The Sharpened Pencil
Volume I
Cary Academy US
Table of Contents
Page 1 - Title
Page 2 - Table of Contents
Page 3 - Black Panther
Page 5 - When She Woke Up
Page 8 - Hidden Ninjas
Page 10 - The Droid
Page 14 - Our Inspiration
Page 15 - The Flood
Page 18 - The Swim
Page 22 - Aspirations
Page 25- Thank you
Page 26- Members
BLACK PANTHER
Black Panther
Night is a black panther
Creeping into every crack and
Until the light comes To scare it away
cranny
WHEN SHE WOKE UP
TW INCLUDES GUN VIOLENCE
When She Woke Up
Every morning I wake up, I sense an aura of bad luck, I put on my clothes, finish showering, Walk down the stairs, I know what’s coming, I eat my breakfast and turn the news on, AnotBilder für das Kinderbuchher shooting; ten more gone, I don’t cry and I don’t shake, But deep inside a piece of me breaks. --- I wonder about the people that died, If they have a family that cried, If they were a son, a mother, a daughter, Maybe they had kids or were expecting another. --- That morning they probably woke up, didn’t think to pray or wish for good luck. They said goodbye to their family without kissing or hugging, not knowing it was the last time, not knowing what was coming. They left the house and turned the car on, walked into a room and then they were gone, Maybe they had time to beg, cry, and shake. But by the time help arrived, they were too late. --- I wonder what human could cause all this pain, pulling a trigger and making lives go to waste. Did they know the gut-wrenching pain they were causing? The heartache, the anguish, the funerals, the sobbing. --Maybe they decided when they woke up , made up their mind to create some bad luck.
When She Woke Up
Got dressed, brushed their teeth and took a shower, filled with a great growing sense of power. They walked to a store, asked for just one, got handed some bullets and that sale was done. Blended into a crowd, a bulge in their pocket, didn’t even give them a chance to block it. We live in a world where people are killed every day, because of a rule people don’t want to go away. Is it worth all the lives that we ’ re losing, I ask you? Do you value guns over lives? Is that true?
HIDDEN NINJAS
Hidden Ninjas
My great grandpa died in his sleep from a heart attack when I was about 8 but I didn't know what a heart attack was. For some reason the image I conjured up in my mind was of a ninja dressed in all black sneaking into his room and night and stabbing him. My parents were really sad about it and they didn't have enough time to be scared so I decided I would have to defend the family myself. So, I didn't sleep and locked all the windows and kept a fake plastic knife from my play kitchen with me at all times. A couple days later, we drove down to go to a funeral. My parents got ready to go to the funeral. Now, I didn't know this at the time, but when you go to a funeral you typically dress in all black. I went into their room and saw them in all black and my heart sank as I realized they had killed him. I went to the funeral and everywhere I looked everyone was dressed in black. To my dismay I understood perfectly. Everyone in my family, people I loved and trusted, were killers.
THE DROID
The Droid
I go to bed with lots of energy and thoughts flying around my head. Tomorrow is my job interview for the largest company in the country and if I get it, my wife and I will finally have the life we ’ ve wanted. We would be able get a bigger house, go on vacations, and afford kids. Actually, maybe not the kid part because my wife doesn’t want them and they’re expensive anyways. I toss and turn, silently walking through all of my talking points in my interview. Around midnight my wife whispers softly “You’re ready for this. Just get sleep, you’ll need it”. Her voice has an almost mechanical noise that always gets slower and softer as it gets late. Her voice is comforting, and I drift off to sleep.
My eyes blink open to a beeping sound, a lot like the alarm our butler makes when he comes to wake me up. My hand flops over, grasping for the remote to hit snooze and turn him off but nothing happens and instead I see the time. It’s three in the morning. The beeping sound continues, and I notice a soft blue glow in the room. I sit up and look over.
My wife’s chest – a metal compartment – is open and appears to be plugged into the wall. I panic and take a closer look. A small, blue screen says 80% and the beeping comes from somewhere inside her.
The Droid
Then it hits me. My wife is a droid��. I scramble backwards in shock. After 15 years together, I finally know, and she wasn’t the one to tell me! I wonder what other secrets she’s kept and how many lies she’s told. I knock over a vase in my panic and freeze. I see the droid’s eyes open, and they scan the room. She freezes too when she sees me and stutters “I-I can explain.” I feel tears spring to my eyes feeling betrayed. I half-sob, “How much of our life and relationship was true? That’s all I want to know.” She recoils, “Every bit of it I promise.
Just because I’m a machine doesn’t make my any different. You know how droids have evolved so much that we have feelings now!” I know this is true, but I just don’t know. Seeing my hesitation she exclaims, “That’s all I hid from you and lied about! I promise. When I was built, I was told never to tell anyone. Not even my spouse. But I was also told not to lie. So, I just hid it and made a promise to myself I would never life about anything, even feelings. So I promise, I’ve always been honest with you, and I love you. You loved me before so why not now?” I start laughing; I just can’t help it. I’m married to a droid that looks so much like a human, it’s uncanny.
The Droid
My wife looks offended, so I quickly explain myself and she starts laughing too. Life continues on as mostly normal. I get the job and our life improves. It turns out as a droid you get all kinds of crazy talents so whenever I can’t do something, she can. She’s also much happier not having to hide from me and she can show off a lot. I still remember that night as one of the weirdest ever and now I see droids disguised as humans everywhere. It cracks me up when I see my friends with droids, and they have no idea. I’m working as an activist when I have free time to integrate droids into society and we make progress every day.
Our Inspiration
The Glass Castle is a memoir written for Jeannette Walls. Walls' was forced to care for herself and her siblings because her parents didn't want the responsibility of raising a family. Her Dad was an alcoholic and her mom, a free spirit. The following three stories are excerpts from the story told from the point of view of a side character.
THE FLOOD
The Flood
Every spring, as Rex used to tell me, the rain would sweep in and take away all of my worries with it. This time, however, Mother Nature had a different plan in her heart. In the years before this, many men have destroyed, pillaged, and practically raped this beautiful town, stripping it of its natural muddy beauty. I could tell that this time, Mother Nature wanted to take revenge. She carried out her plan perfectly if I might say so myself, executing vengeance on the cruel men by killing them. A side effect was that our charming little home was completely flooded, but I'm sure Mother Nature had that in mind for us. The mushrooms, mold, and puddles made a perfect subject for my newest art collection, so what was the problem Jeannette was making a fuss about? Brian: my second oldest, has resorted to covering himself with a tarp to stay dry in his bed. How innovative! The kids really take after Rex, they have his inventive spirit after all. Unlike me, Jeannette was foolishly worried. "We have to do something about the porch situation. It's getting downright dangerous to go to the bathroom at night."
Reluctantly, I agreed. "You're right." It's not like everyone in our family can take hardships like me. "Something has to be done." Lucky for me, I had the genius idea to be old fashioned, living like our noble ancestors all the way in Europe.
The Flood
I found a yellow bucket on the side of the road, it was perfect for all our needs. Small, simple, and elegant. The yellow bucket was the answer to my kids' complaining without using the money I need for my art business. They seemed to do just fine with it, and I might say even better. One night as I went outside to pluck a mushroom bouquet, the stairs crumbled and I daintily tumbled down the small hill. I was covered in bruises, but I always say they add character. After all, no one wants to look all smooth and plastic like those New York City crooks.
This is better than before with the fancy-shmancy toilet.
THE SWIM
The Swim
I watched silently from far away as Jeannette and her brother Brian walked out of the pool deck. Ernie Goad's triumphant voice followed, telling them to go home to the garbage dump. I felt a pang of guilt. These kids deserve friends, and if their own kind won't give it to them, I will.
A week later, I get my chance. The heat is still holding, and I had just gotten out of the pool, my damp hair pulled back by a scarf. I'm walking back home, downtown when I run into Jeannette Walls. "Brother, that felt good", I said turning to her. I extended the word "good" as if there were more Os than the word deserved. "Do you ever go swimming," I asked, already knowing the answer.
Jeannette responded instantly with, "They don’t like us to go there."
I didn’t need the explanation so I just nod. I hope the ladies don’t mind what I do next. "Why don’t you come swimming with us in the morning?"
By " us " I mean the other black people. The pool had an unspoken, unofficial segregation to it. Technically, we could go whenever we wanted but black people always went in the morning when it was free and white people always went in the afternoon when you had to pay 50 cents.
The Swim
White people just can't get over the color of our skin so us black people have to be the ones to reach out. Jeannette hesitates. "Wouldn't anybody get mad?" she asks. " 'Cause you ' re white?" I asked. "Your own kind might but we won't. And your own kind won't be there."
Jeannette meets me there and I'm glad she does. I ignore the white girl at the entrance even though she gives us a surprised look. I hope the ladies won't be uncomfortable even though I know Jeannette will be. Our feet squish against the wet cement floor and my favorite soul tune blasts out of a tape player. The naked girls singing and dancing don’t bother me and I join them. I don't mind being naked in front of them because it's not like what we have is bad. Jeannette is clearly uncomfortable but it's not my fault white people are so modest. A woman I don’t recognize strides up to Jeannette stopping inches away from her, probably to make sure she was okay to have in the locker room. I've seen this happen before but continue getting undressed because they've never turned anyone around. The poor girl was terrified. I notice Jeannette's scar as soon as she gets undressed. She told me she got it when she was little and spent a long time in the hospital. I reach over and lightly feel it. "It ain't so bad", I try to reassure her. I kinda think it's cool.
The Swim
I notice Jeannette's scar as soon as she gets undressed. She told me she got it when she was little and spent a long time in the hospital. I reach over and lightly feel it. "It ain't so bad", I try to reassure her. I kinda think it's cool.
"Hey 'Nitia!" someone shouts from the back. "Your white friend's got a red bush coming in!"
"What did you expect?" I ask. She's embarrassed and white and of course she'll turn colors!
"That's right," Jeannette said. "Collar got to match the cuffs."
I recognize that as something I say often and I'm glad she feels welcome enough to talk like that. The other women think it's hilarious and they cackle with laughter. The women, thank God, love Jeannette. One person even bumps hips with her, and Jeannette gives a cheeky bump back. I can't help but beam as I look around me. I'm glad they've accepted her into their morning swim.
Jeannette and I swim together all morning splashing and practicing butterfly and backstroke. Thankfully she flails just as much as I do.
ASPIRATIONS
Aspirations
It was finished. The one thing that my life depended on was done. No one would argue how closely it resembled the late great Shakespeare even if they knew how it was created. The damp smell of clay covered the room in a thick cloud, as my work, my hope was finished. To the side I see my sister standing there; staring in awe at my sculpture. Her petite frame mesmerized by something that I created. As my heart begins to swell with pride, joy, and hope the footsteps of evil come crashing down.
At first, I didn’t think anything of it, as sometimes the wild creature was tamed, but today, today I was mistaken. I should have known not to befriend the one that tortures me so. Even though he may have been called a father, in reality he was nothing but a tormentor, a monster. His loud, cumbersome footsteps clamber down the stairs with urgency. But then I see him. His eyes were red, his walk was staggered, and his face fixed on a look of malice. I couldn’t imagine anything that he would do to hurt me this much, but the damage was done. As he approaches my sister and I, he criticizes my work, but I am not phased as this was only a minor tremor compared to usual.
Aspirations
But soon the line was crossed. Everything happened so fast that it was if a tornado touched down for 3 seconds. The evil that consumed this household was out for a kill, and that kill was my hope. The mouth of Shakespeare was gone.
There was no saving, no hope, and no scholarship. I was about to break, but the one thing that kept me going was the pain. The pain that he had caused me, the hurt he had brought to us all; I wasn't going to sit there. So, I yelled. I would usually never dare to slay a dragon but today a spark illuminated in me. If I couldn’t get out, then I sure must try to fight it. Fury like none other consumed me until after the threat was gone. In which I sat there staring at the ruined sculpture that I once called a masterpiece. Instead of fury, defeat rose in me. My hopes were being torn away from my grasp and all I could do was cry. Cry about my life, my pain, my dreams. And my sculpture that now sits in a pile of mush in the house that I was so eagerly going to leave.
Thank You!
We want to thank everyone who contributed to the magazine so this could be possible. Thank you to the members of the Literary Magazine who helped this be published. We also want to thank everyone who submitted pieces so we could actually have this in the first place.
Literary Magazine Members
Caroline Keefe
Finn Miller Harper Gildener
Keira Sabapathypillai
Noah Becker
Piper Miller
Serena Patel
Tova Feldman
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