The Fine Line Magazine May 2024 by the Bishop Brady High School students

The Fine Line

May 2024

This photograph was taken last summer in Hopkinton, NH. The photo captures the deep connection and trust between Emma and her horse, Red. This photo was later entered in the 2024 Scholastic Art and Writing Awards and the photo won a Gold Key in the Photography Category.

Cover photo taken by Avery Sahr

Autumn

Vaibhav Rastogi photography

THE FINE LINE

The Fine Line is a literary and art magazine that strives to embody the creative heart of the Bishop Brady High School Community. It is made possible by The Fine Line Magazine Club, which is advised by Mrs. Alafat, and submissions from Bishop Brady students.

The Fine Line was an experience that we were unfortunately unable to bring to BBHS in past years due to insufficient club members, so I am beyond grateful for our wonderful team and advisor who have been able to help bring this magazine to life. I hope it can illuminate some of the true talents of Brady students this year and continue to do so for many more to come.

Aleah Ryan

'25, Lead Writing Editor

“I loved my time as an editor last year, and this year was no different. I’ve enjoyed seeing a wide range of artwork submissions, from elegant poems and stories, to stunning drawings and photographs. They truly bring out the creative spirit of the Brady community, and I was honored to help edit these works to share them here. I loved working with the everyone else on the editing team, and I want to thank them for their hard work and contributions, especially Mrs. Alafat. I hope that the Fine Line Magazine continues to be an artistic inspiration for our community and beyond.”

Farhaan Siddiqui ‘24, Visual Editor

This year, we resurrected this literary and art magazine to celebrate the incredible creative spirit at Bishop Brady High School. Thanks to our talented contributors, we have filled these pages with mesmerizing photography, captivating poems, gripping short stories, and awe-inspiring art. I’d also like to thank the “staff” here at The Fine Line, and also our advisor, Mrs. Alafat, for making this journey possible and very enjoyable. To all fellow students reading this, join us and keep this club alive for years to come! This is just the beginning of an epic adventure, and I can't wait to witness the magazine's glorious growth over my next three years!

Vaibhav Rastogi ‘26, Visual Editor, Website Developer & Manager

I hope others feel the awe that I feel observing the talent present in the Brady Community. I feel so lucky that I was in the Fine Line this year and the highlight for me was being in the position to encourage other artists in the school to submit the incredible pieces about which they were proud. In addition, it was an honor to be a part of creating something that illuminates the meaningful and artful connections which are present in our community. Thank you to Mrs. Alafat for making the Fine Line possible, and thank you to the other members of the editing team whose dedication brought this magazine to life!

Avery Sahr ‘25, Lead Visual Editor

We enjoyed reading all the stories and poems created by the Brady community. There was some amazing artwork that made a nice addition to the written pieces. It was great seeing the talent students have here at Brady. This was our first year being in The Fine Line Magazine club and we were happy to see a great magazine created. Thank you Mrs. Alafat for making The Fine Line possible and to all the other members of this club that worked hard to publish an amazing magazine.

Briana & Kailyn Medina ‘25, Copy Editors

DARKNESS

Noxi - Ana Badau (18)

"There's a Place in Hell for Debtors, and a Hole Just Your Size - Connor McIntyre (39)

INTROSPECTION

Longful Wish - Joshua Lamparelli (11)

The Echo of Departure - Joshua -Stephen Bissah (12)

Line Proximity Study - Rebekah Itt (22)

Line Proximity Study - Hannah Poirer (22)

Longful Wish - Aleah Ryan (30)

NATURE

Harbinger - Theodore Yap (16)

Ducks - Farhaan Siddiqui (23)

Evergreen - Joshua Lamparelli (24)

Buy Now Limited Supply - Avery Sahr (25)

A Sparrow's World - Farhaan Siddiqui (26)

Swimmingly - Sophia Chimienti (27)

Dragonflies - Farhaan Siddiqui. (30)

Total Solar Eclipse, Waxing Crescent, Lake Evergreen, Rose Ringed Parakeet - Calen Chaudhari (33)

Call of the Wild, Captivation, A Flower's TeardropsAlyssa Sylvester (37)

ARTS AND CRAFTS

Quibli from Wings of Fire - Rebekah Itt (42)

Cup, Waterbottle, Drink Cozies - Rebekah Itt (42)

Cat Pillow - Rebekah Itt (42)

Contents

GRIEF

Ballrooms and Bloodshed - Sophia Collie (43)

MOMENTS

Theme for English H - Aleah A.S. Ryan (7)

Our Love Always Comes - Chloe E. Sahr (15)

Earth's ANGELICA Sister - Eta Carinae & E.V. Mitchell (16)

Cabin - Joshua Lamparelli (24)

Venice - Chloe Sahr (31)

View from Balcony - Chloe Sahr (32)

August - Chloe Sahr (32)

LANDSCAPE

Faridabad - Vaibhav Rastogi (28)

Departure - Vaibhav Rastogi (28)

Hawaiian Waves - Calen Chaudhari (34)

Isolation - Vaibhav Rastogi (35)

Hawaiian Dream - Rebekah Itt (41)

Skyline - Vaibhav Rastogi (46)

EDIFICE

Observatory- Vaibhav Rastogi (46)

Graffiti - Vaibhav Rastogi (47)

STILL

Autumn- Vaibhav Rastogi (3)

In The Walkway of Light- Kailyn Medina (17)

Chipboard Sculpture - Grant Sexton (27)

Relevé - Sophia Chimienti (29)

Bust of David/Bust of Woman - Laura Yap (35)

Koi Plate - Laura Yap (36)

Mini Food Sushi - Rebekah Itt (36)

Mini Food Chipotle - Hannah Poirer (36)

Stitch - Maximilian Bush (38)

Marvel Sketches - Olivia LaValley (38)

Bike Drawings - Lauren Howe (45)

Bike Drawing - Mia Wagner (45)

Graffiti - Vaibhav Rastogi (47)

Simplicity

Vaibhav Rastogi

MOMENTS

Mickey, my love, you're like a shining star, In over-sized shoes, you dance with glee, With ears so round, you drive me Mickey-czar, Our love's a cartoon, but oh so sweetly. You sweep me off my little polka-dotted feet, In a world of black and white, you bring the hue, Your laughter's music, oh so high and sweet, And together we'll sail the cartoon blue. But let's not make a mountain of a mole, For love's not found in castles made of cheese, In every giggle, every hearty roll, Our simple love's a life of endless ease. So Mickey, darling, hear my heartfelt cheer, In a world so mad, our love's so clear.

Little Simba Farhaan Siddiqui Photography

Theme for English H

Aleah A. S. Ryan

MOMENTS

The instructor said, Go home and write a page tonight And let that page come out of you –Then, it’ll be true.

Exhilarating.

A writer all my life, but never an author (much less a poet) desperately seized by my hunger to create, I lunge at the assignment. line by line, stanza by stanza, poem after poem; all meritless. Deleted failures, cast aside like the literary detritus they are. I'm reminded that anyone can be a writer, but a good one?

I'm always asked about how my stories are going by distant relatives and friends of family. Gutted by their earnest inquiries of worlds that died as soon as they lived, I say they are well, kicking their rotting plots beneath the guise of excuses "school's just taken up my time" knowing damn well my leisure is haunted by the beckon of dolorous characters, disorganized ideas, the honest fear that I am just an imposter, no longer even a writer, just a traitor to my childhood.

Destined to be a starving artist or starved of art?

The choice my future's come to, lurks behind every book written in secret, beyond every flicker of elation at the freedom to contrive my deepest convolutions, beneath every mumbled breath alluding to-

To what exactly?

To grow into nothing?

To throw away all the work invested in me?

To be the failed project they always knew I was? To be a waste?

Exhausting.

A woman raised by an immigrant mother, hindered by her fantasies.

A daughter who'd be anathematized to slink to the slums of a mere creative in the country of innovation when she's been just as enchanted by the cold touch of science.

Your Ghanaian grandmother didn't move here for you to stumble into destitution.

Your black mother didn't fight to be respected for you to become something so utterly simple. You don't work so hard to be forgotten.

I've grown so poor in my skills that I don't even know how to end a poem, probably for the best, yet still to my distress,

this is my Theme for English H nonetheless.

Based on the poem, “Theme for English B” by Langston Hughes

Chiroî

Ana Badeau

She was beautiful

Her fingers were long and slender, touching her bottom lip as if she was excited for something. Her face was perfectly shaped, with long, wavy hair framing it just right. Her eyes were half open, yet it seemed like they could stare right through one’s very soul. She was sitting on a bench, her flowing dress complimenting her dainty figure well.

He walked past her every day on his route to and from work. She was always in the same position. She was a statue, of course. The placard at her feet was engraved with the word Chiroî. The young kids at the park loved to play on her, occasionally chipping off a finger or two. The city was always quick to repair any damages she sustained.

He was never really one for art, so he figured it must be the name of the artist, as who wouldn’t place their own name on their creation?

Still, it was a highlight of his day, the other being the ability to fall asleep without worry. At least, it would have been. For years now, he worked at a small little art shop in the city. It paid fair, and he got the benefits he needed.

But of course, things took a turn. Ownership was passed from one hand to the next, budget cuts docked his pay, and everything got worse. He couldn’t find a new job, and believe him, he tried. He tried the grocery stores, even construction jobs, but none were willing to hire, or at least willing to hire him. So there he stayed.

Alone.

That was a strange feeling, to be alone. It was like he was blind, and he stumbled around the city like a bumblebee drunk on pollen. There was no one to catch him when he fell, and yet, it felt like he had been falling for a long time. Would he ever stop falling? Would a heavy rain stop the flood? These were answers he already knew the answer to.

Sometimes, only sometimes, he had the urge to sit next to her, which was silly, because she wasn’t real. He used to believe in magic when he was a kid, he practiced magic tricks into the dark of the night until he believed he could do them flawlessly, only to leave them behind once his friends had gotten bored of his acts. His props probably lay at the bottom of some box in his old house labeled ‘Memories’ with a layer of tape so strong, it would destroy the box forever if ripped open. He had always wondered why his mother would save these pointless toys.

“Some other kids would enjoy them more, you know?”

“In the future, you’ll regret having thrown everything out.”

Now that he is in that future, he does not think that he would have regretted it at all. They were just more ‘things’ for him to have, for him to protect. What was the point of it all?

It all started a few months ago. He had given in to that silly urge, sitting next to her. He wasn’t even sure why he did it, and what happened next even shocked him. He started to talk about his day.

“A little old lady came in today, looking for ceramic figurines. She smiled so brightly. I wish I could.”

It was silly. Talking to a statue. A statue couldn’t hear. What if someone 'saw him?

What if someone heard him? They’d call him crazy, maybe call the cops. And yet he started to speak to her consistently.

It started out once a month. Then once a week.

Twice a week.

Now he does it every day.

“She told me…”

“I broke…”

“The manager…”

“That stupid…”

“You understand?”

“Are you listening to me?”

“You get me.”

Her stone hands were smooth and cool to the touch. If he couldn’t have friends, then she was his next best bet. She would always be there for him. She understood the fragility of this world, if her eroding feet had anything to say about it. What she could not express in words, she expressed in her pose, always willing to listen. She was the only one who truly got him.

Yes, people would stare, but he lost all awareness of them quickly. They wouldn’t know how he felt, not like they would care.

Then it happened.

He watched them break her.

Her perfect visage lay shattered on the ground, as those villains laughed demonically, the noise grating in his ears. He ran over, cursing those small demons with the foulest language he could muster. He laughed when he watched them run back to the hell they came from, their tears of acid running down their face as they called for their master. They could rot for all he cared.

He picked up what remained of her face, his own tears staining the clay a dark gray. Could the city repair this?

Of course not. The people running the city were morons. They wouldn’t be able to understand how the love of his life was murdered right before his very eyes.

His warm lips met the cold surface of her stone lips, loving her one last time.

His lips cut on the jagged surface of broken rock, but he did not care, his grief was too real.

Then, without warning, his body ached, like he was being boiled alive from the inside out. It was a pain like no one had ever experienced. Or was it? As he lost consciousness, he was met with a sudden clarity. This was not how he wanted his life to end. He wanted to befriend the nice lady that always shared her pet pictures. He wanted to joke with the man whose laughter filled the entire store with his infectious joy. Why did he rely on the statue, whose love he could only obtain superficially? Whose relationship was bound to end with him heartbroken and her sitting on the bench like nothing ever happened.

Then, he woke up on the bench. He couldn’t move. His body was made out of stone. Well, it wasn’t his body. It was hers. Echoing in his ears, he could hear the woes of everyone like him,begging, pleading for this torment to end. They were trapped. They all had realized too late.

But their emotions repair her, allowing her to keep on sitting there, drawing these sorrows in. Love blinds.

Auditorium Vaibhav Rastogi photography

Longful Wish

Joshua Lamprelli

There is a thought that must persist

It must fight through the world’s hateful mist

That all seize fire and drop their arm

To another man they should do no harm

To hate each other is to no ones gain

But it’ll only bring the world pain

We should just learn to live together

Possibly knit a warm wool sweater

Cause for one thing I’ll always lust

To stop our quarrels and wait for settled dust

For with clear vision we will see

The world is doomed without peace

INTROSPECTION

"Maybe Not All Dreams Are False"

Ana Badau

Drawing/Illustration

Someone’s Dad

Sophia Chimienti

Drawing/Illustration

The Echo of Departure

Joshua-Stephen Bissah

Blood rushed to my ears, drowning out any semblance of sound with this torrent of silence, a noise of rage and anxiety. A blank screen showed me my reflection, a face contorted with pain, and a hunger for understanding. I couldn’t stop my fingers from dropping my phone as tears welled up in my eyes, and I collapsed on my bed in exhaustion. She was gone. It was over.

The day started with me getting up as I always do, at 5 am. With the sound of Ocean waves crashing against a rocky shoreline, my alarm clock announced my waking to the world. The sense of routine kept me focused, and completely responsible for any lack of sleep I may have had the night before. There was a sense of control in knowing that I would wake up at the same time every morning. I loved the pattern, like a metronome counting my every step. I jumped into the shower, freezing cold water hitting my back immediately. These showers encouraged my focus and helped me prioritise any problems to be dealt with later in the day. Breathe in, breathe out, I thought, as I washed myself clean with a lavender body wash.

Outside of the shower now, I smelled the wafting aroma of waffles and bacon as they waited for me downstairs. Dressing up quickly in my signature khakis and navy button-down, I headed down the stairs to meet breakfast. I was not one to be late for school, so I shoved the airy waffles and the greasy bacon down and rushed out the door ready for school.

School at Glynn Academy was boring as always, but there was one thing I was looking forward to. Lunchtime. During lunchtime, the different grades were allowed to meet under the flag standing in the small grassy area of the school. This particular time was what I looked forward to the most, as I was able to see my favourite person in the world. Reneé. With a smile like the sunshine, and beauty that competed with that of a Da Vinci fresco, Reneé was always there to comfort me in hard times, and cheer with me during the good times.

As lunch passed by, me and Reneé shared a small conversation about how school was going at the time.

“Did you have chemistry today?” I asked.

“Yeah,” she answered. There was something dry about the response, and I could see that there was reluctance to even interact with me at all.

“Are you okay Reneé?” I asked, visibly concerned with the response. I wanted to be able to help with anything that was going on, but I didn’t want to come off as overbearing either. It

was a thin line that I was deathly afraid of crossing.

“Yeah,” she responded once more. I could tell that she didn’t want to talk to me, so I left her table, and stared at the waving pattern of red, white, and blue that was the American flag.

The bell rang with a harsh tone, and I headed back inside the brick building, haunted by the conversation I had.

“How was school?”, my parents asked as I slammed the car door with a panicked fury. Anxiety rushing through my body, I composed myself as much as possible.

“It was fine,” I answered, gritting my teeth and trying to fight the thoughts running through my mind. The leather feel of the seats were soft, and I gripped them to calm myself down. I closed my eyes, and told my parents that I was going to sleep. When we arrived at home,

I went straight up to my room and started my homework. I wanted to finish any work I had before I went to sleep. As I worked on my pre-calc homework, the thoughts began to overwhelm me. I was drowning in a river of thoughts, drenching my brain in an ice bath of negativity.

What did I do wrong? Why was she so distant today? How can I fix it? Should I text her? All these questions flowed through my mind, and I was losing control of myself. My hands began to quake, and my heart started to beat faster. Like in the shower, I tried to tell myself to follow the usual breathing patterns, but my heaving breaths became heavier and heavier as a lump formed in my throat. I opened my phone and shot a quick text to Reneé. I asked what was wrong and if I could help with anything. Despite the panic and flood of thoughts, I pressed send and put my phone down, waiting for a response.

If we’re friends, then she’ll understand me being worried about her right? After about 10 minutes of trying to calm myself with Beethoven and a casual reading of Orwell’s 1984, my phone buzzed. As I approached the bedside table harbouring my phone, a cloud of dread fell over my head, foreshadowing bad news. Opening the message, I shot a silent prayer up to God that this was just a one off from her.

I don’t want to be friends. Sorry Will, but I don’t think I want to talk to you anymore. It was fun while it lasted, but lately it’s just been tiring, and I really just need some space.

The words sent a shockwave up my spine, a spear sent straight through my heart, leaving me weak, and shattered. My throat closed up, the lump overtaking my pharynx, and preventing breath. I turned my phone off, and stared at my reflection in the blank screen. There were no more thoughts in my head, and I just wanted a proper explanation. However, I knew better than to ever text Reneé again. Tears began to fall as I struggled to breathe, choking out each ratio of air through my mouth, as my nose filled with salt solution and mucus. It felt like an eternity that

I was falling onto my bed, as my brain tried to figure out a reason for what happened. I stayed like that for 3 hours straight, refusing the dinner that made my mouth water. My stomach was rumbling, and my tongue was dry, as if I had been trudging through the Sahara, but I did not feel like eating. Eventually, I brought myself to eat and drink despite the pain that left my heart fractured, like a dropped mirror. The shards seemed to scatter all over, and I did not know if I could reassemble my heart in the same way. The thoughts left my body as easily as they came, and I worked on moving forward, one step at a time.

Nowadays, I would consider myself to be a healed person. The rehabilitation took a long time, but I was determined to become a better person, to be more worthy of a better friend. But that day, I learned something about myself and the world. Control is beautiful, and while holding it is important, life will go on no matter what. There are some situations that I will have no control over, but I will live through them, trying to focus on my priorities and reactions to how the situations play out. However, no matter how much it may hurt, I will live through it.

Creation

Laura Yap

Drawing/Illustration

Our Love Always Comes

Chloe E. Sahr

Today, when we made Drip Castles, Our love bobbed up and down like a tassel. And it usually does, sharing my life with you, For there’s only a few who know me like you do.

you share air in my lungs, The fuzz in my heart, And the (he)art that in part comes with the doves. Plums we’ve fought over, Lovers and cold shoulders. Words we throw away when we feel bold, Nights we stay ‘Til birds sing the new day.

Sometimes we whisper sweet tones together, Other times we swear we’ll be bitter forever.

Yet when I look on into your bedroom Or the first time I’m to meet your groom I realize where our story holds Folds, folds of tales untold, Shared in your soul and mine, this love is alive, idealized sometimes, however, dramatically divine.

Our castle will escape away with the tide, But its birth is wide, And I’ll always remain here. By your side. Try as we may to guide our paths unclear, Years of praying they’ll appear, But this pool remains, Revealing stains in all domains.

So new, sandy suits, and heartbreak pains, Chutes and ladders, roofs, roots, S and daggers, You removed the voice in my head. What matters seems always rather left unsaid.

We’re opposed yet blessed— for while it’s you I detest, My body welcomes you! it’s favorite guest; Seldom we meet, but the momentum shall come, So savor this moment before what’s done is done and when all the components have been restrung.

MOMENTS

Our love is the Drip Castle that I make Alone.

We’re miles in trip, next connection Unknown.

But the tops of the turrets wait for your dazzle, or simply just the way you play scrabble. A smile brightens my day, the values to which you pray, sacrifices made to stay.

Or maybe I really just miss the way you dot your j’s.

If there’s anything you’ve taught, it’s how tightly’s tied our knot.

Maybe not nightly but surely not unlikely, Your glance all smiley, Rushes over me, Like a trance. Your my ships sea, The breeze that centers me, A breath of life in my sail in this light— “I miss you” shines bright but is a whisper lost to time.

My sister, my filter, I see you from up here, I now see you from my tower. When I come down, Face to Face, with you our life we trace and trace— We no longer need this castle, or even protection from the likes of a chapel.

We stand facing now, our eternal internal time capsule. Now that we’re down here together Again; I find that we aren’t the same as we were just Then; today we built our castle, But when we built it

We let it down with no worry nor hassle.

For forever we realize, Our Drip Castle is alive: In you? In me? Ever above?

Yes you are the reason I know the meaning of Love: A blur meaning always, the small ways we become.

Earth's ANGELIC Sister

Eta Carinae / E. V. Mitchell

Somewhere

Out in the big black void,

There lies a world identical to our own. Big and blue, It hails to a faint red sun, whose gentle light Will sustain it for trillions of years.

Somewhere

In the nothingness,

Earth’s ANGELIC sister can be found, With deeper oceans, less confining gravity, More life to discover, perfect climate Everything humanity could hope for… AND WE’RE STUCK WITH VENUS.

MOMENTS

NATURE

Harbinger

Theodore Yap

In the Walkway of Light

Kailyn Medina Photography

Ana Badau

There is a land out there, one that is not easily found.

In truth, you can find it anywhere in the world.

That is, if you are being hunted.

She breathed heavily. Escaping from her room was the hard part. Now all that was left was to meet up with them, and make up for everything.

She just didn’t know what would happen if her mother found out. The bruises on her face from that last fight had taken more makeup to cover up than she thought. This was the last time. She was sure of it.

She wanted the money, after all. No, she wasn’t doing anything wrong. She pushed the weight in her chest down in the deep recess of her mind.

The meetup was to be past the yellow trail near the giant boulder. She had gone there many times. A small path had formed from their constant deviations of the trail. It would get them there quicker.

She wasn’t thinking straight, however. Her thoughts were clouded by paranoia. She was going to be caught. She would get in trouble. What would happen to her? What would others think?

A sick, twisted feeling grew in her stomach as she felt herself become nauseous, but she ignored it.

Suddenly, she heard a shout from behind her. She pivoted, too quickly, as a sharp pain filled her ankle. Her long blonde hair whipped around, obscuring her vision. The fallen leaves had been slick with the evening rain, stealing whatever little footing she had had. She fell to the ground with a dull thud, and she sat up instantly.

The thing is, once you are prey, the game begins.

Once you are trapped, there is little chance of escape.

She awoke in a beautiful forest, lush green leaves rustling in the wind.

A sharp contrast to the autumn leaves she had just seen. That she had fallen on.

She hesitantly stood up, her body no longer sore. Where was she?

Hesitantly, she put weight on her twisted ankle, and to her surprise she couldn’t feel the splitting pain that should have been there.

Perhaps this place was something magical…

As she walked through the forest, she came face to face with a girl.

The strange girl had long hair that was a purple color, which she found odd as she knew no one with hair like that, yet she looked strangely familiar. Stranger still, she seemed to be surrounded by a blue glow.

“You need to go that way,” The specter said, pointing towards a forlorn part of the forest, a stench of rot and decay emanating from something in there. “You need to go there to leave. It lives. It stalks. It knows. Listen to me.”

She blinked.

There was no way she would trust that girl.

She turned and ran the opposite direction, towards a friendlier place.

Your surroundings, the passing of time, everything.

Is it not determined by perception?

When you sleep, does time not remain constant to those awake?

Who’s to tell you if your perception is even right?

Who's to say what is real?

A town. Civilization.

Yet instead of an ordinary town like she had thought, as every resident had no face.

They all sighed, told her of a life that seemed so far from them before they were faceless.

It was a life full of greed, where they had robbed each other until they were robbed of their own identity.

They sobbed and they wailed while they recounted their misdeeds, yet there were no tears to fall or expressions to distort.

It was a pity, she thought, as she spoke to the masses, as they watched emotionlessly, holding onto every word she said.

She told them to be honest, and to think of others as well as themselves. She told them that to truly be happy, they should not idolize wealth and possessions.

Her tongue spilled her thoughts and advice, without thinking much about what she was saying.

When all was said and done, they pointed her to a path, one that seemed warm, comforting, flowers growing from the ground, lining the trodden path.

“Follow it.”

“Follow it.”

“Follow it.”

Hypocrisy will only get you so far.

The lies you tell will eat you from the inside out.

It starts inside your head, feasting on your brain.

It plants a seed of doubt inside, wrapping itself around, squeezing tight.

You will be none the wiser.

The voices rang in her head as her walk quickly hurried up, running now, through the forest that grew darker and darker with each passing second, eyes, no, a singular eye, colored green blue and black, staring at her, what had she done?

It came crawling.

It came walking.

It came shambling.

It was here.

She couldn’t tell what it was. There were limbs where there shouldn’t have been. There were no limbs where there should have been. The mass shifted, transformed before her very eyes. Its body was as dark as a void, but she could clearly see rows of sharp teeth, smiling, drooling, as well as a white diamond-like shape patterned on its chest.

“Stay away—“ She screamed out, as her memories were shown to her like a cruel mockery.

All the times she snuck out.

Every fight she got into.

All the money she had gained from her efforts.

All the personal items she bought with her ill gotten gains.

Everything that had been forced into the deep recesses of her brain came spilling out.

It hurt.

It hurt.

It hurt.

Tears rolled down her cheeks as her legs gave out beneath her, hitting the ground with a numbed pain she couldn’t register. Her breath was heavy, she couldn’t breathe, it was too much, too much!

It was circling around her. She was trapped. Was this a dream? Could she escape?

She thought back to that specter. That was her wasn’t it? If she had just listened to herself! If she had just listened to herself and followed that fearful path she would have survived!

Then all of a sudden an agonizing pain ripped through her chest. Trembling, her eyes looked down.

If she could scream any more she would have.

Protruding from her chest was an arm, its sharp claws clutching her still-beating heart, blood dripping down like some sort of sick joke.

Then in the next instant, her eyes rolled to the back of her head, and her limbs became limp, her body nothing more than a rag doll.

It retracted its claw, its form continuously shifting.

It brought the heart to its jaw, the blood running down its face as it devoured. Soon, there was nothing left of her.

Nothing remained.

It was like she had never existed at all.

The woods whispered its name as the world fell apart around it, the host, being dead, unable to support it.

Noxa.

A man stood waiting past the yellow trail near the giant boulder. He had long since forgotten what he had come there to do.

He turned and left.

Ana Badau Drawing/Illustration

Editor's note

This short story was crafted for an Honors British Literature class assignment.

Following the study of Beowulf, students were tasked with inventing their own monsters that symbolized societal anxieties.

Noxa

INTROSPECTION

Rebekah Itt Line Position Proximity Study

Hannah Poirier Line Position Proximity Study

NATURE

Mallard's Wings

Farhaan Siddiqui

Photography

Wings

Farhaan Siddiqui

Photography

Ring of a Mallard

Farhaan Siddiqui

Photography

MOMENTS

Evergreen

Evergreen oh evergreen

Never been a more beautiful scene

An aroma which brings a jolly man delight

A tree put up in anticipation for one night

A sight which fills joyful souls

A gathering of friends and family the only goal

Cabin

A gorgeous place well-known to me

With subtle hues of hickory

In its walls you’ll always find

A feeling that is so divine

Never rushed to leave but to take your time

A cabin made of logs so fine

Wordly problems matter not

In this secluded Camalot

For many winters it kept me warm

But of one thing you should be warned

Once you arrive you will not want to leave

This lovely cabin so special to me

Joshua Lamparelli

Ghost Town Earl Mitchell Drawing/Illustration

Joshua Lamparelli

“Buy Now, Limited Supply”

Avery Sahr

NATURE

"Buy Now! Limited Supply"

Avery Sahr

In Ms. Meadows Marine Biology Class, our final assignment was to research an endangered marine species. While research about conservation efforts and the population decline of Whale Sharks, I was moved to paint a photograph from the New York Post as a visual call to action that would appeal to my audience’s emotions and urge them to make an effort to conserve the species. One of the leading causes for the decline of the whale shark’s population is the human threat of hunting, where they are sold in the street markets. I used darker colors to capture the devastation of the species and painted the background of the canvas a dark reddish brown to symbolize the blood of all the whale sharks that have been killed, as if their blood and the legacy the hunters created, was staining the streets with this crime. The hunters stole the lives of the whale sharks from their harmonious ocean world. This darker background also helps the dead whale shark stand out, just as this tragedy stood out to me and emphasized how this concern should stand out to others. I was outraged to learn that these majestically beautiful and endangered species were legally and illegally killed and sold. If this continues, whale sharks will be gone forever and that they have already lost over 50% of their population in the last 75 years. I titled the work, “Buy Now, Limited Supply” to capture the horrific reality in which these creatures are being sold, and to bring attention to the need to support conservation efforts and stop the hunting of this endangered species. This piece was later entered in the 2024 Scholastic Art and Writing Awards and won a Silver Key in painting.

Photography

Siskin in Spring

Farhaan Siddiqui

Photography

NATURE

Watercolor Phoebe

Farhaan Siddiqui

Photography

Eastern Phoebe

Farhaan Siddiqui

Photography

House Sparrow Farhaan Siddiqui

STILL

Chipboard Sculpture

Grant Sexton

NATURE

Swimmingly

Sophia Chimienti

Drawing/Illustration

LANDSCAPE

Faridabad

Vaibhav Rastogi photography

Departure

Vaibhav Rastogi photography

Relevé

Sophia Chimienti Drawing/Illustration

A

Moment's Rest

Farhaan Siddiqui

Photography

INTROSPECTION

Longful Wish

Aleah Ryan

There is a thought that must persist

It must fight through the world’s hateful mist

That all seize fire and drop their arm

To another man they should do no harm

To hate each other is to no ones gain

But it’ll only bring the world pain

We should just learn to live together

Possibly knit a warm wool sweater

Cause for one thing I’ll always lust

To stop our quarrels and wait for settled dust

For with clear vision we will see

The world is doomed without peace

NATURE

Farhaan Siddiqui

Photography

Helicopter

MOMENTS

Venice

Chloe Sahr

Drawing/Illustration

Drawing/Illustration

MOMENTS

August

Chloe Sahr

Drawing/Illustration

View from the Balcony

Chloe Sahr

NATURE

Calen Chaudhari photography

2024 Total Solar Eclipse

Waxing Crescent

Lake Evergreen

Rose Ringed Parakeet

LANDSCAPE

Hawaiian Waves

Calen Chaudhari photography

Bust of David Bust of Woman

Laura Yap

Drawing/Illustration

STILL

Isolation

Vaibhav Rastogi photography

LANDSCAPE

Koi Plate

Laura Yap Arts & Crafts/Visual

Mini Food: Sushi

Rebekah Itt Sculpture

Mini Food: Chipotle

Hannah Poirer Sculpture

Call of the Wild

Alyssa Sylvester

Photography

NATURE

Captivation: A Portrait of Feline Intrigue

Alyssa Sylvester Photography

A Flower's Tear Drops

Alyssa Sylvester Photography

Driving with You

Ana Badau

Heavy downpour

Fills the windshield

The other cars

Red blurs

Becoming clear In the split second

The wipers toss aside

The rain

As the radio plays

Barely being able to make out Ed Sheeran singing

Over the crackling of water

Slamming against glass

As lightning lights up the sky

And my mom teaches me about

What to do

In this situation

But I do listen

And help with sight

Pointing out the exits

But what I really think Is about writing this

And

About how lovely It would feel

In another time

To be outside In the woods

Singing my heart out while I dance In The Rain

Sketches

Olivia LaValley

Drawing/Illustration

Stitch

Maximilian Bush

Drawing/Illustration

Marvel

“There's a Place in Hell for Debtors, and a Hole Just Your Size”

Connor McIntyre

Catherine thought. Catherine did not like to think. From board meetings and proposals to promotions and terminations, Catherine had grown to think only when was necessary. It was now, necessary. She took in her surroundings. First, no point in worrying, she mused, just wasted energy. Second, her torso was supported by a rough trunk. Though blurry, her sight was clear enough to see it was a tree, pine probably, though she doubted its species was of much relevance. Third, there was a frog. Again, most likely not important, but she was relieved to know she wasn’t alone; though, Catherine knew perfectly well she could survive on her own. Her fourth and final revelation came to her as the adrenaline and shock left. A pulsating pain alerted her to the bloody stump that was once her full arm. Catherine, naturally, screamed. She knew there was no benefit to her pained screeches, they would not ease her suffering. But for once, Catherine’s emotion overcame her reason, if only for a few minutes. Those minutes passed and Catherine regained her detached composure. She had gone through worse before, and Catherine always landed on her feet. Catherine was once again grateful for the company’s standardized uniform, as she tore a piece from her formal, khaki pants and wrapped the gray covering around her missing limb. This forced her to observe the damage. Whoever took it was at least kind enough to do a clean job, Catherine observed, dismissing her dread. She finished the knot and used her other arm to pull herself up and lean against the tree. Her body faltered and Catherine struggled to maintain her footing, even with her tight grip on the tree’s branch. “Jesus, I lost a lot of blood,” Catherine uttered in a timid whisper.

Catherine stayed anchored for a minute longer. Her pupils narrowed and her breathing accelerated. She panicked. I don't panic, I never panic. I was told my steely demeanor gave me my executive rank. She remembered what her coworkers would call her. Catherine the cold, Catherine the ruthless, Catherine the unflinching, Catherine the…

Catherine pushed these thoughts aside. Focus only on getting home. She slowly scanned the area. Catherine was beset by dense forestry on almost all sides. All, except for one. A simple dirt road laid directly ahead of Catherine. Her eyes still weren’t in good enough condition to see an end to it, but there was no other escape. Catherine grit her teeth and forced her right leg forward, then her left, then right again. She was going to make it. She must. There was so much I had yet to do. Sure, VP was nice, but I want CEO. Hell, I might even pay…

Catherine woke again. Her mind was ringing through her skull, as if begging for release. She needed to think, but by god did it hurt. Her head was fuzzy. Not in the way it was before. Whatever had taken her had been less kind on the anesthesia this time. The numbness was still familiar. Much more

natural than her previously narcotic induced slumber. Catherine’s face turned ivory. Her eyes slowly crept down the forest to her right leg, a crawl they didn’t finish. Catherine’s mouth opened and let loose a ballad of misery. Her body twisting and writhing against the same tree she first found herself against. She was certain it was pine. Catherine’s tortured wails continued much longer than her previous chorus. Even after she had used the last of her sensible screams, she still continued to cry indecipherable profanities and curses.

God, how long am I supposed to endure this? How long have I already been here? Catherine thought, Hours? Days? Months? Have people not noticed that I’m missing? Deaths in the family and lost romance had never prevented me from my duties. I haven’t missed a day of work in three long, long years.

Catherine chuckled through her tears. Even now I can’t stop thinking of work. Her body was limp against the rough dirt. She let her head fall to her side, wasted energy keeping it up. Her eyes passed by that frog again. She felt sorry for the poor creature, forced to watch her be dismembered and listen to her anguished moans. Catherine stayed still for a few minutes, let all the pain and worry work their natural course through her body. But as those minutes passed, so did Catherine’s panic. Catherine inhaled deeply. She grabbed the same branch she had held before, and hoisted herself to stand adjacent to the dirt path.

I’ve lost everyone, Catherine reflected. She gripped the tree to the left of her with her one remaining arm. It was necessary to advance, dead weight would only drag me down. She swung her right leg forward, letting it meet the roots of the trunk. My co-workers wouldn’t give me a hand. Catherine leaned forward, catching her torso onto the tree in front of foot. Lord knows they envy my position. Catherine repeated this maneuver, making steady progress down the trail. No one was going to save me. Again, she swung. I must save myself. She jumped again. I can’t be blamed, it’s only natural, I just needed a little relief…

Catherine’s eyes lifted again. Her body was deep shades of blue and red. Her back laid against the old pine tree. Her cheekbones raised to cover the lower part of her eyes. She looked to her right, trying to catch the water pouring down her face, no finger brushed against her cheek. They had taken it, whatever monster dragged her here had taken both arms and her leg. Catherine didn’t move, she didn’t scream. The agony flared throughout her body. No human, not even Catherine, could move after what she went through. She could do nothing but think. Everyone’s left me, she thought, no, that isn’t right. I’ve abandoned everyone else. There was only one thing that drove these thoughts away and Catherine doubted she would find any of it here. I wonder, Catherine wished, I wonder how the fuckers who took my arms must’ve looked when they saw them. I hope they saw those abused veins and wept. Catherine reflected, trying to remember anyone who would do this to her. “It cost too much," she recalled about her old source of relief. “Must be thousands, hundreds of thousands, even.” She sat in silence for a moment. “The money I would need to pay the dealers back…” She laughed. Her laughter rose in volume, the thought too absurd to consider. The laugh continued, through bruised ribs and missing limbs, among the bloodied dirt and stained pine trees, she laughed. “IT MIGHT COST,” Catherine breathed in deep, fully

grasping the insanity of the statement. “IT MIGHT COST, AN ARM AND A LEG” Catherine howled these last words, breaking into an uncontrollable fit.

Her body, yet remaining still. She laughed unaware of her environment. Her eyes, still foggy and dim. She was unaware even of the figures approaching, the leather belt, restraining her against the tree. Unaware of even the red blink behind the unnaturally big and black eyes of the ‘frog’. But she did hear the voice. “Four hundred and fifty thousand dollars” it said, cruel and impersonal. Catherine did not fight back, even as the blade dived into her beaten flesh. How was she supposed to? They had taken both her arms, and now they had taken both her legs. No, she only laughed, Catherine her eyes, still weary, still unfocused, merely stared as cold metal cleared their fog. “Six hundred thousand”

Editor's note

This short story was crafted for an Honors British Literature class assignment. Following the study of Beowulf, students were tasked with inventing their own monsters that symbolized societal anxieties.

Hawaiian Dream

Rebekah Itt Art & Visual/Painting

In My Father's Eyes

Anonymous

In my fathers eyes, I see my reflection

Our bond unmissable, like a shining light

My source of strength and affection

With laughter that echoes, warm and bright

Through homework struggles, you lend a hand

In moments of doubt, you're my guiding light

A patient teacher, you help me understand

Turning darkness into a future so bright

So here's to my dad, the sports enthusiast

Bound by the magic of a sports-filled hand

A coach, a fan, forever on the list

In the arena of life, together we stand

On fields of green or courts of play,

Through victories sweet and losses tough,

He taught me lessons that still hold sway.

Dad's love, unwavering, was more than enough.

"Cup,Waterbottle, 'Drink Cozies" Rebekah Itt Arts & Crafts

Cat Pillow Rebekah Itt Arts & Crafts

“Qibli from Wings of Fire” Rebekah Itt Arts & Crafts

Ballrooms and Bloodshed

A Billows of Wrath and Betrayal Story

Sophia

Collie

The ballroom was unlike anything she had seen before. Crystal chandeliers lit with dancing flames adorned the ceiling, fire flickering across the many faces. The pristine off-white ceilings were accented with carefully stenciled golden artworks of flowers, snakes, and other designs that Sywrena felt reflected the island’s culture.

A waltz played in the background, but no one was dancing. They were all looking at her. As soon as Sywrena and Avrien walked into the ballroom, all eyes were on them. Heat rose in her face, vaguely resembling the color of her dress. Her dress was stunning. If she hadn’t just walked into the ballroom on the arm of the prince of Darcelon, she would’ve thought that was the reason for their stares.

“You seem nervous,” Avrien leaned down to whisper into her ear so only she could hear.

“I’m fine,” she mumbled back, plastering a smile on her face.

Avrien smiled too before taking her white-gloved hand into his own. “Shall we?” He asked. Sywrena nodded and let him lead her to the center of the dance floor, the crowd parting to let them through, but still staring.

“Why do they keep looking at us?” She asked. Their stares would not have been tolerated had she been on her own island.

“They’re happy to see you.” Avrien shrugged. Once they reached the center of the dance floor, they turned to face each other. Avrien’s arm came around Sywrena’s waist and she placed her right hand on his shoulder. Her left hand grasped his, but he paused before starting to dance.

“I should warn you, I haven’t danced in about two years,” he said with a sheepish grin on his face.

She smiled back at him. “Me neither.”

Avrien visibly relaxed his shoulders and he beamed at her, awakening a flurry of butterflies in her stomach. It was then she realized she had him right where she needed him. He took the lead, being careful to go slow since neither of them had danced in a while—since the last time they danced was with each other at this same event two years ago.

Avrien tried to pick up their pace and Sywrena stumbled on the skirt of her dress, falling forward into him. Luckily, Avrien was able to keep her on her feet. She was only grateful that the people around them had stopped staring.

“I was hoping to sweep you off your feet, but not in this sense,” he laughed. Sywrena rolled her eyes at the prince, but she was laughing, too.

“Humble as ever, I see.”

“Always,” Avrien laughed, that obnoxious smile that had been perpetually on his face all night growing impossibly wider.

“How are you so happy right now?” Sywrena asked, her mind wandering to the demon ravaging the world beyond this moment and the mission he had given her.

“I don’t know what you’re talking about,” Avrien said playfully.

“You seem pretty happy,” Sywrena pointed out.

“I’m just in a good mood, I guess.” The prince shrugged and pulled Sywrena a hair closer.

“A good mood?” She asked, raising an eyebrow. The answer he’d given was out of character

for Avrien Fanning.

“Yeah. You should try it sometime,” he teased. They were still dancing, but now they were laughing and having an incredible time as well. Sywrena was intent on making sure that Avrien’s final night alive would be one to remember. The world around faded and it was just the two of them, twirling and laughing until their feet and faces were sore.

Eventually, they couldn’t keep dancing any longer, so Sywrena dragged Avrien away from the crowds. She led him into a dark room that was connected to the ballroom, the one she’d been instructed to use. The dagger secured in the special pocket inside her dress pressed against the fabric, feeling cool against her skin.

Avrien drew a small box of matches from his coat pocket and lit the torches, illuminating the slightly cramped room. Sywrena stood there and watched him, trying to decide her next move.

“Are you well?” Avrien asked, taking note of her focused expression while returning the matchbox to his pocket and turning to face her.

Sywrena pretended to look relaxed and smiled at him. “Perfect,” she lied. This mission was proving harder than she had initially thought.

“That’s good.” Avrien grinned. “Can I ask you why we’re in here?”

“Oh—” Sywrena tried to think fast. “I just wanted to escape the crowd, it’s so loud out there, and everyone kept looking at me.”

“That’s because you look very nice tonight,” Avrien said, brushing a piece of hair from Sywrena’s face. She felt heat rising in her face and tried her hardest to stop it. This could not be happening. She must remain focused.

Sywrena held his gaze and slid her hand around his waist, fingers finding the handle of the dagger attached to his belt. This was much easier than trying to retrieve her own knife. She looked into Avrien’s eyes and slowly pulled the blade out from its leather sheath, careful not to let it brush his side. She tried to distract him while she moved it behind her back.

“Tonight was lovely.” Sywrena smiled. “I had forgotten how beautiful the ballroom was.”

“It does look rather nice when it’s all decorated for events.”

Sywrena was trying to think of what else to say. Her hand around the dagger began to shake and the silence was growing loud. She couldn’t believe what she was about to do.

A shockwave of surprise washed over her as Sywrena realized there were tears forming in her eyes. This is what she was afraid of. When Sywrena was given her mission she was certain she could accomplish it. Now she wasn’t so sure. She had been asked if she could handle it and she said she could, so she must, or else dire consequences would befall her.

“Are you okay, Sywrena?” Avrien asked, noticing her tears.

“I’m sorry,” she wept.

She tried to look away but couldn’t as the prince wouldn’t stop looking at her. She had to act fast before she was too involved to act at all. Avrien had chosen his final sight.

The moment flashed before her eyes, she didn’t register the quick swipe of her left hand as she slashed Avrien’s own knife across his throat. She didn’t blink at the thud of his limp body hitting the floor of the cramped room. The slow leeching of blood across the stone floors didn’t make her feel sick as it should have. In fact, she could feel almost nothing at all.

The only feeling she knew was the blood on her hands and the ache in her heart.

Drawing/Illustration

Drawing/Illustration

Bike

Lauren Howe

Bike

Mia Wagner

Observatory

Vaibhav Rastogi photography

Skyline

Vaibhav Rastogi photography

Graffitti

Vaibhav Rastogi photography

EDIFICE

Acknowledgements

In crafting this magazine, The Fine Line Club would like to express its gratitude to the following individuals:

Mrs. Michele Alafat, for advising the club, guiding club meetings, and for her tireless work in creating the entire magazine in Indesign;

And, finally, the Bishop Brady High School community for sharing its creativity and remaining inspired!

Bishop Brady Postcard Vaibhav Rastogi

Bishop Brady High School