Flame 2015

Flame 2015

Flame is the middle school literary magazine of Castilleja School

Published once a year, this magazine brings together the work of dozens of young writers, artists, and photographers.

Anyone in grades 6-­‐8 is welcome to submit.

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Students in the Flame elective work on their creative writing in the fall, then gather submissions and lay out the magazine in the spring. During the 2014-­‐2015 school year, so many students have been involved in Flame that we cannot name them all here.

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We hope that you enjoy immersing yourself in the poems, short stories, photographs, paintings, and sketches that you will find in this issue. Perhaps you will find something that grabs your attention, sparks your imagination, and inspires you to create something of your own.

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Jole Seroff, Samantha Terkeltaub, Graham Toben -­‐-­‐Faculty Advisors

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Art by Riona Yoshida Front cover art by Alyssa Sales Back cover art by Naira Mizra

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Rain Magic.

To the eyes Of many, It does not Exist.

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But, Imagine: The sky starts To turn A melancholy grey, And the World starts To be gloomy.

But peoples’ hearts rise in hope, As the air starts to feel Promising.

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A tiny drop Lands on a rose petal, And The petal sags With the weight Of Something So beautiful, So hopeful.

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Drip.

Drop.

Staring Out The window.

Mesmerized By The soft Fall.

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What could do that?

What could bring Such hope?

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Magic can.

Just because we see it, Does not mean that we understand it.

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Maybe magic is real.

So maybe…

Rain Is Magic That falls from the sky.

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-­‐-­‐Ananya Ramkumar

Photos by Gaby Nightingale

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Spills Empty space.

Empty thoughts.

Empty words.

Un-­‐lived lives.

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Darkness.

Pools of yellow.

Streaming white.

Light.

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Jasmine flowers and pink lemonade.

Almond cookies and milky tea.

Mangos and orange juice.

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Raindrops falling smoothly on rose petals.

Innocent sunshine illuminating clear waters.

Puffy clouds and moist fog hovering over shining cities.

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Words.

Sentences.

Conversations.

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People.

Moving.

Accidents.

Mistakes.

Spills.

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Splattered space.

Splotched thoughts.

Broken words. .Almost-­‐lived lives.

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-­‐-­‐Ananya Ramkumar

Photo by Kayla Drazan

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My Name In English, my name means defender and helper. To my family, it means laughter, kindness, helping and most importantly oldest child and big sister. I’m the only one of my siblings who doesn’t share a family name with a relative from the past. My name is independent. It’s like the number one, standing on it’s own. It’s like the lone shooting star racing across the black night. It is my own.

At home, my siblings would pronounce my name oddly as though there were no L, and each syllable was its own word. Over time, my name shifted into the nickname I’ve always remembered being called at home. Lexi. My nickname has stayed with me through thick and thin. It has been there for me when all I wanted to hear was the soft ringing of it in my mother’s voice. My nickname makes me feel safe. My nickname makes me feel loved. It reminds me that I’m with the people I can rely on.

My mother once said, “A name isn’t given, it is made. You define and create your own name.” I’m not entirely sure what I will create for myself yet, but I know it will be unique. I want to be the brilliant, glazing diamond in a pile of fake gems. I want to be the fruit loop in a bowl of cheerios. My name will mirror an entire life’s earned accomplishments and overcome mistakes. I want to be able to say my name

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and be proud, like I had just set foot on the moon.

-­‐-­‐Alexis Stull

Art by Emi Sears

Revolutionary (or, “Our Dancing Days”)

It’s coming closer, you know The morning when we will wake up And realize it is time To shake off our old skin like the snake That so comfortably begins his new life

With each step I take Tiptoeing into my future I glance back Waves of nostalgia Photo by Amna Ali For hopping off humid school buses, ears ringing Kicking legs against the front steps While scraping Italian ice out of a cup, the spring sun Settling in my soul along with the smell of rich mulch and pollen

And now those days are over, The days before we knew the harsh truths of our planet Our race And knew So suddenly It was selfish to long for how it used to be Those days, those were Our dancing days

It’s time.

But don’t be scared I will hold your hand, and together we will be Revolutionary.

-­‐-­‐Calista Triantis

The Toaster Please note before beginning Human are toast

Instructions Specifically Written for God: Please place a piece of bread in the opening, It will get swallowed into the world that we know into the toaster and the baby comes out white and soft and the bread should start off white and limp.

As time goes on, It should become a healthy gold become tan from the sun and grow crisper and grow up.

But sorry to break it to you, The bread will start smoking will become jaded.

And the result is Burnt Black Toast Burnt Black Heart

-­‐-­‐Sho Sho Ho

Photo

by Lily Levin

Noah Who Gives us Stories Noah says he went to college to study English, and that he wants to be a writer, but that right now he does captions for photographs that his friend takes. He says it’s okay, it’ll lead to something bigger, yah, something bigger, one day I’ll write a book.

He straightens out the collar of his shirt and signs on to sell his captions at a little store where they keep shot glasses and travel magnets but not people who buy art.

So Noah saves books to the big shots, and keeps the little miracles to himself. In Noah's mind everything has a story, and I don’t know whether he makes them up while he’s talking, or if the stories just sleep in his mind until he needs them, but it seems like Noah sews his world out of stories and I love that about him. He says stories cradle us like only the softest strongest hands.

Every night Noah sits out by the campfire and listens to everybody else, saying yah and wow and always smiling. We talk his ear off with our crazy stories, golden eagles and glaciers and hail storms become gold in our market. But really we are just waiting, we are just the opening act for the real show. Because when he gets up and brushes the pine needles off his legs and shakes his hair out real smooth and tucks in his shirt, we are the ones quiet now. He gets this big wide smile on his face and says ladies and gentleman is it time for some music? I start nodding my head and smiling and I know it looks stupid but with Noah there is no time for inhibition.

Photo by Amna Ali

Noah takes out his guitar and rests it on one knee and gets his shoulder strap all settled, and then pulls out a dark blue pick and holds it on his thumb. He hunches over and closes his eyes for a second. We all have to stop and watch him, everybody gets a little quieter and more thoughtful. Noah moves around his guitar a little longer and fidgets with the tuners and the hush turns into that moment before a play starts where everyone’s holding their breath, waiting for the first note to come.

Silence buzzes in my ears like flies.

And then. It comes. The first twang of of bluegrass in the black night and all at once there’s sound again like he’s shown us how to make fire with our voices. I fall in love so suddenly with his gentle hands strumming that old guitar. He holds that pick softly like an angel between his thumb and first finger, a strong grip turned tender.

With his quiet eyes and a smiles that makes the moon blush its no wonder we’re all singing with him, the old hippy Phil and the little girl who I forgot the name of and Margaret the flute player with silver hair, all of our hands are clapping and laughing and all the smiles are like fireflies in the dark. The air is so fresh in the night and it feels like I can see a million miles into the air with the stars winking down at us and the trees swaying to the melody. Noah is singing like a coyote, Noah is singing like the trees howling in the wind, Noah is singing like he was never told he can’t.

He smiles at us, a big big smile. And that smile, it takes time to understand.

Because Noah, Noah isn’t just giving us beauty. He’s taking our sadness with those eyes. A sponge, he untangles us from our pain, and folds it into himself. He smiles too, but sometimes when he thinks nobody’s looking, his eyes turn sad and he looks far away like he’s searching for some memory. Sometime when he wasn’t made of everybody else. Some time when he was just a boy, just a boy. I wonder if anybody wrings out his sponge eyes for him, or whether Noah is just going to keep on wiping all the pain away until he floods over.

-­‐-­‐ Sophie Nevle Levoy

Photo by Muskaan Sahiwal

Bombs

Art by Minhee Chung Falling like shooting stars from the darkness of the night, those who hate us, attack where we can’t see them, cowards, hidden in the dark, smoky clouds, I watch in awe and fear, they hit the ground in a great surge of light, smoke and ashes of a thousand bodies float through the air, the sky becomes a pale gray, tiny delicate snowflakes of ash fall as if trying to find their home once more, the street is red like the flag they dare wave, red like the blood they spill, red like the bands they wear, bombed by the Nazis.

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-­‐-­‐Lauren Ashby

The Vote

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Women They wanted to vote They wanted to walk down the street and know That they, As women mattered That they mattered and their ideas were important To know that they could have a say In what wanted to wear or how to act They fought They lived They died For the vote They never gave up Marching down the street Art

by Riona Yoshida For a vote With signs in hand and voices loud They were strong They are strong They left a mark Gave opportunities Gave freedom For themselves For their friends And for their children They wanted the vote And now, We have the vote

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-­‐-­‐Elizabeth Foster

Those Who Know (Based off of The House On Mango Street by Sandra Cisneros)

We are here for your tita, Mama says quietly to me in the middle of the

afternoon. Mama trembles, and I know that she’s tired of being brave. Mama clings onto my tito’s arm, and she hangs on like she’s holding onto a railing of a ship. I fear that if she lets go she might fall into the ocean and drown, not in the water, but drown in her tears.

I see my tito whispering comforting words into her ear, but we both

know what the glistening water on his face are; they are his tears. Tears that are streaming down hard and fast. Yet no matter how hard he tries to stifle his sobs, it still sounds like rain pounding on a window during a storm. No matter how hard tito pretends to be okay, all of us know that his way of coping doesn’t change anything. It doesn’t change the fact that his wife is laying down on sheets as white as heaven, and as wrinkled as my grandma’s skin. It doesn’t change the fact Mama’s sister is waiting. She is waiting for the metal parts that will soon become part of her heart.

Mama tells me to talk to my younger cousins, my pinsans, because I

share a better bond with them than anyone else. Ethan, Brandon, and Dylan had been whispering quietly, had curiously-­‐and still are-­‐watching Mama’s and

Uncle’s every move. I am thankful that though they are young, they understand it is not the time for ongoing questions. Just as I understand that it is my job to explain to them that there is a chance we will no longer have our auntie, our tita, with us. I explain to them that my wrist cast is not the reason we are sitting in these stiff chairs. It is not the reason why all of the adults are clinging together weeping. It is certainly not the reason why we are trapped within these white walls. I tell them about our tita’s surgery, and how she might be sleeping forever.

Even the idea of death is a curious thing. When Mama and Papa are no

longer with me I know I will feel lost. I am a compass, and they are my needle pointing north. I’m not sure what I will do without the people I love. But I know that I will feel emptiness that can’t be replaced. And when I see Mama anxiously waiting for her sister’s surgery, and my tito with his crestfallen eyes, I realize they know too. They know what to expect if someone’s death occurs. Even my little pinsans know, for their haunted eyes close and they lace their hands together in prayer. I wish not only for my tita, but for me. I wish that I’m not attached to others. I know my wish makes me selfish. But I also know the people closest to us can harm us the most.

-­‐-­‐Alyssa Sales

Autumn

The trees have burst into a flame of red leaves, the branches waving at us lazily as the carpet of their fallen children crackles with each step we take. The street is quiet but for the odd gust of wind whipping the leaves by the curb into a tornado. And of course there’s us, too, twirling and shrieking and babbling as all grammar-­‐school girls do. There is only one other soul on the street: a man in a suit stands on the corner, head bent.

At first glance I think he is praying, but upon approaching we can see he cradles a phone, typing furiously. He barely acknowledges us as we amble past. My sister hops over cracks in the sidewalk, the cracks through which the ground breathes and sighs inaudibly at being smothered by cement. She trips and the crows laugh at her. Ignoring them, she shakes off the dust and dares me to join in. We are happy.

-­‐-­‐Calista Triantis Photo by Dana Abbo

The Tree

Always there, always faithful Its comforting limbs envelop me in a deep embrace

Covered by a slight curtain of green I whisper into her ear all of my deepest darkest secrets

Of course I can count on it that she will never tell a soul.

Sometimes it seems as if she might be dead her lush green foliage golding, browning, going, gone

But I always know That she is somewhere inside there She is still there for me Death and rebirth, it’s all the same by now

-­‐-­‐Charlotte Lamm

Photo by Muskaan Sahiwal

She gazes up at the plane, so high up in the sky. It is up there, somewhere, hovering in the sky, powering ahead at full speed, getting travelers from one plane to the next. She would do anything to be able to travel the world, to not be on a daily schedule. It was like a hope for her future. “Where is it going?” She wonders while she collects the eggs. “Wherever it is going, I would like to go there, too.

Then she waves at the plane, feeling childish and silly, hoping someone in it will see her. She stares at it and thinks of all the places she would like to travel, until it disappears beyond the horizon, forever journeying ahead, just how she wanted to be.

Photo by Kayla Drazan

She gazes down at the valley, so lush and green. Then, she sees a small town, somewhere down there, firmly planted on the earth. She would do anything to stay in one place, to not be traveling from hotel to hotel. It was like a memory from her childhood. “Where are we now?” the lady wonders as she pulls out her camera to snap a picture. “Wherever we are, I would love to live here. Then, feeling childish and silly, she waves down, hoping someone will see her below. She stares at the quiet little town, until it disappears beyond the horizon, staying down there, stationary, just how she wanted to be.

-­‐-­‐Laura-­‐Ann Moore

Art by Naira Mizra

Art by Nikita Srivastava

My mother broke every plate in the house that day.

When I walked down the stairs finally feeling it safe to step into the cold harsh room I saw before me not a floor, but a sea sharp, broken, and bone white, the caps of waves were frozen in a malicious storm it was a graveyard to family dinners the sea of shards was thrumming with life motionless, grotesquely pointing towards the corner of the room pointing towards something that you could almost not make out beneath the waves it was as shattered as the objects surrounding it, shivering and whispering beneath the brokenness it was my mother

-­‐-­‐Claire Szeptycki

Photo by Amna Ali

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Freedom What is freedom, the right to hold land or the right to hold your own destiny, the right to be brave or the right to serve yourself, the right to be one of the gone or the right to never serve a master What is freedom, Freedom is to be free, free to feel the salty sea breeze delicately caress your tresses, free to sit amongst the flowing wheat in the golden embrace of the sun, free to pick the juiciest apple from a tree in a fortress of golden leaves, What is freedom, It no longer matters what the true meaning of freedom is, Because now I am free

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-­‐-­‐Lauren Ashby

Photo by Lauren Ashby

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Rain I came from a ball of fury in endless blue, But when I disappear I will whisper color and light into my shadow.

Leaving whispery trails On everything I touch, A fresh scent and smiles on faces, frowns on others.

When angry, I inflict pain and holes and dents.

But otherwise, I come lightly and unannounced, But leave damp memories.

I come by dozens and hundreds.

I target areas, and leave others alone.

Memories of childhood and ruined clothes Are how I tug the corners of your mouth Into a smile.

Gracefully dancing, On the window, the roof, the grass.

-­‐-­‐Kayla Drazan

Photo by Mabelle Pasmooj

Wonder Relenting, and the sea swinging open, is to wonder, A particle of power, the epiphany of the sky, the revelation of stone splitting.

Wonder.

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The right touch, the glassy, clear spring water, the parting of reflection allowing passage.

The wonder streaming out of a curious child.

Photo by Amna Ali

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The easy parting of oaks, wondering, why? accessible as the unlocking of mercy…

-­‐-­‐Ananya Ramkumar

She$calls$it$a$sickness.$ You$are$walking$down$the$crooked$sidewalk$of$her$street,$escaping$reality$ together.$$Only$after$you$pass$the$old$man$and$his$dog$does$she$dare$to$ take$your$hand$in$her$own$and$rub$her$thumb$lightly$over$the$warmth$of$ your$skin.$There’s$hardly$another$soul$out.$After$all,$who$in$their$right$ mind$would$be$outside$on$a$foggy$morning?$(You$don’t$count.)$ Look.$Sapphire$petals$struggle$through$the$untamed$grass$between$the$ road$and$dirty$concrete$of$the$sidewalk.$Really,$it’s$more$of$a$muted$blueD purple,$but$it$is$the$only$one$in$the$patch$of$tan$weeds.$The$striking$ elegance$of$solitude.$You$wish$you$had$your$sketchpad.$Look.%You$both$ halt.$Isn’t%it%gorgeous?% I%don’t%know,$she$says.$ You$glance$at$her.$What%do%you%mean,%you%don’t%know?%Look%at%that%flower.% I%can’t.% The$words$are$blunt,$like$pebbles$spit$from$her$mouth.$You$don’t$realize$ you$have$let$go$of$her$hand.$ And$so$she$tells$you:$she$cannot$see$beauty.$To$her,$everything$is$the$ same.$Crows$are$as$dainty$as$sparrows,$a$toddler’s$scribble$as$much$of$a$ masterpiece$as$Van$Gogh’s.$And$she$cannot$distinguish$a$flower$from$the$ tangled$weeds$surrounding$it.$A$sicknessDD$she’s$sure$of$itDD$something$that$ went$wrong$in$her$brain$that$made$her$world$void$of$beauty.$ She$has$no$idea$why$she$is$this$way,$she$tells$you.$She$just$is.$That’s%why%I% never%got%the%hang%of%art%stuff%like%you.$She$attempts$a$weak$smile,$so$you$ return$it.$ (You$can’t$hold$it$back$any$more.)$ What%about%me?% She$won’t$meet$your$eyes.$ The$one$person$you$believed$when$she$told$you$that$you$were$beautiful$ was$lying.$You$bite$your$lip$and$without$a$word$the$two$of$you$turn$and$ head$back$to$the$house,$looking$down$at$the$weeds.$When$it’s$time$for$you$ to$leave,$you$raise$a$hand$to$her$cheek$and$cup$it$gently,$watching$her.$She$ lifts$her$own$hand$to$cover$yours.$And$she$smiles.$ It’s$later,$not$until$you’re$sitting$in$your$room,$alone,$that$you$realize.$It$is$ not$that$she$can’t$see$beauty.$You$know$her.$How$could$a$girl$so$kind,$a$

girl$that$makes$her$way$through$the$world$elegantly$and$as$carefully$as$if$ its$surface$was$covered$in$shattered$glass,$not$appreciate$it?$Rather,$to$her$ there$is$beauty$in$everything.$There$is$no$variation$in$her$gratitude$for$ what$she$sees.$Everything$has$a$purpose.$Everything$in$its$own$way$keeps$ the$perfect$balance$of$proportions$that$humans$strive$to$seek$out$and$call$ beautiful.$$ Her$sickness$is$in$fact$a$gift.$ Of$course,$she$won’t$believe$you.$But$still$you$try$to$convince$her.$And$the$ next$day$you$draw$the$most$beautiful$girl$in$the$world,$a$sapphireDblue$ flower$in$her$hair.$ $ DDCalista$Triantis$

$ Photo$by$Sophia$Smucker$

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Alone The sunlight glitters down, The golden rays illuminating the planet’s surface Far below.

The clouds shift beneath your feet, As you wait in your ethereal meeting place.

And then, as soon as the others arrive, The world slips out from under you, The light shines no longer, And the clouds fade to black.

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You hear faint talking, But you keep your eyes shut As you search for the place That you left behind.

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It eludes you And comes to rest at the edge of your mind, Hidden, Tucked away, Waiting for another time.

And the clouds and light return And you are looking again, Looking for something you can never find, Something far away, Distant,

Non-­‐ existent in the waking world.

But as you look down upon everything that you’ve ever known, As it lies between your feet, You feel two pairs of wings wrap around you, And it’s then that you realize that

You

Are

Never

Truly

Alone.

-­‐-­‐ Emi Sears

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A door slams shut, And you bolt upright, Fearing the worst, And all you can feel is the fear, Paralyzing you, Blinding you.

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Light filters through your eyelids, And you lie back down once more, But still the place eludes you, So you lie there, Waiting Wondering

Hoping...

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And then, the world appears beneath your feet once more, Art by Minhee Chung

Snow

My feet are cold, My hands are cold, In the white snow.

Icicles on pines, Tall, thin, and bleak, Weighed down by heavy snow.

I love the feeling Of bare, cold, white, Beautiful, magical, snow.

There’s not a sound As I walk out In the pale, white snow.

-­‐-­‐Kate Brandin

Photo by Megan Orsak

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Running go. oxygen in the lungs arms slice the air pushing swimming through November numbers await where, bending over, I will breathe but not now now I will run like I have never run before chasing the night chasing the one in front of me chasing the end each step like a drumbeat in the symphony tonight hear the wind rushing by as I fly gliding on the wings of speed adrenaline keeps me going never too slow never to stop.

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-­‐-­‐Eliza Midgal !

Photo by Jui Nazre

Crosswalk) ! !

Some!people!dwell!on!the!past,!on!what!they!could!have!done!to!make! their!lives!better.!But!the!past!will!never!change.!The!years!of!long=ago!are!gone,! and!there!is!only!the!future,!only!what!they!can!do!to!help!their!lives!become! better.!But!the!future!will!always!become!the!past,!always!become!a!memory.!So!I! suppose!you!shouldn’t!dwell!on!either.! !

I!am!stuck!in!a!time!that!can!only!be!identified!as!present.!I!don’t!know! my!past.!There!is!no!future.!There!is!only!now.! ! ooo! ! !

I!would!introduce!myself,!but!I!don’t!know!who!I!am,!who!I!was.!I!can’t! recall!a!name,!age,!habit,!any!piece!of!who!I!used!to!be.!I’m!a!shadow!of!a!girl,!of! everything!that!defined!her.!It’s!a!sad!thing,!really,!to!be!a!shadow.! ! ooo! ! !

Something’s!jabbing!into!my!skin,!injecting!pain,!the!first!sensation!I’ve! felt!in!this!place.!I!almost!welcome!the!feeling.! !

I!try!to!swat!it!away,!but!my!arms!are!held!in!place!by!an!invisible!force.!I! can!almost!imagine!I’m!lying!on!a!platform!of!stone,!a!sacrifice!to!the!gods.!Like! the!ancient!Mayan!rituals,!the!ones!we!learned!about!in!school.!Yes,!school.! !

There!was!a!teacher!there.!A!vivacious!man,!a!frivolous!man.!He!loved! every!drop!of!sunshine,!every!star!and!cloud.!He!didn’t!realize!that!the!sun!always! sets,!the!star!always!disappears,!the!cloud’s!always!blown!apart!by!the!wind.!

Nothing!lasts!forever.!So!what’s!the!point!in!loving!it?! ! ooo! ! !

Something’s!pulsing!like!a!second!heart,!filling!me!up!with!a!liquid!I!can’t! name.!Maybe!it’s!love,!telling!me!there’s!still!hope.!With!the!love!filling!my!blood,!

I!can!almost!believe!it.! ! ooo! ! !

The!love!has!gone,!leaving!me!with!a!terrible!desolation.!It!feels!like!my! heart!is!being!cut!to!pieces.!I!just!want!to!go,!though!where,!I’m!not!sure.!

Somewhere,!anywhere.!“Let!me!out!”!I!shout!desperately,!relieving!my!troubles!to! the!impenetrable!blackness.! !

A!garbled,!incomprehensible!response!comes!from!above.!There’s!an! underwater!quality!to!it.!I!was!underwater!once.! ! ooo! !

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ooo! ! !

I!had!hair!the!color!of!a!brick,!stick=straight.!Alyce!used!to!correct!me,! reminding!me!of!the!red!of!cinnamon!and!straight,!proud!pines.!Alyce!could!tell! people!such!things,!never!needing!to!worry!about!her!own!hair,!a!strawberry= blonde!with!curls!like!ocean!waves.!Alyce!never!needed!to!comfort!herself!with! metaphors.!I!think!she!liked!it!that!way.! ! ooo! ! !

It!was!a!shortcut,!I!was!lazy,!and!there!were!consequences.!There’s!no! other!way!to!put!it.!I!was!tired,!afraid!of!failing!my!test,!wanted!to!get!home!to! study.!I!had!been!told!never!to!go!near!the!bar,!that!it!was!dangerous.!But!my!sole! focus!was!failure.!I!didn’t!consider!pain.! ! ooo! ! !

The!crossing!guard!smiled!at!me!showing!teeth!out!of!alignment,! protruding!from!black=gray!gums.!Her!eyes,!a!stunning!amber,!twinkled!with! amusement!as!I!made!a!visible!effort!to!hide!my!disgust.!It!was!like!she!knew!I! would!pay!for!my!rudeness.! !

It’s!strange!how!people!expect!everything!to!work!perfectly.!We!expect!to! push!one!domino,!and!have!the!others!fall!after!it!in!a!neat!row!while!we!sit!back! and!watch.!When!I!stepped!onto!the!crosswalk,!a!foot!came!on!the!line!of! dominoes,!destroying!the!sequence.!A!bright=blue!Impreza!came!barreling!towards! me,!not!stopping!before!the!white!boundaries.! ! ooo!

There!were!voices!coming!from!somewhere!up!above,!telling!me!that!it! was!okay,!that!everything!would!be!fine.! ! ooo! ! !

The!Impreza!was!a!storm,!approach!like!lightning,!impact!a!thunderbolt.!

But!that!wasn’t!what!hurt!most.!What!hurt!most!was!the!driver’s!face,!turquoise! eyes!wide!with!surprise,!a!beer!still!in!her!hand.!What!hurt!most!was!that!it!was!

Alyce!driving!the!car.! ! ooo! ! !

Something’s!pulling!me!away!from!here,!imperceptible!yet!inescapable.!

It’s!like!an!ocean!current—!I’ve!swam!past!the!buoy!line,!ignoring!the!warnings!of! unpredictable!waters,!and!the!current!is!pulling!me!away!from!shore.!Grasping!a!

rock,!I’m!trying!to!prevent!being!pulled!out!to!sea,!but!the!rock!is!wet!with!algae,! and!my!hand!slips.!The!current!tugs!me!into!the!threatening!deep.! ! ooo! ! !

A!stiff!mattress!presses!against!my!back,!doctors!in!mint=green!uniforms! encircling!it.!They’re!staring!at!me,!muttering!among!themselves.!People!!At!the! moment,!their!mumblings!are!more!beautiful!than!angels’!songs.!Every!gesture,! every!phrase!spoken,!is!worth!more!than!gold.!Where!were!you?!I!try!to!ask,!but! my!lips!can’t!form!the!right!shapes.!

Where!were!you?!Why!didn’t!you!come!for!me?! ! ooo! ! !

A!couple!comes!into!my!room,!the!woman’s!deep!brown!eyes!watering! with!happiness,!the!man’s!eyes!soft!and!so!full!of!joy!it!makes!me!want!to!kill! myself.!“Dalara!”!the!lady!cries,!running!towards!me!on!unsteady!feet.!I!hold!my! hands!in!front!of!my!face,!shoulders!braced!for!impact.!Nothing!happens.!Looking! up,!I!see!the!woman!standing!merely!feet!away!from!the!bed,!the!man’s!hand!upon! her!shoulder.!The!woman!speaks,!this!time!more!tentatively.!“Dalara?!Honey?!I! was!so!worried,!so!worried…”!Her!voice!trails!off!into!silence.! !

Who!is!she?!I’ve!seen!her!before,!somewhere,!but!I!can’t!remember,!can’t! place!her!face!with!a!name,!a!person.!The!woman!looks!into!my!eyes,!searching!for! something!that!isn’t!there.!“I’m!sorry,”!I!croak!out,!watching!as!she!leaves!the! room,!trying!to!hide!her!tears.! ! ooo! ! !

I!stare!at!the!pale!orange!wall!of!my!hospital!room,!wishing!for!death.!

Mother.!The!woman!was!my!mother.!I!knew!it!as!soon!as!I!heard!the!doctor! outside!try!to!console!her.!“I’m!sure!Dalara!will!recognize!you!soon.!These!things! take!time,!you!know.”!That!seemed!to!anger!the!man.!“But!we’re!her!parents!!I’m! her!damn!father!!How!can!she!not,!how!can!she!not…”!the!man’s!voice,!Father’s! voice,!is!cut!off!by!Mother’s!sobs.!

More!people!will!come!in!tomorrow.!There’ll!be!more!nameless!faces,! more!sobs,!more!lost!memories.!There’s!nothing!left!for!me!in!this!life.!No!one!I! can!talk!to.!Well,!I!can!talk!to!one!person.!But!I!don’t!want!to!see!her.! ! ooo! ! !

She!comes!in!as!the!moon!begins!to!rise.!“Dalara?”!she!asks,!wondering!if!

I!remember!her.!Both!hope!and!dread!are!in!her!voice.!“Alyce,”!I!answer!coldly,! confirming!my!memories!of!her.!

“Dalara,!I’m!sorry,!I’m!so,!so!sorry.!There!was!no!proof!that!it!was!me,!no! one!saw!my!license!plate,!I!sped!away!from!the!scene,!didn’t!help!you,!I’m!sorry.!

It’s!been!hurting!me!every!day,!I!wish!I!hadn’t!done!it,!I!just!had!to!see!if!you!were! okay,!please—”!

“Stop,”!I!order,!and!Alyce!falls!silent!at!the!power!in!my!voice.!“It!wasn’t! okay,!and!it!will!never!be!okay.!But!I!won’t!tell!anyone!what!you!did,!unless!they! need!to!know.!And!right!now,!and!probably!forever,!no!one!needs!to!know.!No!one! except!me!and!you.”!I!turn!away!from!her,!showing!that!the!conversation!is!over.!

Everything!is!over.! !

Alyce!takes!one!last!look!at!me!and!leaves!the!room.! ! ooo! ! !

The!sun!may!set,!but!the!sunset!is!beautiful.!The!star!may!disappear,!but! a!star!fading!into!the!dawn!can!be!quite!impressive.!The!cloud!may!get!blown! apart,!but!while!doing!so!it!looks!incredible.!The!sun!sets!so!that!the!star!can!come! out,!the!star!disappears!so!that!the!cloud!can!be!seen,!the!cloud!is!blown!apart!so! that!the!sun!can!shine.!Sometimes!the!sun!may!set!a!little!later,!a!star!may!go!out! of!existence,!or!a!cloud!may!refuse!to!go!away.!But!it’ll!be!okay!in!the!end.!I!know! it.! ! ==Emma!Snyder! !

!

“Close'the'curtains,”'He'says.'“That'way'no'light'will'seep'through' in'the'morning.”''

I'nod,'I’ve'heard'these'words,'a'million'times'over.'We'both'know'I'will' make'no'move'to'close'my'curtains.'We'both'know'I'will'be'awake'when' the'light'seeps'in'through'my'windows,'when'night'bursts'into'day,'in'all' it’s'glory.'' ' I'tell'him'goodnight.'I'say'I'am'going'to'sleep'tonight.'Really'sleep.'

We'both'know'I'will'not.'He'says'goodnight,'sleep'well,'but'his'jaw'is'fixed' sturdy'and'hard,'so'sharp'that'it'could'cut'me.'' ' I'like'being'awake'when'night'becomes'morning.'The'sky'is'a'grey' tint,'angry'and'beautiful.'Some'things'so'beautiful'can'never'be'loved,'or' recognized,'but'I'think'this'is'why'I'love'4'a.m'the'most.'The'sky'is'its'own' glory,'angry'and'sinful'and'beautiful'and'unapologetic.'Maybe'that’s'why'I' don’t'sleep.'I'want'my'own'glory,'angry'and'sinful'and'beautiful'and' unapologetic.'' ' If'I’m'up'too'late,'the'clock'ticks'far'past'4'a.m’s'sins,'and'the'sky' turns'a'blushing'color.'It'takes'back'its'sins,'its'anger,'apologizes,'blushes'to' the'world.'Some'parts'of'the'sky'flame'in'‘sorry’s’'and'burn'in'angst.'It' bleeds'onto'itself,'filled'with'apologies.'Its'veins'run'deep'red'throughout' the'sky,'blood'dripping'down'like'clear'rubies'in'the'morning.'' ' They'say'glory'and'gore'are'one.'Your'personal'victories'become' your'personal'destructions.'I'think'this'is'why'the'sky'feels'the'need'to' bleed'every'morning.'It'is'reminding'itself'of'the'triumph'it'felt,'and'is' punishing'itself'before'anyone'else'can.'It'bleeds'and'bleeds'until'there'is' no'more'flaming'cheeks'to'burn,'and'the'sky'is'simply'blue,'happy,'awoken.'

It'forgets'it'is'glory,'it'forgets'it'is'gore,'it'forgets.'' ' I'think'I'don’t'sleep'because'I'am'part'of'my'own'personal' destruction.'I'am'part'of'the'sky'and'its'raging'glory,'and'its'apologetic' suffering.'I'think'I'get'my'name'from'the'blood'the'sky'sheds.'St.'Goar,'an' old'saint,'an'old'glory,'an'old'pedestal'to'rest'your'head'between'in'its' hands,'a'golden,'shining,'victory.'St.'Goar,'a'gory'defeat,'a'great'blood'shed,' veins'that'drown'in'themselves,'apologies'to'everyone'who'could'ever'think'

that'this'saint'could'make'it'through.'Flaming'cheeks,'burning'lips' sputtering'apologies'for'dripping'rubies'from'my'arms'so'early'in'the' morning.''

I'tell'him'goodnight.'I'say'I'am'going'to'sleep'tonight.'Really'sleep.'

We'both'know'I'will'not.'

!

PPJuliana'St.'Goar'and'Makee'Anderson'

''''''''''''''''''''''''''''''''''''''''''''''''''''''''''''''''''''''''''''''''''''Art'by'Elizabeth'Foster

!

Holding On When he had held her hand five years ago, it had been a desperate gesture, a hopeful gesture, a pleading gesture. But she had taken the meaning out of it.

She let go of his hand and turned away, telling him that she couldn’t say yes, telling him no. He had stayed there not breathing, attempting to grasp the air that had been her hand a moment ago and finding his mouth moving, saying ok, I understand. No, I don’t understand, why? She had looked him in the eyes one last time before walking away, leaving him alone.

!

Now, he held another hand. Not her hand, but a different, strong steady hand. It had taken his and squeezed it, reassuringly, promising. And he felt a heart, beating, beating, beating, along with his and squeezed the hand back. And he swore to never let it go, to never allow this strong steady love to go through the pain he had five years ago

!

-­‐-­‐Riona Yoshida ! ! ! ! ! ! ! ! ! ! ! ! ! ! ! ! ! ! !

Photo by Alyssa Sales

Pride! ! !

The!spotlight!is!her!true!home;!she!thrives!amongst!the!cries!of! delight!as!she!emerges!from!the!lonely!black,!a!beacon!to!guide!the!animals!to! enlightenment.!But!the!glory!soon!fades,!becoming!a!given,!and!her!colors! follow!suit!as!she!departs!for!her!residence!in!the!sky.!And!she!perches!upon! her!throne,!conveniently!placed!to!look!down!on!the!lower!world,!where!her! brother,!Daylight,!has!replaced!her.!Something!boils!in!her!heart,!growing! hotter!with!every!second!of!observation.!The!masses!adore!Daylight,!and!he! handles!their!love!with!ease!and!grace.!Dawn!feels!slightly!petulant,!but!still! she!sits!there,!listening!to!them!frolic!under!him,!remark!upon!his!wonders,! and!eventually!leave!his!splendor!for!other!conversational!topics.!He!should! reside!at!this!obstacle,!but!no,!Daylight!remains,!content!even!in!his!obscurity.!

Dawn’s!fingers!grasp!the!sides!of!her!chair!until!they’re!sore,!and!still!

Daylight’s!smile!persists.!Her!selfBcontrol!flees!bit!by!bit!until!she!can’t!take!it! anymore;!she!hurls!hatred!toward!him,!and!the!animals!experience!a!great! spiral!of!wind!or!a!flood!or!a!fire.!Daylight’s!smile!is!more!forced!now!as!he! tries!to!comfort!them!without!speech.! !

Dawn!has!tasted!victory!and!she!perseveres,!hurling!curses!not! included!in!the!wildest!mortal!fantasies.!And!still!Daylight!remains,!trying!to! hold!on!to!the!sliver!of!satisfaction!that!becomes!more!slippery!as!the!insults! increase!in!magnitude.!Finally!Daylight!gives!in,!seemingly!wanting!to! preserve!his!people,!yet!if!you!dig!deeper!you’ll!find!the!driving!force!to!be!a! weakness!of!the!spirit.!And!so!he!retreats!to!his!glen,!away!from!the!raging! storms.!After!his!departure!they!subside!until!they!are!merely!breeze,!rippling! through!hair!and!leaves.! !

A!young!woman!with!a!skirt!of!shimmering!blue!and!gold!comes! forth!from!her!soft!and!silent!cave,!rising!above!the!animals!in!a!slow!but! steady!wave.!Dawn!looks!upon!Evening!with!venom,!such!a!quietly,! misleadingly!charismatic!youth;!Daylight!looks!upon!Evening!with!annoyance;! she’s!a!silly!fallacy,!but!nothing!more.!As!one!the!twins!send!a!package!of! disrespect!towards!their!sister,!who!cringes!before!she’s!knocked!of!the!golden! pedestal.!Evening!scuttles!to!the!comforting!darkness!of!her!home,!which! embraces!her!like!a!lover.!

A!long!period!of!waiting!begins.!The!siblings!watch!each!other!with! anticipation,!none!daring!to!assume!the!throne!of!idolization!for!fear!of!the! others’!wrath.!Dawn!shuffles!and!taps!her!feet!in!a!nervous!dance,!

approaching!the!door;!it’s!so!tangible!at!first!glance.!Yet!whenever!she!touches! it!the!iron!seems!to!burn!her!hand!before!she!snatches!it!back.!Daylight!sees! his!siblings!as!tigers,!every!movement!reeking!malice!and!danger.!As!he! watches!Dawn!move!towards!the!door,!he!darts!toward!his!own!exit!before! turning!back!towards!the!window,!resuming!his!watch.!Inevitably!Dawn!does! the!same.!Evening!is!too!wounded!to!do!as!her!esteemed!kin,!and!curls!up!in! the!comforting!darkness.!

The!hours!grow!long!as!the!stillness!continues.!Finally!Dawn!shuts! her!eyes,!places!a!palm!on!the!door,!and!pushes.!Daylight!watches,!too! transfixed!to!sprint!out!the!door!and!stop!his!victorious!competitor.!Dawn! once!again!warms!herself!in!the!spotlight.!For!the!moment,!her!voracious! pride!is!satisfied.! !

BBEmma!Snyder! !

Photo!by!Jui!Nazre!

!

Photo by Audrey Joachim

Of This I am Certain

I am no Oracle of Delphi, Nor the eye of Ra, But of this I am certain:

The sun will rise tomorrow, though the sky is dark.

I’ll always be with you, even if we are apart.

The Earth will keep on spinning, though the axle’s gone.

Everything will turn out fine, even if it all seems wrong.

There will always be a place for you, Forever in my heart.

-­‐-­‐Sho Sho Ho

!

maybe i saw it sweeping the leaves off the ground and blowing the dust off my window pane the window that i opened every morning and every night, and every day

!

i twisted the latch, and pushed on the glass i noticed the fingerprints i had left the day i had laughed, the day i had wept so i touched them lightly just to remember that time

!

but suddenly it rushed to me looking me square in the face almost confronting me for something but it must’ve been a mistake

!

and i know it isn’t me it is him, ‘cause i remember that one night when i saw him a light sky, mid-­‐november

!

but then it wraps its warmth around me or coldness as i felt as it tells me not to worry the lies it won’t regret

!

and now i can go, and leave it be and i know i can do much better than he Photo by Dana Abbo

!

because life doesn’t wait and maybe, just maybe, i won’t either

!

-­‐-­‐ Michal Goldstein

!

Photo%By%Muskaan%Sahiwal%

!

The$Timekeeper$

“Every%day%was%the%same%for%the%Timekeeper.%The%days%passed%by,%tick% by%tick,%as%he%worked%alone%in%his%workshop.%No%one%knew%who%he%was.%No%one% knew%his%name.%Every%day%he%worked%in%his%dark%and%secretive%workshop.%%He’d% been%trying%for%years%to%fix%the%light%above%his%head%but%it%would%only%flash%once% and%then%go%out,%leaving%him%in%complete%darkness%for%eternity.%If%you%were%to% come%to%the%shop%for%a%whole%week%you’d%be%shocked%to%find%that%no%one%ever% came%in,%for%the%shop%was%always%filled%with%marvelous%clocks.%%%These%clocks% were%so%smooth,%colorful%%and%intricate%seemed%like%they%would%almost%fall%off% the%wall.%%%The%Timekeeper%was%feared%by%the%townspeople.%%In%fact,%in%this%town% no%one%even%used%clocks%because%they%were%too%scared%to%come%and%buy%one.% %%This%town%came%to%be%known%as%the%Timeless%town.%%%No%one%knew%what%time%it% was%except%for%the%Timekeeper.%%Days%flew%by%without%ever%becoming%weeks%or% months%or%years%because%no%one%cared%or%knew.”% “The%Timekeeper%lived%outside%the%town.%He%was%in%a%way,%shunned,% but%no%one%ever%had%the%nerve%to%tell%him%he%was%kicked%out.%%%In%fact%some% people%even%doubted%his%existence.%%The%elders%of%the%town%spoke%of%his%red%eyes% and%a%silhouette%as%dark%as%a%shadow,%as%sinister%as%if%blood%and%evil%had% combined%to%form%this%creature.%%Of%course%none%of%the%elders%had%ever%seen% him%and%were%probably%just%looking%for%attention.%Every%day%the%Timekeeper% would%drive%in%his%small,%old%black%car,%into%the%town.%His%ancient%car%could%be% heard%bouncing%over%the%road%that%had%never%been%paved,%and%creaking%to%a%stop%

once%he%arrived%at%his%shop.%%%Once%inside,%the%ticks%and%tocks%of%the%clocks% haunted%him,%but%he%never%stopped%working,%never%gave%up.%%Every%half%hour%he% would%look%up%at%one%o'clock%in%particular,%the%gold%clock%with%the%woman% laying%on%top%of%it%and%sigh,%occasionally%shed%a%tear%and%get%back%to%work.”% “The%Timekeeper%had%one%desire,%and%one%desire%only.%Sometimes,%as% he%sat%alone%in%the%dark,%listening%to%the%tick,&tick,&tick,%of%the%countless%clocks% around%him,%he%thought%of%the%person,%the%woman%that%had%once%brought%him% joy.%That%beautiful%woman,%with%her%beautiful%long%flowing%hair,%her%soft%rosy% cheeks,%her%red%lips%that%were%always%stretched%out%in%cheery%smile%almost%too% big%for%her%face,%and%eyes%as%clear%as%crystal.%Oh,%those%beautiful,%starry%eyes.% They%had%lit%the%Timekeeper’s%heart%with%lightness%and%joy.%But%then%one%day,% she%closed%her%beautiful%eyes%forever,%and%never%opened%them%ever%again,%and%he% was%left%empty,%with%only%sorrow.%Her%frozen%image%lay%on%many%of%the% Timekeeper’s%clocks,%but%the%face%never%spoke%to%him,%and%never%gave%him%the% pure%happiness%that%the%beautiful%face%had%once%done.%The%dusty,%brass%face%of% the%woman%merely%filled%him%with%more%sorrow.%All%he%ever%wanted%was%to%bring% the%woman%back.”% “He%worked%day%and%night.%The%ticking%of%the%clocks%and%the%darkness% of%the%old,%creaky%shop%only%made%him%unhappy,%but%with%the%image%of%the% woman,%his%beautiful,%lovely%woman,%he%worked,%on%and%on.%He%pushed%himself% on,%and%on,%and%on,%until%his%fingers%could%no%longer%move%anymore.%%His%eyes% could%no%longer%see%,%and%he%finally%drove%home%in%the%old,%rickety%car%to%the%old,% dark%house.”% “Today%was%the%day%he%would%turn%back%time%to%be%with%his%wife.%%After%so%many% years%of%fruitless,%lonely,%torturing%effort,%today%was%the%day%he%knew%he%could% do%it.%Today%was%the%day%he%could%finally%see%the%love%of%his%life.%His%hands%were% shaking,%his%eyes%were%tearing,%his%heart%was%beating%so%fast%he%feared%he%might% die%before%reuniting%with%her.%The%booms%of%his%heart%met%with%the%ticks%of%his% clocks%combined%in%a%symphony%of%nerves.%%He%was%almost%there.%He%was% almost,%almost%there.”% “Just&one&more&screw,%he%thought%to%himself.%Just&one&more&screw.%He% tightened%the%screw%with%one%strong%twist.%His%hands%were%quaking%when%he% pushed%the%button.%He%waited,%and%waited,%and%then%finally,%tick,&tick,&tick,&tick,& tick,&tick,&……&An%image%of%the%woman%flashed%weakly%before%his%eyes.%Then%all%of% a%sudden%he%was%in%darkness...”% “Oh!%Honey!%Bedtime%storytime%is%over!%Time%to%go%to%sleep!”%% Leila%tucked%her%little%daughter%in%to%bed,%and%as%the%child%slept,%she% dreamt%of%the%secret%Timekeeper%and%his%wife,%happily%reunited.%

!

SSTevah%Gevelber

!

Friends They are there for me even when I can’t be there for them they are the cup of hot chocolate with a swirl of homemade whipped cream They make me laugh even when I don’t feel like it like a lemon custard tart they are sarcastic refreshing satisfyingly sweet They know me sometimes more than I know myself and their advice is as precious as the moon on the darkest Photo by Audrey Joachim nights and They love me too even when we disagree every day even on the most rainy ones they bring sunlight and cool gentle breezes to me but although it’s hard I will show them every day how much they really truly mean to me

!

-­‐-­‐Riona Yoshida

!

We’re%all%asleep,%like%zombies.%%We’ve%been%that%way%for%years,%longer%than% anyone%can%remember,%but%no%one%knows%that%except%me.%%%At%the%age%of%8%we’re%put% in%a%video%game.%%We’re%only%awoken%once%we’ve%passed%all%ten%levels%of%the%game.%% For%most%of%us%we’re%unplugged%at%14.%%I’m%fifteen%and%I’m%on%level%11.% % I%can%remember%growing%up%in%what%used%to%be%called%Ohio.%%%When%I%was%3% I%started%kindergarten.%In%kinder%we%learned%about%the%survival%skills%we’re%going%to% need%growing%up%in%the%game.%They%tell%us%that%we%can’t%get%hurt.%They%tell%us% everyone%is%safe%in%the%game.%%But%my%mom%tells%me%horror%stories%from%the%game% that%send%shivers%down%my%spine.%% %She%thinks%all%her%friends%are%dead%but%has%no%way%to%prove%it%because%she% doesn’t%remember%her%name%or%theirs.%%Sometimes%she%thinks%she%recognizes% someone%from%before%her%years%in%the%game%but%it’s%like%everything%before%the%game% and%during%is%blurry.%%Even%her%stories%of%life%in%the%game%are%just%pixelated%images.%% When%she%tells%me%about%the%game%her%eyes%glaze%over%and%I%have%to%pinch%her%so%she% comes%back%from%her%memories%of%the%game.%%%She%has%flashbacks%of%the%game%in%her% sleep%and%she%cries%all%night%but%when%she%wakes%up%she%doesn’t%remember%anything.%% Not%the%crying,%or%the%dreams.%% %After%you%come%out%of%the%game%you%appear%to%be%a%completely%different% person,%changed%inside%and%out%from%the%game.%%Not%that%anyone%would%remember% you.%%%Those%1460%days%shape%who%you%are%going%to%be%after%the%game.%%When%you% come%back,%your%family%throws%you%a%party%to%celebrate%your%“life”.%%%At%the%party%the% survivor%tells%stories%Most%people%only%come%because%other%then%the%game%nothing% ever%happens%around%here.%%After%those%4%years%of%being%in%the%game,%if%you%make%it% out,%it%is%customary%for%you%to%change%your%name.%%This%process%symbolizes%a%new% chance%at%life.%%They%tell%us%after%having%lived%through%life%in%the%game,%seen%the% rewards%and%consequences%of%our%actions%we%will%come%back%and%live%a%perfect%life.%%I% disagree.%%I’ve%seen%what%my%mother%became%and%I%don’t%think%that’s%anywhere%near% perfect.%%% % When%I%was%four%they%gave%us%the%chip.%%The%chip%monitors%everything%we%do% and%sends%it%back%to….%actually%I’m%not%sure%who.%%Everyone%knows%we%have%a% president%but%he%lives%inside%the%game.%%No%one%knows%his%name.%%The%only%time%you% get%to%see%him%is%if%you%complete%the%10th%level,%and%when%you%finish%the%game%you% don’t%remember%him%or%her%at%all.%%At%least%that’s%what%the%rumor%says.%%It%also%says% that%if%you%die%in%the%game%you%get%sent%to%the%president%and%he%decides%your%fate.%%At% first,%when%I%entered%the%game%I%didn’t%believe%it.%%The%game%seemed%perfectly% harmless.%%I%thought%my%mom%was%just%crazy%from%the%game.%%I%thought%maybe%she% did%it%for%attention%so%that%people%would%feel%bad.%%Or%maybe%she%did%it%so%that%

maybe%my%dad%would%come%back.%%Anyway,%I%thought%everything%that%I%was%taught%in% school%was%right,%the%game%was%just%to%teach%you%how%to%live%your%life.%%Then%on%my% third%day,%Bobby%Marcos%disappeared%from%the%game.%%%He%made%a%bad%decision,%he% yelled%at%the%president%to%show%himself%then%proceeded%to%write%some%bad%words%all% over%the%walls%of%the%society%we%were%“living%in”.%%A%red%x%appeared%over%his%face%and% he%crumpled%to%the%ground%in%agony.%%Then%the%mechanically%made%solid%brick%road% turned%to%liquid%and%he%sunk%down%into%it.%%That’s%when%I%knew%this%wasn’t%a%game.%%%% % Just%talking%about%what%happened%to%Bobby%makes%me%nervous%that%any% time%a%red%x%is%going%to%appear%on%my%face%just%for%writing%this.%%I%mean,%all%he%did% was%write%on%a%wall,%what%happened%to%him%could%have%happened%to%any%of%us.%%Ever% since%then%I’ve%been%cautious.%%But%once%I%reached%level%11,%and%was%trapped%in%here% maybe%even%forever,%I%realized%that%it%wasn’t%worth%it.%%Who%cares%what%I%write!%%It’s% not%like%I’m%getting%any%company%any%time%soon!%%There%is%no%one%left.%%Everyone%has% either%died%or%been%unplugged.%%% This%brings%me%%back%to%the%chip.%%Everyone%was%so%excited%to%have%their% chip.%%We%all%took%a%special%field%trip%to%the%doctors%who%installed%them%in%our% brains.%%We%were%so%happy.%%I%remember%going%home%and%bragging%to%my%mom%about% how%I’m%practically%an%adult.%%She%just%shook%her%head.%%At%the%time%I%didn’t%realize% how%scary%it%is%that%some%unknown%person%was%watching%my%every%move.%%I%would% tell%you%more%about%the%chip%but%I%told%my%father%that%I%wouldn’t.%%Ever%since%we%got% the%chip%no%one%broke%any%rules.%%Teachers%had%the%easiest%job%ever.%%They%told%us%not% to%run%with%scissors,%no%one%ran%with%scissors.%%No%one%ever%yelled.%%%No%one%ever%got% punished.%%But%once%inside%the%game%that%wore%off,%thus%the%Bobby%incident.%%I%guess% it%was%some%test,%to%see%what%we%would%do%if%we%had%choices.%%% % I’ve%always%followed%the%rules.%%Well%almost%always,%there%was%this%one%time% %when%I%was%five%and%my%dad%sent%a%letter.%%He’d%never%sent%a%letter%before.%%It%drove% my%mom%closer%to%insanity%than%she%already%was,%she%walked%around%the%house% mumbling,%“%How%could%he?%%Go….the%President…%go%off%and%get…..”%%%I%started%to%go%a% little%crazy%too.%%I%was%so%anxious%and%confused.%%My%dad%sent%me%a%letter%after%not% talking%to%me%my%whole%life.%%All%it%said%was%to%meet%him%in%game%room%tonight% 10:30.%%The%game%room%used%to%be%called%an%arcade%but%now%it’s%an%enclosed%area% behind%guarded%gates%where%they%plug%you%into%a%machine.%%No%one%sees%the%room% until%they%get%plugged%in.%%And%no%one%ever%goes%near%it%because%they%say%the%guards% have%orders%to%kill%anyone%not%authorized%to%be%there%as%soon%as%they%see%them% coming.%%My%mom%wanted%me%to%go.%%%She%even%gave%me%a%note%to%give%to%him%from% her%if%I%saw%him.%%She%was%willing%to%give%up%her%only%son%for%a%note.%%%I%debated%with% myself%for%hours,%curiosity%was%burning%me%from%the%inside.%%I%was%about%to%go%when% all%of%a%sudden%my%chip%vibrated.%%That’s%right,%my%chip%vibrated!%%I%%now%know%why,%

but%I%told%my%father%that%I%wouldn’t%tell%anyone%what%it%meant.%%%At%the%time%I%didn’t% know,%I%thought%the%vibration%was%some%weird%malfunction.%%%It%buzzed%at%about% 8:30.%%All%of%a%sudden%I%was%really%tired,%I%told%myself,%I’m%only%five%it’s%natural%for%me% to%be%tired.%%I%took%off%my%boots,%and%crawled%into%bed%thinking%it%was%probably% Bobby,%he%loves%playing%tricks.%%Years%after%I%laughed%about%how%I%almost%risked%my% life%over%such%a%ridiculous%idea.%%%But%now%I%wonder,%what%would%have%happened%if% my%chip%hadn’t%vibrated?%%If%the%chip%is%controlling%us,%who%is%controlling%the%chips?%% If%I’m%right%and%it’s%the%president%who%is%rumored%to%be%inside%the%game….% % Wait.%%There’s%a%shadow%on%the%ground%in%front%of%me.%%I%looks%like%a%man.%%It% can’t%be,%I’m%alone,%I%have%been%for%weeks.%%I%stand%up%and%turn%around.%%It’s%him.%%I% try%to%run%but%he%grabs%on%to%me.%%% % “I’ve%missed%you%my%son”%% That’s%all%he%says%before%dragging%me%into%darkness.%

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^^Tevah%Gevelber

Photo%by%Amna%Ali

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Unknown We made it to top The edge was inches away We got out the food We were going to celebrate

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And suddenly, time froze.

I remembered the names they had called me The way they had judged me The way they had thought of me The insecurities they brought to me

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But I was my own And I thought my thoughts And maybe they should suffer The things that I’ve sought

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We went to the edge To look at the light But my hands spoke for me Pushed forward, fell back

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And suddenly, time froze.

-­‐-­‐Michal Goldstein

Photo by Alexa Crowder

Toes Each member of my family has different toes. My mother’s toes are lovely, each one curves and angles exactly as it should. Her toes shine in the sun, glowing a deep eggplant or bright melon taking you to a vibrant, Skittle colored place. Noni’s toes are ordered like little soldiers, but still playful. Her nails are sometimes patterned, or skip color to color like hopscotch. Each toe abducting you on a carefree journey through a meadow of bright poppies.

And me, my toes are fickle. They seem to have a mind of their own. My toes are disobedient. They don’t fall into perfect order descending by length as they should. These toes are long and spindly and knobby. They like to explore. One day they are lacquered, aligned and splendid, the next day they are wandering, chipped and tired looking as if they’ve been on a long trip.

On family excursions to the beach, we sit and absorb each powerful, streaming ray of sun. We let our toes sink into every gold stricken grain of sand. The sand beneath our soles becomes increasingly moist as our feet burrow away from the warm surface above to the cool hollows below. Noni and I cover my mother’s toes with the glowing sand, shaping each mound to perfectly match the narrow, winding, snake like figure of her foot. Lastly, we add the seashells that will substitute as polished nails, carefully selecting five shiny shells for each sandyfoot. Each nail is like a snowflake, not one exactly the same as the next. Some colors swirl like the elegant sunset, while others swerve like the swift motion of the waves crashing against the shore.

-­‐-­‐Alexis Stull

Photo by Chloe Nicolaou

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Hong Kong Arms I lie awake at night, Airplanes flicker across my windows.

And my mind wanders to the souls of the defiant, On the other side of the Pacific.

Sweaty in my blanket, but I stay wrapped.

I hope their hearts are keeping strong, The tighter I am cocooned the stronger they are.

Their crossed hands, please, stay steady, Shouts of freedom not oppressed,

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You are brave, The eyes of the world waiting, Everything paused, baited breath.

You could set off a wildfire, Domino effect of democracy.

Keep the flames going, please.

Fanning, fanning.

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But I know better than that.

I know of Tank Man and Tiananmen Square.

I know of the next generation of Chinese idealists Vanquished-­‐-­‐ candle blown out, Happy Birthday, but no.

Their own brethren.

Shouts of freedom stuck in their cold throats.

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-­‐-­‐Sho Sho Ho

Art by Minhee Chung

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Joy in Nature

As I walk through the yard, the sweet scent of honey comes to me. When the wind softly blows by, the leaves start to dance to the soft chirping of birds. I sit under the tree, as it protects me from the sun’s harsh rays. Tiny flower buds peek out from the bush playing hide and seek with the leaves. Suddenly, the leaves rustle, and a elegant butterfly flutters across the courtyard.

This butterfly gently flies towards the pink blooming flowers. The flower’s soft green leaves gently brush across my arm, as I walk towards the rose bush. Thick flower petals touch my hand when I pass by. With every single step, I hear the sound of dried dead leaves moaning to the dead. A faint smell of pine comes across me. As I turn my head, I see the last white rose of spring standing tall and proud. Mother nature’s beautifully crafted arts bring joy to us.

-­‐-­‐Kelly Yu

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Art by Meher Sandhu

Silence Silence.

It hangs thick in the air.

Engulfing. Overpowering.

You cannot hide.

It hangs thick in the air.

Words fade away into nothingness.

You cannot hide.

Not for long.

Words fade away into nothingness.

There’s no holding on.

Not for long.

Mouth freezes mid sentence.

There’s no holding on.

Can’t-­‐ speak.

Mouth freezes mid sentence Falling.

Can’t-­‐ speak.

Engulfing. Overpowering.

Falling.

Silence.

-­‐-­‐ Naira Mirza

Photo by Chloe Nicolaou

u

Art by Suzanna Wang

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Autumn Embrace Red, brown and autumn's gold entwine with nature and behold, Wind of cold and cloying sun bring upon autumn fun, Sweet yet bitter the world becomes awaiting color’s death, The last true colors shine before whiteness takes their breath.

-­‐-­‐ Lauren Ashby

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The$First$Encounter$ THE$FIRST$ENCOUNTER:$ The$day$was$a$sickly$shade$of$green.$Tinged$with$guilt$and$sorrow.$The$ woman$on$the$floor$wore$only$rags,$her$once$yellow$hair$matted$and$covered$in$ grime.$Her$shoulders$shook.$Every$breath$was$a$labor.$ “Arthur.”$$The$word$fell$from$her$mouth$in$a$jagged$gasp.$Dry$and$ sandpapery.$She$said$the$boy’s$name$again$and$again.$Beside$the$boy,$a$small$girl$ sobs,$muffled$by$Arthur’s$stolen$coat$grew$steadily$louder.$He$turned$away$from$

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them$both.$

*$$*$*$WHY$ARTHUR$BERG$TURNED$AWAY$*$*$*$

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He$couldn’t$bear$to$see$their$pain.$

The$woman,$his$mother,$was$dying.$With$her$last$bit$of$strength,$she$ raised$herself$onto$her$spindly$legs$and$staggered$five$steps$forward$to$her$son.$ The$words$she$whispered$next$were$ones$Arthur$would$carry$with$him$ every$day$for$the$rest$of$his$life.$Ten$years$later,$he$could$still$feel$her$breath$on$his$ cheek$as$she$whispered,$her$German$heavy$with$the$sound$of$death,$to$take$care$of$ his$sister.$ When$I$took$Frau$Berg$away,$I$glanced$back,$just$once.$The$brother$and$ sister$clung$to$each$other$like$lifelines;$a$single$tear$fell$from$Arthur’s$eye$and$down$

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his$dirtVstreaked$cheek.$

THE$SECOND$ENCOUNTER:$ $$$$$$$$$$$$The$sky$was$a$rotten$egg:$sulfury$yellow$tinged$with$brown.$Clouds$swam$like$ egg$whites$in$the$afternoon$sky.$A$lanky$boy$with$moplike$hair$bobbed$in$and$out$of$ view,$between$the$vendors’$stands$in$the$market.$He$snatched$two$apples$from$one$ of$the$carts.$ Shouts$followed$Arthur$down$the$alleyway$as$he$ran$as$fast$as$his$bare$feet$ could$carry$him.$

$$$$$$$$$$$$Two$streets$down,$he$ducked$into$an$open$doorway$and$collapsed$in$ exhaustion.$The$girl$in$the$corner$peered$at$him$from$her$makeshift$bed$(two$sheets$ sewn$together$and$stuffed$with$hay).$ $$$$$$$$$$$$“Arthur?”$She$said$it$the$way$their$mother$had$only$weeks$ago.$ $$$$$$$$$$$$“Margot.$I$brought$food.”$ $$$$$$$$$$$$Her$seawater$eyes$seemed$distant$as$her$brother$walked$the$length$of$the$ room$to$help$her$into$a$sitting$position.$For$the$briefest$moment,$Margot’s$eyes$ peered$over$Arthur’s$shoulder$and$locked$with$mine.$She$spoke,$her$voice$no$more$ than$a$whisper.$ $$$$$$$$$$$$“Mama.”$ $$$$$$$$$$$$“What’s$that?”$ $$$$$$$$$$$$“Mama.$Don’t$you$see$her?$Right$there.”$The$girl$pointed$at$me.$Directly$at$ me.$ $$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$Arthur$held$her$to$his$chest.$His$eyes$followed$her$pointing$hand,$almost$ hopefully.$Surveyed$the$room.$Finally,$he$dropped$his$gaze$back$to$her.$“Margot,$ Mama$isn’t$here.$She’s$gone,”$he$choked$on$his$sentence.$ $$$$$$$$$$$$“Mama.”$Margot$said$again.$A$moment$of$silence.$ Time$froze$as$her$body$fell$limp$in$Arthur’s$arms.$As$the$survivor’s$head$slumped$ and$he$held$her.$As$I$lifted$her$from$her$brothers$embrace,$carrying$her$off$into$the$

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rotting$sky.$This$time,$I$didn’t$look$back.$ VVNaira$Mirza

Photo$by$Chloe$Nicolau

!

There Is No Director Don’t they know that everything is an act a hollow gesture.

Everything comes down to nothing and wishes are shredded and the rain is not God’s tears.

!

the Pounds of makeup artfully applied, sloppily slathered goops of plastic don’t change or hide that this a stage your debut performance until you fall backwards bones dust.

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-­‐-­‐Sho Sho Ho ! !

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Art by Naira Mizra

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Sad is Too Simple This poem is dedicated to my friend, Veronica. Stay strong, Roni!

When tragedy comes People don’t feel sad sad is too simple only three letters isn’t enough

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They feel like a butterfly shut inside told to never come out again told to never see the world same again

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They feel like a seed that never gets to sprout

!

!

They feel something beyond description something only when experienced will you know

When tragedy strikes People don’t feel sad sad is too simple

They need others to help Help them escape again

-­‐-­‐ Lishan Carroll

Photo by Muskaan Sahiwal

Running

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I am free with each step I race farther from my home

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thud thud, thud thud my feet pound on the sidewalk one two, one two

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My hair blows in the wind as leaves fall as cars zoom by as cable cars ding

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thud thud, thud thud my feet pound on the sidewalk one two, one two

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All worries left behind in the dust as I run

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thud thud, thud thud my feet pound on the sidewalk one two, one two

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I’m not running away from worries I’m chasing My dreams

!

-­‐-­‐Tevah Gevelber

Photo by Jui Nazre

Art by Chloe Nicolaou Quotation from The Book Thief

by Markus Zusak