The The Apricot Apricot Journal Journal
A compilation of literary works written by A compilation of literary works written by South High Community School students. South High Community School students.
Editors’ Note Editors’ Note
Hello everyone!
After a very busy couple of months, the Apricot Journal is thrilled to announce our first issue of the school year!! This is our eighth issue, which feels unbelievable. Just this past week, at our staff meeting, we were scrolling through our weekly agendas— which date back to the beginning of the magazine in late 2020. There are fifty seven pages worth of ideas, conversations, and notes on that Google Doc—it is truly our history typed out. Within this issue, you will find a similar theme in some of our pieces: the authors are writing about parts of their life and characteristics that make them who they are. They are recording their own history, through their own personal narratives and poetry.
As we think about memory, it is also important to think about where we are right now. Many of our pieces (some of which were written in response to our Halloween writing workshop) evoke the spooky aspects of autumn—which is, of course, our current season—exploring emotion and suspense.
All of the pieces within this issue will move you and inspire you to think—about the past and the present. We hope you enjoy them!
All the best,
The Editors-in-Chief
& Denisa Iljas
Table of Contents Editors' Note
Autumn
Rania Amallah, Grade 11
Fun in the Communit
Janahsey Pizarro, Grade 9
Alexi Rosa, Grade 9
Muriel Gibbons, Grade 9
Harrison Dennett, Grade 9
Henry Nguyen, Grade 11
Maria Luisa Mendes Pessoa, Grade 9
Paige Levine, Grade 9
Oliver Chase-Norris, Grade 11
Heidy Rodriquez, Grade 10
Autumn
Rania Amallah, Grade 11
Is there a season better than Autu
The season of sweaters and joy
The season where summer is dest
I gaze upon the autumn leaves of red, orange, yellow, and green
That fall against me as I walk through the town at the age of eighteen I feel the soft breeze blow through
I smell the scent of the drizzled rain that fell not long ago
I smell the scent of maple and pumpkin pie
I see the glistening fruit awaiting its harvest
I see the enchanting pink sunset that falls through
For this is the season of amenity
The season of love
The season of knitted sweaters and knitted gloves
The season of the turtle-dove
The season for we are unworthy of
But there is another reason why I so dearly love Autumn, Beyond the glazing bonfire that sits beyond us
Beyond the taste of candle apples that lingers in my mouth
Beyond the red sun that blooms like a rue
For there is another reason why I dearly love Autumn For it is the season where my heart flew
Autumn is the season when I met you
Fun in the Community
Janahsey Pizarro, Grade 9
Hi, my name is Janahsey Pizarro and I'm writing this blog to spread awareness to the lack of fun in Worcester, a city in Massachusetts. I have a public community park right across the street. It's so close I like to joke with friends and family that it's my backyard because it's that close. There's one problem though; the park is quite boring if you ask me - the playground is limited and there is a basketball and volleyball court. There's also a big grass area where people do whatever they want, like kick a ball, playing soccer or baseball, etc. Before Covid-19 the park was a little more vibrant. People used to paint it and pick up trash so it would stay clean.
There used to be this festival every summer to help the community out, but we haven't had it in like 3 years due to Covid and people not feeling comfortable. I remember the joy on little kids' faces when they were there in the jumpy houses getting free cotton candy, popcorn, ice cream and Chick-fil-A sandwiches. Seeing their faces was like getting puppies for Christmas because everything was free, no charge. You could even get books from the libby bus, free hair cuts, clothes, bikes, grocery bags and get your face painted.
They would even have this group where you could learn how to dance or do learn things with an instructor. Outside in the end of summer and beginning of fall the people would put a movie on in the big grass field with a food truck with theater food like fried dough and hotdogs - stuff like that. I can't forget about the free candy they gave out on Halloween to the kids. Thanks to COVID-19–our worst enemy–I can't enjoy those times with family and friends at the park, but I won't let that get in the way of me trying to bring those festivals and gatherings back to the park.
I want to have help from the community to make it better, especially that pond where the water smells. The odor of it sometimes travels to my house so we should drain it. I think that if we give the park a makeover and clean it, then people will attend it and enjoy themselves more and those parents can stop yelling at their kids about how they need to get up and stop being lazy sitting on the electronics like we have nothing better to do with ourselves. So I want to motivate the city to bring these things back, and those smiles, and I'll help as much as possible for the community to get this done.
So to wrap up this blog I'm basically saying that we need to change. We need more people so it's more vibrant and more kids to play with. We need to keep it clean and touched up or people won't wanna come. We need activities and fun events so more people can attend and not be bored, and so the community can get together and be happy and have fun.
Haunted Hayride
Alexi Rosa, Grade 9
The sun was going down to this beautiful full moon that had a navyish blue gradient throughout the sky; some of the clouds were turning into a dark gray color but it wouldn’t block the vibrant moon light coming down. But, this night didn't end as beautiful as the moon.
It all started with my parents driving me through this scary black gate which opened right as you got there, wanting you to enter not knowing what could be behind those gates. It took us to this dirt parking lot; I unbuckled my seatbelt and to this day I regret that decision. Once I hopped out of the car I got a big chill that went through my spine. All of these signs say, “when you go in you'll never come out the same” or “if I was you I would exit right now.’’ I didn’t know where my parents were taking me but I know it wasn't good from what I was seeing. We walked to this other gate that looked the same as the first one just with no doors. There was this heavy fog to the point it was all you saw when you walked through it. I held my dad's hand so tight that I thought I could go through his skin. Once we were through there were lights that were blinding, people giggling and screaming but you wouldn’t know where it was coming from.
We got in line for the tickets but it wasn’t a regular ticket booth, it had iron bars blocking your view of the person, it was all blacked out in the booth, it looked like no one has cared about it for years, then this old, wrinkly hand came out of the booth to give us our tickets. I swear that I was going through some skin at this point. We were on the unpaved path with rocks and gravel all over. You had to watch your step with all the indents on the ground. It was not pleasant. There were trees everywhere almost like we were in a forest. The trees made shadows everywhere, especially with the vibrate moon, you would see all the bushes moving with the wind. The old leaves that have fallen made crunching noises from your steps.
After 5 minutes from falling all the signs on the tree it takes you to this abandoned looking truck. The headlights turn on once you go there. Windows were tinted, not being able to see anything from the outside. The tailgate was opened waiting for you to go in it because there was nothing else then trees. My parents would help me up on the tailgate and they followed. I sat there with my feet swinging, not thinking about what was about to happen. But, all of a sudden the truck started moving. Some of my hair was going in my face blocking some of my vision. I brushed the hair out of my face to a white glaze all around me. It was foggy. “Why would it be in the middle of the forest ?” - I said. Some many thoughts went through my mind, I felt my head going in a circle. The fog started to clear up but very slowly, then I saw this black figure walking towards us. It was coming closer and closer, dragging something with it. You couldn’t tell what it was just a shadow. Everything had gone silent until the figure lifted up the object to a hard revving sound of a chainsaw. The figure started running as fast as my heart was beating but the truck was not going any faster. As if it wanted it to get us. Next thing you know they were right in front of me with the chainsaw not a few inches from my face and I saw this white, cracked masked, with a big smile as if this is all fun and games. Luckily, the truck sped up not seeing the figure again. It felt like I closed my eyes for 2 seconds and I was back at the gate.
I hopped off the truck so fast as if I was flash, not even looking back to see if my parents were behind me. I just wanted to get out of there. Those signs were right. I was not the same from when I entered And to this day I still wished I didn’t unbuckle
Fog
Muriel Gibbons, Grade 9
Fog.
Fog forces over my shoes, Paralyzed.
Glowing gazes observe, Always watching, Never here.
Dark.
The trees tremble, Spiders sprawling slowly, Whispers wallowing, Coldness calling.
Breathe in sharp. Lavender lips, Haggard hands, Concealed countenance. Lost. Fog.
The Forest
Harrison Dennett, Grade 9
The forest is so dark. I think I see an owl, I walk past dead tree bark, I think I hear a howl.
The forest is so creepy. My feet begin to ache. I'm starting to feel sleepy, I have to stay awake.
The forest is so cold. This place was made to scare. The worst will soon unfold, all who enter beware.
Never Want, Use Will!
Henry Nguyen, Grade 11
I set goals for myself all the time.
Goals keep me alive,
But never, EVER will I include a “want” in them.
“I want to sleep at 8 tonight” I say. That's a cool statement, but not a goal. Adding the want to my statement gives wiggle room for failure, It’s an excuse for my unfulfilled actions
“I will sleep at 8 tonight”
That’s a goal! Highly unlikely, but a goal nonetheless. If I’ve completed my goal, great! Time for my next one.
If I didn’t, I failed. But that’s okay, I try again.
My Diary
Maria Luisa Mendes Pessoa, Grade 9
I am Maria Luisa Mendes Pessoa, age of 15. I speak 3 different languages and my main language is Portuguese. Since I was a kid I have always liked to learn new things and explore more stuff than usual. I didn't grow up with my real dad but with my step dad whom I considered a dad for me. I know that could have an impact on me but it helped me out and made me have more of an effort, like in school, or to help me achieve some things. Since I was little, I have loved photography and cameras and personally dancing—they made me feel free and helped me go through tough times. I like playing soccer and volleyball with my friends, which makes me have old memories of my old self and I love that feeling. I feel like I grow a lot mentally and physically and that scares me—sometimes the future scares me. My favorite subject is math—I love watching the rain and whenever it rains it is amazing—music brightens my day and makes me cry sometimes. I am a trustworthy person who trusts few people in this world.
2020 was a great year for me even though for some people it wasn't; I went to Brazil for the first time and met for the first time my brother and dad in Brazil and it was great. I had a lot of questions from them and I had lost 17 years of my brother. The first thing that I did when I saw them both was run to hug them and I cried a bit because I had been dreaming about that moment for years. I felt like I was dreaming. After that day I had to say goodbye to both of them and that was the worst because I wanted to spend more time with both of them but I knew I couldn’t. I left Brazil the next week and came back to my city.
2022 was a weird and fun year. This year I met my best friend Giomar in February who helped me go through a lot and cried with me and he still helps me. Another friend of mine Darlin—she’s been friends with me since 2021—she’s still in my life and we have a lot of stories together. I went on a train with her for the first time—we went to Boston and the whole day was amazing—I’m really glad I have her and she made an impact in my life.
Moving to Massachusetts again in August of 2022, I started a new beginning by moving to Mass. from Rhode Island after being in Rhode Island for one year. I had to say goodbye to a lot of important people who made an impact on my life, and to say hello to new people that I met in this little time. Savanna, she helped me since the first day and still I feel like she was one of the trustable people in this time, and reminds me of Darlin. I’ve been struggling with some classes because sometimes I don’t understand them but still act as I do.
School—it’s been crazy—I saw a fight in the hallway that was unnecessary and I think they think they're still in middle school for some reason and I have to act in a TV broadcast I was scared at first but then one of the studen focusing on my script and that class makes me laugh. Every ti part of my school day and my there—that class makes me fo
Homesick
Paige Levine, Grade 9
To be homesickTo long for the familiar sensatio Of pure familiarity. The tainted desire to be surrou By the sounds of yesterday and Is only bested by one In a competition of heartache. And that is the realization Of a lack of familiarity. The acknowledgement Of never having a home in the first place. Of course one cannot know both, And that is what separates the homesick From the sick.
The Oldest Bayou
Oliver Chase-Norris, Grade 11
The man paddled, his heartbeat loud in his ears, with the loudest sound in the bayou being the slightly erratic slap of his paddle as it hit the muck and the low swish of his kayak parting the weeds. Although he knew that everything would probably be fine, the park ranger’s warning was brought to mind: “Make sure not to be out after dark, ‘cause the swamp sure don’t like that, and the swamp ain’t got a forgiving soul.” The old man in his older jacket hadn’t been particularly light-hearted as he said it, but surely he was joking? Swamps don’t have souls. As the sun started to dip below the limbs of the cypress trees, the man began to worry. The bayou had infinite twisting channels, always leading you around in circles, and not many distinguishable landmarks. He still had his GPS, but the light of day would be sincerely missed. As the buzz of the nighttime bugs filled the air, the humidity started to feel even more oppressive than normal, and the trees, because of the deep shadows from the moon, seemed to be growing just a little. He had fallen asleep when the warning call of a night heron pierced the quiet, startling him from his thoughts. The man looked around in alarm, as something felt amiss. It took him several seconds to pinpoint the source of his discomfort; he realized there was a sound missing from the night-time hum: the quiet growl of the far off highway. The man felt a sense of dread building once he took a good look around; the cypresses had swelled from young trees in lands recently felled to the eons old trees of yore: huge trees 50 feet around that stood at 150 feet tall. Trees like the ones the man was seeing now had been logged almost to disappearance in the late 19th century. The Spanish moss fell in curtains over the swamp, swaying with the night’s slight breeze. These foreboding trees hemmed him in and almost blocked the moonlight, the water’s surface almost devoid of light. The man was truly afraid now. His strokes once again began, this time with more than a hint of panic.
As he pulled out his GPS to try and work out what the hell was happening, a massive dragonfly the size of an eagle flew by and knocked the device out of his clammy hands and into the depths of the swamp. True terror had enveloped him now. He forced his arms to go faster and faster, in the vain hope that an escape would present itself, the trees beginning to close in around him. Before long, he was in a channel so thick with algae that the boat finally stuck in the vast mat of vegetation, and his paddle refused to move before it sank with a muffled plop. The man was trapped in this ancient and primal land with no hope of escape. As he prepared to ditch the boat and make a vain attempt to swim, he heard the low, reverberating roar of a gigantic gator. A huge head, six feet long, rose from the channel, an albino gator with scar as a left eye staring straight at the man. As the rest of its 40 foot body floated up to rest on the water’s surface, it struck. All that was left was the front half of that bright orange, hard-plastic kayak, sinking into the rotting matter of the waters below. As a small, sludge covered pinky bone washed up by the ranger’s hut the next morning, the old man’s only remark was a grumbled, “Stupid city boy. They ne
Free
Heidy Rodriquez, Grade 10
Well, maybe it was the time I just ran.
No goal
Just ran through the woods. The birds were chirping, The trees swayed side to side, And it was Just me
running from the world.
Or maybe it was the time I read a book. Turning the pages And suddenly being Teleported to a different world With no stress.
No work to do. Just fantasies.
Free.
Free from the world
That is obsessed with Writing, and reading, doing, and thinking, And working
Working And working.
This is what it feels like to be free. To stop thinking about climbing the ladder About not being perceived as a couch potato About my test I have to study for Or the essay that's due tonight To just breathe.
Free.
Just like a butterfly fluttering away Into the hazy blue sky. Even if I will never Truly be free Just this once Maybe I could just be. Maybe I could just let everything be. Maybe, I could just be free
Anya
