Perspectives, Catharsis 2021-22

2022

VOLUME 13

PERSPECTIVES

CATHARSIS

CATHARSIS Volume 13 2022

PERSPECTIVES “Blessed are they who see beautiful things in humble places where other people see nothing” - Camille Pissarro

Coral Gables Senior High School 450 Bird Rd. Coral Gables, FL 33146 Phone: (305) 443-4871 Advisor: Gabriel Rodriguez E-mail: grodriguez@dadeschools.net All content featured in Catharsis magazine is the original work of the students, faculty, and alumni. The views and opinions expressed in the published pieces do not necessarily reflect those of the Catharsis staff or Coral Gables Senior High School.

Cover by Rachel Rosado. Editor’s Note, Table of Contents, and Colophon by Diana Soza.

Art by Leah Ullman.

Letter from the Editor Walking into class on the first day to greet my new staff writers, I knew I held a tremendous burden. A looming responsibility that’s implied with the job as editor-in-chief clouded over me, casting a shadow of twisted excitement and jitters. I held this responsibility the first year everyone was back in school together since the pandemic began in 2020: I had the responsibility to report accurate news through the tools of emotion, art, and beauty. Like many projects, this would not occur with ease.

Throughout the year, there were blissful laughs, those from the optimism that flooded the room: a feeling that could only be grasped after two years of isolation from one another. But there were also hard times, unexpected obstacles largely out of my control. This tipping scale of mixed emotions led to an unprecedented flow of collaboration and deep discussion, reflected in the quality of writing.

What I knew for certain was that my sole responsibility was to provide a space, this magazine, as an altar for all the Perspectives that diversify and make our magazine a true piece of art. I grew to understand that being a high schooler in the height of global chaos means that you have a lot to say. The importance of a literary magazine, especially one constructed by the minds of hopeful youth, should not be overlooked as a way to receive the news of our society. What we have, and what others lack, is the raw interpretation of the events as they come, a living time-capsule of opinionated pieces as a direct response to the societal issues occuring in our world right now: so interpret it as you please.

We provide the Perspectives of youth, so you can have your own too because our reactions to shared adversity makes a great story.

Emily Felipe Emily Felipe Editor-in-Chief

WRITING PROSE

1 Out to Pasture, Alejandra Toruellas, ‘23 7 The Whale Graveyard, Marta Camps-Gonzalez, ‘23 31 Possessions, Andrew Lee ‘23 43 42, Rodrigo Rosado ‘22 47 Medicine, Janell Castro ‘22 55 When Atheists Die, Laura Hernandez, ‘22 59 Gold Dim, Melanie Hernandez, ‘22 63 Home, Steffi Sarmiento ‘24 81 By the Seashore, Cheryl Fiffe ‘23

POETRY

3 Petites Villes, Myrea Ghetti, ‘24 19 On a Rose-Tinted Chessboard, Elise Pagani, ‘23 21 Vitriol of Love, Cheryl Fiffe, ‘23 23 Spirit, Steffi Sarmiento, ‘24 29 Epitaphs Inspired by Romeo and Juliet, Jeannette Perez, ‘23 35 Paralysis, Luciana Callegari, ‘23 53 Switched Lenses, Marta Camps-Gonzalez, ‘23 75 E=mc2, Caitlin Savage, ‘23 77 Euthymia, Jose Sanchez, ‘23 79 Baja Bomb, Cheryl Fiffe, ‘23

NON-LITERARY

DRAMA

COLLECTION OF POETRY

11 Fashion Photography, Cristina Abello, ‘22, Anabella Rodriguez, ‘24, Matthew Mejia, ‘22 25 57 65 69

Show Me Your Fangs, Elise Pagani, ‘23 Xingtian, Myrea Ghetti ‘24 Trapped, Elise Pagani, ‘23 Dollhouse, Isa Velazquez ‘23

45 The Thoughts of the Sky, Ana Sanchez, ‘24, Andrew Lee, ‘23, Lorenzo Braojos, ‘23

ART COLLAGES

1 Range, Leah Ullman, ‘23 50 Alone, Isa Velazquez, ‘23 52 Train to Nowhere, Leah Ullman, ‘23

DRAWINGS & PAINTINGS

4 5 8 30 43 45 54 61 63 77 81

PHOTOGRAPHY

11 15 17 19 21 23 25 31 34 35 37 37 38 38

Vivace, Maria Fuenmayor, ‘22 Mauve, Maria Fuenmayor, ‘22 Deceased, Diana Soza, ‘22 Serpents, Madeline Oliva, ‘24 The Cosmic Gaze, Rachel Rosado, ‘24 Undern, Diana Soza, ‘22 Reflection, Rachel Rosado ‘24 Gold Dim, Marilyn Casanova, ‘23 The Aging Facade, Rachel Rosado, ‘24 Rangeen, Ayamey Ovens, ‘23 The Drifting Dream, Rachel Rosado ‘24

Divine, Cristina Abello, ‘22 Anabella Rodriguez, Isa Velazquez, ‘23 Matthew Mejia, Isa Velazquez, ‘23 Gander, Miguel Ruiz, ‘22 Spirals, Isa Velazquez, ‘22 Naftia, Miguel Ruiz, ‘22 John Carpenter, Miguel Ruiz, ‘22 Guilty, Isa Velazquez, ‘23 Empty, Isa Velazquez, ‘23 Match Stick, Rocio Lopez, ‘23 Reaching, Leah Ullman, ‘23 Into the Unknown, Leah Ullman, ‘23 Parting Moments, Angie Moya, ‘23 Through the Window, Marta Camps-Gonzalez, ‘23 38 Bridge, Jeannette Perez, ‘23

ART PHOTOGRAPHY (Continued)

39 39 39 40 40 40 40 41 41 41 41 42 42 42 42 51 51 51 55 69 75 79

DIGITAL ART

Tennessee, Jeannette Perez, ‘23 Parting Moments 2, Angie Moya, ‘23 Sunshine, Isa Velazquez, ‘23 Madrid on Film, Marta Camps-Gonzalez, ‘23 Beatles Reference, Angie Moya, ‘23 Urban Views, Marta Camps-Gonzalez, ‘23 Parting Moments 3, Angie Moya, ‘23 Cities Gaze, Miguel Ruiz, ‘22 Untitled, Miguel Ruiz, ‘22 Cipher, Miguel Ruiz, ‘22 Luminaria, Isa Velazquez, ‘23 Flavum, Miguel Ruiz, ‘22 Motion Sickness, Miguel Ruiz, ‘22 Untitled, Miguel Ruiz, ‘22 Tree Tops, Isa Velazquez, ‘23 Bustling Slow, Sarah Whalen, ‘23 London in Transit, Sarah Whalen ‘23 The 30th, Sarah Whalen, ‘23 Kaleidoscope, Isa Velazquez, ‘23 Sarah Whalen for the Cavaleon, Sarah Whalen, ‘23 Straight Lines, Angie Lopez, ‘19 Soda Pop, Isa Velazquez, ‘23

57 Stage, Emily Perez-Valentin ‘24 65 Autonomy, Anonymous, ‘22

Out To Pasture

by Alejandra Torruellas, ‘23

I live in a place where I am a king, even a god to some. Whatever I ask for becomes granted to me like a right. It is a right. Along with my brother, we are the sole rulers of this small pasture. We have cultivated a following around the belief that we are monarchs, gods, kings, the most deserving. We somehow convinced them into believing that sacrificing themselves is the best thing they could ever achieve with their lives. We got an insignificant piece of ribbon and gave it inexpressible honor. The black ribbon goes around the house of whoever sacrificed themselves most recently. They think it creates a signal for those worthy and pure. They think that ribbon is unbreakable spiritual protection. They think that having that ribbon around their house will get them into the best afterlife. One we are not sure exists.

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Range, Leah Ullman, ‘23, collage

We found an abandoned building and made it into an altar. An altar dedicated to ancestors that have never existed. Ancestors which are supposed to bring them prosperity. Ancestors that have sacrificed themselves as well and gotten granted salvation. Ancestors they strive daily to be. This old building is littered with windows and writings we have adopted to be our own. Windows that used to mark all the generations before them. Writings supposed to highlight ancient stories of those spiritually rescued, just for walking inside this building and giving their lives for their gods. They hustle in heaps in hopes to get inside to be granted ultimate salvation.

I kind of feel bad for all of them. They think the world of us, and we’ve made them believe it. They think that dying for us will do them good, purify their soul when all it will do is fill our stomachs. When it comes to it, any one of them will throw themselves at our feet if it means it’ll earn them a glance. They believe us to be like gods when we couldn’t be the farthest thing from it. They put their lives in ruin if it means that they will satisfy us. That’s the worst thing in the world, to live for someone else. No other aspirations other than the possibility of being useful to a creature of greed. Greed, what a funny thing. When the longing for something becomes that of bad taste. As selfless as they all are for thinking us royalty, one could call them greedy. Their whole lives devoted to pleasing us in hopes of getting chosen as the sacrifice, so their then empty house can pridefully wear the ribbon of honor. The highest honor is given.

Given only to those unavailable to experience it. A symbol and banner to simply say that you wasted your life for two monarchs who would never bother to learn your name. Who recognize that knowing your name would make looking at the past of you on a plate quite unbearable.

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PETITES VILLES

by Myrea Ghetti, ‘24 Ça fait quelques mois qu’on s’est pas vu Tu m’avais fait un cadeau d’anniversaire, parce qu’on pouvait pas être ensemble ce jour-ci On jouait des jeux, on regardait des vidéos, Comme si on allait se voir encore après ça Même si je savais un peu que c’était la dernière fois Ça fait un an qu’on s’est pas vu On n’est plus ensemble Mais tu me manques tous les jours quand-même Même si je suis plus censée penser à toi Ça me rend triste de me rendre compte de tous les jours qui sont passés Tu te souviens qu’il y a deux ans aujourd’hui, on était assis à mon bureau En train de regarder un film d’horreur à la con qu’on avait trouvé? Ça fait presque un an qu’on a fait ce fabuleux dîner ensemble Où je pensais qu’on allait être ensemble “para siempre” comme je t’ai dit Je me sens tellement conne Parce que j’avais trop d’espoir Ça fait trois ans qu’on s’est pas vu Je pense que peut-être tu m’as oublié J’étais ta première copine mais, C’est pas impossible Que t’as peut-être trouvé la vraie amour de ta vie, et maintenant je suis toute seule Ça fait presque dix ans qu’on s’est pas vu Il y a parfois des moments où j’oublie que t’étais dans ma vie, Mais après ces moments-là Je m’en rappelle et ça me brise le cœur Que je pourrais t’oublier comme ça Mais je sais que ça fait que quelques mois qu’on s’est pas vu en vérité, J’ai juste peur de te perdre On est quand-même ensemble mais je commence à te perdre tous les jours Et j’ai peur qu’un jour je serai seule et tu seras content sans moi

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SMALL TOWNS

Vivace, Maria Fuenmayor, ‘22, acrylic paint

PETITES VILLES

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Mauve, Maria Fuenmayor, ‘22, acrylic paint

SMALL TOWNS

by Myrea Ghetti, ‘24 It’s been a couple months since we last saw each other You had given me a birthday gift, because we couldn’t be together on the day of We played games and watched videos As if we were going to see each other again Even if I kinda knew it was the last time It’s been a year since we last saw each other We’re not together anymore But I miss you every day anyway Even if I’m not supposed to think of you anymore It makes me sad when I realise how many days have passed Do you remember that two years ago today, we were sat at my desk Watching a ridiculous horror movie that we found?

It’s almost been a year since we made dinner together When we thought that we’d be together “para siempre” like I told you I feel so stupid Because I had too much hope It’s been three years since we last saw each other I think that maybe you forgot about me I was your first girlfriend, but It’s not impossible That maybe you found the real love of your life and now I’m all alone It’s almost been ten years since I last saw you There are moments where I forget you were ever part of my life But after those moments I remember again and it breaks my heart That I could forget you like that I know that it’s only been a couple months since we last saw each other I’m just so scared to lose you We are still together but I’m starting to lose you every day And I’m afraid that someday you’ll be happy without me

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THE WHALE GRAVEYARD

by Marta Camps-Gonzalez, ‘23

Sweat ran down Petra Finch’s neck as sharp gains of sand dug into her skin and stuck anywhere they found a surface. The sweltering heat grasped its arid hand around her throat and in the burning grip Petra coughed dryly. She was exhausted and thirsty but at least the worst heat of the day was passing. Glancing toward Lewis Maxwell she saw her colleague had set the shovel aside and was gulping down the remaining drops of their water. Irritation boiled inside of her at this and she left the excavation she was working on, kicking up a cloud of sand in her wake.

“Hey Lewis, you realize that’s the only bottle left, right?” She managed to gasp out when Petra reached him.

“Oh, well I guess we better head back now.” Lewis said as he held the bottle upside down and a single drop splattered on the ground. Petra frowned in frustration at his foolishness since anyone who’s been to the desert knows you can never be without water.

Pushing back the strands of hair that had stuck to the side of her head, she made her way back to the area she’d been working on to collect her tools. As she did this methodically, Petra’s mind wandered to her little apartment in the hot city where she’d go later and find her computer just like she’d left it- with the email open. On her simple wooden table, it would sit patiently for her to return and finally face it. Petra would leave that room every day and take the van with Lewis and the rest of the group to this scorching patch of land they were digging up. Every day she would take her weathered notebook and scribble down the date and measurements of that day’s excavation but below her feetthe ground only offered empty -handed, miniature, and itchy rock particles.

In an instant she was brought back to that email. She’d read it so many times Petra knew exactly what it offered: a fulltime principal investigator archeologist job opportunity in Chile that paid triple what she earned now and included all expenses. Her head spun with the idea of going there, or was it just the heat?

The yellow and orange tones of fire that sprawled across the landscape started to blend with the sky’s blue as night approached. Petra finished clearing up and headed toward Lewis and the rest of the group who were waiting for the van to arrive. But an unusually large and irregular pebble caught her eye. With her last strength she bent over to pick it up while still holding on to the tools and papers in the other hand. It felt strange in her hand and kind of reminded her of her long days of lab work at universi7

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ty. She flipped it over and thought the spongey texture was strange for a rock. Then her trained eyes locked on the giveaway pores that indicated it wasn’t a rock, it was a bone.

Without thinking twice, she dropped to her knees and let the things she’d been holding scatter around her. Petra instinctively examined it thoroughly and found it was some animal’s back bone, possibly a vertebra. When she was about to call the group over another slightly tinted white bone stood out in the dusty ground. She checked her watch quickly confirming that she still had twenty minutes before they left. So, although her training told her not to, she went over to the next piece of bone and picked it up. After a while, she found another not a long way off and gradually collected more and more, each bone she found bigger than the last.

Petra had, in a matter of moments, followed a trail of bones and her mind raced to file through ideas of what it could be. Then she reached a part of the ground that rose up in a small hill, so she rounded it carefully. What appeared to be the top of a much larger rock peeked over the heaps of sand. She began brushing the grains downward to reveal more of the top of that yellowish rock the trail of bones had led to. When most of it had been cleared, she took a step back; catching her breath but then the adrenaline of uncovering something unknown drove her forward.

Taking a better look at the now uncovered rock, the pieces clicked together. It was a giant skull. And the odd, uneven line of bones she’d followed was a spine, but it was too long because a land animal with that backbone couldn’t possibly have such an enormous skull. A whirlwind of questions knocked into Petra, forcing her to sit back abruptly. What animal could this be? Was it more than one? How did it get here? Swatting away a fly, Pe-

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tra came closer to the skull, sat cross legged beside it and laid her palm flat over the gentle curve.

Despite the suffocating heat, Petra was suddenly flooded by a cooling sense that transported her to another place. While her limbs scorched under the sun, her mind was immersed underwater, thousands of miles away. Sounds were muffled out and all she could see was the vast blue ocean. Although it should have sent her into a panic, Petra floated there immobile, at peace. In the distance, a figure started to take shape and Petra strained to get a better look. It grew as it approached her probably more than a hundred times larger than her. When the outline of it came into focus Petra made out a long and thick body with two wide fins that swam forward slowly, then at the end of it, the creature’s body split into two points forming a tail. A whale. Unhurried, the features became clear marking every wrinkle and barnacle that spread across it. As it came to her side, Petra held her breath in astonishment gazing into its bright, wise eyes. The gentle creature moved with grace swiping the water aside and brushing its tail in swooping motions. The greatness of it held Petra in a trance, while miniature bubbles encompassed them both.

The bubbles danced around the ancient whale giving it a supernatural appearance and leaving Petra to wonder where the ocean really ended, and the whale began.

All too soon, the sun’s rays evaporated any sense of water and the whale vanished with it. Petra found herself laying on her side while her fingers brushed the skull. The whale’s skull. She realized someone was shouting at her from afar but all she could think about was the whale. Sure that what she had witnessed was real, Petra knew she’d never see something like it ever again especially if she stayed in this monotone life of helplessly scraping at sand. Knowing more certainly than ever that there was more out there for her, she made up her mind about the email.

Deceased, Diana Soza, ‘22, pencil 10

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FA S H I O N P H O T O G R A P H Y

CRISTINA ABELLO, SENIOR “I’ve always been really into fashion design, but I never really believed in myself until quarantine happened. The year was 2020. I started to stay home all the time and the machine I had been using broke, so I decided it was time to get a new machine. That’s when I started sewing every single day. I’d stay up every single night of quarantine sewing. Everything was self taught and every day I got more creative. I started to get closer to the idea that I wanted to study fashion design. I started to post a lot of my designs to help me get more confident in them. I would also make stuff for my friends. That year I also started making clothes for a business I have, which is called The Vintage Locals that I own with my best friend. In the business I either sell upcycled clothing, which is clothing made out of old clothing, or clothing I make myself. Instead of throwing away the clothes or donating them, I make them into something else - something trendier, something with more style. I also make things from scratch, which I honestly enjoy more.

“I’ve never really been a person to start drawing before I make something. I usually like to touch the fabric, look at moodboards, think about movies that I love, and characters that I love. In my 12

Divine, Cristina Abello, ‘22, digital photography 13

head I wanted it to be a good representation of me. I’ve always been into vintage clothing and old fashion. I grew up watching a lot of old movies. The sleeves were honestly inspired by Pirates of the Caribbean because I love pirate movies. I grew up speaking French, and I feel like the dress has a very French touch. My initial vision was to create something elegant but also comfortable enough to be able to dance in and still be flattering. As I started to cut the dress and sew it, the cliche “less is more” began to circle in my head. I originally planned to make a two-piece that could be wearable for an after party or a wedding party. However, I decided to settle more on a hybrid look, with cutouts perfectly aligned to the hips, giving the dress a low back. I wanted people in this dress to feel fresh and free, as close to the sky as possible. I wanted them to feel divine. The dress is called “Divinity”.”

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ANABELLA RODRIGUEZ, SOPHOMORE

“I started sewing around elementary school when I got my sewing machine for Christmas and I went to a couple classes, but I wasn’t as interested in it, so I didn’t do anything with it for a couple years. Then around 7th grade I started sewing more and recently I had the idea to sew my own Halloween costume. I thought that would be so cool. That’s what I did over this previous summer and now I’ve definitely gotten more into sewing. I’m in a sewing class now and I make my own patterns. Now I’m definitely more into it. I had two shirts, they’re both blue, the same fabric, because I had left over. One of them is inspired by a Paris Georgia top, most commonly you might have seen a photo of Kendall Jenner wearing a black and white one. The other one was kind of a random night, I had a bunch of free time and I thought why not just completely make my own shirt? The third one is my Halloween costume, which is Elle Woods. I have loved Legally Blonde for a really long time, and I thought the colors were just so iconic and the outfit was just so iconic. I thought it would be so much fun just to make it myself. The paris georgia top specifically, that one was just inspired by me getting it all the time on instagram and pinterest and I love the cut of 15

the shirt. I wanted to try to make it in a color I really love wearing, which is blue in this case. The other shirt I made was completely my own pattern and I find a lot of inspiration from going on instagram and pinterest, because I find the kinds of outfits people I follow wear, and I’m like, hey, I would love to wear that!

“I used to use patterns, where you would cut out the specific pieces that you would sew together and it tells you how to. I found difficulty with that because it never really fit properly so I started making my own. The first step would be to sketch a rough draft of how I would want it to look. Then I need to figure out what pieces I would need. I use muslin, which is a cheaper fabric, it’s cotton, and it’s just white, and so what I’d do is make a test-outfit with that. Every time I sew it completely I just alter it a bit more to fit me better. After a couple of those, I cut out all those pieces and make a final pattern onto paper, or sometimes I’ll use manilla folders that I tape together.

Then that’s when I would cut it out of the final fabric and sew it all together.

“As a whole, I want to try making my clothes more often because I think it’s more of an eco-friendly way to just have clothes. I find it so difficult now to shop, especially for myself because either everything is cropped, or it’s super tight, or it’s stretchy, or it’s just not the greatest material. I just want to get into sewing for myself to try to be more eco friendly but also just because I love it. Even though I’ve been doing it for a couple years, I’m still starting out so I’m trying to figure out what cuts I like and what kinds of outfits I prefer.”

Annabella, Isa Velazquez, ‘23, digital photography 16

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MATTHEW MEJIA, SENIOR “I’ve always done fashion in the way that I dress myself, but I started sewing 4 months ago, at the beginning of the school year. I made the cowboy bebop corset out of two T-shirts, and I just cut up each piece to match the corset pattern and then I sewed them each together. I used grommets to make the holes for the lace. The skirts were both made out of pants, I upcycled them, and I used the pant leg to make the pleats.

The white shirt was also upcycled, the long

sleeves were made out of a shirt and I used a furry blanket to make the fur part. I really like this fashion designer called Blue Marine, and it was inspired by them mostly.

They make a lot of Y2K fashion. I will draw the piece eventually, but it all comes about in my head and I know exactly what to do.

With the skirts, I’ll start off with hemming it and then do the pleats, and then I’ll sew the waistband.”

Matthew, Isa Velazquez, ‘23, digital photography 18

ON A ROSE TINTED CHESSBOARD

by Elise Pagani, ‘23

We’re in the shadow of the neon lights, we’re at peace.

That’s the way it works.

I remember it clearly: I was merely a pawn basking in the shadow of a queen.

She sat with another staring down at the black and white board the wooden pieces before her stood different.

The king was red a symbol of power, red like her passion as she played.

The pawns were orange determined little soldiers fighting to protect the queen.

The rooks stood white a symbol of protection prepared to protect their liege.

The knights, a pink in love with battle ready to attack.

The queen stood lone colorless.

I watched as she moved her last piece And the sunset hit her the purple tint cast over her as she announced check.

Only then did I realize That even pawns can be promoted.

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And now, It’s time to make my move.

The currents of Her aura drowned me I fell, pooled in.

In this sea of people around me, the lights overhead blinding me, the sound of my heartbeat in my ears drowning out the music of this room, we stand a meter apart two queens, the room; our board, surrounded by pawns as Aphrodite does what she does best: rewriting the rules of chess.

Checkmate.

Gander, Miguel Ruiz, ‘22, digital photography

Vitriol of Love

by Cheryl Fiffe, ‘23

We were stained glass from cathedrals, a beautiful mosaic under daylight, but love turned to broken shards proved lethal, and left our corpses to the vultures of the night.

Jealousy and greed left our love eclipsed, a dying supernova turned to stardust, two lonely shadows thrust to the abyss, with twin hearts like live grenades let rust.

We lie now behind the velvet curtain, turned into jaded souls of tomorrow.

Ready for our glorious revenge on burden, only our dreams save us from drowning in sorrow.

As long as we’re bonded by blood and bone, the threads of fate will keep us from brimstone.

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Spirals, Isa Velazquez, ‘23, digital photography

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S

P

Naftia, Miguel Ruiz, ‘22, digital photography

Mirror Image, That’s what we are.

Everyone always saying, “Wow, the twins. How cute!”

We grew up as Castor and Polux: Never separated, always the same.

But even though we look alike, We have always shared our differences.

These twinned faces, Indistinguishable reflections.

Yet completely different In Spirit.

I wish someone could see, Someone could understand, Just how separated we have become.

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I

R

I

T

by Steffi Sarmiento, ‘24

Together, together, together.

Like the horsemen saviors of Greece.

We’re always forced to be together.

Your accomplishments, mine, and mine, yours.

I have never been able to feel the absence At any point in my life.

So here I stand today, Paint on my face, you in matching decorum.

We look the same, yet I will make it clear that we are different.

I’ll rip apart the mold I was made with.

I’ll scream at the top of my lungs, I’ll dance, I’ll sing.

The possibilities are limitless When you have yourself, When you’re an individual.

When you’ve become one with your spirit.

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g men. FRANCIS bows) They’re all yours.

DIANE looks skeptically at the bodies on the ground.

DIANE: And how did you manage to get them?

FRANCIS: I found them at the pub down the street, drunk. I followed them outside and they passed out. I brought them for you.

DIANE (angrily): Drunk?! Are you trying to kill me?!

FRANCIS (confused): Pardon?

DIANE (yelling): You imbecile! I’ve told you alcohol is deadly for vampires! You should be grateful I thought to ask you where you found these two, otherwise you’d be hopeless without me!

DIANE glares down FRANCIS as he kneels in front of her.

FRANCIS (frightened): My lady, please forgive me. It completely slipped my mind. But please remember I am still learning.

DIANE: I’ve trained new vampires in half the time it’s taking you! You’re lucky I haven’t thrown you out to fend for yourself.

FRANCIS hides his face in his hands. DIANE huffs.

DIANE: Get yourself off the floor. And dust yourself off, we’re going

out.

FRANCIS looks up at DIANE in confusion.

FRANCIS: We are?

DIANE: Yes we are. Unless you want to starve tonight. Or better yet, you’d be my feast.

DIANE straightens out her gown and grabs a fur coat from the coat rack before exiting downstage right. FRANCIS looks off into her direction momentarily, before pressing his palms together in prayer.

FRANCIS: Dear God who hath damned me to hell on earth, please save

me from the wrath of this devil’s incarnate of a woman.

DIANE (offstage, yelling) : Francis!

FRANCIS (frightened) : Coming, my lady!

FRANCIS frantically follows after DIANE offstage. After a moment of the stage being empty, the candles go out and the scene ends.

John Carpenter, Miguel Ruiz, ‘22, digital photography 25

SHOW ME YOUR FANGS

by Elise Pagani, ‘23

SCENE 1 The foyer of a Victorian era castle, lit by candlelight. A couch is located downstage right while a coat rack is placed next to it. A woman dressed in a burgundy gown and white gloves, DIANE, sits stage left playing the piano. Moments after, a man, FRANCIS, enters from downstage right. He is dressed in a suit and gloves that match DIANE’s outfit.

FRANCIS: My lady, I’ve brought your feast for tonight.

DIANE (skeptically): Is that so?

FRANCIS: Yes, my lady. I found them not long ago. Aristocrats, your favorite.

DIANE stops playing the piano. She stands up and moves downstage center.

DIANE: Then bring them to me, Francis.

FRANCIS frantically nods before exiting from downstage right. DIANE crosses her arms and waits patiently for FRANCIS’ return, an annoyed look on her face.

FRANCIS (backstage): Here, my Lady! (beat; FRANCIS reenters, dragging the bodies of two unconscious young men. FRANCIS bows) They’re all yours.

DIANE looks skeptically at the bodies on the ground.

DIANE: And how did you manage to get them?

FRANCIS: I found them at the pub down the street, drunk. I followed them outside and they passed out. I brought them for you.

DIANE (angrily): Drunk?! Are you trying to kill me?!

FRANCIS (confused): Pardon?

DIANE (yelling): You imbecile! I’ve told you alcohol is deadly for vampires! You should be grateful I thought to ask you where you found these two, otherwise you’d be hopeless without me!

DIANE glares down FRANCIS as he kneels in front of her.

FRANCIS (frightened): My lady, please forgive me. It completely slipped my mind. But please remember I am still learning.

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DIANE: I’ve trained new vampires in half the time it’s taking you! You’re lucky I haven’t thrown you out to fend for yourself.

FRANCIS hides his face in his hands. DIANE huffs.

DIANE: Get yourself off the floor. And dust yourself off, we’re going out.

FRANCIS looks up at DIANE in confusion.

FRANCIS: We are?

DIANE: Yes we are. Unless you want to starve tonight. Or better yet, you’d be my feast.

DIANE straightens out her gown and grabs a fur coat from the coat rack before exiting downstage right. FRANCIS looks off into her direction momentarily, before pressing his palms together in prayer.

FRANCIS: Dear God who hath damned me to hell on earth, please save me from the wrath of this devil’s incarnate of a woman.

DIANE (offstage, yelling): Francis!

FRANCIS (frightened): Coming, my lady!

FRANCIS frantically follows after DIANE offstage. After a moment of the stage being empty, the candles go out and the scene ends.

SCENE 2 DIANE and FRANCIS peer behind the curtains from upstage right. HOMELESS WOMAN sits on the ground downstage left, huddling into a ball. A moment later, DRUNKARD appears from upstage, approaching the woman.

DIANE (whispering to FRANCIS): Now Francis, remember what I taught you. Wait until they’re vulnerable, then go for the kill.

FRANCIS (whispering to DIANE): Yes my lady, understood.

DIANE (whispering to FRANCIS): Good, now pay attention!

DIANE smacks the back of FRANCIS’s head, causing him to wince before bringing his attention to the people.

DRUNKARD (flirty): Oy, wench! Get over here so I can tip the velvet, huh?

DRUNKARD tries touching HOMELESS WOMAN, who begins pushing him away.

HOMELESS WOMAN: Get away from me you filthy scoundrel!

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DRUNKARD laughs, pushing himself onto HOMELESS WOMAN. DRUNKARD: What the hell? Monster! (beat; DRUNKARD runs towards upDIANE (yelling) : Now,atFrancis!

StopHelp them!me! stage right, looking DIANE.) FRANCIS runs towards the pair, pushing DRUNKARD away and looking down at DIANE: With pleasure.

HOMELESS WOMAN. She looks up at him.

DIANE snaps DRUNKARD’s neck, making HOMELESS WOMAN: T-thank you kind sir- him fall to the ground. FRANCIS pulls his mouth away from HOMELESS WOMAN’s neck, who is now limp in his arms. DIANE walks upneck. behind FRANCIS. FRANCIS bites the woman’s DIANE: Good job Francis.

It’s safehelp! to say that you’ve done well.

HOMELESS WOMAN: Ah! Someone DRUNKARD: What the hell?up Monster! (beat; DRUNKARD runs towards upstage right, FRANCIS, panting, looks at DIANE. looking at DIANE.) Help me!

FRANCIS: Did I really?

DIANE: With pleasure.

DIANE: Yes, you did. You’ll do just fine as a vampire.

DIANE snaps DRUNKARD’s neck, making him fall to the ground. FRANCIS pulls his mouth away from HOMELESS WOMAN’s neck, who is now limp in his arms. DIANE FRANCIS stands up, smiling. walks up behind FRANCIS. FRANCIS (bowing): Oh,It’s thank you, DIANE: Good job Francis. safe to saymy thatlady! you’ve done well.

DIANE: be looks so formal, I think you’ve earned the right to call me Diane.

FRANCIS,Don’t panting, up at DIANE. FRANCIS: Oh, well, thank you, Diane.

FRANCIS: Did I really?

DIANE Yes, pulls a face at these words.

DIANE: you did. You’ll do just fine as a vampire.

FRANCIS stands smiling. then. Stick to my lady. (beat; DIANE turns around DIANE: Oh my,up, nevermind and walks towards upstage right) Come on now, let’s go.

FRANCIS (bowing): Oh, thank you, my lady!

FRANCIS (happily): Of course my lady!

DIANE: Don’t be so formal, I think you’ve earned the right to call me Diane.

DIANE exits from upstage right, and Francis runs behind her. The curtains FRANCIS: Oh, well, thank you, Diane. close and the scene ends.

DIANE pulls a face at these words.

DIANE: Oh my, nevermind then. Stick to my lady. (beat; DIANE turns around and walks towards upstage right) Come on now, let’s go.

FRANCIS (happily): Of course my lady!

DIANE exits from upstage right, and FRANCIS runs behind her. The curtains close and the scene ends.

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Lady Montague When given the news of poor Romeo, Whither hath the lady’s heart gone?

Ne’er would she had thought of her only son, banished.

“Wilt thou taketh my soul if I canst see my Romeo?”

Tis what she said to the ope arms of death i’ her bed.

EPITAPHS INSPIRED BY ROMEO AND JULIET

Paris Goodest fellow, Paris, wert slain

by Jeannette Perez, ‘23

After a discourse with a man whose visage he hadn’t seen.

But alas, the good heart of Count Paris stood no chance Against the mad and love blinded Romeo that fateful night.

Juliet “Tut,” she spoke with tears streaming, “If ye, Romeo, art not alive, tis one thing I wilt do.” She spoke.

Juliet grabbed Romeo’s dagger as footsteps wert approaching. “prompt and quickly!” the girl said to herself.

“I love thee very much, my dear Romeo.”

Juliet said ere plunging the dagger to her stomach.

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Serpents, Madeline Oliva, ‘24, oil pastels

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POSSESSIONS

by Andrew Lee, ‘23

Guilty, Isa Velazquez, ‘23, digital photography

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I feel like I’ve lost something every time I walk away. As my presence fades, I feel like he has gained something in my absence. In exchange for my inaction, he has gotten a response. A response that rings out through the empty halls, taunting me with its incessant echoes. It makes my ears bleed from the high-pitched sound.

I pass it off as being protective, but I know that’s not the case. Far away is where you feel, even though you are so close to me now. I have never known you better, yet I have never known you less. The way you act with him drives me mad. I want you to be so close to me, too close to me, until you suffocate. Then forever I may have you by my side, until I, too, rot.

It’s an obsession. A poisonous fixation that refuses to abide by my thoughts.

Solely driven by heart, my decisions become rash. Even though I know these split-second choices bring nothing but pain, maybe I’m beginning to desire this burning sensation. Wants disguised as needs, and discomfort pronounced by pain.

My disheveled self is unacceptable.

My fear is that if I tell you, you won’t understand. You simply couldn’t. I’ve hinted at it before, yet you were so clueless to the meaning behind my words. My voice does not carry a feeling of warmth, yet it is not cold either. I’m at the middle ground, yet not one soul has met my gaze down here. Not one person has reached out to lend a hand.

I feel guilty, and I wish you did too. How could you feel guilty, though, when you don’t even know how I feel? It is not love, or anything close. It is sick, almost ill, in so many ways. Every time I think back to that feeling, all I can read are hundreds of disjointed thoughts. I no longer worry about morality now that I’m only worried about you. Although, it might only be the idea of you that I chase.

It’s not that I want us to change. The way we are is fine.

At least, that is what I tell myself. I’m not left wanting more, only wanting you. For you to want me is what I desire even more. For you to realize that I am here for you, forever and always. He is the only one standing in my way. He seems to want to cut me apart. Now, all I want is to not be cut apart by him. To be sliced into pieces is the ultimate shame.

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Perhaps I am merely chasing imaginary shadows on the walls. Apparitions cast out through the dark by the power of a flickering flame in the corner of the room. I will look away, but my gaze will always return to the same spot. I want it to all be false, but I feel as though the proof is out there to see. The flame is slowly waning, and I am too.

You may be a person, but you are also my possession. A precious thing I surround myself with; something which I hoard. I can never know for sure what you think of me. I can never know if you care about me.

I want you, though. I want you to want me.

I want him gone. I want him gone. I want him gone.

Yet the strangest thing happened yesterday. You ignored me, ignored me, ignored me. You’ve forgotten me. You’ve left me to be by his side. How could this be?

What have I done to make you do this? You take me for granted after all I have done and did not even say a goodbye. A goodbye would have been so much better.

Now, I feel clueless. I feel awfully like a stranger. An outsider in a world of people who can’t understand a thing I say. We talk in two different languages, and I’m the only one speaking in mine. The last of a breed, one of a kind. Some say that being unique is special, but I don’t feel that way in the slightest. I only feel profoundly isolated.

I figured that I would end up much better off than I did. There was a time when I truly believed in there being a higher purpose for me. Now, though, I only feel the absence of warmth as the empty cold around me seeps into my skin. The absence of you has come to fill me with regret, but this feeling of pain is well deserved.

Seasonally, I feel the changes. The change in the composition of my sorry soul. The countless passing thoughts of a life full of decadence, one which I may never obtain. Another moment where you are not there to listen to me. Each passing day marks another where you have left my grasp.

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Looking back, perhaps it is my grasp you were trying to escape. A life empty of you is not one at all. Now, I realize it was love, albeit twisted. It was wrong and poisonous in every way. I’m glad you left, angry at myself, sorrowful for all those missed chances, and aching for your presence next to me.

This cocktail of emotions, this swirling tornado of feelings, pursues me even as I turn corners and jump off cliffs. More and more and more, these feelings pile up, each new addition to the pile weighing more heavily on my back.

The nonexistence of your spirit tears away at my body. For now, although you may not be in reach of my arms, you are in reach of my soul. Still, you are far, far away. In the borderlands of my brain, the very vestiges of my mind. An unquantifiable distance stands betwixt us. So, you stand. Far, far away.

Now, I feel profound emptiness. Now, I feel alone. Now, I feel lost, never to be found again. Who knew losing you would be the same as cutting off a part of myself?

To spend every new day trying to find a way to be by your side? To spend so long chasing a possession, only to realize it is only an obsession?

Perhaps that was the only way to find out. To chase you for so long, only to have you leave me in the dust. The hunter, now stripped of his rank, sits alone in a field of blood.

Empty, Isa Velazquez, ‘23, digital photography 34

paralysis

by Luciana Callegari, ‘23

Match Stick, Rocio Lopez, ‘23, digital photography

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Mami, I bet when you were a little girl you dreamt of a knight in shining armor with a beautiful face behind it.

He’d sweep you off your feet; together you’d build the perfect life: two kids, a house in the suburbs, maybe a dog.

Instead, you’re stuck with two failed marriages, and a man who doesn’t laugh.

I thought I dreamt of my knight too but as he walked into the light, I discovered its true form.

There was never a knight, It was a tall, shadowy figure chaining me down to the bed, paralyzing me into living the same life as you.

My mom’s life is ruled by men.

One day when she finds out mine isn’t, she’ll yell about god, about what’s natural, what’s right.

But just as the bible doesn’t have lesbians, It doesn’t have women with two failed marriages dating men who don’t laugh.

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photo gallery galerie de photos galería de fotos

Into The Unknown, Leah Ullman, ‘23, photography

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Reaching, Leah Ullman, ‘23, photography

Through The Window, Marta Camps-Gonzalez, ‘23, photography

Parting Moments 1, Angie Moya, ‘23, photography

“Bridge” Jeanette Perez, ‘23 Photography

Bridge, Jeanette Perez, ‘23, photography 38

Tennessee, Jeanette Perez, ‘23, photography

Parting Momennts 2, Angie Moya, ‘23, photography

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Sunshine, Isa Velazquez, ‘23, Photography

Beatles Reference, Angie Moya, ‘23, photography

Parting Momennt 3, Angie Moya, ‘23, photography

Madrid on Film, Marta Camps, ‘23, photography

Urban Views, Marta Camps-Gonzalez, ‘23, photogtaphy

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Cities Gaze, Miguel Ruiz, ‘22, photography

Untitled, Miguel Ruiz, ‘22, photography

Cipher , Miguel Ruiz, ‘22, photography

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Luminaria, Isa Velazquez, ‘23, photography

Untitled, Miguel Ruiz, ‘22, photography

Motion Sickness, Miguel Ruiz, ‘22, photography

Flavum, Miguel Ruiz, ‘22, phtogoraphy

Tree Top, Isa Velazquez, ‘23, photography

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by Rodrigo Rosado ‘22 0.

Nothing for light-years. Time will continue with the emptiness of all that never was. I am here, but this is not a place. I am nowhere. There is nothing to see.

Nothing to touch. There is nothing.

1.

Something. I am in a place. I am someone with purpose. I have an identity. There is location with meaning. Something is wrong. I cannot move, nor can I see. I know I exist, but there is still nothing to perceive. I am frozen. Where am I exactly?

2.

Movement. I can move now. I can sense motion. Forward, back, forward, and back. This is too much fun; however, I can tell it will get a little stale. I will rest for a while. Did I mention I can see? Appreciation. All that is in front of me is still all but empty space. Sure, there is nothing, but very soon there will be. Something of great magnitude.

3.

Freedom. There are no more limitations to what I can do. Up, down, left, right, and everything in between. I can say that I am able to look around. Twirling, spinning, dashing from one place to another is more enjoyable than witnessing the greatest astronomical events that there ever was. There is scale. There is big, small, monumental, and microscopic. There is a universe.

4.

The clock is ticking. We are going forward, but not in terms of location and movement. Seconds are going by. Minutes, hours, days, months, and the years that will define our age. In the journey forward I can trace back. They are called memories. I look back and see this human as they are labeled. Yes, the one with the strange hair. He thought of something. When I move, I am able to slow down.

Can time do the same? It can! He says it can! I trust him. He came up with something else. Something with the letters e, m, and c. There was something about being a square too but who cares? I heard we can perhaps travel through this phenomenon of time via dilation.

5.

What is this? It looks like home. Everything is before us, but it is all behind me as I look forward. There are two of our homes, however, with distinct aspects. Someone decided to drink Coca-Cola instead of Pepsi and someone unrelated decided

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to pop the question. I moved right instead of left. I decided not to share my revolving belongings. That makes others different. That makes me different.

6.

I have zoomed out. I ponder. What if I had decided to move up instead of right from left? You know what? I think I prefer to go downwards. I can see other Me’s.

They act differently. They are not like me at all! I can see what they have done to get here and what they will do to get somewhere else. They all came from one common origin but wrote distinguishing histories. There is so much to perceive.

The realms of decision reinforced by the story of time. I can move, however not in the way one may think. I can move forward and back like I used to before, but there are also the spaces. The spaces that exist between each straight line. Interuniversal.

7.

More space. More possibility. More sight. I see the realms, going forward and back viewing the path taken by each bubble toward their future. Origins are unique in writing the stories that will paint the image of each drop. What will become of them? What will they host? Endless possibilities governed by the idea of choice.

8.

Understanding. Vastness. Grasp. The infinite is clear. It is something I am able to perceive. From the limits of my sights to what lies beyond the walls of my imagination. It exists. Anywhere and everywhere.

9.

Over there. What is hot is cold. What is up is down. Where the milk is poured first. I would like to go there. Then over at that place two bubbles to the left. I need a medium. A path. This is that path. I see the realms from the in between. All the settings of the unique stories lie here.

10.

Everything. All of it. I cannot move. I cannot feel. One point. I see that which is present. That which has happened and will happen. Where it will happen or if it will even happen. It all occurs here. Every possibility is contained. I see it all. The meager construct of one’s imagination is rendered insignificant and incapable.

There is the ocean of every drop that has contributed to its infinite volume. It holds every bonded molecular structure that is the stage of the other free roamers like me. It all exists in its incomprehensible vastness. In one point.

Anything you could have ever thought of, realistic or not, has happened, is happening, or will happen. If not here, then somewhere else, or beyond.

The Cosmic Gaze, Rachel Rosado, ‘24. acrylic paint 44

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the th he though th thoughts ughts h s of the hts th ssky ky

by Ana Sanchez, ‘24, Andrew Lee, ‘23, Lorenzo Braojos, ‘23

“The ponds reflection illustrates the joyous sun awating the moon”

“Wind darts amongst trees heavens sprinting down to earth crashes to the ground”

“Grand like the long Rhine Flourishing banquets of life Pure beauty will shine”

Undern, Diana Soza, ‘22, watercolor

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Medicine

by Janell Castro, ‘22

Sometimes my mind wanders, wondering what life is like beyond hospital walls, beyond the loud drips of fluids. My mind blanks when I try to recall the scent of fresh air. I was diagnosed with coronary artery disease when I was 15 years old. It felt as if my own short-lived life had been ripped from the roots up as my petals slowly fell to the ground. Weeks, months, years passed, yet I’m still here.

My only friend is a seven-year-old girl named Anelie. I met Anelie when I got here; we have the same diagnosis. Poor Anelie never even got the chance to be a kid. This hospital defines her as she has never known anything more. Despite this, she is the cheeriest little girl I’ve ever met. She visits me every day to hand me her dessert which was never any good. The food here had never been any good, she knew I had a sweet tooth, though, and came to give it to me every day. I’d often invite her in to watch another dumb Disney movie they had on replay since seven A.M. Her honey brown locks always managed to get into my food and everywhere around me when she was around. I’d never seen her parents. Never met them in the two years Anelie and I have known each other. Two years of her navigating her way to my door all alone and going back by herself, unless I came along to make sure she returned safely. She doesn’t talk about her parents either, but then again, she’s seven and the only thing she cares about is what movies are going to be on today.

The nurses here were alright, but we never got to know any well. But after all these years, every nurse here knew that if Anelie wasn’t in her quadrant, she’d be in mine.

I heard her light footsteps sliding across the linoleum lined hallway as she made her way to my room. No other kid runs in these halls, nobody ever feels the need. Anelie’s little chubby cheeks smiled at me as she entered with a small carrot cake in her hands.

“Woah, carrot cake today? You know that’s my favorite!” I say enthusiastically.

“You say that about every cake,” she said, laughing uncontrollably.

“What can I say ‘Nelie? I love cake.”

“Sabrina, can we watch a movie in my room today?” She could never say my name right, but I love her little lisp that shows on the “S”.

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“Of course, but, why?”

Before she answers, her frosty tiny fingers take hold of mine as she leads me to the dorm I have visited so many times before.

“My mommy is coming today, and I want you to meet her!”

I froze.

Of course, I was excited to meet her mother, I really was. However, I have not met this woman in the two years I have known Anelie. All I could think was that she was visiting due to Anelie’s health declining. I felt a pounding in my head as we arrived at her room. As I sat on her bed, I struggled to fill my mind with happier thoughts. We turned on the T.V and waited for her mom to arrive.

Those agonizing twenty minutes felt like days. At this moment, I could only picture the woman as a messenger of death.

After an eternity, she finally arrived. A woman with long black hair and a pants suit worth a million bucks walked through the door.

“You must be Sabrina,” she says to me in the most soothing, soft voice I’d ever heard.

“Yes. Hi, it’s so nice to meet you!”

Anelie had fallen asleep.

“Yes, it is nice to see you too. My apologies we had to meet in such circumstances’” I assumed she was talking about the hospital setting. She never comes, so she was probably not used to it. The woman continues, “My little girl has told me a lot about you. Even though I’m not always available to her, we have been keeping touch over the cell. Even then, I could hear the excitement in her voice when your name was a part of the conversation...I’m glad I’m finally able to meet you.”

Conversation went on until Anelie woke, not long after her mom’s arrival.

“Mommy! I missed you.”

“I missed you too sweetie,” tears welled in her eyes, and the room grew stale.

“I have to go get my medicine. It was nice meeting you, hopefully I can come back soon.”

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“Wait! Before you go, can we speak in private?” My stomach dropped as I nodded, and we walked over.

“I know what you’re thinking, I could see the fear in your eyes. Anelie is okay.

Her health is improving. She might need surgery, but otherwise she’s great.”

“Thank goodness. I had an unimaginable pit in my stomach.”

“I’m glad she has someone to care for her like you do Sabrina, be safe. I hope to see you again soon.”

“You too, be safe” I walked away into the hall relieved. Anelie was okay for now. That is all that matters. I did, however, have a burning question. Why was she never around?

As I arrived at my room, the nurse was preparing my medication. Today, however, she had much more medication in her hands. If I took it all, I would overdose.

“Why so many pills today?”

“After a tough talk with your parents, your doctor prescribed these. I’m sure you will get a call soon. Your health is not improving at the rate we had hoped it would.”

Once she leaves, I take it all. For the next week, every time Anelie brings me dessert, she must witness my pills. She started asking questions like, “Why so many Sab?” or why she does not take as many. I always say it’s just because they make me big and strong, then move on to a movie.

I woke up quite late from when I usually do. I slept in from stress, I guess. I wake to Anelie sitting on the couch beside me holding a cake from the cafeteria, as expected.

“Good morning, girlie,” I said with a grin.

“Morning sleepy duck,” she replied, sort of dazed, with glossy eyes. This wasn’t normal.

I get up to take my daily dose of meds. They were gone. The little tray was always there, but the pills were absent. “Anelie, have you seen the nurse? She forgot to bring me my medication today.”

She sighs and looks down dizzily as if she was about to fall asleep, “I took them so I can be as big and strong as you.” I froze and my heart stopped beating. All I 49

could do was stare. “You what?!”

I run out my glass dorm door screaming for help. Finally, a nurse comes to help me. “Anelie, she took my pills!”

I ran back to the room where she lay, looking fatigued and half asleep. I hold her head up and ask, “How long ago did you take those pills?”

“Maybe two hours ago. Why, what’s happening? You’re scaring me.”

She begins to lose breath. The nurse pulls me to the side and calls for backup as I watch her doze off in fear. God knows what all those pills could do to a sevenyear-old girl. Faster than I could react, they rushed her out of the room. I sit on my bed, eyes wide open. This was all my fault.

Finally, I fell asleep. I woke up late again from staying up all night remembering the haunting events. It was noon and Anelie was nowhere in sight. There was no cake on my desk, no sign of any other presents, or anything other than those damned pills. I slip on my shoes and head to her room. I finally arrive, hand trembling to open the door. I pulled it open. I fell to the ground in horror from what I saw. Her room was being cleaned out, and her mother was sobbing on the couch. I screamed in a painful terror. The nurses rushed my way, asking if I needed anything, but I just threw them off. As the water welled up in my eyes, my vision blurred.

When I awoke, it was five in the afternoon. There was an IV attached to me with morphine for pain. My head had been gashed when I fainted, and I figured I must’ve fallen against the bed frame. All the events of the days that had passed came rushing back. All of the pain. What was worth anything anymore?

She was gone. Forever.

Small coffins were always the heaviest.

I take a painful look at my iv and increase the dosage. There was no point, no light. Anelie was my light, and I killed her. She’s dead because I wasn’t careful.

I dozed off.

With my last thought being her smile, I finally rest.

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Alone, Isa Velazquez, 23’, digital photography collage

Goosebumps rush through my skin throughout the day. I kept checking if Anelie was back in her room but to no avail. None of the nurses were allowed to tell me her status. I was mortified. I had a restless night. Tossing, turning, and tearing up at the thought of how she must be feeling at this moment if she could even feel at all. Teary-eyed, I see the sun starting to rise.

London in Transit, Sarah Whalen, ‘23 , film photography

Bustling Slow, Sarah Whalen, ‘23, film photography

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The 30th, Sarah Whalen, ‘23, film photography

Train to Nowhere, Leah Ullman, ‘23, collage 52

SWITCHED LENSES

by Marta Camps-Gonzalez, ‘23 A first glance offers The sun’s journey dull and smudged.

It drags the lights and shadows Slowly, like the erosion of these rocks.

Charred sand and rusted blood Sweep out of sight.

Barren so that the infertile land has nothing to offer.

Yet, switch the lenses And observe the landscape again.

You will find quite a different view, Which penetrates a light past the desolation.

A white fire sets the day ablaze With boundless possibilities.

The earth reflects a beauty unknown: Sturdy, wise, and centered.

It marks the start Edging out with a fainter tint.

There’s nothing that can suppress A journey with no limits.

Another look might shed A more hellish light.

It calls upon the flame That takes over logic.

Close your eyes and view it once more The light ignites an excitement, Which sparks for the passion That the slopes remind you of.

It is one thing for a moment And then the opposite the next.

This art is called perspective.

Branch your vision out to experience it all.

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Reflection, Rachel Rosado, ‘24, acrylic paint 54

WHEN AT H E I S T S DIE

by Laura Hernandez, ‘22

When atheists die, they don’t go to Heaven. Well obviously, we all know that. However, there are a few things in life that humans can’t see. A believer that is aligned with God, whichever God, or Gods they choose…if they abide by the rules of their scriptures, they will go to the place they are destined to be. Non-Believers…they don’t follow anybody’s commands but their own. They don’t submit. Strange creatures indeed, but there’s been more of you as the Arth grows older and, like animals, you are not worthy of prolonged happiness nor destruction. Atheists, for you see, go to a very dark place. A never ending void that encircles you when it feels like you’ve made yourself too comfortable.

Non-Believers usually don’t remember who they were before they died. Yet, they remain human…they remember what it’s like to be human. All the pain, all the love.

Like any curious cat, the atheist will wonder. Maybe for answers as to who they are, where they are, and more than anything else…how to leave. Eventually, just a few miles ahead of their spot in that room, they’ll come across a light. In front of them is a switch. Nothing ominous or flashy, I can report the switch actually looks quite silly! It’s a little lever where one can slide to either a space that says “yes” or “no.” It’s not complex whatsoever, but the atheist is always confused. Now, you may think some would be apprehensive when touching it or even wander away from that switch. What happens to them when they wander from that switch is no business of yours, though, but I can tell you that some humans have no sense of urgency to leave. Some enjoy the little game that they are dealt with…those become gods.

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They don’t know you but they can decide when you spend more time on Arth, doing what it is that the humans do…all waiting for death to come. If they choose “no,” your soul starts to circle, waiting for its next turn. If they choose “yes,” it bounces off to the distance, a never ending line of souls disappearing into nothingness before your very eyes. You don’t get any inforation on the human, that’s how death goes. Good people die all the time in the human world, correct? Now, this is a job. They don’t need to drink or eat in this realm. It is not enjoyable but it is easy. It’s a lonely existence.

That switch is the only thing that gives them power, but it is what brings them pain.

When atheists die they go to a different hell. This is not to scare you. This is just a warning. I believe you’ll be one of those Non-Believers that can grow immensely powerful. I can’t wait for the day I meet you. What will be your choice?

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Kaleidoscope, Isa Velazquez, ‘23, digital photograpjy collage

If you have any strength within you to pull the Temptress of Fate, then maybe you too will be a god. But I have better plans for you. Regardless, and I don’t mean to spoil you with this news but I simply must in your case, when one pulls the switch, they make an agreement. It really is a beautiful scene. Some are shy with it and others…not so much, but it all ends the same. The once dark room soon starts to transform with color. Dozens of falling rays of light, always off in the distance, come into view. Blue, white, yellow, red... all these colors swirling around one another as they all try to reach their destiny. The Non-Believer does not know how they know…but these are the souls of the dead. Who lives, who dies…it’s all up to them. They can now decide between your life and your end.

刑天

(xingtian)

by Myrea Ghetti, ‘24 FADE IN. EXT. CAMPAIGN STAGE - MORNING There is a presidential candidate named KENNITY SHALABID. She is standing behind a podium about to give a speech. It is being broadcasted on national television.

KENNITY My fellow Americans, it is an honour and privilege to be standing in front of you this morning.

The crowd cheers.

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KENNITY Before I say anything else, I’d like to remind you guys to check under your seats. My fellow Americans, I have added goody bags under your seats.

The camera pans to the crowd looking down under their chairs and cheering when they find the bags.

KENNITY Now that I have hopefully gotten your attention and adoration, I’d like to say that I’ve come a very long way.

When I was 12, I realised that it was my dream to be a political figure, and my father supported me all the way through.

Dealing with adversity as a male his whole life, it really inspired me to live the way I want and make sure that our future generations have that freedom. It feels good knowing that at only 29 years of age, I get to be one of the youngest presidents in history. Even last year when I got accused of inappropriate actions towards my male colleagues, I have gotten into a bit of controversy. I feel very happy knowing that all of you still place your trust in me after those 30-some accusations, it gives me hope for the future of women in this country. Now that we have the formalities out of the way, as your president I will help all of you, especially the minorities! Males, heterosexuals, European-Americans... and everyone else!

Everyone in the crowd cheers. She pauses.

KENNITY It looks like my time’s up everyone! I’ll see you all later at the after party.

Remember, it’s not what the matriarchy can do for you, but what you can do for the matriarchy. Vote for me!

KENNITY walks down the stairs, as a blond man, MICHAEL GABYUN, passes her. He is walking up the stairs of the stage, the camera following him. He is smiling proudly.

MICHAEL Good morning everyone! It feels so nice to be here after years of planning my campaign.

The crowd mutters amongst themselves. Brief and scattered cheers fill the silence.

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MICHAEL I’ll cut right to the chase; being a man running for a political position is obviously very difficult, but I know I can do it. I’d like for you to at least give me a chance…

He pauses and reads his flashcards with a panicked expression. fill the silence. MICHAEL takes a deep breath.

MICHAEL

My whole life I’ve had to deal with unfair circumstances. Being a man,

I’ve had doctors deny me treatment and just blame my symptoms on

testosterone. I’ve lost jobs simply because I got kidney stones. These are

just simple things that I, and many other men, have experienced. As

your president, I’ll do my best to help all of you, especially the ones

going through pain that no one takes seriously. Please, if you care about

the men in your life, you need to vote for me.

KENNITY comes back on stage, and the two candidates are standing opposite from each other for the debate. Various people will come to the microphone below the stage and ask questions. The first person walks up.

PERSON Nº1

This question is for Kennity.

KENNITY Go ahead.

PERSON Nº1

First, I’d like to just tell you how good you look today. Is that a new face moituriser you’re using?

MICHAEL rolls his eyes.

KENNITY

That is so sweet of you, yes it is! How did you notice?

PERSON Nº1

I can see it from far away, you just have that young glow.

KENNITY pulls out a jar of moisturiser.

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KENNITY Thank you so much! In fact, it’s the Cosmedicine Medi-Matte Oil Control Lotion with SPF 20! It’s normally 42 dollars, but if you put code KENNITY2016 at checkout it’ll be 40! Thank you for your question!

PERSON Nº1 walks away, and PERSON Nº2 walks to the microphone.

PERSON Nº2 This question is for Michael… So it’s great that you care about the minorities and all but what about what you’re going to actually do to help us?

What are you planning to do about the overly expensive healthcare? Or minimum wage? Us minorities can barely get any valid paychecks to help pay our taxes. I’ve been practically homeless for the past two years and I can barely afford to feed myself or my family.

MICHAEL I’ll raise the minimum wage, then— KENNITY Minimum wage isn’t the problem. The real issue is that men are simply too lazy to actually work. The only reason he got this far was because he’s a male!

MICHAEL That’s unfair, you paid your way through this election!

KENNITY (disgusted) How dare you say that to me? You’re only a male, you’re not qualified for this position at all! This great country will crumble under the leadership of a man!

KENNITY approaches MICHAEL and punches him in the face.

FADE OUT.

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m i dD

l o G

dez, rnan e H e elani

by M ‘23

‘22

ls paste l i o , , ‘23

Gold

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D

va sano a C n arily im, M

What was that saying everyone knew?

“Not all that glitters is gold.”

Well, take this as a warning that the saying is true, lest you too be drawn in by the allure of grandeur. It’s hard to have clear foresight when one is young. Everything seems bright and full of promise. You feel like you can do anything, the light of the future guiding you forward. But it’s not real. It’s the façade of an angler fish’s lantern, distracting you from the fact that you are going deeper and deeper into the abyss.

I didn’t see myself in the position I’m in now. I was just like you, longing for the limelight, the praise. The acting world consumed me. Day in and day out, everything I did was for the same goal. I was going to be one of those household names, the reason people looked to acting as the brilliant opportunity that it was. I achieved that, but at a price I didn’t know I was paying.

It was fun, at first. All the parties, interviews, and cheesy magazine covers with outrageous titles that one couldn’t possibly believe were real. But then it got real. Very real.

They started asking questions—questions I’d never been asked before. Standing too close to someone meant we were dating, and conversely standing too far meant we were feuding. Needing to step back from a role meant I was difficult to work with. And at the darkest pit of it all, being under a contract meant I couldn’t reveal the pains of being a woman in entertainment.

I tried. Oh, I tried so hard. But it was one meek voice among an overwhelming crowd crying “Witch!” at the Trials of Salem. My body fell farther, the darkness all-consuming until the light was but a dim speck in the distance, laughing at my foolishness. I feel so alone, yet all the same like I’m being watched by everything and everyone. Their big bulging eyes stare, watching and waiting silently for any and every mistake. There’s no proper way to describe this state of mind.

It’s spending days—months searching for gold at the river only to find pyrite. It’s running a race where they pretend to give you the medal but keep moving the finish line away from you. It’s Icarus taking flight, and I’m at the part where he’s falling.

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Home

by Steffi Sarmiento, ‘24

Waiting for fifth period to end, Ruby couldn’t help but think about lunch. Normally, she couldn’t wait to get to math, but that day she had a real-life problem. Once the bell rang, she was going to have to apologize to her partner for ghosting them once again.

Ruby had always been very reckless. During various moments, she had grown accustomed to moving “off the grid,” not talking to anyone she knew for days. When Hana, the person she loved most in the world, needed her, she wouldn’t answer, because she was too caught up in her web of problems to be of any use to anyone. This had happened more times than both Hana and Ruby could count, and their relationship was truthfully hanging on by a thread.

After what felt like less than a minute, the bell dreadfully rang, dismissing wild beasts hidden in human bodies to lunch. Ruby grudgingly trudged upstairs to find her partner, who was always waiting by the third-floor bathroom for her.

Walking in, Ruby called, “Hey! Hana, where are you hiding? I’m here! You can come out now.” No one answered. Expecting Hana to be upset, she continued calling out for them, assuming they were in one of the stalls.

“Hana! I’m sorry. It won’t happen again,” she said, very well knowing that the words coming out of her mouth were lies. Once again, no answer. Slowly stepping back outside, now worrying about Hana’s whereabouts, she hoped her partner would be standing there, waiting for her.

But what was outside?

The moment Ruby creeped out of the bathroom, she saw the hallway she had just walked through, but slightly different. It was almost identical. Well, identical except for

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the immense decay the building had gone through within a moment of Ruby being in the bathroom. She didn’t know where she was, nor did she know how to leave. Thinking to herself that she had to stay calm, she felt that she had to take a walk and develop at least a slight comfort with her surroundings. Walking around the school, she saw walls with large cracks, vines, and black mold beginning to grow. After exploring the building, she realized she hadn’t seen anyone. This was the largest school in the county. There was no way she could walk down the halls without bumping into another person, even during lunchtime.

Walking outdoors, there was some odd storm brewing outside, a trembling purple sky above her. Where was she? How long had she been there? Could anyone else be trapped with her? If so, how hadn’t she found them already? She ran back indoors.

So far into her head, Ruby hadn’t realized she had crumbled to the floor, breaking apart, until “Whoa!”

Ruby, knocked out of her meltdown, looked up and saw a familiar face.

“My God, Hana?”

“What happened? Where are we? How did you get here, anyways? Why did you ghost me? What were you doing this entire weekend-” “Hana!”

“What?”

“Hana, we’re stuck in some other twisted reality, and you’re going to be upset at me for ghosting you over the weekend? We actually need to get out of here and go back home and you—you’re whining over relationship issues?”

“I’m sorry Ruby, I don’t know what came over me. Clearly, we are having bigger problems right now than our love life,” said Hana. Their tired eyes glumly hung downwards as they tried to brush off their emotions.

“Obviously, now, I need your help getting out of this place.”

Assuming Hana had wound up there the same way Ruby had, she said, “So, if we got here through the bathroom, how about we try going back to the same place and hope we get lucky?”

With an unconvinced look in their eyes, Hana nodded their head, responding, “Sure, why not?”

The two of them, holding hands and stepping back into the bathroom, hoped silently that it would be that easy, that they would step back in there and everything would be better. Ruby, always interrupting the silence, asked, “Ready to step out?” already sure that they were not going to be any better than before. Hana nodded and walked out of the bathroom, still with small pieces of hope locked in their eyes. Both of them saw what was already there before. Not home.

“God!” yelled Ruby. “We’ve tried everything!

What else is there to do? Is there nothing else that can fix this?”

Their faces turning red, Hana yelled, “Can you just shut up!”

“You’re telling me to shut up?”

“I don’t know who you think you are, or why you’re always so righteous and demanding of me, but you truly need a reality check!” responded Hana, now manically flailing their arms.

“You know my life is hard! You know I have things to deal with!” yelled Ruby.

“I’ve had enough of your excuses! You have a happy family, with people that love you, with food every night, friends, family, and...me.”

Ruby, not knowing what to say, sat down for a second.

Hana, continuing, said, “You disappear for days. You ghost me for entire weekends!

I’m always here for you! I am the one who

loves you, even if you have no one else. It’s me you should care about, not whatever lies you want to tell. I love you.”

“Hana, you know I care about you. You know you’re the most important person in the world to me. You’re wonderful and kind and so caring to me and everyone around you. I know I’ve said this to you time and time again, but I really, I really promise that this time, things will be different.”

“I know you get why I can’t believe you.”

“Man! Can’t you just listen to me for once?”

“For once? I’ve been listening to you for years!”

“Shut up! I don’t get why you can’t give me a chance.”

“You’ve gotten thousands of chances from me, and this weekend was the last one.”

“Look at me,” yelled Ruby, as she gripped Hana’s chin. “I need you to understand that even though I can be problematic sometimes, I love you. I love you more than anyone I know. You, with your brown silky hair, cute glasses, and kind smile. You, always willing to welcome others into our friend group. You, the person who makes my heart race in the halls. You, the love of my life. I want to be with you, and I want you to be happy with me, even if we don’t get out of this inferno any time soon.”

Hana, laughing and tearing up, responded, “Well, I have to say, I’d rather be happy with you back home.” They nestled into Ruby’s chest, making Ruby feel as if nothing had ever changed.

Somehow, both blinked, and there were no longer any cracks in the walls, empty hallways, or storms outside. They were back. Back home.

Curling back into their usual lunch spot, Ruby rested on Hana’s lap, looking at the person she most cared for in the world, thinking about how lucky she was to have them in her life.

The Aging Fasçade, Rachel Rosado, ‘24, acrylic

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Autonomy, Anonymous, digital art Autonomy, Anonymous, Digital Art

TRAPPED

by Elise Pagani, ‘23

ACT 1, SCENE 1 ELIZABETH, a girl in her late teens, sits quietly at the edge of her bed, located stage right, fitted with dark purple sheets.There is a closet placed upstage center, and clothes scattered on the floor. She is staring down at the floor, expressionless, before hearing a knock at the door.

ELIZABETH: Come in.

MOM enters from stage left.

MOM: Hey, are you going to come down for dinner?

ELIZABETH (monotonously): I think I’ll pass tonight.

MOM (sighing): You’ve passed the past two nights; I’m worried about you.

ELIZABETH lays down, turning away from her mom.

ELIZABETH: I’m not hungry.

MOM sighs, then exits stage left. ELIZABETH remains still on the bed; the curtains close.

SCENE 2 ELIZABETH wakes up in her bed. Her room has changed, the bed is now fitted with blue sheets, and there is a dresser in the back littered with toys. ELIZABETH looks around.

ELIZABETH: This is…

A little boy, ANTHONY, runs into the room from stage left, crying. He stops when he sees ELIZABETH. ANTHONY (startled): Who are you?

ELIZABETH: I’m- um- (beat; ELIZABETH frantically looks around, trying to find something to say) I’m your friend!

ANTHONY: But I’ve never seen you before.

ELIZABETH: Yes, you have, just not yet. That’ll all.

ANTHONY (sniffling): Does that mean you’re a time traveler?

ELIZABETH (laughing): Yes! I am.

ANTHONY smiles a little, then sits next to ELIZABETH on the bed. He continues to sniffle.

ELIZABETH: How come you’re crying?

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ANTHONY: Because I was out playing, and these mean boys came up to me and made fun of me for wearing a dress.

ELIZABETH: Why did they make fun of you?

ANTHONY: They said I looked stupid, Like a girl.

ELIZABETH sighs, then stares down at her feet.

ELIZABETH: I know how you feel. I wore dresses too when I was younger, and I got made funof all the time.

ANTHONY (confused): But, you’re a girl.

ELIZABETH: I wasn’t always one. I used to be trapped in a boy’s body.

ANTHONY looks up at ELIZABETH in awe.

ANTHONY: How did you get out?

ELIZABETH (staring off): It took a lot of work. But once you realize you’re trapped, you’ll get out eventually.

They both sit in silence. ANTHONY stares downward.

ANTHONY: I think I’m trapped too. (beat; ANTHONY looks up at ELIZABETH) Can you help me get out?

ELIZABETH: Of course. (beat: she takes ANTHONY’s hand) We’re in this together.

ANTHONY hugs ELIZABETH before running out from stage left. ELIZABETH stares off in his direction, before laying back down. The curtains close and the scene ends.

SCENE 3 The curtains open and ELIZABETH is laying in bed, returned to her original room. She looks around before sitting up.

ELIZABETH: That was…

An older woman, FUTURE ELIZABETH, enters from stage left. They both stare at each other.

ELIZABETH: Did I help her?

FUTURE ELIZABETH: You already have. Look where you are now.

ELIZABETH’s eyes begin to water, before she starts to cry.

ELIZABETH: Will things get better? For the both of us? Will everything finally be okay?

FUTURE ELIZABETH walks up to ELIZABETH and kneels in front of her.

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FUTURE ELIZABETH: They will. I’m okay now, (beat; she puts her hand on ELIZABETH’s shoulder) we’re okay now. You’re not Anthony anymore. You’re strong, Elizabeth.

ELIZABETH hugs FUTURE ELIZABETH tightly. You can hear her cry softly. The curtains close, and the play ends.

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DOLLHOUSE

by Isa Velazquez, ‘23

SCENE 1 There is a blackout, and then stage lights come on. The scene opens with DOLL sitting on the stage apron with her legs dangling off the edge, the curtains are closed behind her.

She has a doll face mask and stares out towards the audience. She wears a dainty dress and mary jane shoes. A few seconds after the stage lights come on and reveal her, a news report begins.

NEWSCASTER enters downstage left.

NEWSCASTER: Breaking news. Yesterday, a local family of five was found murdered in their own home. No suspects have been taken into custody so far, but suspicions lie on the family’s youngest daughter, whose body was the only one out of the five not found at the scene of the crime. Extended family reports that there had been tension and fighting among the family members for quite a while. They say it can only be presumed that she ran away from home after the incident, but where she is, no one knows. Police are on the lookout, stay tuned for more information in our 7 o’clock news update.

NEWSCASTER exits downstage left.

Blackout.

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Sarah Whalen for the Cavaleon, ‘23, digital photography

DOLL giggles.

SCENE 2 The curtains open and the stage lights come back on- the scene has shifted to a little girl’s bedroom. It is relatively bland with minimal furniture and no decorations. Offstage, a door slams closed as a family returns home.

MOM: (offstage) That store was awful, it felt like all those dolls were… watching me.

GIRL: (offstage) Thank you for taking me to buy a new doll!

MOM: (offstage) Whatever. Don’t expect anything else from me for a while. Go away.

GIRL: (sad, defeated) Okay, mom.

GIRL enters stage left, holding DOLL’s’s hand & pulling her along behind her.

GIRL walks into her room and sits DOLL down on her bed.

GIRL: Well, this is my room. I hope you like it. It’s a little bare, mom doesn’t let me decorate how I want to. Mom doesn’t really let me do anything… but I have you now! I know you won’t hurt me.

GIRL sits down next to DOLL and presses DOLL’s hand.

DOLL: I love you!

GIRL: (smile) I love you too! (sigh) You see, mom just doesn’t care about me at all. She only talks to me if she has something to complain about, and she’s always complaining about me. I never see her during the week. I’m always alone. I miss Dad… DOLL: I’m all you need!

GIRL: (laughs lightly) Yeah… I’ll be okay. I’m just a little bit tired.

GIRL leans her head against DOLL’s shoulder. She dozes off a bit, and a handful of seconds pass. DOLL reaches her hand up to stroke GIRL’s hair.

A loud and aggressive series of knocks come from offstage.

MOM: (offstage, yelling) GET OUT HERE RIGHT NOW.

GIRL squirms in her sleep, waking up a little bit. DOLL stops playing with her hair.

MOM: (offstage) DID YOU HEAR ME? I WON’T REPEAT MYSELF AGAIN NICELY. GET OUT OF YOUR ROOM AND COME HERE RIGHT NOW. 70

GIRL jolts awake and realizes she’s being called.

MOM: (offstage) AM I GOING TO HAVE TO COME IN THERE? GIRL: (to DOLL) I’m sorry, I’ll be right back. (yelling, to mom) Coming!

GIRL exits stage left at a run.

MOM: (offstage) TOOK YOU LONG ENOUGH! WHAT IS THIS DISASTER? THIS KITCHEN LOOKS DISGUSTING, YOU’RE SO DAMN LAZY! (slap sfx, offstage)

DOLL hears the slap from where she is sitting on stage. She stands up abruptly, walks off stage right, and promptly returns with a knife. She sits back down where she was before, the knife resting in her hand beside her.

GIRL: Ow..

MOM: OH, YOU THINK THAT HURTS? IMAGINE HOW MUCH IT HURTS ME TO SEE THIS MESS! I DIDN’T DO THIS! YOU HAD TO HAVE DONE THIS ON PURPOSE! ARE YOU EVEN SORRY? GIRL: I’m sorry, mom… I was just trying to make myself lunch earlier… I’m sorry.

MOM: I’M SURE THERE IS PLENTY OF PREMADE FOOD IN THE FRIDGE! WHY WOULD YOU DO THIS TO ME? GET OUT! I DON’T WANT TO SEE YOU. GIRL: (muttering) There is nothing in the fridge. You don’t buy me anything to eat.

MOM: Excuse me? Are you talking back to me?

GIRL: (fearful) No, I’m sorry!

GIRL enters stage left and runs over to the bed where her doll is waiting for her. She sits down on the floor in front of her bed and puts her head in her hands. She is crying.

DOLL: You’re my best friend!

GIRL doesn’t notice.

DOLL: I love you!

GIRL: (surprised) Oh, I love you too. (sniffle) I can’t do this anymore, I can’t do this…

DOLL: I’m all you need!

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GIRL: (in agreement) My mom is too much for me to handle, she makes me so sad… I didn’t even leave a mess in the kitchen! There were just a few dishes in the sink that I forgot to clean! I try my best but it’s not enough for her, ever…

Beat.

DOLL: (turns her head towards GIRL) Kill her!

Beat.

GIRL: What?

DOLL: You’re all I need!

GIRL: What did you say? (DOLL doesn’t reply.)

Beat.

GIRL: What’s that you’re holding?

GIRL reaches towards DOLL and finds the knife in her hand. GIRL takes the knife from DOLL and stares at it.

Beat.

DOLL: I love you!

Beat.

Sarah Whalen for the Cavaleon, ‘23, digital photography

DOLL: I’m your best friend!

GIRL: Do you think it would make things better?

Beat.

GIRL: She wouldn’t be able to hurt me anymore…

GIRL smiles to herself and slowly stands up, holding the knife in her hand.

DOLL: I’m all you need!

GIRL turns back slowly and walks off stage as if in a daze. She exits stage left.

SCENE 3 We hear a sharp scream from offstage, as well as shuffling and sounds of items being knocked over.

MOM: (yelling, offstage) WHAT ARE YOU DOING?

MOM enters stage left, trips onto the stage, and falls. She’s now crawling across the stage, scrambling away from stage left. Someone, or something, is chasing her.

GIRL enters stage left holding her knife.

MOM: GET AWAY FROM ME. IS THAT A KNIFE?! (frantic) GET AWAY FROM ME!

GIRL is approaching the mom. The curtains begin to close as GIRL raises her arm, knife in hand.

MOM: (yelling) STOP!

The curtains fully close. We hear one last bloodcurdling scream from MOM, and then silence.

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Sarah Whalen for the Cavaleon, ‘23, Digital Photography

GIRL: (turns to doll) You’re all I need…

SCENE 4 DOLL walks out from behind the curtains with GIRL following behind her holding her hand. They stand together downstage center on the apron. GIRL’s hands are covered in blood, and she’s shaking. She’s in shock. DOLL turns her head towards GIRL. DOLL: You’re my best friend!

GIRL stares at her and nods.

GIRL: You’re all I need…

DOLL: We are all you need!

Suddenly, from everywhere around the theater, ENSEMBLE DOLLS enter. Some come from behind the curtains, some from the back of the room. They walk together and gather on stage, surrounding GIRL. They begin to clean her up, preparing her.

Newscaster enters downstage left.

NEWSCASTER: Tragedy has struck again as yet another family has been found murdered just this evening. Neighbors reported hearing screams coming from a single mother’s home next door, but by the time police arrived at the scene, the mother was already dead, and her daughter was nowhere to be seen. Police are dumbfounded by the events that have been unfolding. We have no further information at this time.

Newscaster exits downstage left.

ENSEMBLE DOLLS then back away from GIRL, revealing that she now has the same doll face (mask) as the other dolls. GIRL moves to sit center stage on the edge of the apron. All ENSEMBLE DOLLS exit with DOLL following behind them. DOLL takes one final look at GIRL, and then leaves. GIRL now sits alone, just as DOLL did at the beginning of the play.

GIRL: I love you!

The ENSEMBLE DOLLS giggle together. Blackout.

End. Sarah Whalen for the Cavaleon, ‘23, digital photography

E = mc

2

by Caitlin Savage, ‘23

Straight Lines, Curved Glass, Angie Lopez, ‘19, digital photography 75

E = mc2 A curious statement Einstein once declared Energy equals mass times the speed of light But this formula isn't always right Not everything can be put into an equation Certain concepts need further evaluation Love, sorrow, hurt, pain Emotions that overwhelm the brain People push feelings away for later Since they can't be solved with a calculator Is it just the frizzy hair and the glasses?

Or is this a common issue among the masses?

As I deeply peer into my soul I ask, “Am I broken or am I whole?”

No solutions, despite reading every chapter What ratio do I use so that I won't shatter?

Mathematical relationships cannot describe every state So, for now, I hide behind thick armor plates This cannot be the correct solution Complex issues need a resolution Is there a new arithmetic of which I am unaware?

Is this a calculus that schools do not share?

What will get me out of this scrambled state?

Can I be saved or is it too late?

Is this normal? Am I fine?

I'm begging, pleading, “Help me, Mr. Einstein” The problem must be my mind creating static For I have never quite understood mathematics 76

EUTHYMIA

by Jose Sanchez, ‘23

a gargantuan love for creation concocted by the creature cradled by the sand slowly seeping through my ribs with the years— time’s caress on my youth is nothing, it is nothing to the grip of the ripping of my hands from the last of a youth I could’ve ever enjoyed.

And in the wake of the dust, my chest has unfurled and that creature is no longer cradled by the sands of my deserts but embracing the silks of my cocoon, the magic of a love so pure, Rangeen, Ayamey Ovens, ‘23, acrylic paint

it could get stained faster than teenage innocence but how could I let it? to do anything but die to protect my love would kill me from the inside out I could kill me from the inside out.

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through ruminations on blood a manifestation born tectonically crooning: a siren’s voice so pristine, clear, divine, engorged by a bile so unclean, an invasive brine; I told her to deny the gaze of time, so unforgiving. “look, a mother’s eyes could release even the worst from the salt of the earth and when I sing, I feel you in my ribs” I'll never know if you’re a lark, a siren, a vampire, cerberus inherently intravenous but enraptured in my cocoon, I know you are my daughter and when I sing I cannot see you but I know that in our being: we are casting, weaving, reeling everywhere, anywhere the spells of an eternity we are, my greatest love, euthymia

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Baja Bomb

by Cheryl Fiffe, ‘23

Soda Pop, Isa Velazquez, ‘23, digital photography 79

Baja Blast tastes like a god complex, raised on a throne of crushed ice, full of saccharine lies sloshing up, bubbling inflating

rising

b u r s t i n g.

Swallow the battery acid corroding your throat, feel it burning up and boiling down brain matter, just like vertigo from the sun burning through your lids, after clawing out from the deep cavity rotted into your bones.

Each sip slides down like television static, toxic waste settling into your veins, a parasite burrowing deep, nesting in a living carcass.

Blood might be thicker than water, but both will bow down to the Baja Blast.

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By the Seashore

by Cheryl Fiffe ‘23

The sky is clear, leaving the sun to sit on a throne of ocean breeze and witness today’s tragedy. Across the harbor, the fortress presides over the vast expanse with an iron fist, a reminder of the tyranny and oppression of the past, and a mockery of the present. The blue sky melts into the bay, blurring the horizon into nonexistence, but the peace is broken by the approach of a ship, announced by the piercing scream of its horn. To some, it is a sign of progress, of the innovation that was promised at the birth of this new era. But the best of us can see that their promises of freedom and prosperity are only words of straw spun into gold, a trick of smoke and mirrors to choke you into submission.

Perhaps someday we can hope for a better future, but the ship is approaching too fast; this time bringing only the promise of death. The rest of the world will watch the spectacle through opera glasses from the mezzanine. The papers, searing from the press with wet ink smearing the truth, sold how we stayed complacent in our boat at the harbor, blinded by the light reflected on the hull of the future. But that day, we resigned ourselves to be bound to our shared destiny, the string of our fate pulled taut so that we never had the power to run away, or the strength to fight and win.

The call of the future was a siren’s song, luring the most desperate to sacrifice themselves at an altar built on promises dripping in honey so we wouldn’t taste

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the bitter truth. It sought out the brightest of our stars and stole them away into the night, suffocating them with a shroud of darkness so that we would remain blind to the violence that we were told was our salvation. It was only fitting that the first victim was the youngest, blindfolded by her naivete, who would dare release the last evil of Pandora’s box into the world by planting the seeds of rebellion. She carried that torch of hope in her hand, letting the wax bind her to her ideals, willing to burn if it meant that she would finally have a chance at rivaling the sun’s brightness. At the hull of her small raft, she leads her legion toward the battle against that Goliath of a ship. The rest of us watch from the concrete promenade, but we are too jaded to believe that the dreams that we stay up at night chasing are playing out before our eyes. We stand, an audience of hostages, with breath caught in our throats, thousands of souls frozen in tandem and watching the bravest of our brothers challenge fate. We do not dare to hope; all those on the water are already dead men, whether to be swallowed into the depths of the sea or stolen from their homes by cruel hands under the cover of the night, disappearing without a trace.

The most sensible, or the biggest fools depending on who you ask, jump and prepare to face danger, barely children but ready to be sacrificed on the battlefield. She led them, arms heavy with the

burden of their hopes and dreams, that voice of danger thrown against the rock by the roar of the ship. But their own plan to escape is what would doom them. The tide created by that monstrous ship drags them down, swirling them around in a whirlwind of deceit and agony, as the very same anchors that had been lowered by the panicking ship as a final attempt to avoid a catastrophe will destroy them.

When the collision finally happened, there was no boom, no flashy explosion because the worst tragedies in

life sneak up behind you and by the time anyone realizes it, the hour to act is over.

Instead, their small boat rocks gently in a cradle of choppy waves, and the rest of us laugh. We laugh uncontrollably, hysterically, a hideous noise more akin to the rasping breath of a dying man or the grating noise of driving an ice pick into a skull.

We laugh because we did not want to live, we had welcomed death with open arms and bleeding hearts, but fate would rather tempt the best of us with gilded lies and leave the rest of us to watch as their blood stains the water.

Playa en 70, Cheryl Fiffe, ‘23, digital photography 82

Designer Index Emily Perez-Valentin - 57, 58, 59, 60 Rachel Rosado - 43, 44, 63, 64 Miguel Ruiz - 19, 20, 23, 24, 25, 26, 27, 28, 37, 38, 39, 40, 41, 42 Diana Soza - 3, 4, 5, 6, 7, 8, 9, 10, 21, 22, 29, 30, 45, 46, 53, 54, 61, 62, 65, 66, 67, 68, 75, 76, 77, 78 Leah Ullman - 1, 2, 11, 12, 13, 14, 15, 16, 17, 18, 51, 52, 81, 82 Isa Velazquez - 31, 32, 33, 34, 35, 36, 47, 48, 49, 50, 55, 56, 69, 70, 71, 72, 73, 74, 79, 80

Publication Awards Ukiyo: 2021 Volume 12 FSPA: All Florida CSPA: Gold Medalist Definitions: 2020 Volume 11 FSPA: Excellent Leviathan: 2019 Volume 10 FSPA: Gold Rating NSPA: All American with Marks of Distinction Continuum: 2018 Volume 9 FSPA: All Florida Gold Rating

SIPA: Superior Award CSPA: Gold Medalist Certificate You Are Here: 2017 Volume 8 FSPA: Gold Medalist Rating CSPA: Gold Medalist Rating NSPA: First Class Rating ASPA: First Place Rating Quantum: 2016 Volume 7 ASPA: First Place Rating Phoenix: 2015 Volume 6 FSPA: All Florida NSPA: Second Class Rating ASPA: First Place Rating

Staff Awards 2021 Florida Scholastic Press Association On-The-Spot Contests Literary Magazine Spread, 3rd place: Emily Felipe, Rodrigo Rosado, Alana Jefferson

2021 Scholastic Writing and Art

Gold Key: Bobby Guerrero Honorable Mention: Laura Hernandez Honorable Mention: Diana Soza

2022 Piano Slam Competition Finalist: Alejandra Torruellas

2022 Florida Scholastic Press Association Spring Digitals

Poetry, Excellent: Alejandra Torruellas Poetry, Excellent: Elise Pagani Poetry, Excellent: Steffi Sarmiento-Mena Poetry, Honorable Mention: Abril Orejon Prose, Excellent: Andrew Lee Prose, Excellent: Cheryl Fiffe Prose, Excellent: Elise Pagani Prose, Honorable Mention: Janell Castro Prose, Honorable Mention: Laura Hernandez Out of State Nature Photography, Honorable Mention: Jeannette Perez Out of State Nature Photography, 2 Honorable Mentions: Leah Ullman Special Effects, Honorable Mention: Miguel Ruiz Personality Portrait, Honorable Mention: Miguel Ruiz Personality Portrait, Honorable Mention: Isa Velazquez Animal & Pet, Honorable Mention: Rodrigo Rosado Animal & Pet, Honorable Mention: Isabella Velazquez Hand-drawn Illustration, Honorable Mention: Emily Perez-Valentin Hand-drawn Illustration, Honorable Mention: Rachel Rosado Hand-drawn Illustration, Honorable Mention: Ayamey Ovens Literary magazine spread, Honorable Mention: Myrea Ghetti & Diana Soza Commentary Off-Campus, All-Florida Ranking: Myrea Ghetti

2022 Florida Scholastic Press Association On-The-Spot Contests Literary magazine spread, 2nd place: Cheryl Fiffe, Isa Velazquez Poetry, 2nd place: Rodrigo Rosado Instagram story, 2nd place: Jeannette Perez

Colophon Catharsis is a literary and arts magazine produced by the Creative Writing Honors classes as a part of the Academy of Communication Arts, Film, and Digital Media at Coral Gables Senior High School. Volume 13 was made using Adobe InDesign CC Suite. Volume 13 uses Minion Variable Concept for body text and bylines.

Catharsis solicits submissions of writing and artwork from the entire student body as well as faculty and alumni. All work submitted is evaluated for content and technical quality by the editorial board and approved by the adviser. We actively recruit new staff members from the entry-level creative writing classes as well as digital design and AP/Honors English classes. Although class time was used to create this magazine, countless hours were spent working after school and on weekends to ensure its completion. The cover art is by Rachel Rosado and the illustrations for the Editor's Note and Table of Contents are by Diana Soza and Leah Ullman.

The goal of Catharsis is to promote literacy in our school and the local community. We encourage writing and artistic expressions for all students, faculty, and alumni. The editorial staff would like to thank the faculty and administration for their support in this endeavor, especially our Principal Tony Ullivarri; Assistant Principal of Curriculum, Nestor Diaz; Assistant Principal of CAF&DM, Jocelyn Figueroa; Activities Director Director, Ana Suarez; fellow CAF&DM teachers, Melissa Gonzalez and Patricia Passwaters; and our devoted academy leader Ana Zuniga.

Adviser: Gabriel Rodriguez Editor-in-Chief: Emily Felipe Editors: Co-Layout Editor: Leah Ullman Co-Layout Editor: Diana Soza Drama Editor: Cheryl Fiffe Poetry Editor: Marta Camps Gonzalez Prose Editor: Melanie Hernandez Managing Editor: Rodrigo Rosado Business Manager: Mercedes Deltoro Outreach Coordinator: Mercedes Deltoro Staff Writers: Lorenzo Braojos, Janell Castro, Dakota Chavarria, Myrea Ghetti, Bob Guerrero, Laura Hernandez, Andrew Lee, Angie Moya, Abril Orejon, Elise Pagani, Jeannette Perez, Eli Perry, Ana Sanchez, Jose Sanchez, Steffi Sarmiento-Mena, Alejandra Toruellas Layout Team: Matthew Mejia, Ayamey Ovens, Emily Perez-Valentin, Rachel Rosado, Miguel Ruiz, Isa Velazquez

Special thanks to Marta Camps-Gonzalez, Rachel Rosado, Miguel Ruiz, Diana Soza, Leah Ullman, and Isa Velazquez.