad or mad or nothing at all

I feel just like me

Whatever that is I am me I think I have change

Who I was is lost and who I am now is found

I will lose myself again and again but one that Ill be found

Not me of than but of tomorrow not now, the me of tomorrow is who ill find one day

I’ll finally change with time

I soul lost in time but always found.

Ernesto is in the eleventh grade. He is 6’7 on a good day. He isn’t a huge fan of writing, but likes to try.

Switch Up

Hazel I was feeling a bit nervous on my first day of eighth grade, but I was feeling better knowing that I had friends in all of my classes. I was in my band class sitting in a seat that was far from my two friends. It was 2021, my second year of going to school in person. Masks were required, and everyone needed to do a COVID test before starting the school year. My test results weren’t ready by Monday, so I had to miss the first four days of school. Technically, my first day was Friday.

I felt awkward sitting alone. My friends were talking to some of their friends from sixth grade. I knew who they were, they used to be my friends. I felt even more lonely because I was sitting on the other side of the room. I was watching my two friends talking to two other girls, but there was a third girl sitting with them too. She was quiet, using her phone while they were talking. I didn’t recognize her. I didn’t know who she was, I didn’t know if she was new here or not.

It was now lunch, and I decided to ask my question. “Who was that girl sitting with you guys in first period?” I asked my friend Cece.

She looked at me with a confused look on her face. “Don’t you remember? Arianna and Callie?” I sighed and nodded.

“Yes I do, but I meant the OTHER girl there… with the grown out blonde hair.”

Cece and my other friend Hannah laughed for a moment

before Cece responded, “Ohhhhh, her... yeah. That’s Michelle! You don’t recognize her?”

I looked at her, feeling super confused. What? My memory is pretty bad, but was it really that bad? I had never seen that girl at all when we were in sixth grade. “No, I don’t. Who’s that?” Cece sighed before she tried making me remember who Michelle was.

We were in our PE class after lunch. After Cece told me who Michelle was, I couldn’t help but think about our conversation. We were supposed to be walking around the track, but my two friends and I weren’t. We were just sitting in the bleachers when our teacher saw us, but I don’t think he really cared. Michelle and her two friends were passing by the bleachers. Cece saw them and immediately called out, “HEYYY!!! COME HERE Y’ALL!!!”

She and my other friend Hannah waved their hands at them. Michelle, Arianna, and Callie quickly turned their heads to look at Cece and Hannah.

“What the hell? Y’all supposed to be walking!” Michelle yelled out, tilting her head in confusion.

“Yeah, but it’s too hot. Plus the teacher doesn’t even care! Come sit with us!” Hannah yelled back, laughing a bit as she kept waving her hand at them. Michelle shrugged her shoulders as they walked over. PE class was about an hour and fifteen minutes long. It was terrible. It was hot, and I was pretty sure the top of my head got burned. I still did not recognize her. I gave up on trying. You can’t rely on me to remember things or people.

Fast forward a few months, we ended up becoming friends. She hadn’t recognized me either, but that didn’t really even matter. We were really good friends—best

friends. She was very funny, and a really cuddly person. She was always hugging me when she could. My eighth grade year was good because of her. She was always there for me, like I was for her. We’d always hang out and always get in trouble for laughing too much in class. We were always together. Even if we had arguments, we’d end up forgetting about it the next day. She was really cool. Really cool.

After we graduated, we kept in touch. We still kept in touch at the beginning of freshman year. She went to a different high school, but we were still pretty close. That was until she got a new boyfriend. At first, it didn’t affect our friendship. We were fine for a good while. Towards the end of the second semester, things slowly started to change. She would complain about him being toxic, controlling, or being too jealous of anyone she’d talk to. It was annoying. I was annoyed for her, and of course, I’d be there to listen and offer advice. During summer break that’s all she really talked about. I was lucky if she talked about anything else other than that guy.

When sophomore year started she went completely ghost. The first few months, no texts from her. None at all. She would still post on her Instagram Stories. I was confused and mad. Until I remembered that her boyfriend had jealousy issues. I was very hurt that she stopped talking to me. I thought that was the reason. I still do.

Then second semester started and she finally texted me. She told me the reason why she hadn’t been texting me. I said it was fine, and I asked her to tell me what was going on in her life. She was going through bad mental health issues, she had problems with her family, and she was still having issues with her boyfriend.

And again, I tried helping and offering my advice. Then we were in the middle of the semester and she went ghost again. I still kept in touch with my other friends, and I asked them if they still were talking to Michelle. Nope. Michelle had completely cut them off too. We all knew she had her problems with her boyfriend. We all knew how he was. It was nearing the end of the semester. She came back. Again. She told me that she was trying to fix her issues with her boyfriend. She just wanted to focus on him. She didn’t care about me or her other friends. She only focused on him. She was struggling a bit in school. Her mother was worried about her and thought he was terrible. She still does.

Michelle had her 16th birthday party last year. She invited us. It was nice. Her boyfriend was there. He was rude, giving me and my friends a stank look. That was annoying. She noticed, but didn’t say too much to him other than, “Don’t be rude to my friends!” Really? That’s all she’s going to say? Of course. She always wanted to be nice to him, and never wanted problems.

My other friends and I didn’t really like that. We ended up leaving her party and went to Cece’s house. She didn’t even know. She was only focusing on him. Her family too, of course, but mostly him.

She let this guy, Joshua, completely ruin our friendship. Of course, it’s not completely his fault. She had problems of her own, but I still really blame him.

Live it While You Can

Jimena

Hazel likes to write sometimes. She likes reading and is a junior in high school.

One thing about me is that I HATE change, whether it’s good or bad. I’ve never been the type to want to change things. Then my mom signed me up for a high school where I knew absolutely no one. Strangely enough, I thought this could be good for me, something new with new people, no drama. It was like a fresh start waiting for me.

During the summer my mom made me go to summer bridge which was a summer program for freshman. That’s where I met my friends Belle and Stephanie. Turns out Belle and her boyfriend went to my middle school and knew me, but I didn’t know them, which was silly. I HATED summer bridge. Yeah, there were times it was fun and I enjoyed it, but then there were also the times where I didn’t want to go to the second class only because I didn’t like the teacher.

That teacher was really pushy. He would try and force the answers out of us when we repeatedly told him we didn’t know. He just wouldn’t cooperate with us which sucked because I usually liked going to English class. Once I found out I wouldn’t have that teacher during the school year, I was so happy and ready for the new school and what awaited me.

The first day of school came, I didn’t know what to feel or where to go! I was panicking, but at least I had Belle and Stephanie with me there. I hung out with them for the first couple of weeks of school and it was cool. I liked talking to them and being with them. I still didn’t know how to feel about school overall though. Yeah, I had gone through

this when moving to a new school for eighth grade, but at least at my old school I already knew people when I went there. Over here it was just my three friends and I. I hated the feeling of being lonely at a big school, which was strange because I’ve always liked being by myself and normally don’t mind loneliness.

Stephanie from summer bridge had talked to me before about joining the girl’s soccer team and I had thought about it, but was too scared to actually join. Soon enough she was able to convince me and I went to a practice. She introduced me to all of her new friends and I slowly started to warm up and talk to them.

Through soccer is how I met one of my closest friends actually. That friend really helped me out throughout my first year in high school. She gave me the best advice, helped me out when I needed it the most, was always there for me, and supported me no matter what, whether things were good or bad. Even if I was in the wrong, she would help me pick myself back up and make it right. She impacted my life in a way no one else had.

Soccer has brought me some of the best and worst things that have happened throughout my life. I’m still forever grateful for everything that happened throughout my soccer journey. I’m grateful for the people it brought in and out of my life because I’ve learned that everything in life happens for a reason. People are meant to come into your life. Whether it’s a forever thing or a lesson thing, it’s meant to happen and you can’t stop it from happening. You should never regret anything because life is too short to look back at things and regret them. Forever be grateful for the people in your life because memories are forever. You can always look back at them, but the present only happens once, so live it while you can.

To Grow, To Bloom

Joseph Quintanilla

In the small town of Tulipa, where everyone knew each other, it was nearly impossible to keep secrets. Eyes were always watching, especially when you were the pastor’s son. Elio Morales, a quiet Christian boy, was constantly monitored by his neighbors, his family, and his so-called friends. He was the only boy in the Morales family, wedged between his two sisters, Lily and Dahlia, in a house where the Bible always lay open on the kitchen table, where Sunday mornings smelled of café con leche, and where going to church wasn’t just a ritual—it was a way of life.

One morning, as the Morales family stepped out of their house to head to church, Elio noticed something peculiar. A marigold had appeared in their front yard. It hadn’t bloomed yet, just a small bud on an otherwise immaculate lawn. It seemed too sudden, too strange, but Elio didn’t question it. He turned his gaze away and went on with his day.

As they neared the church, Elio felt the familiar weight settle over him—the need to perform, to mold himself into what others expected. Around his “church friends,” he slipped into a version of himself he had crafted over the years: agreeable, clean, quiet. Someone likable. Someone safe. He told himself it was fine. After all, everyone adored the Morales family. If he could just keep smiling, keep pleasing, maybe he could be adored too—even if it meant burying his truth.

The marigold stayed. Every morning, Elio saw it there,

clinging to the edge of the lawn. At first, it looked misplaced among the neatly trimmed grass. Small. Hesitant. Like it wasn’t sure it belonged. Just like him.

Elio often found himself staring at it through his bedroom window, especially on the nights when his tears soaked the pillow beneath him. Nights filled with silent sobs and desperate prayers. “Why can’t I be like everyone else?” he whispered into the darkness. “Why do I have to lie just to be loved?” He felt himself unraveling, each day tugging at a thread, the pressure of others’ expectations pulling him apart. He was stitched together with silence and fear, always on the verge of collapse.

Lily and Dahlia meant well, but their endless matchmaking felt like a cruel joke. Their excitement, their teasing, their schemes to set him up with girls—they didn’t see how much it hurt. When they suggested he take their friend’s little sister out for ice cream, Elio laughed, a hollow sound that didn’t reach his eyes. He changed the subject and excused himself.

Later, he confided in his mother, hesitating as he tried to find the right words. “I’m just… not ready,” he said.

His mother wrapped him in a warmth only mothers could give. “You don’t have to rush into anything, mi amor,” she said gently. “Don’t mind your sisters—they think they’re helping. But I see the way your eyes fall when they talk about girlfriends. I know you’re not ready. And next time they start up, tell me. I’ll always be here for you.”

Elio swallowed hard. He almost told her everything. The

words hovered on the tip of his tongue, trembling like a secret too sacred to speak. But fear won, and all he said was, “Thank you, Ma. Love you.”

That night, he cried again. Not from confusion this time, but from shame. From the feeling of being a disappointment. From the ache of holding it all in. Outside, rain fell for hours—gentle, steady, relentless. And through the storm, the marigold stood firm.

Then came school. And Nico.

Nico, with his warm smile and wild curls. His soft laugh that wrapped around Elio’s anxiety like a blanket. They met in math class. Sat next to each other. Shared jokes and awkward glances. What began as casual conversations shifted into something more—personal, honest, effortless. Around Nico, Elio didn’t have to pretend. His laughter came easily. His shoulders loosened. His voice didn’t tremble.

Weekends with Nico became a haven. They walked downtown. They visited the lake. They shared churros, stories, and secrets under skies that seemed to stretch forever. Elio told Nico things he had never dared say aloud. Nico never flinched, never judged. Their friendship grew into something deeper, something braver. And Elio didn’t feel scared. He felt whole. He felt free.

A few days later, the marigold bloomed.

Its golden petals unfurled toward the sun, radiant and unafraid. Elio saw it from the kitchen window and felt tears prick at his eyes. He smiled, full and genuine, for the first time in a long time.

The marigold had been there from the beginning—quiet

and unnoticed, growing as he grew. It had appeared on the day he felt most hidden, most ashamed. But through the fear, the doubt, the silent nights and tear-stained sheets, Elio had made it. He had come through the storm and into the light. He had bloomed.

And so had the marigold.

It stood in full glory now. Bold. Beautiful. Unapologetically alive.

Just like Elio.

A boy in love.

A soul no longer hiding.

A heart in bloom.

Joseph Quintanilla is a high school senior who enjoys music— specifically Kali Uchis—watching La La Land, and reading books such as “They Both Die At The End.”

New Journey

Maylin A.

Time goes by so fast, I want every moment to last. From my parents, my brother and I, moving on can only make me cry.

Over the years I’ve become so indecisive.

Planning the next four years of my life has become a midlife crisis.

From familiar faces within my home, the flavorful smells coming from the kitchen, the thought of learning new peoples’ names and even sharing a room with others, I can’t fathom the new space I’m about to live in.

Although I’m not ready to live that new reality, I’m starting to realize that this will slowly become a part of me.

Maybe I might not be ready to leave so soon, but doing so might open new doors and make me bloom. So I think it’s time to say goodbye to the already known, and embrace the unknown.

Maylin is a senior at Helen Bernstein high school. She is hardworking, organized, and an introvert. She loves to care for her loved ones and enjoys her time with her family and friends. She tries to make the best of each day.

The Healing

Nathali Navarro

From learning to ride a bike with you, to watching you go, seasons change, but you’re not home. Winter to winter, the seasons go, but the memories with you will never get old.

As I watch you and I grow apart, nevEr will our inner children lose their spark.

Although times change and we do too, seeing you go never hurts until I see the new you.

My parents ask about you from time-to-time, but I don’t know if you’re okay too. Maybe soon I can see you again, and hope our encounter won’t be troubled the way we let it stay.

I see you in her sometimes, and again I remember how much we had in common.

Pain exists no more as I think about the past experiences we lived in.

My past with you has not changed me, nor will it ever be the last to be.

I thank you for the wonderful experiences you gave me, I hope one day we can rewind our old spark and let it grow as big as a tree.

Nathali is a wonderful, open-minded learner who tries to learn new things about life and what life will be like looking ahead.

Trip Back Home

Raquel Amelia was on her way home when she noticed her father’s car parked in front of their house, with luggage in the trunk, one filled with clothes and the other with toys, medicine, and toiletries for the kids and family members there.

Entering the house, she felt a wave of confusion as her father greeted her with the words, “Mija, pack your bag.”

Baffled, she asked, “Why?”

Her father responded, “Your grandfather has passed away, and we need to go to El Salvador immediately.” In a rush, Amelia dashed to her room to gather her belongings, unsure of how to process the news.

“I didn’t really know my grandfather, but I need to go for Dad,” she murmured to herself.

Upon their arrival, as they exited the airport, Amelia was struck by the stunning greenery surrounding them. Suddenly, a car honked, and her father recognized it as his brother’s. Amelia’s expression reflected her confusion. Although this man was family, she had never met him before. “Hola tío! ¿Cómo estás?” she said.

“Bien mija,” he said. She went into the car, quietly stunned and wondering what her father’s past life here had been like before having her.

On the road she looked out. All she saw were these big, large acres of land. Suddenly it started to rain for

a moment as they passed through a storm. She was stunned by the quick change in weather. The car suddenly stopped. It was a gas station. “What do you want mija?” her uncle asked.

“Can I get a Cola Champagne?” she responded. Her father walked back and said it had a different taste even though it was the same company.

They finally arrived at her uncle’s house. Before going inside, she took a deep breath. As she entered the house, Amelia was greeted with a big hug from her aunt. “Hola! ¿Cómo estás? ¡Ya estás muy grande!” Amelia gave aunt a big smile, knowing this was the first time she had seen her aunt in person.

Suddenly a wave of cousins, aunts, and uncles came to greet her. Even during this sad event, they welcomed her with warmth. Once Ameila was done greeting everyone, she brought out the luggage. Her cousins, uncles, and aunts were grateful for everything they had brought.

The next day, her dad went with his brothers and sisters to discuss the funeral for their father, so Ameila got a tour of the area with her cousins. They described what they usually did for the farm work. While she was walking, she saw this weird fuzzy caterpillar and ran for it. “DON’T TOUCH IT!!!” they all screamed in unison. “It’s toxic to people.” She was so rattled and let it be. They all went where the chickens were. The little kids were trying to chase and catch one with their bare hands. Ameila looked so stunned that some little eight-year-olds could just grab a chicken with their bare hands, but she was very impressed. The day finally came, and it was time to put on her black dress. She was nervous since this would be the last time

she would see her grandpa ever again.

“Are you ready mija?” her dad asked.

“Yes,” she answered with the biggest sigh.

She left the house, seeing how many people were there for her grandpa, realizing how many people had cared for this one person. Ameila went to her father and held his hand for both their sakes.

When it was time to say their last goodbye, Amelia hesitated. Then all of a sudden everything went white. The next moment, her father was waking her up aggressively, saying she was late to school.

Crumbs of Hope

Rhian C.

Raquel plays the trumpet. She even played in the Rose Parade!

A golden-brown apple pie, a clear contrast to its surroundings—gray and ruinous. A mysterious silhouette lifted up the pastry, bit into its crispy exterior and savored all of its decadent filling with the most sinister grin. Crawling, disease-ridden townspeople, having the appearance of zombies, groveled at its feet, pleading for even just a piece of pie. Manic laughter echoed through the crumbling town, the silhouette taking pleasure in the suffering of the civilians. The decimation and the utter destruction of the once flourishing city of Klatret, all were in the hands of a singular being: the runaway of the four almighty pillars.

The Klatret of 300 years ago had been a thriving city with a bustling economy, citizens with magic capabilities, and under the protection of the head and four pillars. These deities, who resided in a floating island of unparalleled beauty overlooking Klatret, were meant to preserve order and protect civilization with their impressive power. Their efforts to not only ensure the survival of their populace but to also maintain a close-knit family relationship among one another had made Klatret a global superpower. The head was called Dragan, possessing the greatest authority and power, and his supporting pillars were Atlas, Solon, Althea, and Delilah. Together, they were known as the “Celestial Archons.”

A first had occurred in the history of Klatret: Civilians were hurt, one murdered, in the middle of the busiest marketplace. No citizen was capable of magic strong

enough to kill another unless they were one of the archons. Speculations of a new, undiscovered archon arose, but the disappearance of Delilah, the youngest of the Celestial Archons, and traces of her magic on the deceased’s corpse ultimately proved her involvement in the attack. The whole city went on the hunt for Delilah, seeking justice for the harmed civilians and with a promise of a grand reward for her capture further fueling their drive. Despite the efforts of the entirety of Klatret, Delilah managed to evade capture.

Chaos ensued in the aftermath of Delilah’s escape. Cries of children, loud booms, and the color of blood painted the ghostly remains of the ruined buildings characterized by the once enchanting and radiant Klatret. The structure of the city was slowly crumbling as it only had three of the four pillars left supporting its foundations. The remaining archons bore the added burden of stopping and catching Delilah on top of their everyday responsibilities, disrupting the balance and order of their schedules, making it difficult to keep control. Delilah’s attacks seemed to be never-ending.

With the framework of the city deteriorating, there was widespread panic and fear among the citizens. Destruction became a thing of normalcy and civilians remained continuously in survival mode. Housing, jobs, education, lives, and family were all taken from them, leaving everyone in extreme poverty and despair. The archons were unsure of how to handle the disorder as this was a first in the history of Klatret, and their powers were significantly better for destruction than stability—proven by Delilah herself. And above all, they were against one of their own.

Delilah went on unstopped for another 100 years and

developed a personal and cruel signature: leaving an apple pie after an attack—a glimmer of hope amongst all the rubble for the famished victims. But she crushed all their dreams and ate the pie in front of the hopeless victims. Such power felt pleasurable to Delilah.

One day, a guy survived her attack unscathed, and challenged her for that apple pie. Amused, Delilah accepted the challenge, but was soon outsmarted just seconds later. She was shocked, but let the guy go out of sincere respect for even having the courage to stand against her, and found herself following him. After quite a long venture, the guy went up to his family and fed them the apple pie without a single bite for himself.

Delilah began to follow the guy daily, watching all his tasks and actions so much that there was a period of peace in the city. There were no sudden bombings, no lives lost, and an hope increased for the end of the destruction. She took notice of a number of things. His selflessness, and most importantly, his strength. He was unusually powerful, unlike any regular civilian, with a magic power level beyond the standard. Thus, out of interest, she stepped out of hiding and confronted him.

“So, you finally showed yourself Delilah?” He spoke even before she got to face him, surprising her.

“What do you mean, ‘finally’? You were able to notice me?”

“From the start.”

“Really… ” He turned around, and silence and tension filled the atmosphere. They caught each other’s gaze, and held

on intensely. To Delilah’s surprise, his eyes held not one ounce of resentment. Just purity and curiosity. Delilah fidgeted with her hands, her expression turning puzzled as unease settled within her. Within a few seconds, she glanced away and flew back into hiding.

Attacks around the city dropped from the regular ten to just one-to-three daily. Delilah sat atop a boulder after one of her strikes, wondering why the urge to cause destruction had begun to fade away. It was not too long ago that she still took pleasure from her attacks, but part of her mind was telling her to just end it all. Why?

Her eyes wandered downwards, to the area she just destroyed. She squinted at the glimpse of something excessively bright amidst all the darkness. It was him, that blinding sight. There he was, spreading that ever so illuminating magic to the suffering, bringing hope to everything he touched. A complete contrast to her destructive power. And much too powerful. It rivaled her’s, the power of an Awakened, like she once was before the archons discovered her.

Delilah’s stomach sank into a deep pit. Why?

Why did he have to be so giving? It would only lead to his demise. He would be discovered.

If he went with the archons, who would be here to fix my messes?

They wouldn’t allow him to fix this. They killed anyone that threatened their power. Even if not literally. How ironic.

I can’t stop destroying yet I want this guy to stay. Do I expect him to go through with this his whole life? Do I think he can fix my ugliness?

Oh, he can—to a certain extent. So he can absolutely NOT be discovered. I won’t allow it. I need to become so ugly that no one can keep up, not even him.

This way the main focus would be stopping ME. I NEED to divert their attention away from him.

The short-lived period of peace came to an end and attacks jumped up to fifteen or more daily. The doom of Klatret was imminent at this rate as the archons could not keep up with balancing preservation, protection, and prevention. Many civilians fell into a state of despair and only wished to be taken from the world quickly. No sense of hope could be found within the ruined city.

However, Delilah was satisfied. She thought that with this, he wouldn’t be hurt. She thought that with this, he would never be discovered by the archons or Dragan. She thought that with this, he could spread hope without interference. But, mid-flight, she heard a voice calling her name. His voice—and it broke. She landed, and there he stood in front of her crying. She caught his gaze, and still, his eyes held no ounce of resentment. This time, it was just pure sorrow.

“Why did you do this? Tell me, Delilah. Why start increasing your attacks so suddenly?” He wept.

“To protect… you.”

“From what? Take a look around you, Delilah. I’m not the one that needs protecting. It’s the entire city.”

“I only wanted to help you. You would have fixed it. You have the power to do that.”

“What are you talking about? I could only do so much. I’m not one of you. Please, I beg, just stop this, Delilah.”

“YOU don’t get it! YOU are as strong as one of us.”

“Huh?”

“You just haven’t been discovered. That’s why I can’t stop. You can’t be discovered by the archons.”

“What?”

“You’re an Awakened power. They’ll take you and you’ll lose everything. They’ll torment you. They won’t let you use your powers to bring hope. They’ll suppress you.”

He stood there and scanned his hands, as if looking at them would give any more answers. He looked up again, furrowed his eyebrows in confusion, and ran towards Delilah. Delilah tried to fly away, but failed. So she ran.

“Is that what they did to you? Is that why you do this? Do you think destroying everyone else’s lives is going to make yours any better? Do you think adding problems and stress for the archons is going to undo what they did to you?” his voice interrogated.

“Stop it. STOP STOP STOP. Get away!” Delilah cried, still running. She turned her head to look at him. His face was shifting and doubling, and his voice wouldn’t stop interrogating. Overwhelmed, she ended up tumbling over and breaking down.

“Delilah? Delilah! Snap out of it!”

He moved her hands away from her face. And again, her eyes met his. This time, they were full of forgiveness.

He was too close.

Delilah tried to pull back but before she could, he pulled her into his arms and held her. Warmth rushed through Delilah.

Is this his power?

Is this his magic?

Did I just want to be fixed with his magic?

“It’s okay, Delilah.”

“Huh?”

“It’s going to be okay.”

“Will I ever be?”

He pulled away and grabbed her shoulders, his eyes burning with kindness and understanding. Like always, their eyes never let go of each other.

“It’s not too late to change, Delilah.”

“But I’ve been so selfish. Ruining everything thinking it would fix everything. Instead, it just broke me even more.”

“Just stop. That would be enough, Delilah.”

“I can’t even do anything. All I know is how to destroy.”

“I’m here to help. I’ll teach you. The power of compassion.” Delilah pulled him back into a tighter embrace.

The attacks came to an end, and the process of restoration began. Delilah followed him, eager to learn his powers and spread hope to the people. They made sure to do so slowly and discreetly, so they wouldn’t be discovered by the archons. Together, they were brightening up the now soulless city of Kaltret.

Delilah now felt a sense of pleasure different from the feeling she got when destroying. It felt… reassuring to her.

I don’t have to destroy anything. It won’t undo the archons’ abuse. To make up for everything, I won’t cause harm to the city or myself anymore.

Delilah soon felt an overwhelming aura surrounding her, making her heart race fiercely. There was only one answer to this sensation for her—the archons were here. She turned around and there they were, in their utmost glory. Atlas, looking maddened as always, but profoundly worse from the years of chasing down Delilah. Solon, carrying his head high and seeming his same shrewd self. Althea, her beauty exuding an entrancing ambience. And Dragan, Klatret’s all-powerful deity. The rare sight of them all sideby-side was enough to send someone into a daze, and surely, Delilah was stuck in that daze.

“Delilah! Oh, how we missed you!” Althea exclaimed sarcastically.

“We shall take you now dear,” Solon denounced.

“I won’t go,” Delilah declared, her eyes fueled with hatred. “You can’t force me.”

Atlas dashed towards her, leaving a blazing trail behind him and catching Delilah off guard. She was knocked back, but she stood her ground, refusing to lose balance. Solon and Althea quickly joined Atlas and all began launching their magic at Delilah. Dragan stood silently in the background as he watched the siblings fight.

Delilah did not back down—this was her chance, her chance to win against her abusers. Through sheer will, she managed to dodge all their attempts without using any magic of her own while the other archons seemed to visibly lose energy.

“You guys aren’t used to this, huh?” Delilah taunted, taking pleasure in toying with them.

With their ego bruised, Atlas, Solon, and Althea transformed into their final form and ambushed Delilah at full power. Delilah snickered, entertained by their futile efforts at bringing her down. She kept her purpose in the back of her mind: She would not let this city be harmed again. She transformed into her final form and started energizing her first and final move against them. She was sure they would die in one go. Just a second before she could, however, just a second later Dragan plunged in and bashed his head against Delilah’s forehead.

Dragan. He was the head for a reason. Delilah wobbled but still stood her ground. Her eyes burned with anger.

You got in the way. I was about to kill them!

He transformed in the blink of an eye and rushed in, giving Delilah no chance to react. Delilah was about to receive a critical blow, but the guy appeared, shielding her from Dragan’s magic.

“Y-you! Where were you!” Delilah cried, trembling as she had almost died.

“What matters is that I’m here now.” He turned to face her, still holding on to Dragan’s arms. “Go on and take care of the others, I’ll take care of him.”

“Oh, you think you can take me on?” Dragan scoffed, amused by the confidence of a nobody. “Very well then, I admire your courage.”

“I’ll be back,” Delilah announced as she flew back to the other three archons.

She charged up her attack, and within moments she completely annihilated them. Over 100 years of constant destruction had powered her up more than she knew. She turned back to see how Dragan’s fight was going. Her eyes widened. They were about finished too, except evil won.

There he was, lying under the foot of Dragan, who was now mocking in his show of confidence. Delilah could keep her balance no more and fell to the ground, still processing what she was witnessing.

“No… No! No! No! NO!” Delilah shrieked, flying to the scene. “Dragan, what did you do?”

“I put a brat in his place, that’s all,” Dragan replied, with the most sinister grin.

Delilah got a hold of Dragan’s throat with no hesitation. The ground shook and the sky transformed into complete red. Delilah’s magic was being fueled with complete rage and absolute sorrow, overwhelming Dragan’s capabilities. He was unable to breathe and soon fell to the ground lifeless, but Delilah did not let go until he was no longer the Dragan the city could recognize. Until she heard a voice. His voice.

“You… You’re alive?” Delilah quickly turned to him and held his paralyzed body.

“Yes, but I don’t have much time left to go.” He said sadly, with the most tender look in his eyes. “Promise me something, Delilah.”

“Anything.”

“Please don’t blame yourself, and tell yourself that you are capable of healing. You can fix yourself. No one else can,

not anyone or anything else. I believe in you Delilah.”

“You… ” Delilah whispered, her voice breaking while her face became wet with tears.

“I’ll transfer my magic onto you. It’ll be your choice to do with it what you will.”

“I’ll spread hope and lightness back into the city of Klatret. I swear.”

He gave Delilah the brightest smile even in his darkest moment. Their eyes met once more, each full of adoration. His eyes, the same eyes that were filled with love just moments ago, turned lifeless, and Delilah’s eyes became full of tears.

“I wish we could have rebuilt our city together. I never even got your name.”

A high schooler from Helen Bernstein high school, Rhian has always been an individual inspired by art. She’s an avid enjoyer of multiple forms of media, from cute little romance webcomics to tearjerkers, which inspires her storytelling.

Five and a Half Hours

Sasha Kravets

A coffin can generally hold around 820 liters of air, 164 of those being oxygen, depending on the size of the coffin and the person inside.

As I lie here, one thought races through my mind: I must let them know I’m alive. I won’t be saved by the bell, that’s for sure. Dr. Johann Gottfried Taberger won’t be able to save me this time from our shared taphophobia.

My fists and knees hit the silk-covered wood. What a beautiful piece of work. Someone made this with care. It was picked out by a family for a dead person to be put to rest inside of it. A dead person.

The layers of fabric and wood block my screams. As my screams continue, they are masked by nails being hammered into the wood of my prison. One after another, BANG. LET. BANG. ME. BANG. OUT! BANG!

Screaming and thrashing do nothing. A slight breeze still enters the confinements of the coffin through little gaps in the wood, and it feels as though there is still a chance! Until the coffin begins to be lowered down. And down. And down. Foot-by-foot. One, two, then three, and four. Suddenly a rush as though an elevator in freefall and a hard bump at six. Dropped as if five is no longer an important number.

Screams continue to flow from my chest. Do they not hear, or do they choose not to hear? I can’t die in a coffin. This is the worst death. Am I dreaming? Is this

a nightmare? If it was a nightmare, I wouldn’t hit my head trying to sit up. The screaming continues as I add additional noise with my knees, fists, and whatever shoes I’m wearing. Thrashing in pitch darkness. How ridiculous this feels. This feels like a nightmare on an LSD trip. I know it’s not a nightmare when I feel blood on my knees.

Silence. My heart is beating out of my chest. The fabric of a layer of the skirt clings to my sweat-dampened skin and bloody knees. The silk fabric I’m lying on is dampened by sweat and most likely also has blood stains. When I get out of here, they’ll feel horrible for this. No. Not when. If.

After a long moment of silence in my pit, patiently and anxiously waiting, I hear something hitting my coffin. A slight sound, as if something like raw cookie dough was dropped on my coffin. Dough? No, why would there be dough at a funeral? Are they dropping… DIRT?! After one small drop of dirt comes more. And more. And more still. Louder and in larger amounts. Heaps of dirt, one after the other. And it doesn’t stop. My heart is racing, beating out of my chest as if also trying to escape. But it won’t. It feels like the coffin is closing in on me. Claustrophobia hits me again. Sitting in a box is one thing, but being closed into it with packed dirt is another. And back to thrashing, kicking, and screaming I go.

Ten, maybe 15, minutes pass as my screaming subsides. My throat is scratchy with a metallic feeling creeping on my tongue. Time doesn’t exist inside a box, and typically, they don’t give dead people a watch. I attempt to relax my body. I was going to die eventually. “Eventually” just came earlier than I expected. 820 liters of air, five and a half hours of life left. What if it’s less? It’s probably less. Will I know when I die? I don’t want to suffocate. Hyperventilation only adds more carbon to my decreasing

supply of air, so I stop that. Carbon dioxide will have time to fill up our limited shared space.

Fear keeps bouncing around my mind. What an interesting word, fear. It holds so much weight for people. As a noun, fear describes an unpleasant emotion caused by the belief that someone or something is dangerous, likely to cause pain, or a threat. But so often it means more than that. Everyone is constantly afraid. Afraid of animals and nature, of other people for being different, of imaginary situations conjured up in their minds. Afraid of the unknown of the future, of confrontations, of consequences, and ultimately of the end. Are these things inherently believed to cause pain or a threat? No, but people like to believe they do.

After an unknown amount of contemplation, my blood dries, and my sweat becomes nothing but a thin layer of stickiness on every inch of my body. Suddenly, everything becomes uncomfortable. The coffin wood is hard and digs into my back, the fabric surrounding its walls sticks to my nails, leaving thin strings and the feeling of fake silk, the fabric of the dress itches the back of my neck. Why would dead people need comfort? I can’t even cut off the tag or add a cushion. A dead person wouldn’t complain though. A dead person wouldn’t.

Like a rotisserie chicken, I turn and turn and turn in an attempt to find a comfortable spot. Maybe I can take a nap and wake up on the other side of the funeral, where all the people are mourning. In reality, they simply have an excuse to perform some crappy act, go to a reception to eat and drink for free, and wear some fancy dress they bought. What are they thinking of me? What are they pretending to think of me? They’re probably making speeches about me and even though they haven’t talked

to me for years. They’re probably talking about how much they miss me and what a shame I’m gone. A bunch of fakes.

You know, if I sleep, I breathe less and have more time to live. More time to contemplate my soon-to-cease existence later. My eyes shut, but sleep doesn’t find me. Maybe being on death’s doorstep, literally, scares off the sandman.

Instead, I stare into nothing. How long have I been inside? An hour? Two? Will I pass out when the air runs out? Or am I dreaming right now? My perception of time most likely doesn’t align with reality. I don’t even know how much CO2 I’m releasing. I haven’t read that far into taphephobia and I don’t know the speed of death in my current circumstances.

It’s quite boring inside. Nothing to look at, play with, or distract myself with before my ultimate demise. A blank slate of existence. A place where life meets death faceto-face. My mouth tastes metallic, my tongue sticky as though I haven’t drunk water all day. The earthy smell of the coffin slightly annoys my nose but at least I’m surrounded by nature somewhat. Despite the confusion I’m starting to feel, the slowness of my breath as if there isn’t much air to breathe, and my body automatically starting to shut down, it is eerily quiet. But not really. All of the sound has so far come from me after the full burial. I’m completely isolated, but when I listen there are weird sounds all around me. Some kind of rushing, pumping, almost a sort of buzzing of sounds. Ignoring them is my best option for now. It’s probably something in the earth.

The earth. The earth that makes it warmer and warmer in the coffin. I am no longer getting cold sweats, but now it

feels like July in Bridgetown Pike: humid and hot, almost boiling in the air. The warm, damp, suffocating earth that houses so much life. Bugs, insects, invertebrates. Can worms get in? What if bugs get inside my coffin? They’ll eat me alive! And I can’t even defend myself. Ew ew ew ew ew!!! I’m going to be full of maggots and rotting from the inside out! A high-pitched scream rushes out of me once again as my hands rush over my body and coffin. I move as much as physically possible, contorting my body to check every corner. Nothing. But an unsettling feeling stays. They’re definitely crawling on my body, waiting for a way in, for me to drop my guard, to die so they can eat away at my flesh. I close my eyes. I need to sleep and forget I’m even here. Die a peaceful death! But how terrifying it is to die!

Tears stream down my cheeks as I uncomfortably turn on my side. At least I can pity myself inside of this thing without judgement. I close my eyes and the black space becomes darker. Those random shapes appear, colors and patterns I can’t focus on. At least it’s something to look at. Slowly… my mind… slows… down… and sleep… finds me…

When I open my eyes my view hasn’t changed. I’m not even sure I have opened them. Still black. Still the casket. But I don’t feel as awake as I should. Sure there is grogginess, the after-nap taste invades my mouth, and my eyes are unable to fully open with nothing to focus on. But there is something else. As if I am in a room full of gas and getting dizzy, but this time there is no smell of mercaptan. My lungs can’t take in as much air as they could before. I’m finally at the end. Or am I? How long before I pass out? And after that how long before I die? Will I know?

Fear grips my heart again. Death is near. My aching body

starts to turn around in the casket, hands searching for something. It feels as though I’m no longer in charge of it. What are you looking for? An escape? You won’t find it.

What a weird fear it is, the fear of death. You know you’re near it, feel it in your bones, your chest, your mind. You can’t always place a finger on the feeling but you know you’ve reached the end. If the afterlife exists, do we get to see what led us to our demise? Or is that a mystery left to a higher power? What even happens after death? Do you know? I’ve always wondered if the birds that lie dead on the side of the road felt it in their wings, their talons, their beaks. Did the crow and pigeon know that wheels would roll over their fragile bodies? Or perhaps the teeth of an unnamed predator would lodge into their necks.

A small hummingbird doesn’t know it is going to drop dead from several days of rain and slightly cold weather in sunny Los Angeles, but on a random Tuesday its body can be found dead on a cold concrete sidewalk. Its eyes have a sparkle for only a few days, creating the illusion of still being alive. Then they lose the slight shine several days later, in the process also losing whatever depths of a soul or fear you could have caught a glimpse of. Both of those now becoming a distant memory.

People don’t fear death. They say they do, but they don’t. It’s inevitable, like aging. It happens to everyone. We fear the unknown. We fear what might come in the future and after. We fear not being important, not being of value, not leaving a legacy. Sure, some people will say they don’t care, that they want to die. They no longer care for their life and when they do die, they were already dead. We lie to ourselves every day, building social constructs, standards, expectations,and systems that harm us. But we need that, need it to keep our fear of the unknown away,

to push it deep down. It’s all a cover up, a distraction. We lie to ourselves everyday. People, governments, and nations can discriminate and spew hate at any community all they want, but we forget that we’re all equal when we die. No one wants to admit it. Am I afraid of death or am I afraid of the unknown? I will never find out.

I had hoped to get more out of life. What was the hope? Acceptance.

Battling the Fear of Change

Siamus S. Change has been both a blessing and a curse.

The more I think about it, the more it gets worse.

Dealing with change has never been easy,

As the feeling of the unknown never seems to soothe me.

Hello! In the spirit of the story, Sasha planned to write this bio from the first-person point of view, but was unable to. Sasha would say she’s a pretty good writer and a pretty chill person. As a little spoiler, she does have a fascination with death and everything to do with dying, and much of her writing is inspired by that, especially this story. The chosen topic was heavily researched, but calculations for additional details were not made. Don’t try this at home!

The more I look further, the more I lose time, And the more I look back, I also lose my mind.

I think my complaints are a way to cope,

When in reality it is anything but a source of hope.

Moving on to the unknown fills me with rage,

If only I could get out of this mind-racing cage.

Maybe one day, I’ll be able to move on and flip to another page.

Siamus is an ambitious, determined, and hard-working student who values new opportunities and spaces to grow her knowledge everyday. She has been a part of the 826LA team for three years, changing her view on creative writing with every story she writes. From being skeptical about her writing abilities sophomore year, to blowing away her peers and mentors her senior year, she’s learned and grown in her love for storytelling and creative writing.

Deadweight

Steven R.

What if every time you told someone something whether it was true or not, it became correct. Would you use it to your advantage? Would you tell the truth, fearful of messing something up?

Well for one person it wasn’t a “what if?” If anything it was a bother. He had to remember everything that happened, or he said, or saw. No matter how minor, he had to remember after in fear of messing up. When his parents asked where something was, if he answered wrong, or with sarcasm, sometimes it had consequences. Especially if he was sarcastic.

Imagine if someone asked you a dumb question like, “Are you going to shower?” When walking to the bathroom with a towel. Now, many of you would reply with sarcasm like, “No I’m going to ski Mt. Everest.” Great—now your door would lead to the peak of Mt. Everest. With this “superpower” you would become a monotone, serious, boring person.

Kenneth Riddle, a high school senior had this “superpower”—or more like a deadweight he couldn’t get rid of. While waiting for the bus he gazed off in the distance while the snow fell, the flakes falling in his black hair. He was used to this routine. Every morning he dressed for school, wearing a black fur-lined coat, a scarf around his neck and the lower half of his face, beige cargo pants, a random t-shirt, black gloves, and snow boots. The he waited for the bus as he listened to music. Waiting for the school bus to arrive. Alone. Every. Single. Morning.

This deadweight burdened him and he purposely pushed people away. One slip-up and suddenly that person was in Russia. As he stood there he fidgeted with his house keys, lost in his music. As he spun his keys they slipped from his grasp and landed in the snow. Sighing he walked toward the pile of snow. Before he could grab them a whitegloved hand reached out and snatched them. Looking up he was met with the sight of a girl with brown hair and blonde highlights, warm brown skin clad in a puffy white jacket that looked two sizes too big on her, a gray scarf with flowers scattered on it, leggings, the school uniform skirt, snow boots, and white gloves.

Smiling, she held out the keys to the brooding teen boy. “Here you go,” she said smiling. Cautiously he took them, pocketing them as he returned to his spot. The girl followed suit, rocking back and forth on the balls of her feet. “It’s cold huh? I can’t with snow. I used to live in a pretty hot area. But, I guess this ain’t so bad—”

“God she talks a lot,” Kenneth thought annoyed. As he took out his phone to change his song, she spotted the artist he was listening to.

“You listen to Linkin Park? Not many people listened to them where I’m from. It’s only pop, k-pop, hip hop—a lot of pop and hop,” she giggled. As they waited for the bus, she continued to ramble before noticing his uniform, or lack thereof. “Hey, isn’t Mountain Oak a uniform school?” She asked as she reached for her handbook. “I could’ve sworn—”

“It’s optional,” Kenneth said flatly, still staring at nothing (it wasn’t optional—he just didn’t like wearing the uniform so he used his deadweight to make his life a bit easier).

“Oh! He speaks!” The girl teased, still flipping through her handbook. “But it says it is required… ” She mumbled as Kenneth looked at her surprised, his scarf helping hide his surprised expression.

“Probably an old one… ” He muttered.

“Maybe… ” She shrugged and looked at him holding out her hand. “I’m Evelyn Rollins. You can call me Eve,” She smiled.

Kenneth stared at her for a moment before grasping her hand. “Kenneth.”

Life was… easier since Kenneth met Eve. They were attached by the hip, mainly because of Eve. Being new to school and what not, it made sense. Despite how popular she had gotten due to her outgoing personality, she always made time for the brooding teen she had met at the bus stop. Soon after the encounter, Kenneth quickly found out that this strange girl was somehow immune to his ability. To be honest, he didn’t care. It was… nice not to have to tiptoe around what he wanted to say. No need to be so serious and monotone. It was… refreshing.

As Kenneth made his way to the bus stop, he felt a sudden weight on his back, followed by a string of giggles.

“Morning to you too Eve,” He grumbled as she slid off his back. She nudged him as they walked.

“Homework done?” He asked as they continued toward the bus.

“No,” she mumbled, annoyed, “But it’s not my fault! My mom’s been making me babysit that kid next door,” she whined.

“The one who eats crayons to ‘change colors?’” Kenneth asked, holding back a laugh by playing it off as a cough.

“Yes him,” She grumbled as the bus approached.

After third period, while Kenneth was walking to his locker, he spotted his best friend talking to a boy named Jacob. He had seen the boy in his art class. He was always covered in paint, his long blonde hair always tied up. And he always seemed to be happier when he was talking to Eve. After the boy left, Kenneth walked over grinning.

“Someone has a crush—” the black-haired boy teased, earning a punch from his best friend.

“Shuddup!” She whined, her face flushed.

After school Kenneth scouted around for the art boy. Soon he spotted him walking toward the gate. Jogging, Kenneth caught up to the boy, before walking alongside him.

“Hey.”

“Oh, hey… Kenneth?” Jacob said, smiling. “What can I do for you?”

“Well a little birdie told me you like Eve—” Kenneth said, smiling as Jacob stammered and his face flushed.

“W-Well… I—”

“Look, she likes you too, so just go for it. Why risk her losing feelings for you?” he said as Jacob fidgeted with his bag strap.

“Well, I’m busy tonight—”

“No, you’re not,” Kenneth stated, his power making what he said true.

“You’re right, but—”

“Look. She is babysitting her neighbor today so why not offer to watch him with her?” Kenneth suggested. Jacob took a breath before nodding and walking away. Kenneth was left standing there smiling.

“Guess it ain’t that much of a deadweight after all.”

The Reckoning

Valeria Gamboa

Steven is a junior at Helen Bernstein High School - Cinematic Arts & Creative Technologies Magnet. This is his third year in the program.

In a shadow-casted world, darkness grew, a life of hatred where supplies were few.

Each soul closed within their nihilistic sentience.

And where trust was rare, the fear of betrayal hung in the air.

Wounds ran deep in this fractured world. Ash clutched his arm with rage unfurled.

He charged towards them, his will unmatched, and slashed the others, one desperate attack. One-by-one they all came down, for Ash had decided he’d rule this untamed town.

Withered and wasted, tall he stood with tenacity as strong as wood.

The sought for royalty was simple, plain. He believed the power would silence his pain.

Then came the rift, the ground torn wide, apostles emerged with fire as red as their eyes.

Claws and whispers, teeth and lies, Their hunger echoed, enveloping our cries.

Broad and hoarse, their mouths salivated.

Some people laughed, “What a crude dream.”

Others sneered, “Of course god would bring upon us more misery.”

The demons spoke few words, cryptic and troubling, one in particular directed to Ash, “You were chosen, your fate sealed tight, your soul will fall, you’ll lose your light.”

Ash didn’t understand what had become of his homeland.

The crunching of bones, the sloshing of guts drove him nuts.

A strike of something surged within, a spark so weak yet began to begin.

A fire bright with anger coursing, a chance at a light to control this fright.

He took a stand and convinced the others to fight.

Side-by-side they carved a path with fear and strength.

They built a bond within the flame, forged by fearful comrades all the same.

And in the fight he found a role, a leader with half his soul.

Together they took the demons down and fostered a hope within the ground.

But within Ash a hatred grew, a spark so faint, a path anew.

A need for more dwelled in his core.

He killed the apostles not out of fear, but to quench the hunger that had appeared.

As time persisted his hands grew sharp, his voice grew low, his body slumped like dough.

His shape began to warp and bend, to pay his sin to reach the end.

The ones he saved now backed in fear, for a demon lurked inside their peer.

They saw the truth, they stepped aside and watched the beast settle inside, and though Ash fought, it burned within the thing he loathed now in his skin.

To kill the beast he wore its skin,

to turn the wheel one fatal spin, But in the end, we all must break, no soul too strong to shake our fate.

Valeria Is a Junior at Helen Bernstein High School. One of Valeria’s Inspiration In writing is Edgar Allen Poe and her favorite color is red.

ACKNOWLEDGEMENTS

ABOUT 826LA

Vision

826LA would like to thank to following for their support in making this chapbook possible:

Alejandro Ramirez, Principal

Cinematic Arts and Creative Technologies Magnet

Andrea Arango

Ashley Harrington

Bailee Dolan

Brian Robbins, Co-CEO of Paramount Global

Diana Martinez, Coordinator/ Leadership Advisor Helen Bernstein High School

Chelsea Amalfitano

Christine Benitez

Daniella Robinson-Asfaw

Durand Williams

Emily Nordwind

Erin Jordan, Executive Director Corporate Social Responsibility

Paramount Pictures

Jaime Balboa, Executive Director 826LA

Jennifer Lynch, Senior Vice President of Corporate Social Responsibility & Internal

Communications Paramount Pictures

Jessica Ferrer

Justin Broederdorf

Kerry Mulhern-Beauchamp

Kyra Chau

Lisa Goldfisher

Marc Weinstock, President

Worldwide Marketing and Distribution Paramount Pictures

Mike McAdam

Naleeka Dennis

Pamela Amaya, Magnet Coordinator & Computer Science

Teacher Cinematic Arts and Creative Technologies Magnet

Paulyne Yip

Rachel Cadden

Stephanie Aguilar, Manager Corporate Social Responsibility

Paramount Pictures

Yvonne Chaney-Ward

Ziggy Viens

826LA envisions a Los Angeles where every child has access to quality writing education and is empowered to express themselves creatively through writing. We envision a Los Angeles where every teacher is supported in their writing-based educational objectives.

Mission

826LA is dedicated to unlocking and cultivating the creative power of writing for students ages 6 to 18, and to helping teachers inspire their students to write.

How we advance our mission: A nonprofit organization, our services are structured around our understanding that great leaps in learning can happen with one-on-one attention, and that strong writing skills are fundamental to future success.

With this in mind, we provide after-school tutoring in all subjects, evening and weekend workshops, in-school programs, field trips, college access, help for English language learners, and assistance with student publications.

All of our programs are challenging and enjoyable, and ultimately strengthen each student’s ability to express ideas effectively, creatively, confidently, and in their own voice.

Core Values

826LA values joy in the service of achieving educational goals. Our community norms value diversity, equity, inclusion, and access. We therefore prioritize partnerships with Title 1 Schools, engagement with historically marginalized populations, and training and deploying community-based volunteers in support of our mission. As a teaching approach, we value creativity, authenticity, empathy, and lively, rigorous, and student-centered writing education. As an educational enrichment organization, we value supporting teachers, principals, and other school staff in the pursuit of excellence.

826LA PROGRAMS

After-School Writing Programs

Mondays through Thursdays, students attend 826LA for afterschool writing programs. Students participate in community building activities, work on homework or reading with trained tutors, and of course, write! Students submit their writing for inclusion in chapbooks, which 826LA publishes twice a year. To celebrate students’ hard work, 826LA unveils these chapbooks at book release parties, where students read their work to thunderous applause from their volunteers, families, and peers.

FIELD TRIPS

During the week, 826LA invites teachers and their students to our writing labs to participate in a morning of collaboration, creativity, and writing. Whether Storytelling & Bookmaking, WellWishing & Poetry, Choose Your Own Adventure, or Memoir, field trips at 826LA support teacher curriculum and student learning by offering a safe space for students to be their most imaginative and to work on their writing skills. In a few short hours, students brainstorm, write, edit their work, and leave with something tangible—a bound book—as well as a renewed confidence in their ability to tell their stories.

IN-SCHOOLS AND WRITERS’ ROOMS

Because not all students can come to us, 826LA brings specially trained volunteer tutors into classrooms throughout Los Angeles. There, volunteers provide one-on-one or small group assistance with writing projects. 826LA works with teachers to craft all projects, which are designed to engage students while targeting curricular needs. In addition to visiting twenty schools in the Los Angeles Unified School District each year, 826LA has additional sites within Manual Arts High School, Roosevelt High School, and Venice High School called The 826LA Writers’ Rooms.

WORKSHOPS

826LA’s workshops bring students together with artists, writers, and professionals for creative collaboration. Whether the subject is journalism or preparing for the zombie apocalypse, our workshops foster student creativity while strengthening writing skills. This program includes two long running partnerships with Paramount Pictures and the Hammer Museum.

Jaime Balboa

Executive Director

Diego Quevedo Chief of Staff

Shani Foster Director of Education

Christie Thomas Director of Development

Pedro Estrada Programs & Operations Manager, Echo Park

Mike Dunbar Programs & Operations Manager, Mar Vista

Mateo Acosta

Associate Director of Community Engagement

Carinne Mangold

Store and General Operations Manager

826LA STAFF BOARD OF DIRECTORS

Alma Carrillo

Senior Manager of Strategic Partnerships and Communications

Trevor Crown

Senior Manager of Volunteer Innovation and Assessment

Ariadne Makridakis Arroyo

Senior Volunteer Coordinator

Katie Feige

Institutional Giving Manager

Maddie Silva

Manger of Special Initiatives

Arisdeysi Cruz

Tutoring Program Coordinator

Marco Beltran Writers’ Room Program Coordinator

Wendy Beltran

Senior Writers’ Room Program Coordinator

Cole Montgomery

Senior Development Coordinator

Ariana Ponce Olivares

Senior Civic Engagement Coordinator

Wilson Swain

Creative Engagement Specialist

Julia Malinow

In-Schools and Tutoring

Program Coordinator

Caz Shen Store Associate

Karen Van Kirk

Board President

Sarah Rosenwald Varet

Board Vice President

David Ullendorff

Board Treasurer

Cisca Brouwer

Development Committee

Chair

Ben Au

Jeff Boos

Scott Boxenbaum

Iman Farrior

Joe Ferencz

Scott A. Ginsburg

Susan Ko

Hon. Holly A. Thomas

Dave Eggers, Emiritus

ADVISORY BOARD

J.J. Abrams

Judd Apatow

Miguel Arteta

Mac Barnett

Steve Barr

Joshuah Bearman

Father Gregory Boyle, S.J.

Amy Brooks

Stefan Bucher

Kathleen Caliento

Monique Demery

Mark Flanagan

Ben Goldhirsh

Rebecca Goldman

Ellen Goldsmith-Vein

DeAnna Gravillis

Terri Hernandez Rosales

Christine Jaroush

Spike Jonze

Miranda July

Catherine Keener

Keith Knight

Al Madrigal

R. Scott Mitchell

Lani Monos

B.J. Novak

Miwa Okumura

Amber Paasch

Jane Patterson

Keri Putnam

Sylvie Rabineau

Sonja Rasula

Will Reiser

Luis Rodriguez

Tara Roth

Brad Simpson

J. Ryan Stradal

Natalie Tran

Sarah Vowell

Sally Willcox

Julie Wiskirchen

Join the Future Bestsellers Club!

Sign up to make a monthly donation to 826LA and you’ll join our Future Bestsellers Club. For as little as ten dollars each month, we’ll deliver writing from our brilliant, emerging authors right to you!

Go to 826LA.org/donate and click on Future Bestsellers Club to join.

Shop the Time Travel Mart!

Visit our Time Travel Mart storefronts in Echo Park and Mar Vista where you can shop for all your time traveling gears and gadgets. From Mammoth Chunks to Robot Milk to original student-authored books, we pride ourselves on being the only Los Angeles purveyor of quality goods from the past, present, and future. The proceeds from the store help to keep all programs free for our students.

You can also visit the stores online at timetravelmart.com.

Echo Park 1714 Sunset Blvd., Los Angeles, CA 90026

Mar Vista 12515 Venice Blvd., Los Angeles, CA 90066

ABOUT THIS BOOK

“It is not the strongest of the species that survives, nor the most intelligent, but the one most responsive to change.”

The book you hold in your hand is the result of a partnership—now in its sixth year—between 826LA, Paramount Pictures, and students in the Cinematic Arts & Creative Technologies Magnet at Helen Bernstein High School. Through the Kindergarten to Cap & Gown program, employees from Paramount Pictures have provided more than 10,000 hours of mentoring to 500 students at Helen Bernstein High School, Le Conte Junior High School, and Santa Monica Boulevard Community Charter School and STEM Academy during the last 10 years.

In this anthology, you will find powerful stories of transformation. Changes are initiated through the excitement of new relationships: with teammates, family members, a newfound friend met at the bus stop, and an unexpected ally in the fight for the future. They are also initiated through the bittersweetness of saying goodbye, of letting go, and in the acceptance of that which we cannot control.

This anthology captures the lives and imaginations of students brave enough to confront the forces of change thrust upon us, and courageous enough to adapt to them. As this book teaches us, the flower will bloom. The sound of the footsteps walking away are steady, and headed toward a future that they are capable of changing.