Atlanta Girls’ School Literary Magazine 2014-15
Cover Art: “Afternoon” by Letty Leach ‘17 Editor: Ashley Laurens ‘15 Graphic Editor & Layout: Sara Bannon ‘15 Teacher Advisor: Billie Mears
How Nonanon Got Its Name At one time in history a woman could not publish her writing under her own name. However, if her work was very good, and she wanted it to be published, she might use either a male pseudonym or the name “Anonymous.” Many scholars of literature believe poems or writing with an anonymous author were written by women. When AGS was a brand new school with brand new students studying great writers like Anne Bradstreet (1615-1672) and contemporary works of literature such as The Poisonwood Bible (Barbara Kingsolver, 1998), students in English classes became quite angry when they learned how women had to fight to gain equity in the world of writing and publishing. While creating palindromes (noun. a word, line, verse, number, or sentence reading the same backward as forward, ex. able was I ere I saw Elba and Nonanon), a student created the Nonanon example, and the name was chosen as the title of our literary arts magazine. Nonanon also gives a “nod” to Shakespeare’s word anon: meaning shortly, soon, which is often said by characters in his plays. Whether speaking lines from Shakespeare, reading famous women writers, writing and giving speeches, sharing personal reflections, poems, songs, photographs or artwork, the young women of Atlanta Girls’ School are “not anonymous.” They are proud of their names, their work, their writing, and we are proud to publish them.
Letter from the Editor by Ashley Laurens ‘15
A Literary Magazine is defined as a “little magazine” or “literary journal” in which short stories, poetry, essays, and other literary works are published. The first literary magazine was established in France in 1684, but they did not become prevalent in social contexts until the 19th century. “The North American Review” was the first American Literary Magazine, established 1815. Literary Magazines have long been known to stimulate the intellectual sections of our brains; Atlanta Girls’ School is proud to help stimulate students’ minds through the NONANON Literary Magazine. In recent years, AGS students have been asked to reflect, through annual themes where we are asked simple questions with big impacts. This year’s theme is “The Strength to Endure, the Courage to Dare.” Throughout this year, we have often been asked; do we have the strength to endure, and the courage to dare? This question has resonated in my mind, as I approach the end of my high school career and plan for my future. In times when we come across a bump in our road or a detour off our path, we are challenged to answer this question. Are we able to endure through a rough patch, and dare move forward? The Atlanta Girls’ School prides itself on helping young girls find that strength and courage. From our start at AGS, we are given opportunities to create voices for ourselves and find forms of expression. This year’s NONANON edition showcases our girls who have dared to share their voices and their talents. So thank you for taking the time to appreciate the hard work of our students.
Snooping by Emma Kate Sellers ‘18 Her severely dried out, tiring hands are submerged in the bubbly lukewarm water scrubbing the stubborn dried tomato sauce off of the lunch dishes. All the maid wants to do is rest her aching body on the old wooden bench in the cheerful back garden. She despises her job and is anxious to get married so she can desert her life as a maid. The mistress cannot focus on anything today. She’s expecting a letter from her admirer, whom she met in the alley three days before. She loves this brunette, blue eyed shoe maker very much. The only conflict is that he is protestant, and she is not. The mistress is anxious, as any other young woman would be if they were disobeying their parents and defying society. Her actions are definitely threatening her seemingly pure reputation.
A booming knock on the door rings
“All the maid wants to do is rest her aching body on the old wooden bench in the cheerful back garden.” through the house and catches the maid’s attention, and she swiftly moves towards the grand entrance, before anyone else can. She reaches for the large metal knob and opens the heavy wooden door with a long creek, to find a
delicate, folded paper labeled Anastatia on the top brick step. Of course, she’s burning to know who left it for her mistress and what is written inside. The maid gingerly, yet impatiently, unfolds the note. “Oh my goodness,” the maid whispers under her breath, “this is... Oh that girl.” After skimming the first two meticulously crafted sentences she knew this was going to be juicy gossip for the square. Her big, brown, intruding eyes continued scanning the confidential note, soaking up this intriguing scandal. The maid realizes that her mistress will soon be wondering who was at the door and precisely refolds the note. She begins slowly strolling down the ornate, almost garish, main hall noticing every detail. The mistress didn’t even notice the powerful knock on the front door and continues struggling with her cittern. She thinks she is about to play through the song flawlessly, when she messes up yet again. This piece, that her ancient music teacher assigned her, is the most dull and tedious song she has ever been asked to play. Her inability to play, or focus on any other simple daily task, may be a consequence of her anxiousness. She knows that getting frustrated will not assist her in any way, but it is hard to avoid for the young mistress, especially in this time of worry. The maid knows that her mistress will be seated on her dainty wooden stool hunched
over her cittern because of the magnificently rich sound that can be heard throughout the large home. She wonders how she will approach the unconcerned mistress without frightening her. Of course she will want to do it as casually as possible, but could her observant mistress see right through her little secret? The maid smooths
“Her actions are definitely threatening her seemingly pure reputation. “ out her heavy royal blue skirt and straightens her cap, preparing to enter the grand music room. “Who’s there?” the mistress’s friendly, highpitched voice calls out. Unfortunately for the maid, her cautious attempt at entering the room without being noticed have been defeated by the soft clicking of her clogs. “Oh, it’s just me,” the maid responds, in the most natural tone possible. Her voice is much less feminine and soft than her mistress’s. “Someone left a note at the door for you,” the maid adds. The mistress’s heart immediately stops, nervous, yet excited to see who the letter is from, but she has a very strong inkling. The maid can’t prevent a smirk from creeping across her face as she places the delicate letter into her mistress’s tiny, graceful outstretched hand because she has a secret that her overseer does not want her to have.
First Column: Sydney Knight ‘15, Second Column Jena Stark ‘15, Third Column; 1-3 Caroline LeDuc ‘15, 4: Sana Masud ‘15
Colors By Mikhaila Doyle ‘21 Red is the never ending love in this world. Orange is my determination, my effort, my stability. Yellow is a sense of happiness and joy, that keeps us connected. Green is the bristling trees, when I pass by. Blue is my faith, my trust, my integrity. Pink is the friendships, that I’ll hold on to. Black is where I sometimes fear, but then believe.
Bon Voyage by Ayesha Quadri ‘17
And a shirt printed with the Eiffel Tower in France.
(A parody of The Canterbury Tales)
In the frigid days of winter, to Sister #1 a visit we owe. Her home up north has collected much snow. Through Georgia and Tennessee Our big, silver SUV held far more than three. There is a father and a mother, Two sisters and a brother; Among these five, you will find me, The heart of the journey as everyone will agree. This vehicle does not hold only farers of the road, But food, as well, and luggage—quite a load. If you haven’t entirely got it yet, This is the pilgrimage to visit Salwa, the sister we often forget. Now since I am the most attentive of the crew, I will introduce each farer to you. I will begin with Sister #2, a funny one Who presents us all with fun. She is generous and kind, one that you can trust. She hates wasters, not letting anyone throw away pizza crust. Her skin is fair, but not wan, One could describe her complexion like that of a swan. Although she is not graceful, She is all the while faithful. With a dimple on both cheeks, She attracts boys—both jocks and geeks. Her lips pinkish red And a beautiful, coral hijab wrapped around her head. She wore a pair of sweatpants,
Sister #2 is top-notch in math; She tries to lead her siblings onto the same path. Safa is the name of Sister #2; If you were to meet her, she would be very welcoming to you. Now it is time for Sister #4, In whose room there are books galore. This sister wore a green hat and a tee, And in her hand, she held the book Sarah’s Key. She is amiable, selfless, and a big helping hand. Any attitude—good or bad—she can withstand. Her hair is as dark as the night, And her numerous curls are quite a sight. She has high and pronounced cheekbones That are like perfect, round stones. Her skin tone is rather tan, But it is nothing artificial out of a spray can.
“One could describe her complexion like that of a swan.” Sister #4 is any reader’s best friend— In one day, she can read a book from beginning to end. Isra is her name if you wanted to look, But her head will most likely be buried in a book. The next farer is a male Who hates peas, spinach, and kale. Brother #1 wore a blue jacket and jeans; As you can see, he isn’t fond of the greens. He is a little chubby and husky indeed, But at eight years old, he is a darling, and we all
agreed. He has an obsession with fast cars, Yet doesn’t understand why the drivers get put behind bars. Brother #1 is a young scholar in history; The reason why still remains a mystery. Although he dislikes veggies, he’s much fond of food— Even clam soup will do, if he is in the mood. You can imagine a journey with him— Loud and insane, but not at all grim. Brother #1 prefers I don’t give his name, So if you find out, I am surely not to blame. The sanest of all the farers is the mother of course. If chaos breaks out, she has a special force. She is charming and sympathetic, tenderhearted too. You may not believe me, but my description of her is very much true. Her eyebrows are bold and perfectly aligned; By just glancing at her face, you can tell she is one of a kind. She has a unique beauty mark above her lip, And she was truly the reason any of us survived the trip. She made sure we ate and stopped for the loo; Honest to God she was the most helpful of the crew. She deciphered the roads on the complex map, And unlike us, she didn’t take any breaks to nap. You can call her Mrs. Quadri if you choose, And if you ever meet her, greet her with good news.
The last of the farers is the tall, firm father; If he has finalized a decision, please don’t bother. He was the one who drove us all there; And before left, he asked us all to performa a prayer. He said it was to reach our destination safe and sound, So we obediently prayed and did not fool
“If chaos breaks out, she has a special force around. He has arched eyebrows and a black goatee, Loves to have biscuits and warm black tea. He always wears a safari green baseball cap, Also a watch with a dark brown strap. He is not fond of people who waste time, And if he ever catches you sitting idle, you might as well have committed a crime. His name is Mr. Quadri if you want to know; And he drove us to Chicago—to and fro. That is it for the farers of this trip; Not one person did I skip. With music, movies, and iPhones too, We always had something fun to do. I always shared stories, both silly and scary; Usually to cheer up those who are weary. This trip to Chicago was about 12 hours and more, So I couldn’t help but hear an occasional snore. Every farer’s personality intertwines, Which made this trip one of kind. Patience is a virtue that is crucial to us all, Because Chicago, Illinois is not just down the hall.
by Letty Leach ‘17
by Mariana Arciniegas ‘17
My Heaven By Rebecca Chapman ‘20 Am I in Heaven? A room: It’s filled with books. Each telling a different story. Some tragic. Some joyful. I wish I could read every one. I love the feeling of the paper in my hands, the time I spend falling in love. As I look at the view. I see trees, Only a little taller than here. I see bushes, Four stories below. I see cars. Different people in them. Right now, I feel the paper in my hand. I see the pencil I glide across the paper. I taste the tea. Getting colder and colder as I write. Is this Heaven? If not, How could it get better? If not, This will do for now.
Childhood by Maya Salpekar ‘19 My early years were blurs of doodling, writing, and traveling. Since I was very young I was fascinated by the way one could conjure up anything from a piece of white paper and a small pencil (mechanical, of course). Along with this artsy side, a lot of my life was spent in my jungle backyard. Overgrown weeds, tall flowers and old trees dripped with fallen branches and crispy leaves. Even though that all thrived, no one I knew could coax even a few blades of crisp, green grass to sprout.
chewed up, we threw out. Her teeth were never-dulling, and they still rip apart socks to this day. When her time with us was up, we left her for six months and did the rest of our life. When she came back to us, it was my dream come true. We finally had a real and proper dog!
For the longest time, five chickens (formerly six) littered the yard, eating tiny insects and the taste-less grain we fed them. The first death that impacted me was of a black and white mottled hen named Powderface. She died in the run, her last living minutes wedged between the coop and the egg nest. Soon after, though, I was consoled with a lanky young fledgling, who I called Ginger. Her bespeckled feathers suggested that she was the kind of hen that would lay green eggs, but after her trauma on the main road where we found her, she never laid a single one.
Going back a bit, when I was about 3 or 4, my dad used to rock me to sleep with crazy awesome electronic music. This is most likely the origin of my love for Skrillix and Martin Garrix, still prominent in my life today. Along with this, a lot of sticky summers were spent all around the world. Barcelona, Belgium, the Netherlands, Paris, Italy, Colorado, Kentucky, Iowa, and of course Florida and the north and south Carolinas were my home for at least three days at a time. I have grown accustomed to the hustle-bustle of airports and the curse of the traffic jam. I feel right at home on a road trip, nestled between a conglomerate of fast food wrappers, crumpled blankets, and of course 3 other sweaty bodies, all jam-packed together on our way to somewhere or other...
“I was fascinated by the way one could conjure up anything from a piece of white paper and a small pencil.” Also during that time, we were fostering a black lab to train to be a leader dog. Penum-bra, we called her. Penny-dog, we liked to say. Penny was like our portable yard sale. Everything she
“When she came back to us, it was my dream come true.”
by Aneeqa Abid ‘18
by Isra Quadri ‘18
by Nur Salama ‘18
by Ruby Lewis ‘18
by Claire Berthelot ‘17
by Kate Pride-Muse ‘17
by Mari Toure ‘17
Untitled by Elon Mitchell ‘18 They say money is the root of all evil, But losing love, Falling out of love, Heart breaking love, And unrequited love… Well, I think they should change money to love, because money won’t leave me in a puddle of my mascara-ridden tears, won’t leave me in our… I mean “my” house with my thoughts. Money won’t leave an emotional scar— But you will.
“I Am Here” by Sana Masud ‘15
“Donna” by Caroline LeDuc ‘15
Glitter
am I wandering for? Am I wandering? Am I crazy?
by Katherine Langford ‘18
barely staying long enough to matter. The orange,
All of these thoughts rushed through her mind, sandy expanse she had been walking on for forever
The girl breathed in and out again as she took yet
was her entire world. It was all she ever knew. All
another step. The blue sky stretched, endless above
she remembered was waking up in the desert one
her. She took step after step, each heel sinking into
day, and then just walking. Then she said again, “I
the sand. Her black feather boa whipped into her
have no past. I have no future.”
face again, but she made no movement to stop it. The wind was harsh, as it always was in this des-
Lore looked out the window of the castle he sat in.
ert. The never ending sand was all she had even
Is there anybody else out there? He wondered. He’d
known. Ever since she had woken up three years
been pondering that question for three long years.
ago in the middle of the desert, all she had known
At least the castle had food. And it was shelter. Not
was walking, walking….never stopping. Strangely,
that it really mattered. Everything else was desert,
even though she was dressed from head to toe in
all across the world. Pieces of rotting buildings lay
black, she never got hot, even though the sun bore
scattered in different places, showing what had
down on her. She wore a short evening dress, a
once been. The castle he was living in falling apart;
black jacket with ruffles, black gloves that went up
no windows remained intact, in fact, there was no
to her elbows, and short black heels. A black boa
glass at all. Am I really all alone? He thought. He
went around her neck, and a large black flower
brushed his auburn hair out of his eyes again. He
adorned her hair, along with black bows on either
closed his eyes and recalled what it used to be like.
side. She then spoke the words that she had been
What life was like before all of this. He remembered.
saying for the past three years to herself, “I have
There had been buildings everywhere that weren’t
no past. I have no future.”
rotting, and there had been actual people everywhere. Am I doomed to just sit here and wait till
“The blue sky stretched, endless above her. She took step after step, each heel sinking into the sand.” She didn’t, though. She knew it. The world is a
I die? He asked himself. I hope not, he thought. I
desert, she thought. It seemed to her that each
really hope not.
day didn’t matter, all she was ever going to see was deserts. “I have no past. I have no future.” She
She took another step. Then another. And one
said again. She didn’t know how long she had been
more. She looked at nothing but the ground, watch-
walking. Days? Years? Months? A few minutes? It
ing the moving sand with a blank expression. Her
didn’t matter. Where do I come from? She won-
vision became blurry as she realized she was tired.
dered. I don’t know, she thought to herself. Who
Before she knew it she was face-down in the sand,
am I? It doesn’t matter. All that matters is…I have no
collapsed from exhaustion. Tears began to fall down
past. I have no future. Where am I going? What am
her face, though she didn’t know why. Alone? She
I doing? How long have I been wandering? What
thought. I’m alone? Of course. But she raised her
head and wiped her eyes with her hands, drying
expressionless, but because of her slouched pos-
her tears. She stood up, and opened her eyes. She
ture, obviously exhausted. And she must have been
froze at what she saw. A castle.
roasting! He looked at her, dressed all in black, even her eyes and hair were black. “Hi!” He said, not sure
Though it looked like it was rotting, she didn’t care.
what really to say. “Uh- um…I thought I was alone
Something! Something! She thought, ecstatic. It
here! How long have you been walking? What’s
was close. She calmed down, though. Is it real? She
your name?”
wondered. Real? She walked, talking more steps,
She just stared at the boy blankly and confused.
faster than she had been going before. A gust of
Other person? No desert? She just told him, “I have
“She just kept her face looking up at the castle. The air turned still, and she arrived at the base.” wind blew sand in her face, but she didn’t bother
no past. I have no future.”
to shade her eyes. She just kept her face looking up at the castle. The air turned still, and she arrived
But a part of her…a small one, though, but still a
at the base. Tall, she thought. Big. Old. Old? She
part of her mind, wanted to say, “Hi. My name is-”
reached out a hand and touched the side. Real, she
What is my name? She thought. Name? Am I in-
thought happily. Real.
sane? Sane? Am I still there? There?
Lore stood up and stretched and he walked over
Lore didn’t really know what to say to that. Wait…
to a shelf on the other side of the room. That was
he thought. I’ve been in here for 3 years. The only
another thing about this place; the thing that kept
reason I haven’t gone insane is reading. “How long
him sane. There were books here. He felt that if
have you been walking?” He asked the girl in front
he could read them, if he could think about things
of him. She stared at him, but then he felt like he
other than his situation, time would pass faster.
saw a small spark in her eyes…or something like
Then he heard a knock as he picked up a book. He
that. She turned and pointed out at the desert.
shrugged it off and opened the book and started
Okay, so she had been out there. She motioned
reading. Then he heard it again. What is it? He
with her fingers like she was walking. Walking out
wondered as he walked to the window and he
there…okay. Then she held out her hand in a 3.
heard the knock a second time. He leaned his head
Then she did something strange. She…smiled at
out the window to look at the based of the castle
him. His face flushed suddenly, but then he shook
and- he dropped the book he had been holding.
his head and said to her, “So you’ve been…walking
A person, a girl- was standing at the base of his
for 3 years out there?” The girl nodded.
castle. Oh my god, he thought. No wonder she can’t speak Oh my god! Oh my god! He thought happily. I’m
anything but those eight words, the ones about
not the only one here! Is this a dream? Gotta
past and future. It was…sad. He realized. Over the
wonder, right? He laughed a little with pure hap-
years, walking out in the desert with nothing but
piness as he finally reached the door to the castle
sand and yourself for company…no wonder her
and opened it wide. A girl stood in front of him,
mind had snapped.
by Grace FitzGerald ‘17
Resilient Girl by Kimberly Kassis ‘20 words mistakes problems have shattered her her confidence disappeared the armor she used to wear has washed away she is bare no longer able to stand up to fight back and be confident although she may not know it she is spectacular words mistakes problems make her stronger she is surrounded by confidence the armor she used to wear should never come off never letting words penetrate her life her ways nothing should change her resilient girl
Their Eyes Were Watching God Quotation Drawings by Caroline LeDuc ‘15
by Greer Gugliotta ‘15
The Fire Within Her by Kimberly Kassis ‘20 A golden glow within her Keeping her warm Started out as an ember But then it began to burn A fire in her soul That pushes her far Lighting the way Along the path of her fate Her dreams are alive Burning inside Thirsty for freedom Wanting to fight For she won’t give up She is far too bright No one can diminish her light
by Hannah Walls ‘20
The Fight by Rebecca Chapman ‘20 Sun, it hides behind clouds today Clouds, they sit in front of sun today Sun, fighting, struggling to be seen Clouds, fighting, struggling to stay Sun, striving to get light through Clouds, striving to create darkness Always remember, Sun comes again. Clouds go away.
by Sydney Knight ‘15
A Dance With Light by Adele McLees ‘18 A candle flickers in warm colors On an old oak table, Throwing shadows Across yellowing pages With curling edges, Commanding those shadows To dance to the music Of silence As white wax trickles To the wood below.
Peace in Nature by Malaika Alilaw ‘21 The wind has taken a rest. The sun thinks it’s best. The wind won’t blow in the trees. The sun won’t shine in the streets. Because the sun is asleep, The wind doesn’t have to weep. The leaves will be still. The sky will be gloomy: But nature will still be there.
Slippery Fingers by Aysha F. Rahman ‘15 You can feel yourself losing control as it slips through your fingers. All your hopes, your fears, your dreams, everything you’ve ever worked toward is rapidly falling in front of your eyes, but somehow you see it in slow motion—all the more painful, all the more horrifying. It falls down four meters in the air, accelerating at a rate that is somehow faster than the water falling from your eyes, and its sinking in the air corresponds to the sinking feeling in your stomach. This has to stop. But how can you stop it? It’s already too late. You can hear the
shatter echoing in your heart as the vessel that had just held your only true love falls to the floor and breaks apart into a hundred tiny pieces, while your heart is crushed and smooshed on the ground. Others don’t seem to notice and walk over it, and you are sobbing at this point. “Stop, stop!” you want to scream, but nothing can be done. Your lunch has fallen from the top of the staircase and onto the floor. Not even the thunder that rolls in your stomach can do anything to recover it. Your soul will take very long to heal. I’m sorry, my love.
by Sydney Knight ‘15
“Fragment”
“Warren”
“Splinter”
“Scrap”
“Organized Chaos” by Sara Bannon ‘15
Love by Mikhaila Doyle ‘21 I run past the water of a rushing brook Flowers swirl around me everywhere I go Bluebirds singing a melody that flows I’m seeing, I’m believing, I’m learning to love. Sun’s rays shine upon the Earth Foxes greet me with their warm, bushy tails I’m hoping not to step on snails I’m seeing, I’m believing, I’m learning to love. Frogs leap onto lily pads Butterflies flit and float around Wings making a delicate sound I’m seeing, I’m believing, I’m learning to love. Nighttime blankets over me Gleaming stars warm my inside I curl up in bed, to hide I’ve seen, I’ve believed, I’ve learned to love.
by Sierra Johnson ‘16
by Mariana Arciniegas ‘17
Love is Freedom by Kimberly Kassis ’20 He liberated me From years of loneliness Took my hands Set me free He granted his love In a world of hate Took away my loss Leaving only him Betrayal left behind Washed away like sin
Leave by Rebecca Chapman ‘20 It is time to leave I hate to say goodbye I don’t know if I’ll be back I must leave you It doesn’t matter why