OUTCROPPINGS Volume 42 • 2021
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OUTCROPPINGS Brewster Academy Wolfeboro, New Hampshire Volume 42 2021
Editor in Chief: Sydney Caldwell ’21 Contributing Editor: Lila Glanville ’22 Contributing Editor: Vera Zaslavskiy ’22 Faculty Advisor: Jennifer Dumont Cover Art by Lila Glanville ’22 by Mrs. Maria Found
From the Editors: The compilation of student and faculty work enclosed is a mere representation of their creative minds. The photos, artwork, and text were sent in by courageous students that wished to share a message or reflect on a challenge that they have overcome. Thank you for your incredible submissions and for giving us the opportunity to get a glimpse of your beautifully unique work. Please take a moment to enjoy this selection of creative work in the 2021 edition of Outcroppings. “There is no doubt that creativity is the most important human resource of all. Without creativity, there would be no progress, and we would forever be repeating the same patterns.” - Edward de Bono
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by Tyler Balint ’21
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Table of Contents Title Page: Photo by Ms. Barb Thomas .................. 1 Thrive by Winita Wangsrikhun ’21 ........................ 6 Artwork by Sylvie Skibicki ’23 ................................ 7 Inside My Culture by Zainabu Jalango ’21............ 8 Artwork by Cat Ling ’21.......................................... 9 Hideaway by Tsehay Murch ’21............................ 10 Photo by Valeria Ramos ’21.....................................11 Panic by Megan Ward ’22 ..................................... 12 Artwork by Lucy Manley ’24................................. 13 A Place That I Miss and Photo by Kayden Easter ’21.................................... 14 Photo by Valeria Ramos ’21.................................... 15 MLK by Jaila Richard ’22........................................ 16 Justice by Elise Scott ’21 ........................................ 17 Photos by Ms. Barb Thomas................................... 18 Artwork by Chrissi Pappas ’24.............................. 19 The Closed Door by T.J. O’Keefe ’22 ................... 20 Photo by Austin Daigneault ’22............................. 21 Artwork by Cat Ling ’21................................... 22-23 Gold Rush Bride Hannah by Mrs. Linda Shenton Matchett............................ 24 Artwork by Anisa Burrows ’24.............................. 25 My Story by Zainabu Jalango ’21........................... 26
Artwork by Davis Wood ’21.................................. 27 The Blue by Caleb Brennion ’22............................. 28 Photo by Blake Flather ’22...................................... 29 Music to My Ears by Ava Wishkoff ’22 and Artwork by Carlo Coschigano ’24.......................... 30 Artwork by Vega Martinez ’21.............................. 31 A New Generation by Zoe Hausler ’24 and Artwork by Ray Suttle ’23 ............................ 32 Photo by Yezena Degu Endeshaw ’21 and Hina Komiyama ’21 ......................................... 33 The Copiers Are Coming and Photo by Chris Hafner ’00 ............................. 34 Artwork by Chrissi Pappas ’24 ............................. 35 The Starry Night by Dylan Hamel ’22 and Artwork by Anders Wang ’22 ....................... 36 Photo by Lapit Lapinee ’21..................................... 37 Missing You by Alexia Diers ’22........................... 38 Photo by Ms. Michelle Rafalowski......................... 39 Stealing Power by Emmett Shea ’20..................... 40 Artwork by Jaila Richard ’22 ................................ 41 School Lunch by Spencer Weinshank ’21.............. 42 Photo by Blake Flather ’22...................................... 43 Artwork by Anders Wang ’22................................ 44
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Thrive
by Winita Wangsrikhun ’21
To that bleak March when a snowman near Allen Albee Beach lost its shape within a week
“Grateful, Yet, not loved,” she sighed.
A lonely gardener was once blind. In light, he saw darkness.
“Dear, Don’t Guard me like The naive Lily of the valley. Please, Don’t Drench me like The delicate Wild Calla. Please, Don’t Double the nourishment like I were a demure domestic rose. Please, Don’t Dance with the descant like You did daily with the delightful Daffodil.”
Through the rusty locked door, A rabbit hole lay asleep. A screwdriver lured him in. Series of screws rattled. Trembled on the ground as if to warn him. The knob screamed. The wind patted his shoulder. The rug curled To grab his ankle. There, he exclaimed, “Finally, a new plant to take care.” She enters his garden. He strove not to struggle. The sky is sunny-side-up. Stream of rays struck. He shaded her from the splendid glare. He planted her in soaking soil. Rich of water, Never lacked nutrients. Every day, he watered. Every night, he hummed a cheerful tune. With six metal strings Magnificent melody moved the air. “Appreciated,” she whispered. “But not adored,” she mumbled.
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“I am a cactus.” Independent and Introverted. “I am a cactus.” Secure and Strong. “I am a cactus.” Careful and Cynical. “I am a cactus So Love me like a Deserted desert’s sand.”
by Sylvie Skibicki ’23
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by Cat Ling ’21
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Inside My Culture by Zainabu Jalango ’21
It’s a system of shared values Customs, artifacts, beliefs it includes Black, red and blue rubegas we dress, Maasai culture is a flower of wonders. Loshoro, Makukuru, and Makande we eat, Pizza, chips and baga we delete, No water but milk, no bread but meat, Maasai culture is a flower of wonders. Thousands of cows and hundreds of sheep, but poor, Boys to school but girls at home is for sure, Local beers and foods in the village we pour, Maasai culture is a flower of wonders. Maasai girls cry but no answer, Female genital circumcision is there, Early marriage and discrimination always from father, Maasai culture is a flower of wonders. Women’s oppression is the law, Decision and everything to the man, I stand and say, Maasai you have to change, Maasai culture is a flower of wonders. All things down with my pen I say, Maasai is the culture of today, Changes and women’s culture we must obey, Until then, I’ll make the fresco of my desire, Reflecting equality in my Maasai Culture.
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Hideaway by Tsehay Murch ’21 - inspired by Gustav Klimt’s The Kiss knees bent, drawn to the conclusion my life has been written for me no further decisions, made by me made to benefit me. love? expressions, but that is all. colorful, aren’t I? symbolic of true happiness ironic. irony fills the room, where compassion hides away in a corner in a room of slivers of shine shiny minuscule bits that drift drift away when he arrives.
- Gustav Klimt’s The Kiss
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by Valeria Ramos ’21
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by Lucy Manley ’24
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Panic
by Megan Ward ’22
My clock read 2:37. People lined the entire area that I could see. I saw their faces. They all wore a look of numbed panic and fear; like on the inside, they were on fire but were too scared to show the world. They stood perfectly frozen all of the sudden, their faces stuck with the same look as before. There I stood in the middle of the street and all the people; confused. I seemed to be the only one who’d realized that time had come to a stop. I tried to speak to those around me, but they did not seem to hear. I needed to escape this, needed to get out of here. I started toward the other side of the street, but as soon as I did, I felt the street collapse under me. As I fell, I saw the frozen statues of the panicked above me through the hole I had left in the earth. Every face turned in my direction and every person had a foot suddenly in the air like they too were trying to escape. I looked around the room. The gray stone walls were cold to the touch and there was a certain dim glow to the small square room which still left it dark. This glow was coming from a small square window, with thick vertical bars across it which resembled a jail cell. The window was 30 feet up on the wall to my right which streaked the opposite wall with thin shafts of light. I sat in the middle of the room on the floor. Across the room from me was a wooden box. It was no wider than two feet and no taller than my knees. The box was locked, and looking around, there was no key to open it. There was a light switch on the wall, but when I tried to turn it on, it would flicker five times then return to the same darkness again. Around me, I could hear whispers, like the cold walls were speaking to me. I felt their chill closing in on me. I listened hard now. I couldn’t make out what they were saying, but it was like I already knew; like I was the one speaking. I felt lost. I was confused and scared, and a feeling started to rise in me. I heard “panic” being repeated over and over again, and I felt like I was burning now. It was as if the walls were trying to tell me to feel something. Something happened in me then. I was scared, alone and it felt as though I was spinning in circles a thousand miles per hour. I don’t completely recall what occurred, but I know that when it all slowed down and I stopped spinning, I wound up seated once again in the middle of the floor. I tried to rest my mind, but I couldn’t. The whispers from the walls seemed to grow louder and were getting to me now more than ever. I couldn’t find peace. I tried the light switch again, but as expected it flickered five times and went out. I just now noticed a metal door by the corner. I ran to it and opened it to see a hallway that had an eerie green glow. The door I came out of had a small mirror in which I caught a glimpse of my reflection. Above the mirror, there was a small glass window into which I could see the room I had come out of. The hall was lined with other doors exactly like the one I had come out of. There must have been millions of
them looking left and right and the long straight hallway seemed to extend forever. I took a right and walked a little ways. I noticed that all of the doors had mirrors like mine on them, except I couldn’t see myself in the others. I started to walk faster and faster until I was running. I looked into the windows of the rooms I passed. They all seemed similar. In each there was a different person in the room. Some were pacing, some trying to see out the barred window, and some sitting in the middle of the floor as I too had been. One thing that each room had though, was the same box with a lock but no key. In the first room I passed there was an older woman standing in front of the light switch repeatedly flipping it on and off creating a sort of strobe light to be flashing with all of the flickering. In the next room was a young boy, and in the next was a man. I must have run past hundreds of doors, very far from the one I had come out of now. I realized I wasn’t alone down here, as each room held a different person trying to turn on the light, but each failing. I felt lost and turned around. I was breathing heavily from running down the hall, so I walked for a little while. I tried to yell to the people I saw. I tried to knock on their doors, but there was never a reaction. I yelled at all the doors and hit them so hard I swear I was going to put my fist through it. But that’s all that I was doing, yelling at doors. I found my way back to the door with the mirror that I could see myself in and I opened it. I saw the familiar sight of the dimly glowing room. I was tired from all the panic and I could feel the walls crying. I didn’t want to be here anymore. I had realized that in all of the panic I had not stopped to wonder why I was down here. I then remembered the sunny day that had been above me and I felt more lost than before. I worried about the others that I had run by, whom I had tried to yell to, but no one heard me. Had someone tried to yell to me? I could still feel the walls crying and felt it speaking—no yelling to me. For lack of other hope, I tried once more to turn on the lamp. It flickered and failed. I tried once more, and it flickered. On the fifth flicker, I heard the whistle of metal falling from above me. I heard the empty sound of solid metal hitting the floor. I looked down to see a large, old-fashioned, gold key. A path of small droplets of light led to the box across from me. I looked to the box and followed the mysterious path of light to the wooden box. I stuck the key in the hole and slowly opened the lid. I felt myself being pulled down towards the box, into the box. I felt dizzy again; I was moving so fast and had no idea where I was going. And then it all stopped. I was back on that street as I had been before. It was that same sunny day, except that I was alone now. The people who were frozen around me before had disappeared. In their place were millions of holes in the earth in every direction I could see; they had not yet found the key. My clock read 2:37.
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A Place That I Miss by Kayden Easter ’21
The snow-covered trees in the thick forest, quiet and motionless. The birds chirping and the bunnies jumping. The animals working their way through the colorless forest, searching for any uncovered food. Animals are hibernating trying to outlast the long cold winter. The snow soon turns into slush, the animals begin to wake up. Birds begin chirping and the temperature rises. The trees are blossoming and the plants are growing. People are flocking to the beaches, swimming in the water. Surrounded by friends and making memories. As I walk throughout the wilderness I am surrounded by the elements. These distance me from all of the social media and it is a great stress reliever. People in the world today are way too closely connected to the internet. From the second we wake up, during our jobs or school, and then when we go to bed. We are losing touch with what we came from. Most people would rather be face deep in their phone than have a conversation with friends that they are sitting right next took. Rather take a video than live the moment. Being stuck here on campus you do not get to experience that sense of distancing yourself from reality. You find yourself given many tasks and assignments to complete, playing multiple sports, and having games every week. These experiences do grow you as a person and as a student, and I am thankful for that. I am thankful for all the opportunities that this place has given to me. I do wish that we had a two-day weekend every week though.
by Kayden Easter ’21
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by Valeria Ramos ’21
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MLK
by Jaila Richard ’22
Let’s go back to 2015. I was 11. In a rush to school, I squeezed my small body onto the packed train car. I cut off a fat white lady on the train who screams the words, “fucking n-----,” when her large body didn’t make it into the car. I was dumbfounded. Those words felt like an arrow piercing through my chest, into my heart. Too innocent to understand the magnitude of what she just said, but worldly enough to know it was just wrong, I sat in silence for the remainder of my ride to school. In 2021, nobody should argue whether Black Lives Matter or not. But frequently, we are found doing so. Getting wrapped up in a social splendor that politicizes Black Lives Matter and demonizes people who think so. Black Lives Matter because black lives are the ones that are constantly being discriminated against and undermined, plus, it’s like… basic human decency. In an article titled “What Black Lives Matter Means, (and Why It’s Problematic to Say All Lives Matter.”) on Good Housekeeping.com, senior editor Lizz Schumer discussed why people shouldn’t be saying “All Lives Matter”, and how to counter someone when they do. “BLM speaks out against the police brutality and systemic racism that caused the recent deaths of George Floyd, Ahmaud Arbery, Tony McDade and Breonna Taylor, as well as the thousands of violent incidents that happen to Black people that aren’t recorded, aren’t reported or aren’t afforded the outrage they deserve.” As this article states, by speaking out against systemic racism which has led to so many black lives being taken away, Black Lives Matter spreads awareness of these tragic events. However, the movement doesn’t quite prevent them, yet. It gives publicity and the platform to be able to spread awareness of blatant hate crimes in America. From police brutality to a black person getting the cops called on them for a petty crime, the Black Lives Matter movement is an opportunity to shed light on these unfortunate occurrences that nobody should have to endure. Reverend Martin Luther King Jr., a well-known civil rights activist made it his duty to fight for Black Lives. The same black lives you probably think are better off dead. MLK diligently fought for racial equality, yet people are more outwardly racist than ever. Even before 1619, when slaves were imported into America, Africans were ostracized. At first, it wasn’t solely dependent on the color of their skin. It was because of their “savage ways,” and easily exploitable free labor. The way Africans navigated their daily lives was so foreign to Europeans that they saw it as beneath them. This, in turn, formed into belittlement. Going as far as comparing Africans to monkeys and saying their skull shape was that different to theirs, to completely dehumanizing them and considering them as a different race other than their own, all rooted in jealousy. Black Lives Matter is basic human decency. Not one race matters more than the other, and the fact that people genuinely believe that to this day is truly sickening. Believing someone is less than or beneath you merely because of the color of their skin, which they cannot even change, is disgusting. Despite this fact, black people are constantly discriminated against. While black people work hard and try to build themselves up, they are met with little remorse.
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Justice
by Elise Scott ’21
Something’s wrong You see it too Let’s stand up and say stop When someone’s dead And someone said The killer was a cop The streets are lit And filled with blood The shatters cover cars The lines are strong No group backs down They’ll both go home with scars Knees touch down To lower ground And hands are raised up high It’s not enough The bullets chase The gas touches the sky The gas is hurled Their shirts are torn They all run around blind Children cry And fathers die Some search for those they’ll never find The scratched and bruised Some losing shoes Their justice was denied
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Photos by Ms. Barb Thomas
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by Chrissi Pappas ’24
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The Closed Door by T.J. O’Keefe ’22
.It was a dark, gloomy day; I had just finished walking through a muddy and cold cornfield. I heard distinct shouting and screaming in the distance; all I know is that screaming was all the motivation I needed to get my dehydrated and skinny body through that cornfield. Whatever was behind me, I didn’t want to know what it was, or why it was screaming. There was mud on my feet, and I was wearing sneakers, and now they feel like I’m stepping in a continuous puddle. There had been a torrential downpour the previous evening, so everything was soaked. It’s just my luck that I would find myself where I needed to be, walking through a cornfield the day after the Earth cried forever. My name is David, and I’m 15 years old. .The night before was strange, and I didn’t know why. Every night I sit down and eat dinner with my family, my Mom, Dad, and my sister Lucy. But tonight it was different. Mom seemed to be acting strangely. She called home and said that she wasn’t going to make it to dinner. I asked my father what was wrong with Mom and he replied, “I don’t know, son.” From the way the words left his mouth, it made me feel like he knew something, but he didn’t want to tell me. So I tucked that in the back of my brain, and exclaimed, “What are we eating? I could eat a whole menu.” In an annoyed voice, my Dad said, “Food.” He pulled the pizza out of the oven, and I’m glad he didn’t forget the french fries. There’s nothing like pizza and fries, mostly because our mother doesn’t let us eat pizza and fries. After all, she says that it’s unhealthy for you, but I think otherwise because it has all the necessary ingredients, meat, dairy, grain. Just maybe a little on the fatty side. It can never hurt, though, because I’m smaller than the other kids that are my age. “David!” my sister exclaims, and I realize how much of the pizza I’ve eaten. I’m onto my fifth slice, and I can tell you why my mother says it’s terrible for you: because it’s too good to stop eating. But tonight was unusual, her chair sitting there like an abandoned building that no one wants to touch. There wasn’t much chatter between us. I didn’t dare to ask my Dad where my Mom was. .After dinner, I helped put the dishes away and made sure that everything was cleaned up, and then I headed to my room to go to sleep because I’ve had a long night. I was ready to nestle up in bed and pass out. Right before my eyelids shut for the night, I heard a door open and two people yelling. I have to assume that it was my parents. I heard the door close, an engine roar, and then the car leaves our driveway, which was weird. The sound of a ridiculously loud rain hit the house. Then the night went dark, and I fell asleep. I woke up in the morning to the alarm clock that I set to go off at 8:00 am. I walked downstairs from my room step by step, making sure I didn’t fall because I still felt very groggy. My Dad was sitting at the kitchen table, staring at his laptops. He had a cup of coffee directly to the right of his computer. I looked at the Keurig, and it looked as if he had made 5 cups of coffee already. “Dad, have you been up all night?” I asked. “No,” he shouted back. I hadn’t seen this behavior in my Dad ever. I knew something strange was going on. “Dad did someone come by last night after dinner?” I asked with curiosity. Yet again the same response, he had an angry tone when he shouted no. Now I knew something wasn’t right, and I needed to figure it out. Still, my Mom hasn’t been home, and I have no clue where in the world she could be. cont. on pg. 21
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by Austin Daigneault ’22 cont. from pg. 20 .The day flew by, and it’s almost 5 in the evening, and my Dad had left for the grocery store. I’m moping around my house looking for something to do when I hear my phone begin ringing. I see my Dad has texted me five times. “David, get out of the house now something has happened to your Mom, and you can’t be home when she gets home. She’s on her way there now, and I can’t stop her!” “Where’s Lucy?” I asked him. “I took her to your grandparents, but I couldn’t warn you, son. I’m sorry.” I raced upstairs and put on my sneakers, a sweatshirt, and sweatpants. I went back down the stairs and raced out the back door just as I heard the front door whip open. I didn’t even want to look around, so I trenched through the woods. The woods were cold like an ice cream freezer, and I wished my Dad would tell me why I had to run from my mother. Bang, I nailed my right foot off a tree root and came crashing to the ground. I looked at my phone, and it’s dead, which means I was helpless. I calculated that I’ve been running for about 30 minutes now. I pulled myself up from falling and looked up at the cornfield. I didn’t know that there was a cornfield near our house, but I didn’t question it. I just kept running, weaving in and out of the corn. I reached the end, and there seems to be a house. I heard faint yelling and screaming from the cornfield’s beginning, which seems to sound like my Mom. What in the world was she doing behind me? I ran up to a closed door. I felt the handle, and it was as cold as ice. I opened it up, and there was my Dad tied up in a chair, and my Mom standing next to him with something sharp in her hands. “I’ve been awaiting your appearance, son,” she said. I turned around, and the woman that was following me was standing at the entrance. I should have never opened that closed door.
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by Cat Ling ’21
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Artwork by Cat Ling ’21
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Gold Rush Bride Hannah: An Excerpt by Linda Shenton Matchett
Reverberations from the gunshot echoed among the hills surrounding Hannah Lauman’s property as she gripped the rifle and watched the cougar disappear through the trees. Winter had apparently not been kind to the gaunt and shaggy animal, prompting its boldness to approach the homestead. Fortunately, Quinn had taught her to shoot, so she could protect herself during the times he was away from their claim. Four-legged beasts weren’t the only predators she’d had to scare off after word got out about how much gold she and her husband were pulling from Yahoola Creek. Despite a chilly gust that tugged at her skirt, perspiration trickled down her spine and pooled under arms. No matter how often she used a gun, she’d never get used to the deafening boom or the weapon’s kick against her shoulder. She’d sport a bruise by nightfall. She reloaded the rifle, then leaned the gun against the clothes-line post next to the basket filled with wet laundry. She needed to be ready if the big cat decided to return. Would she ever get used to living so remotely? Hannah wiped the sweat off her forehead with her sleeve, then blew out a deep breath. Philosophizing over her lot in life wouldn’t get the chores done, and she had plenty to complete before Quinn’s return by dinner, provided he wasn’t late. Panning this week had been more productive than usual and storing the accumulated flakes and nuggets in the cabin was never a good idea, so today’s journey to Gainesville was her husband’s third trip to the bank. How long the gold would hold out was anyone’s guess, so she should probably be down at the water’s edge, but the two of them were out of clean clothes, and she hadn’t swept or dusted in days. She wasn’t so gold-hungry that she’d live in a pigsty. She grabbed one of Quinn’s shirts and hung the cotton garment over the line, then bent and picked up another. She ought to warn the other miners about the wildcat, but perhaps the gunshot would bring one of the neighbors running so she wouldn’t have to seek them out. She continued to hang the laundry, periodically glancing over her shoulder in case the cougar decided to return. Known for their humanlike screams, the tawny cats crept with silent stealth when on the prowl. Finished with the clothes, she gave one last look toward the forest, then picked up the basket and headed toward the cabin. She’d put her foot down when Quinn suggested they build a soddy, but some days the tiny two-room abode didn’t seem much better. With only one small window next to the door, the interior remained dim except on the sunniest of days. Thundering hooves pounded, and Hannah’s head whipped toward the sound. Chet Fawley, Dahlonega’s sheriff crouched low over his horse’s neck. He brought the animal to a halt, then slid from the saddle. His face with lined with fatigue and sadness. Hannah’s stomach hollowed, and her hand flew to her throat. There was no doubt the man brought bad news. “Quinn?” Her lips moved, but no sound came out. Sheriff Fawley removed his dusty Stetson and licked his lips. “I’m sorry, Miz Lauman. Your husband’s dead. Ambushed outside of town.”
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by Anisa Burrows ’24
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My Story by Zainabu Jalango ’21 I want to say that I am a story and that describing my story becomes something that is difficult to present. It comes with difficulty in showing authenticity, but I believe that it is worth sharing. My story is not one that is complete; rather it is one that is ever-changing and it is affected by my curiosity to learn and to adapt to different experiences. I grew up seeing my neighbors, friends, and relatives being physically abused. My community in rural Tanzania sees physical punishment as a way to discipline women because they are considered “children”, regardless of their age. I got frustrated and felt helpless. Girls do not have a way to express their anger, hence they decide to take it as something that is part of their life. They must continually reconcile with permanent injuries and acts of abuse that can never leave their minds. I do not have any power in leadership or decision-making processes because I am a woman. For this reason, I walked seven kilometers to-and-from school for 13 years. I did not give up because I felt so fortunate to have had the magical title of being a student. I could have never imagined myself being a student and, most of all, someone with the potential to make a change in society. On a cloudy morning in May 2019, I was among the 0.5% of the students who had been selected to attend the Tanzanian Model United Nations conference, which aimed at discussing sustainable development goals. The role of youth in peacekeeping and conflict resolution happened to be my point of concentration. I could not have imagined a better time to use my voice and to feel powerful. All the attendees had to listen to what I had to say, which was a moment I will never forget. Before my presentation, I felt inferior as a young woman, but standing on the podium changed how I think of myself. My identity changed from being just a young inferior woman to being someone who has a voice with the potential and power to create change. I continue to show that in my community, through my studies, extra-curricular activities, and most of all creating opportunities in everything that the world has to offer. I not only use this power to create change for others, but also use it as an opportunity for me as an individual to get better through self-advocacy and encourage others to use it. I cannot say that I am perfect, but I can say that I am working on it. I am determined to succeed regardless of what comes in front of me. I value my title as a student because it has rescued me from misconceptions and status quos that would have let me down. I continue to stand strong and show the world that our voices are much more powerful than the names society gives to us. I cannot forget Audre Lorde’s quote, “If you don’t name yourself, others will name you for you.” It is my responsibility to name myself and own the name. I invite everyone to do the same. It will not be easy but I have the courage and determination to get there.
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by Davis Wood ’21
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by Blake Flather ’22
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The Blue
by Caleb Brennion ’22
We are born into it and then returned to it. We drink it, and without it, we would be nothing. Water is the key to most life, but most importantly, our lives. So when we lose the most valuable material to our lives where do, we venture forth? We journey into the unknown and through the stars. Will we find our scarce resource, or will something else find us? .I was only six when the world turned grey. The non-stop warring between nations for rations of food and water. We all turned to space programs such as NASA and SpaceX for a solution to our problems. The only planets they’d guess we could take water from was Neptune, as that was the most viable choice. Neptune was thought to have water and ice; however, the air is made up of 80% hydrogen and the rest, presumably helium and methane. So we were out of options. Every space program in existence was sending young children into space to bring a future to humanity. Not everybody agreed with this; however, in the end, they didn’t have any choice but to accept. .I was one of those children sent into space to find a new Earth. However, I was lucky I survived past the International Space Station, as the New USSR was bombing it. Three months had passed, and we were on our way towards a different star system. My crew included three other similar aged children who seemed intelligent. We didn’t have names; we had numbers. I was four. We learned to ration our food, yet when it came a time in the fourth month, we had no food left. We were forced to hibernate in our Stasis Chambers. The Stasis Chambers were cells where we were almost entirely frozen in time, and in about two centuries, we would be released and still look the same as we did when we went in. However, there are always side effects when anything involving anti-aging occurs. There is possible brain damage, blindness, loss of hearing, dementia, and much more. I showed no symptoms and was released from my cell. However, children one and two didn’t make it. It was just three, and I. .I looked out the window of the shuttle, and I gasped at the purple hue of a distant star. All around us, there were glimmering stars and planets. We were in the circumstellar habitable zone. This was the key to mankind’s survival; at least we dreamed it would be. The thing about the stasis chamber was that it keeps your body frozen but not your mind. My mind had been awake for over 206 years. I needed to be cautious not to overthink; otherwise, I would become somewhat of a vegetable. I looked at the horizon, saw a small purple and blue planet, and checked the world’s shuttles database. It was uncharted. I overrode the shuttles navigation systems and targeted our orbiting zone as the planet. I prayed that it would have breathable oxygen levels. .When we arrived in orbit, I launched a drone towards the surface of the planet. When it came back, it read the levels of oxygen and nitrogen. There was 21% oxygen and 79% nitrogen on the planet. It was a habitable planet! Three started the launch systems while I prepared the colonization systems. When everything goes a little too well, there has to be something else going on. I looked out the window and saw a flash of light.
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Music to My Ears by Ava Wishkoff ’22
When you hear it, it never leaves your mind After it escapes you can’t help but wonder what it was in the first place Music is the birthplace of the soul The moment you hear it you can’t stop listening It carries every emotion even those we do not understand Life may flash by, mimicking lightning, but the music Rumbles on It might shine, it might rain It could be as beautiful as the sunset Our ships may sail west and all that we built is left behind, inside those songs, Those beautiful songs. Our memories, accomplishments and failures lie forever in the songs of grace.
by Carlo Coschigano ’24
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by Vega Martinez ’21
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by Yezena Degu Endeshaw ’21 and Hina Komiyama ’21
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The New Generation by Zoe Hausler ’24
BlackandWhite BlackandWhite The screen shimmers while sucking you in Cartoons dance around the box Confined to the memories of the now old Brick phones and swing dance Reminisced as a souvenir for the vulnerable Antiquated photos bedecked by vintage attire The objects capturing an alternate time Soon enough we are swept away to a new generation One where those boxes are consumed with color One where crop tops signify the latest trends And yet the black and white lingers Recalling a time that we have tried to preserve
by Ray Suttle ’23
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The Copiers Are Coming! by Chris Hafner ’00 ‘Twas the night before New Year’s and all through the AC, No one was printing, not even out back! The paper was stacked here by maintenance with care, in hopes that faculty soon would be there. The copiers all went to sleep for the break, Not knowing that IT in the background did make An agreement with Canon so sound and so sure, That copies and prints will be quick and secure. When out behind the Cooper Center we stored, Replacements for all folks who may feel ignored Trust us we said, from IT to you masses, We’re not going to be as slow as molasses. Well get the copiers replaced don’t you worry, Those and the printers we’ll swap in a hurry! So to this end, IT has procured Dozens of units to help feel assured That you can continue to teach this year Knowing our students soon will be here.
by Chris Hafner ’00
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by Chrissi Pappas ’24
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by Lapit Lapinee ’21
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The Starry Night by Dylan Hamel ’22
.Every person sees stars with a different meaning, some see art, some see science and I see thoughts. I can only see the stars, everything except the night sky is blurred out of my vision, I feel so immersed. As I start to think about life, I slowly drift away from reality and I feel as if I’m daydreaming...or night dreaming if you will. Before I knew it, I dissipated into my thoughts. “What is the purpose of me living my life?” I ask myself. I start to think about life and how I should live it with my own parameters and standards. “I should live life to the fullest. Everyone dies eventually, no one makes it out alive. Why not just live it to the fullest?” I ask myself again trying to find a deeper meaning. “Make friends, make memories with those friends. Have fun and live a free life. It is New Hampshire after all… “live free or die” is our state motto.” At this point, I am inside my own head and in my thoughts. The stars weren’t visible anymore, it was just a blank canvas, I knew I had my eyes open though. “In my high school and college years, live my life with purpose. Don’t just sit around and expect to live a great life. Be active, be social, be confident, live each and every day with meaning and purpose behind it. Otherwise, that will be a day wasted. We can’t just let a day bring us down because if we do, that next day will feel bad and if we don’t make a change in that day and try to make it a better day, the days after that won’t be meaningful and purposeful days.” Now I have a better understanding of how I want to live my life and how important everything is in life, don’t take things for granted. All of a sudden, I get a call from my mom asking where I am and I told her I was looking up at the stars and I got lost in my thoughts. I hang up the phone and I look back up at the sky and see the stars with a different meaning than I had before.
by Anders Wang ’22
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Missing You by Alexia Diers ’22
That may have been the most complicated relationship anyone has ever had. Everyone goes through ups and downs but ours was more than usual. Being there with you from freshman year and you were a junior all the way until my junior year and your first year of college was amazing. We got to see each other grow so much. You were my light in my darkness. Both of our lives were so busy, at one point we barely saw each other. But looking on the bright side, you showed me a different perspective on life. You taught me so many life lessons even though we are both still young you still guided me through 2 years of life. The first time we had seen each other we both immediately thought the same thing. It was almost as if love at first sight was a real thing. I can remember asking around about who you were and as soon as I heard that you were doing the same thing I decided to text you. Being a little intimidated because you were older than me and I wasn’t sure what the outcome would have been. The first time we talked I couldn’t stop smiling because I was so satisfied by the fact that we were gonna be together for a while. Getting to know you was really hard though. You were a tough shell to crack but you let me in. when i cracked open your shell it was a whole new you. You had just gotten your license, so you would come pick me up and we would go for late night drives and get food or ice cream. As much as you hated coming ten minutes out of your way to get me, you would always drop me back off ten minutes away and say how much fun you had that night. You would always text me when you got home safe and we would both say our goodnights and I love yous. The most exciting time for us was when we went on vacation together. Going to tour the white house in Washington D.C was enjoyable. Spending 13 days with each other was the most time we have ever spent together at one time. Too much time together equals a lot of fighting between us. When things started to go south was when you went off to school. You just didn’t have time for me and I didn’t understand that until now. When we broke up after two and a half years, it was the hardest thing I’ve been through. My best friend and I weren’t even friends anymore. After all those good times, they just all went to waste. It’s not really a waste, they’re just memories that we both have and It’s mournful to think that we won’t create anymore. I would like to believe that none of that ever happened because it makes me sad every time I think about you and the good times we’ve had but I thank you for every moment we spent together. In the end, everyone goes through at least one heartbreak. Mine happened to be when I was young so now in the future i’ll be more prepared. We are still somewhat friends because we are both mad at each other for different things but over time we are starting to let it go and move on. But spending that much time with a person, and then all of a sudden you aren’t friends anymore, hurts worse than anything I’ve been through.
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by Mrs. Michelle Rafalowski
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by Jaila Richard ’22
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Stealing Power by Emmett Shea ’22 Don’t you just love power outages? I know I do. Everything stops. Water runs cold in the shower, TV kicks out, radio stops, lights go out. Total dark and silence. The thing is that most kids are scared of losing power or even scared of the dark for that matter. I never was scared of the dark; it actually gave me a sense of security which makes no sense because normally that’s never the case. In fact it’s the exact opposite and most people feel less secure and very uneasy. Well, anyway this story is about a power outage, a bizarre power outage, one full of questions. Like many things in life, there are lots and lots of questions, but very few answers. Let me explain. I can’t stand looking at people having fun, not even a little. It drives me crazy because in life you shouldnt have fun, at all, period, discussion is closed. I know all about life. Actually I know so much that you could call me an expert. Many people wonder why I’m still living in this trailer, for example, if I know everything about life. It doesn’t look like the type of place a life expert would be living. The reason I still live in the trailer isn’t because I have to, but it’s because I choose to. As I said, life isn’t supposed to be fun, and mine is far from fun. When I was in the marines, I lost too many people, and saw too much tragedy for a single lifetime to handle. That’s how I’m such an expert. I’ve literally been through lifetimes of tragedy and losses. Now you are probably a bit confused as to how power outages and life are supposed to connect. Well, that’s because my job, or at least it’s a job in my opinion, is causing power outages. It’s my daily task and my way of life. I spend my life traveling in a trailer, and I wipe out entire cities. I have issues, lots of issues. I have no heart and no sympathy, basically because freezing my heart and feelings is the only way that I am able to get through each day. So, bringing other people down gives me company in my misery and it gives me purpose. Any way possible to cause misery to other people, without harming them, is my new goal in life. Last week, I took out a whole gated community, in the suburbarbs of Chicago. It was around 9 p.m. on a Saturday
and I had nine houses to hit. First thing, I grabbed all of my tools which included three knives, each different sizes and blade types, an adjustable wrench, cable cutters, and water. Lastly, I packed a tuna sandwich with a side of oreos. I was ready to go, I hopped in my truck and drove to the gated community. First the phone lines, then the power cable, I cut each one. I repeat the procedure over and over again as I slip over the back fence of each and every house in the community. It’s not as easy as it appears; it takes a lot of precision and improvising. The main reason I love to do this is the adrenaline rush I get, the same feeling I had in the marines. When I was in the marines, we used to have fun, but not like this. It was much more serious. Doing this makes me feel as close to the work I did overseas. I do it for the feeling and because life isn’t supposed to be fun, so I should make it difficult. No one ever has a clue what has happened to the power and I love hiding in the bushes watching as the family looks for a solution. They are always confused as to why the people next door have power. I’ve been doing it for five years now, causing misery and distress to others, and I haven’t felt an urge of regret. Practice makes perfect, I have always been told. That’s exactly what I have done, I have practiced jumping over fences, cutting wires, and taking their power out, all without making a single noise. If something goes wrong, I run. I run really fast to the nearest trash can. I hide inside until I know that the coast is clear. This has only happened a few times, but it’s still best to have a good idea of what to do in these situations. I have only been caught by the police once, and was given community service as a sentence. The reason I am so good at not getting caught, is because that’s what I was taught to do in the marines, just don’t get caught. It isn’t a skill you can teach really, it’s more about being smart and aware. It takes great concentration and skill to precisely cut the power, run, and keep moving. When I am concentrating on that, I remember the other marines, my friends, some that died, some that moved away, but I remember them and forget my heart ache. When I remember, I am not alone. The darkness hides my pain and gives me peace in the silence.
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School Lunch by Spencer Weinshank ’21
Plate of food in hand, I walked out of the double doors, a crowd of people staring at me. With a thousand eyes flipping across the room and a string of kids behind me, I now have to make the instantaneous decision about my fate for the next 45 minutes. This is arguably one of the most stress-inducing situations a student will face– if you couldn’t tell by now, I’m talking about school lunch. If you’re out of school, you remember it, and if you’re in school, you dread it. The cafeteria isn’t just a place to consume food; for me (and many others), it’s like a zoo, whose cages were left open and all animals running wild. And depending on where you fall on your school’s food chain, you can have drastically different experiences. I experience significant social anxiety. This plays a role in my everyday life and comes into play at lunch, every single time. Sitting alone at a lunch table with a dining hall full of kids brings a demoralizing feeling like no other. When I sit alone, I am overcome with a feeling of emptiness and self-doubt. For much of my elementary and middle school experience, I sat wishing I was at the “cool kids’ table.” Not only did I desire friends to eat with, but I also craved validation from my peers. We are faced with a pandemic. Not COVID, but the plague of loneliness and isolation in our schools. Just like in movies, in any given lunchroom, you can find the “popular” kids at one table, basketball players at another, and video gamers, drama club members, and everyone else spread out in their groups. A time in the school day that was meant to consume food and turned it into a competition. Let me ask you a question: if one of the leading factors for adolescent suicide is bullying, then why are we, as a society, condoning these cliques and popularity ideals? Not only does this set unrealistic expectations for the real world, but it creates a negative feedback loop for those who are having trouble finding themselves. To this day, I’m still overwhelmed with anxiety when looking out at the lunch tables. School lunch should be about coming together as a community. There should be no question about if it’s ok to sit with a particular group of kids and if you’re “cool enough. “ When I think about what I’m most excited for in college, I think about lunch. Not just in the traditional sense– a table, chairs, a sea of eyes. But the kind of table I want to have for other people. Open, welcoming, and full of hope. For everyone.
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by Blake Flather ’22
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by Anders Wang ’22
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