Vitality, Catharsis 2022-23

Coral Gables

CATHARSIS

Volume XIV

2023

VITALITY

(n.) the power giving continuance of life, present in all living things.

“Enamórate de ti, de la vida, y luego de quien tu quieras” - Frida Kahlo

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 magazine is the original work of the students, faculty, and alumni. e views and opinions expressed in the published pieces do not necessarily re ect those of the sta or Coral Gables Senior High School.

Cover by Rachel Rosado. Editor’s Note, Table of Contents, & Colophon designed by Isa Velazquez with art by Maya Carmenate. Section art by Juliette Fariñas-Correa Meyer.

Letter from the Editor

To say that producing this year’s volume was a Herculean task does not encompass the e ort and sacri ce of this entire sta to produce the work that you’re holding now. When I rose to the challenge as editor-in-chief, I was not aware of all of the responsibilities that would fall upon my shoulders. It has not been a burden because I have thoroughly enjoyed my position and being able to lead such a talented sta , but this year’s volume is not just a labor of love but of sorrow, of heartbreak.

e heart is the locus of every living being, dedicated to ensuring that the rest of the body survives. It’s the physical center of the body, the most vital organ, needed to keep blood owing and keep us alive. e heart is also our emotional core, a complex instrument that provides us with the capacity of feeling. It is passion, instinct, and conscience; it is what makes us human. Vitality aims to explore the duality of the heart as the physical and emotional center of a person, to bear our own hearts to the world in an attempt to be understood, because what is being human if not seeking connection?

Our blood, sweat, and tears are woven into every aspect of this work. With a volume as personal as this, it would be impossible to alienate ourselves from our work. Instead, I chose to embrace these emotional entanglements and allow them to fuel our creativity.

ere is intention behind every word, and every brushstroke because they are a piece of ourselves immortalized in print. With that said, allow me to take you on the journey of Vitality: the sheer heart attack of artistry and emotion encapsulated in this volume. We begin with Arrhythmia, the irregular heartbeats that disrupt the heart’s normal rhythm, causing discomfort as the rst symptom of something larger at play. ese pieces encompass the stories and perspectives of anyone who exists outside the boundaries of what is normal and it is their di erences that cause them to converge into a dissonant rhythm that dares to challenge what we take for granted. As the irregularity builds, it reaches its apogee and gives way to Penumbra, which is not only the dark part of an eclipse but used to describe tissues deprived of oxygen a er an ischemic event. It is raw and visceral, the utter desperation of being deprived of something indispensable, which in turn gives way to Necrosis e death of tissue due to lack of oxygen, Necrosis contains the remnants of grief and tragedy. But death is not the end. We are enshrined in the memory of everyone we love and in every part of ourselves that we pour out into the world through our art. And so we arrive at Convalescence: the vulnerability and beauty of recovery, of resting and gathering your strength.

But I am only the maestro of this orchestra of artists. It is my responsibility to lead my sta so that they can compose their own pieces, but it is up to the audience to listen and allow it to touch their own hearts. is is our heart, our magnum opus, our Vitality in your hands; treat it with the reverence it deserves.

Cheryl Fi e Editor-in-Chief

Table of Contents

Ste Sarmiento-Mena, ‘24

Luciana Callegari, ‘23

Cheryl Fi e, ‘23

Danelys Baez, ‘25

Abril Orejon, ‘23, Jacqueline Rodero, ‘23, Elise Pagani, ‘23, Ste Sarmiento-Mena, ‘24

Jose Sanchez, ‘23

Elise Pagani, ‘23

Juan Subero, ‘24

Jose Sanchez, ‘23

Ste Sarmiento-Mena, ‘24

Madison Beaton, ‘25

Danelys Baez, ‘25

Caitlin Savage, ‘25

Alejandra Torreulas, ‘23

Moon Anderson, ‘24

Angie Moya, ‘23

Jeanette Perez, ‘23

Daphné Renoux, ‘24

Ste Sarmiento-Mena, ‘24

Cheryl

Bobby

Marina

Jeanette

Andrew

Madison Beaton, ‘25

Andrew Lee, ‘23

Moon

Van

Andrew

Hugo

Elise

Keith

Alejandra

Cheryl Fi e, ‘23, Lorenzo

Braojos, ‘23,

Amador ‘24

Luciana Callegari, ‘23

d. - drama, p. - poetry, f. - ction, nf. - non ction

Table of Contents

Arrhythmia

, digital art

, oil pastel

, watercolor

, digital photography

, digital photography

, digital photography

, lm photography

, lm photography

, watercolor & ink

, digital art

, acrylic paint

, digital art

, digital art

Maya Carmenate, ‘24

Moon Anderson, ‘24

Katelyn Mesa, ‘24

Sarah Whalen, ‘23

Sarah Whalen, ‘23

Sarah Whalen, ‘23

Sarah Whalen, ‘23

Sarah Whalen, ‘23

Casey Ramirez, ‘23

Maya Carmenate, ‘24

Moon Anderson, ‘24

Maya Carmenate, ‘24

Leah Ullman, ‘23

Penumbra

, digital photography

, digital photography

, digital photography

, mixed media

, digital art

, digital art

,

, digital photography

, digital photography

, digital

, digital

,

Isa Velazquez, ‘23

Isa Velazquez, ‘23

Isa Velazquez, ‘23

Lucia Torres-Mugica, ‘23

Juliette Fariñas-Correa Meyer, ‘24

Juliette Fariñas-Correa Meyer, ‘24

Lourdes Suarez, ‘24

Rocio Lopez, ‘24

Rocio Lopez, ‘24

Rocio Lopez, ‘24

Rocio Lopez, ‘24

Isa Velazquez, ‘23

, acrylic on plexiglass

, acrylic paint

, acrylic paint

, digital photography

, mixed media

, ink , mixed media

, digital photopgraphy

, digital photography

, digital art

, digital photography

, watercolor & acrylic

, motion picture photography

Grace Martinez, ‘23

Rachel Rosado, ‘24

Rachel Rosado, ‘24

Sarah Whalen, ‘23

Lucia Torres-Mugica, ‘23

Lucia Torres-Mugica, ‘23

Lucia Torres-Mugica, ‘23

Leah Ullman, ‘23

Rocio Lopez, ‘24

Juliette Fariñas-Correa Meyer, ‘24

Rocio Lopez, ‘24

Moon Anderson, ‘24

Van Galex, ‘20

,

,

,

Juliette Fariñas-Correa Meyer, ‘24

Miguel Ruiz, ‘22

Isa Velazquez, ‘23

Isa Velazquez, ‘23

Ainoa Grisar-Cortes, ‘25

Rachel Rosado, ‘24

Alexis Van Grieken, ‘24

Lorenzo Braojos, ‘23, Cheryl Fi e, ‘23

Nadina Amador ‘24

Isa Velazquez, ‘23

ARRHYTHMIA

(n.) improper beating of the heart, whether irregular, too fast, or too slow.

Beware THE REDS

by Ste Sarmiento-Mena, ‘24

A spacious park. Two women sit on a bench at stage right, wearing tall, Marie Antoinette-like wigs and 2015 style clothing. Downstage le sits a man dressed as a bird, crouching on the oor as if he is perching on a branch. e women argue about what cake they are going to buy in anticipation for a party. ey are singing, style is le up to interpretation.

WOMAN #1 (moving hands around angrily): Red velvet! Red velvet! Red velvet!

WOMAN #2 (arms clutching the bench): No, cream cheese (beat; BIRD begins to caw, as WOMAN #2 looks at bird in annoyance, she rolls her eyes) frosting!

WOMAN #1: (touching her hair) But red! My hair!

WOMAN #2: I don’t care!

A woman dressed completely in red enters from upstage le and stands at upstage le . A man dressed completely in red enters from stage le and stands at stage le .

WOMAN #1: Stop it! You’ve summoned the reds.

WOMAN #2 (anxiously): I summoned the reds?

WOMAN #1: ey’re right there.

WOMAN #2 covers her eyes with her hands.

WOMAN #2: I don’t see a red. No red. No red.

WOMAN #1: Come reds.

e woman dressed completely in red exits from upstage le . e man dressed completely in red exits from stage le . WOMAN #2 uncovers her eyes. WOMAN #1 raises her arms to the sky.

WOMAN #1: Gone!

WOMAN #2: Never here! Never here! Never here!

WOMAN #1 takes o her wig.

WOMAN #1: Done! Done! Done!

WOMAN #1 throws her wig on the oor. WOMAN #1 exits at stage right. WOMAN #2 walks to center stage. She lays on the oor, her back on the oor, her limbs stretched towards the sky. BIRD walks to center stage. She lies on top of WOMAN #2’s limbs and waves arms in a ying motion.

BIRD: Flying away from this situation! Flying away from this situation!

BIRD falls o of WOMAN #2. WOMAN #2 stands up.

WOMAN #2: I need to go buy red velvet cake.

Her, Moon Anderson, ‘24, oil pastel

Tonight, I Am

By Luciana Callegari, ‘23

Her.

Hugged between four walls, fairy lights. Tonight, I welcome femininity out of my heart to sit in the palm of the deep-blue night.

I am not a girl, but tonight, with her warmth sinking into my skin, glowing pink as I cra and create, I am.

Come the turn of the sun, my subtle transformation back into a creature of unknown origin awaits me.

When I wake, leaving my femininity in the dark, I will carry the dear girl from this night, alongside the countless playdates when I was six, glowing pink with giggles under twilightmemories of an inerasable, untouched girlhood.

So let it be known that I am not a girl, but tonight with my heart’s arms wrapped around me, I am.

Claveles de Sangre

Pieces of Me,

My Lady

by Danelys Baez, ‘25

Satiate, Sarah Whalen, ‘23, digital photography

SCENE 1

e curtain opens, revealing a couch downstage right with a man, COUNT RUTHVEN sitting upon it. He has a wine glass lled with blood in hand and he is looking over papers. Over to the le -hand side of the stage, CARMILLA is standing waiting for an announcement.

COUNT RUTHVEN: How are you, my dear Carmilla? Well, I hope?

CARMILLA: I’ve seen better days, Ruthven. Silence.

COUNT RUTHVEN: And the weather, what do you think of it?

CARMILLA: It’s weather Ruthven, nothing interesting

Silence.

CARMILLA: Alright, this is becoming dry. Speak Ruthven, what is it you need from me?

COUNT RUTHVEN: Count Ruthven, my dear Carmilla, not just Ruthven. Years of age and yet you still seem to forget who is in control here.

CARMILLA: My apologies, Count Ruthven. I was out of line, please forgive me.

COUNT RUTHVEN: Yes yes, ok. I called you here because I wish for you to kill it today.

CARMILLA: It?

COUNT RUTHVEN: Yes, it. e little Carina you spend your time with. I want it gone.

CARMILLA: But, why? It’s harmless not to mention inconsequential to you- our e orts?

COUNT RUTHVEN (menacingly): But alas I want it dead so it shall be so. I don’t need you going astray, darling. You understand, don’t you?

He places his unoccupied hand onto CARMILLA’s shoulder and gives it a tight squeeze.

CARMILLA: Ruthven please, this is point-

COUNT RUTHVEN: It is Count! (beat.) I want it dead, Carmilla. I will not ask again.

He moves a strand of hair o her shoulder which makes CARMILLA step back in response. He steps away, going back to the couch. He takes his papers back in hand, reading over it.

CARMILLA: Yes, Count Ruthven. Your will is mine to ful ll.

Lights dim.

SCENE 2

CARMILLA turns her back to the audience and COUNT RUTHVEN walks o stage towards the right. In his place, CARINA makes her way downstage right. She is pacing. CARMILLA turns back around and “enters” the scene.

CARMILLA (frantic): Carina, you must leave this place.

CARINA: Carmilla, what has happened?

CARMILLA: is place is no longer safe. Ruthven wants you dead.

CARINA (panicked): He’s found me out? He’s found us out? How could this be? We were discrete? I never le a trace; you must believe me.

CARMILLA makes her way in front of CARINA and wraps her hands around her face, stopping CARINA’S movement.

CARMILLA: I know, Carina. I know. (beat; her tone becomes bitter) But it doesn’t matter to him. He is Count Ruthven, the King of bastard-sons. It took all of my strength to not slit that man’s throat where he stood.

CARINA: Carmilla, he is Count Ruthven. Do you truly believe he wouldn’t see that coming?

CARMILLA: Don’t take me for a fool, Carina! Of course, I know he would see it.

CARINA: I wouldn’t take you for a fool if you didn’t act like one! Your anger is misplaced.

Silence.

CARMILLA: You’re right, dear. I should not have been harsh. I just wish to be rid of him.

CARINA: en let us get rid of him.

CARMILLA (mockingly): How do you propose we kill him? With garlic? Don’t be foolish, Carina. Like you said, he knows we would be coming for his head.

CARINA (angered): I don’t know! But we must do something. (Carina begins to cry)

CARMILLA: Oh my poor Carina, do not cry?

CARINA: I know, I know. (Carina wipes her tears but continues to sni e lightly)

CARMILLA: (CARMILLA pulls CARINA into a side hug and rubs her arm up and down, comforting her for her rising anxiety.) You will not die, Carina.

CARINA: Yes, I know.

CARMILLA: Yet you haven’t smiled once since our plan began.

CARINA: I’ve smiled.

CARMILLA: You’re a poor liar.

CARINA and CARMILLA both chuckle. CARINA smiles towards CARMILLA.

CARMILLA: ere’s that smile.

CARMILLA side hugs CARINA tight but CARINA tries to push her away playfully.

CARINA: Alright alright enough, you’re so embarrassing.

CARMILLA: I think I’m adorable.

ey chuckle and go silent.

CARMILA: I mean it Carina, you will not die. I simply won’t let you. I would burn the world if it meant you would be safe.

CARINA is taken aback by this statement.

CARMILLA: Your life is in nite, such as mine. Do you understand this? Say it will be in nite.

CARINA: My life will be in nite with you. (beat.) You are my lady, my love, my Carmilla.

CARMILLA (slowly): And you are my lady, my love, my Carina.

Slow clapping is heard from upstage right as COUNT RUTHVEN emerges, making his way slowly downstage right.

COUNT RUTHVEN: at was beautiful, almost brought tears to my eyes.

COUNT RUTHVEN wipes a fake tear from his face. CARMILLA pushes CARINA behind her as COUNT RUTHVEN makes his way across from them. He is an arm’s length away from the two.

COUNT RUTHVEN: You disappoint me, Carmilla. You were my brightest, yet you still lack the understanding of control.

CARINA (terri ed): Please, no..

CARMILLA (frantically): We will leave and never return, Ruthven. ere won’t be a trace we ever exis-

COUNT RUTHVEN: It’s COUNT! (beat. COUNT RUTHVEN steps forward with power and slaps CARMILLA. She falls to the ground; CARINA gasps and follows CARMILLA to the ground, inspecting her.) You disappoint me! I tried to look the other way when you said you wanted a human to be your con dante. I was understanding yet you continued to push.

CARMILLA: You weren’t understanding, you were manipulating. You tried to make me weak.

COUNT RUTHVEN: I did not make you weak! You did that to yourself when you brought this, (beat. COUNT RUTHVEN pulls CARINA up by her wrist and drags her away from CARMILLA, who attempts to stand quickly but falls to her knees.) Into my castle.

CARINA: Carmilla, please-

COUNT RUTHVEN tugs CARINA’S arm roughly, silencing her and any attempts of her escaping.

CARMILLA: Count Ruthven please release her. Your quarrels are with me, not her.

COUNT RUTHVEN: Do you take me for a fool?

CARMILLA: It is the truth. I only ever used her for her blood. It was sweet

Prized Jewel, Sarah Whalen, ‘23, digital photography

but as she ages, it has grown sour. She’s useless to me. To us. So just leave her, as a sign of mercy to the humans.

CARINA (shocked): You were using me?

CARMILLA: Of course, I was using you? How could I ever love a mortal woman?

COUNT RUTHVEN: Kill it.

CARMILLA: But Count, you would be able to show mercy towards the hu-

COUNT RUTHVEN: If you wish to declare your loyalty, I want you to kill it. I want its blood to stain the oor. Only then will I forgive this scrutiny.

CARMILLA (defeated): Your will is mine to ful ll, Count Ruthven.

CARMILLA rises to her feet as COUNT RUTHVEN takes a dagger out of his coat pocket. He hands it to CARMILLA as he positions CARINA in front of him. CARINA begins to cry as CARMILLA positions the dagger to her gut.

CARINA: Please my lady, do not do this! I know what you said isn’t true, it can’t be. What we have is in nite, you said so yourself!

CARMILLA: Oh my sweet Carina-

CARMILLA moves the dagger to CARINA’S throat.

CARMILLA: Duck!

CARMILLA swings the dagger as CARINA ducks. e dagger swipes COUNT RUTHVEN’S throat and he staggers back. He holds his throat and falls back towards the ground (le -downstage).

CARMILLA drops the dagger to the right of him and hugs CARINA, pulling her away from COUNT RUTHVEN.

CARMILLA: Are you alright?

CARINA: Yes, and you?

CARMILLA: Yes, yes. Oh, I’m sorry I said those things. It was a façade.

CARINA: It’s alright, you did what had to be done.

COUNT RUTHVEN (strained): Carmilla...

CAMILLA and CARINA make their way towards COUNT RUTHVEN. Hesitant with each step, they both kneel on the le side of his body.

COUNT RUTHVEN: Carmilla…

CARMILLA: Final words, you old man.

COUNT RUTHVEN: Always go for the heart!

COUNT RUTHVEN grabs the dagger that lays on the right side of him and stabs CARINA in the chest. She stumbles to the center of the stage, dragging herself with her arms as she holds her chest. CARMILLA screams, grabbing the dagger and stabbing COUNT

RUTHVEN in the heart. He struggles against the dagger but falls to the ground. CARMILLA drags herself toward CARINA and supports her against herself.

CARMILLA: No, please don’t do this to me, Carina. Please live.

CARINA: Are you hurt?

CARMILLA: No no, I’m ne.

CARINA: at’s good.

CARMILLA: Carina you will survive this, you are strong.

CARINA: Carmilla, please.

CARMILLA: I am Carmilla of Styria. e oldest living vampire to exist. (panicked) I can turn you, let me turn you.

CARMILLA pulls CARINA’S wrist to her mouth, but CARINA pulls her arm back down onto her chest.

CARMILLA: What are you doing? I can save you!

CARINA: No… I wish to die a human like my family before me. Please grant me this Carmilla

CARMILLA: How can you ask this of me?

CARINA: Because I know you will grant me my wish.

CARMILLA (crying): I beg of you, do

not leave me alone.

CARINA: Our love is in nite, remember.

CARMILLA: Of course, I remember, I’m the one that told you that it was so.

CARINA: en you know best how true it is.

CARINA puts her hand on CARMILLA’S cheek and CARINA holds it in her hand. CARMILLA gives it a tight squeeze as CARINA smiles.

CARMILLA: What am I going to do without you by my side? You are my con dante.

CARINA: You have killed Ruthven. It means you will be the next Countess of Styria.

CARMILLA: I do not wish to be a ruler if you are not by my side.

CARINA: But you must, and you will. You are strong, remember that.

CARMILLA: I will never forget it my lady, my love, my Carina.

CARINA: Goodbye, my sweet Carmilla.

CARINA’S hand drops from CARMILLA’S face, solidifying her death.

CARMILLA sobs as she hugs CARINA. Lights dim.

My Love, Sarah Whalen, ‘23, digital photography

Mother Tongues

Granada, Sarah Whalen, ‘23, lm photography

Le Radici di Storia

( e Roots of History)

La patria.

By Elise Pagani ‘23

dove la mia eredità inizia a radicare scorrendo nel mio cuore come il Po, nutrendo dalla terra a Trieste a Sondalo e raggiungendo l’oceano e realizzo:

sono a casa, sono qui, sono la mia storia.

e fatherland. Where my heritage begins to take root owing through my heart like the Po River, feeding o the land in Trieste to Sondalo and reaching across the ocean. and I realize I am home, I am here, I am my history.

Oda a Veracruz

(Ode to Veracruz)

By Abril Orejon ‘23

A la tierra que se extiende, desde las aguas del golfo, hasta el punto más alto, desde el cual se ve todo. Una tierra donde se encuentra, El café más oscuro, A lado de la plaza donde se baila danzón.

To the land that extends, From the waters of the gulf, To the tallest point, From which everything can be seen. A land where you can nd, e darkest co ee, Next to the square where everyone meets to dance.

Aux Etats-Unis (In e United States)

Je suis américaine.

By Ste Sarmiento-Mena, ‘24

C’est ici où je suis devenue polyglotte, une personne qui parle trois langues. Mon passeport, Mes émotions, Ma musique, Mon pays.

Ma vie cubaine, Ma vie colombienne, Ma vie américaine, Elles sont toutes ici.

Ma culture est celle du monde, juste aux Etats- Unis.

I am American.

It’s here where I became a polyglot, person who speaks three languages. My passport, My emotions, My music, My country.

My Cuban life, My Colombian life, My American life.

ey are all here.

My culture is the one of the world, just in the United States.

Una Orquídea Cubana (A

Cuban Orchid)

By Jacqueline Rodero, ‘23

La or sacada de un paraíso tropical que sintió la mano de la opresión, se convirtió en una orquídea vibrante llena de vida y generosidad, que difunde su belleza y fragante amor sobre muchos, dando aliento y esperanza a todos los que entraron en contacto con él, mientras planta otras semillas que se convierten en ores por derecho propio.

e ower taken from a tropical paradise that felt the hand of oppression, became a vibrant orchid full of life and generosity, Who spreads her beauty and fragrant love on many, giving encouragement and hope to all who came in contact with him, while planting other seeds that grow into owers in their own right.

Alhambra, Sarah Whalen, ‘23, lm photography

God Pot

By Jose Sanchez, ‘23

What’s been the cause of your stature

At leisure as of late?

I’ve been boiling.

I’ve been bubbling.

I’ve been simmering.

But I zzle, I falter.

Not at my discretion,

But I must commit to due diligence

If the alchemist to my cauldron does diligence.

ough I doubt him,

e seltzer of my mind will sway him

For I see the chemicals he pours into my cranial cauldron –

And I won’t be a god pot.

And he knows I’m angry

For by my will or not I must have everything;

My god is an obedient one

Caused by the mirth of another –

I – who bested him with blessed potions of rage

For I must have everything.

I am a minor god below gods above

But if I hold the will and I hold the creeds in a ask

I may be the greatest in a reality

Where all others are poisoned.

However, that reality is not the track I lie on

Unless it’s that of lightning

On course to come bolting through me

For I can’t hold the asks,

ey are too heavy for unwilling arms to make do.

I see, I hear, I consummate

e light, the light, the light that I can hold

Will illuminate my shrine;

e music consumes me, gurgling,

e backbone of my recipe, and

From what I come from, from what I’ve heard,

From the light, the light, the light:

I will have everything.

Nun, Casey Ramirez, ‘23,watercolor & ink

Murder In The Court

By Elise Pagani, ‘23

e curtains open, revealing the throne room of a castle. A large throne is located center stage, with QUEEN ALEXANDRA, the hot-headed harsh ruler of Arceland, seated atop it. ere is GUARD 1 standing to her le , and her son DIMITRI silently to her right. In the back of the stage, we see stained glass lining the wall. LOUIS, the eldest prince of the neighboring country of Oblán, is brought in from downstage right, being restrained by GUARD 2

LOUIS (struggling): Let me go this instant!

GUARD 2: Quiet! (beat; he cups his hand over LOUIS’s mouth to keep him quiet, and brings him closer to the queen, pushing LOUIS to his knees) Your Majesty, I’ve brought the culprit as you asked.

QUEEN ALEXANDRA: Good. (beat; she looks down at LOUIS with a blank, yet stern expression) Now, Prince Louis of Oblán, you are here because

you are charged with the murder of my daughter, and more notably your betrothed, Victoria.

LOUIS writhes and forces GUARD 2’s hand o his mouth.

LOUIS: And I’ve told you all repeatedly that I did not murder her!

QUEEN ALEXANDRA: Your words are meaningless. e guards already concluded that the only possible suspect could be you.

DIMITRI appears spaced out. Noticing this, QUEEN ALEXANDRA looks down at him.

QUEEN ALEXANDRA: Do you have anything you’d like to say, Dimitri?

DIMITRI is snapped back into reality at these words.

DIMITRI (apprehensively): Ohapologies mother, I’d rather not. e grief of Victoria’s death still weighs heavy on my heart.

QUEEN ALEXANDRA (sadly): Oh, you poor boy, I understand.

She places a hand on DIMITRI’s shoulder in an attempt to comfort him. DIMITRI’s eyes dri over to LOUIS, and the two make brief eye contact.

QUEEN ALEXANDRA: Now then, (beat; she lets go of her

son and looks back to GUARD 1) would you care to share with us the information you’ve gathered?

GUARD 1 nods and steps forward to downstage center, with everyone looking towards him.

GUARD 1: e date is February 2nd, 1809.

e lights dim and shu ing is heard as the characters rearrange themselves on the stage. e curtains close and the scene ends.

SCENE 2

e lights turn back on, and we see GUARD 1 standing on the apron of the stage, stage le , and QUEEN ALEXANDRA sitting atop her throne on the apron, stage right. e queen stares blankly forward, as if watching what GUARD 1 is about to say before her eyes. e curtains open and LOUIS and VICTORIA are sitting at a table center stage, eating and chatting with one another.

GUARD 1: Prince Louis and the princess were prepared to wed in a week, and as far as we knew all was well between the pair.

DIMITRI enters from stage right, leading the pair to greet him. LOUIS gets up to shake his hand.

DIMITRI: It’s a pleasure to properly meet you, sir.

LOUIS: Oh please, no need for such formalities. You may call me

Louis.

DIMITRI (chuckling): Well then, it’s a pleasure to properly meet you, Louis.

VICTORIA: Dimitri, aren’t you just thrilled for the wedding? You’ll be Louis’s best man, correct?

DIMITRI: Of course. ough, I must admit it will be a bit sad seeing my sister leave for Oblán.

VICTORIA: Oh, don’t fret! I promise to write to you whenever possible.

e three royals laugh before DIMITRI and VICTORIA leave together, leaving LOUIS alone.

GUARD 1: But there was more than we could’ve imagined.

LOUIS’s expression suddenly changes to one of anger. In a t of rage, he knocks over the plates on the table.

GUARD 1: ere was something sinister going through Prince Louis’s mind.

LOUIS buries his face in his hands in anger.

GUARD 1: In reality, he is an Oblánian spy!

QUEEN ALEXANDRA gasps;

LOUIS looks up and displays a confused expression in response to this accusation, before hiding his face again.

GUARD 1: Yes, it’s true. And his true goal was not to marry the princess, but to murder her!

VICTORIA enters from stage right, smiling as she sees LOUIS. He glares at her for a moment, then pulls a knife out of his back pocket. LOUIS runs up to her and attacks. ey fall to the ground, the princess screaming and writhing. QUEEN ALEXANDRA pulls a bucket of popcorn from behind her throne and leans forward, sucked in by the events playing out as though this was some TV drama. Finally, LOUIS stabs the knife deep into VICTORIA’s chest, and she goes limp.

GUARD 1: And so, the princess was murdered.

QUEEN ALEXANDRA: How tragic, I liked her best.

QUEEN ALEXANDRA pulls out a handkerchief from seemingly nowhere, dabbing away some tears. GUARD 1 turns to her and bows.

GUARD 1: And that is how it happened, your

Majesty.

LOUIS, breaking character, looks up at GUARD 1.

LOUIS (frustrated): None of that happened! e lights turn o and the curtains close again, ending the scene.

SCENE 3

When the lights turn back on and the curtains reopen, the stage is back to how it was prior to the GUARD 1’s retelling. He quickly returns to the queen’s side.

LOUIS: You literally made all of that up.

GUARD 1: It was simply what I concluded from the evidence I gathered.

LOUIS (annoyed): What evidence?!

GUARD 1 (angrily): Don’t question me, you murderer!

GUARD 1 goes up to LOUIS and slaps him in the face.

QUEEN ALEXANDRA: Enough roughhousing boys. Now, seeing as the accused has no alibi, (beat; she looks directly at LOUIS) I have no choice but to have you be executed.

LOUIS, frightened, looks over at DIMITRI with pleading eyes; DIMITRI looks away in defeat. Suddenly, a jingling noise is heard o stage, and JESTER enters foolishly from stage right. e group looks at him as he walks in silence, apart from the

sound of his out t jingling.

JESTER (triumphantly): Halt! Everyone halt these proceedings immediately! I know the truth! I know who the murderer is!

e room is silent for a moment before all except JESTER burst into laughter.

QUEEN ALEXANDRA (laughing): Ah, good one fool. We all needed a good laugh a er today.

JESTER (frustrated): I’m serious! (beat; JESTER kneels in front of the queen) I swear on the princess herself that I saw what happened.

QUEEN ALEXANDRA (sighing): Fine. But your story better be worth my time.

e lights turn o once more as the curtains close as the characters rearrange themselves once more, ending the scene.

SCENE 4

e lights turn back on; QUEEN ALEXANDRA and GUARD 1 are back in their positions from the last story.

e curtains open, and we see DIMITRI and LOUIS kneeling stage le , holding one another. JESTER enters from upstage right, and upon seeing the pair, he hides behind a conveniently placed houseplant near where he entered.

LOUIS (longingly): Dimitri, the Arcelandic prince, my love for you burns brighter than the sun. (beat; he looks away from DIMITRI) But alas, our love is forbidden, and our feelings may only lay vicariously through my betrothing to your sister.

QUEEN ALEXANDRA (shocked): Oh my! What a twist!

DIMITRI: No, Louis, I refuse to give up on us. (beat; he takes LOUIS’s face into his hands and moves it so that they’re now facing each other once more) I promise, I’ll x this. For us.

ey kiss so ly. JESTER pokes his head around the houseplant, and we see he’s gasping, but quickly hides back behind it.

QUEEN ALEXANDRA is now sobbing.

QUEEN ALEXANDRA (crying): eir love was not meant to be!

She blows her nose into her handkerchief as LOUIS

pulls away and runs o from stage le . DIMITRI stands up, staring deeply into the direction where LOUIS le and pulling something unknown from his pocket; VICTORIA enters from stage right.

VICTORIA: Hello Dimitri, do you know where mother is?

DIMITRI ignores her. VICTORIA sco s and walks up behind him.

VICTORIA: What’s the matter with you? You’ve been acting strange for days now!

DIMITRI, still not looking at his sister, begins getting increasingly annoyed.

DIMITRI: Nothing’s the matter.

VICTORIA: But something has to be bothering you! What’s going –

DIMITRI snaps, gripping onto whatever he had previously pulled from his pocket.

DIMITRI (enraged): What’s bothering me is you!

e item in his hand is revealed to be a knife, which he stabs deep into VICTORIA’S chest. QUEEN ALEXANDRA and GUARD 1 both gasp; VICTORIA screams out in pain. DIMITRI pulls the knife from his sister’s chest, staring blankly down at her as she falls limp to the ground. JESTER looks around the houseplant once more and quickly runs o from upstage right. No one seems to hear his jingling. e curtains close and the lights turn o , ending the scene.

SCENE 5

e curtains reopen and the lights turn back on; we are returned to the throne room once more.

JESTER: And that is what happened.

QUEEN ALEXANDRA begins laughing.

QUEEN ALEXANDRA: What a lovely story, fool. I’d give you a raise if we paid you.

JESTER (frustrated): Your Majesty, please I am telling you the true events of this tragedy!

QUEEN ALEXANDRA: Please, you expect me to believe that my son would kill his own sister?

GUARD 1: It’s simply absurd!

JESTER growls before beginning to jingle and shake angrily.

He faces the audience to address them directly.

JESTER (angrily): What can I possibly do to make these people believe a mere fool?!

A loud groan is heard o stage. Everyone turns toward stage right, and suddenly the corpse of VICTORIA limps eerily onstage. e group screams.

DIMITRI (terri ed): V-Victoria?!

VICTORIA (in anguish): I will not allow he who took my life to rest whilst I am forced to live in agony!

She limps forward before collapsing to the ground.

QUEEN ALEXANDRA (desperately): Victoria, my dear, speak to us! Who murdered you?

She slowly and wearily picks herself up. Now crouching on the oor, she points towards JESTER.

VICTORIA (weakly): e Jester… it is he-

Due to her weakness, VICTORIA collapses once more. Everyone stares at JESTER.

DIMITRI (shocked): It was the fool!

LOUIS (angrily): It was him! He framed me!

QUEEN ALEXANDRA (angrily): How dare you lie to me, fool! I knew that story was fake. (beat; she looks to GUARD 1) Execute him immediately!

JESTER (scared): No! Please! Believe me! I told the truth!

GUARD 1 takes JESTER

o stage from stage le . All follow behind. Scared jingling is heard from o stage before it suddenly stops, and JESTER’s hat is thrown on stage, implying he has been killed. VICTORIA moves her arm, pointing in the direction everyone le to nish her last words.

VICTORIA (faintly): -it is he who tells the truth. She collapses for the last time, nally able to die peacefully. e curtains close, ending the show.

END

Counterclockwise

By Juan Subero, ‘24

6:00 am, February 28.

It was a cloudy day at Brattleboro, a small town with no more than four thousand people inhabiting it. Among the few families that lived in town, we have the Pruccolli family. eir eldest child, Jeremy, passed away recently in a period not even two years a er graduating and moving out of the city. Everybody in the town– especially his parents–was in deep sorrow, as today was the date of his death.

Despite this, his brother Marcus did not bother to even remember what had happened. In his cluelessness, he exits the house;

“I’m heading out to school, I’ll be back late,” he said as stepped out.

It was February, and spring felt like it was right around the corner. As he made his way to Brattleboro High, Marcus waved at his neighbors; as he walked to He was going up the stairs quickly because he was late, though he swi ly stopped when he heard a familiar voice which spoke to him in a friendly manner.

“Seems like somebody is running

late,” he said smugly.

“Yo Quarren, don’t scare me like that bro,” Marcus said, surprised, as he stepped down and saluted his friend.

“Man, I thought we were walking together today to school, remember?”

“I’ll be honest with you, I completely forgot.”

“Don’t worry man it happens. Are you ready for that biology test we got today?”

“Nope, I have no idea!”

e two walked into the school laughing and joking. Quarren was Marcus’s neighbor, they had known each other since elementary school and were friends since then. e day continued naturally, and before Marcus had time to blink, it was lunchtime.

ere, he sat along with the other teens who lived around the block. Brattleboro was a small town and everybody knew each other for the most part.

Marcus himself was a very wellknown guy; he was friends with everybody despite not being very social. Among his few close friends there were

Quarren and his older sister Marina, who was Jeremy’s best friend back when he was still alive. ere were other teens who were part of the group, among them Sabrina, daughter of the mayor, and Jacob, whose father owned the most visited diner in town.

ey chatted until lunch was over, a er agreeing to meet a er school at their favorite place in town: the old railroad bridge, an iconic local monument, now abandoned as it no longer served a purpose a er the Civil War.

Once they were out of school, Marcus, Quarren, Marina, and the rest of the teens began heading over to the bridge, which was not very far from the school. On their way there, Marina and Marcus stayed behind and started talking.

“So,” began Marcus. “How are you and Quarren?”

“We’ve been doing okay, being a senior has made this quite the year so far,” replied Marina.

“Really? How so?”

“Well, it’s certainly been a struggle to apply to universities considering how limited connections can be sometimes in such a small town.”

Marcus pauses. “Yeah, makes sense. Personally, I’d like to stay here and help my dad with his business and all that stu .”

“Yeah, it must be nice to be able to stay here and work in the bakery.” She smiles.

“I will tell you though, it’ll get lonely here without you,” he sighed.

It was a known fact by everyone in town that ever since they were little, Marcus had liked Marina despite her being a year older. Marcus had never expressed his feelings appropriately but he

was determined to do so, especially now since he was aware she’d likely be leaving by the end of the year.

“What… Do you mean…?” she says a er a brief pause.

“Well let’s just say, you’re pretty irreplaceable. I mean, I’ve known you all my life, and now you’re likely heading to the big city,” he said while grinning.

“Marcus, I’ll be ne. You don’t have to worry… I’ll come to visit every now and then during the holidays,” she said.

“You better, or I’m going to miss you.” He blushed slightly as he looked into her eyes; he thought of confessing how he felt but he dismissed the thought.

Before Marina could reply, they had already arrived at the bridge. Noon quickly became dawn, and the teens had spent most of their time talking and throwing rocks into the river below the bridge. What would usually end in a goodbye with everybody heading back to their place, ended suddenly with Quarren getting everyone’s attention

“Yo, guys,I heard there’s an abandoned home not far a er the bridge. Are y’all in or not?”

“I’m down to go,” Jacob said while Sabrina nodded.

Marina gave Quarren an uneasy look, then replied by saying, “you know that place isn’t safe right? It’s probably super old and could just collapse.”

“You worry way too much sis, let’s go have some fun!” replied Quarren. He then turns to Marcus, “what do you think?”

“Umm… I don-” Marcus began. He looked at Marina but then looked back at Quarren and ended up agreeing, “sure, I don’t see why we shouldn’t.” en, the group of teens began

heading over to the abandoned house.

ere was a forest by the other side of the bridge, the house was at a remote spot not too far a er crossing it.

e house looked old and decrepit, the roof caved in at the front with rotten wood planks for a roof, and the rooms inside were almost covered in a heap of wood. e group entered the house and began looking around

“Ugh, this place reeks!” Jacob said loudly as the teens entered.

“Well, what do you expect!? It’s probably been rotting since 1962 or something,” Quarren replied, laughing.

As they went deeper into the house, they noticed di erent things such as the many old pictures and the deplorable old furniture inside. Once they were done with the rst oor, headed upstairs.

Marcus felt uneasy about the place and stuck near Marina who was also awfully quiet. Quarren, on the other hand, was being rather obnoxious; he spray painted obscene gures across the walls and oor.

en, out of nowhere, a thunderstorm started right outside the house. It was sudden yet strong, to the point where even some droplets of water began leaking from the roof of the house.

“I think we should probably head out. is place under rain might be more dangerous than the lightning outside,” Marina said, scared.

“I agree, this might not have been the best idea,” Marcus mumbled.

“Oh c’mon Marina, stop being so scared, we’ll be ne,” Quarren replied with an annoyed and almost angry tone.

“Whatever I’m not doing this, I’m out of here,” Marina said as she stomped toward the stairs. Silence invaded the room as a crack slowly formed at Mari-

na’s feet, which was accompanied by a loud noise that echoed across the room.

“Marina... don’t move,” Marcus said as he approached her slowly; Jacob, Sabrina, and Quarren followed.

Marina looked back at Marcus, a blaring thunderclap followed by a bright light that le everybody blinded.

As Marcus opened his eyes back up he noticed a hole right below where Marina was standing. He quickly approached and saw what he had most feared: Marina’s motionless body lying on the ground wrapped around the wood planks she had just stood on.

“Oh my God, Marina!” Quarren shouted as he started running down the stairs. Jacob followed Quarren. Sabrina placed her hand on her mouth as tears began to fall down her face.

“Somebody call an ambulance, anyone! Please!” Quarren said desperately as he checked on Marina.

Marcus stood there in shock, his face only giving a slight hint of expression as he saw what was right in front of him. en it hit him, and he ran as fast as he could down the stairs sitting next to Marina’s body.

“Marina! Please wake up!” Marcus cried as he shook her. “Please!”

“Marcus, calm down,” Quarren said, “I don’t think she’s going anywhere any time soon.”

Marcus looked at him confused as he sat beside Marina. “You’re lying! She can’t die… she doesn’t deserve it! She just needs to wake up!”

As Marcus kept sobbing and running back and forth, Quarren looked at Marcus with a di erent expression on his face, as if he couldn’t believe what had just happened. is was just an accident, right?

“ is is all your fault Quarren! She didn’t want to come here in the rst place!” Marcus growled as he stood up pushing Quarren in anger.

“Yeah? Well, you didn’t seem to bother to come here either! My sister just died. We’re all screwed!” Quarren said, pushing him back in frustration as he, too, teared up.

Jacob immediately attempted to contact a line of local paramedics before contacting 911 but there was no service because of the storm.

Blinded by his emotions, Marcus exited the house running in an e ort of making it to the town and seeking help. He ran through the forest as the rain poured on him with the tar black

sky above him. “Please,” he kept pleading. “Don’t let her die. Please!”

Soon enough, Marcus would reach the old bridge from before. As he sprinted towards it, he slipped,hitting his head hard against the ground. His vision then became blurry before he blacked out; on the other side of the bridge, he saw a tall silhouette standing in the middle as lights ashed from behind it.

An alarm then rang. Marcus was surprised to wake up in his bed. He jumped from it still in a rush, and he reached for his cell phone to text Quarren, Jacob, anyone, but much to his surprise, as he turned it on he realized the date hadn’t changed. It was still February 28, and it was just 6:00 am.

Shadows , Moon Anderson, ‘24, acrylic paint

Down the Aisle, Maya Carmenate, ‘24, digital art

Grocery Store

By Jose Sanchez, ‘23

I went down to the local Miamian grocery store. e problem is grocery shopping while hungry doesn’t work for me anymore.

Your sister could go, cart open to all she does–and doesn’t – know.

e problem is I’m pickier when I’m starving, something no one seems to know!

I could look into all the aisles lled with cartons and plastic pictures. But if I touch them I won’t want to hold them I guess I’m just not wanton anymore.

But if you’d asked me a year ago–short-haired and teeth-bared, I’d have grinned and said, “sure” and let the aisles fall shown in the holes of our cart.

I could come up with too many reasons to blame but living is too simple and this is shame.

by Ste Sarmiento-Mena, ‘24

Sometime in Spring of 2021

e rst time we o cially met. A mutual friend had told me of you before, yet somehow I hadn’t made the connection until now.

I was skipping class to chat with friends, and you just happened to be part of their lunch table. I remember not thinking much of you and sort of blending your face with someone else I had met the same day.

September 2021

You’d become my friend. We had a class together, and although I can’t remember how we started talking, I loved every second that I had with you.

You had me follow your account on Instagram, and for the rst time I saw you out of school uniform. at was somehow the rst of many times that I truly found you beautiful.

10-18-2021

I was invited to your birthday party, and I think that was when I really got to know you. Your house was blue and on a street I’d admired my whole life.

It was the place my family had been in love with for years. It had that old Spanish style that most houses in that area have, and even though it was really big, it felt cozy– like a cottage–on the inside.

You took me to your private places; your room, that weird outhouse. I got to see where you grew up, got to learn more about you than what was strictly on the outside.

01-07-2022

I got a girlfriend. Right afer that I found out you had started talking to someone. She was cool, and I knew

of her from freshman year.

I was happy for you. To be honest, I don’t remember thinking much about it.

02-01-2021

You brought your camera to class that day and took some pictures of me. I really liked those; they helped me see myself from your perspective, I think. Someone also took a photo of us looking into each other’s eyes. I’d like to think we looked like we were in love during that speci c moment, the Virginia and Vita of our time.

I still had that girlfriend.

You had stopped talking to that girl.

02-06-2022

O cially single.

02-09-2022

We bonded over the fact that we were both told by our previous partners that we weren’t a ectionate enough, and that they weren’t sure that we even liked them. ( is was their reason for cutting us o ).

02-24-2022

It was my birthday, but it also happened to be the same day that I got back together with my ex. I think I told you; I can’t remember. Either way, I know you had to have found out; we were friends and had mutual friends. Someone must’ve told you at some point; I just can’t remember when.

03-10-2022

I was next to you when I received a text that made me realize I was going to be broken up with. I had been waiting for that to happen just so that I wouldn’t have to be the bad guy. I think everyone was really confused as to why I didn’t seem to care. I just didn’t.

04-17-2022

We went to a party together. at night was the rst time in a long time that I recalled your beauty. Our hair was the same color, a pinkish tint mixed with our natural brown hue. You had on a black t-shirt, black jeans, red converse, and that one button down of yours with the moose on it. Nothing about you was special, yet everything was as well.

I remember clinging to you that night. I remember how my best friend had abandoned me, chasing some guy I didn’t know. I remember how I hated social interactions, and how I wasn’t planning on chatting much.

I also remember how comforting I found it to stay with you.

I still haven’t forgotten the things we nearly did that night. I have to say, I still wish we had gone through with them.

05-05-2022

I jokingly claimed you as my girlfriend, and I could tell from the look in your eyes you wished I wasn’t telling jokes. My never-ending aw has always been never-ending jokes, no matter how much I ght against it.

05-06-2022

I jokingly broke up with you. For some reason, you tried convincing me not to. I don’t think I’ll ever nd out why.

05-09-2022

We skipped class that day and I remember discovering many new things about you while in conversation. I laid down on your lap the whole time. at’s the only thing I remember now.

05-16-2022

I threw a party, and you came. You looked perfect as ever in my eyes, although that wasn’t much because at that point, I started seeing you as that every day.

Even at my own party, I somehow wound-up clinging to you.

I sometimes think of that moment when we were dancing and you said, “you know, you’re really my type,” and I brushed it o .

I think that might’ve been the night I realized you genuinely liked me.

05-30-2022

May 30th was graduation and school was empty. We were two of the only idiots who thought it would be a good idea to show up. at day, someone else caught my eye. I was too nervous to talk to her though, so I skipped class to be with you.

You read me your poetry, and I thought it was lovely.

06-03-2022

You read me another one of your poems, yet this one felt absurdly real to me. You talked of being tired of faking things, of wanting something real. At the time, and still now, I can’t help but assume that it must’ve been about me.

06-08-2022

is was our last lunch together. We hugged the whole time.

First week of summer vacation

A er pulling an all-nighter, I realized the mistake I made by letting you go. I knew I needed to show you how I felt before you le .

06-21-2022

e entire day all I could think about was how much I wanted to kiss you. You made it clear to me that was what you wanted, too.

07-07-2022

at day was really the last time we were going to see each other before you le . We were together everywhere we went. I sat on your lap as everyone loaded into the car on our way to the movie theater. I could tell you liked the way we were sitting. I could tell you were sad this could never become anything more.

07-08-2022

It nally hit me that you were basically gone.

07-09-2022

We texted until the minute your plane took o and started back up again the minute you arrived. I knew then, I would miss you forever. I thought then I was confused with the way I felt for you.

Today I got your letter.

I have to say I was hoping for something a little deeper when I heard you were sending me a bundle of words that I would like to think came straight from your heart.

Looking back, I now realize just how much I took advantage of you, toyed with your emotions, and said things I shouldn’t have without being ready to commit. Because now I realize just how much I would die to be with you. I didn’t appreciate you when you were here, and now that you’re gone, I couldn’t miss you more. It’s only July, but I can’t stop thinking about how lonely I’m going to feel walking down the hallway, how empty class is going to be, how quiet I’ll eat my lunch, without you to be there to share these moments with me.

It’s summer, yet I miss you like every day even though we never saw each other every day. Still, now that I know you’re gone, I actively miss you every waking moment of my life.

In your letter you mentioned how I don’t call you by your nickname the way everyone does. I never knew exactly why I did that, but I somehow couldn’t manage to bring myself to say it. I think I now know that’s because I wanted to be di erent from the rest. I didn’t want to blend in as one of our friends, but I wanted you to look at me di erently. And today, I know that you did.

Lonely Souvenirs, Leah Ullman, ‘23, digital art

PENUMBRA

(n.) reversibly injured tissue surrounding an ischemic event; a space of partial illumination (as in an eclipse) between the perfect shadow on all sides and the full light.

MIRROR POOL

By Madison Beaton, ‘25

With nothing but a simple look, I have shattered my heart-shaped mirror, At the time of the shatter, I almost felt as if I had a heart attack. Continue with a happy expression, young sweetheart. You know what will happen if you drop it–what they saw in your re ection all those years ago.

Touch a hand to my heart-shaped mirror, now cracked and broken… e re ective surface ripples like rowdy ocean waves. I lean in,

allowing my body to sink into the two-sided mirror one I never expected to see myself in. Listen closely, you may hear their beautiful words again, young sweetheart.

Shattered Mirage, Isa Velazquez, ‘23, digital photography

Please release me from this mirror, I beg of you!

I did not mean to enter your dimension!

Have mercy, please!

I promise not to commit such heinous acts again!

Your promises are about as shallow as you are. Your cries for mercy are only ever heard by demons, those just as monstrous as yourself.

Reveal your fangs and nails, stop hiding as a human being!

What happened to my little girl?

at child died along with the shattered mirror; do you not remember?

I spilled her blood just as you spilled mine down the drain.

If anyone should consider themselves a monster, it should be you.

If I should be a monster, you should be the devil.

My eyes shut as I allow myself to collapse, expecting to fall into an abyss…

Instead, I hit the cold, all too familiar wooden oorboards. Please, God, no.

I touch my hand to the mirror once more, but the surface does not ripple…

Please... God... No…

Whistling of the Ferryman

By Danelys Baez, ‘25

WILLIAM stares into the river as FERRYMAN continues to paddle, neither saying a word.

WILLIAM: Where are you taking me? Will it make me forget?

FERRYMAN: I do not know.

WILLIAM (raises his voice in frustration): What do you know?! You know nothing about Limbo and you know nothing about the place you’re taking me? How can someone like you, someone who passes between both places, not know a single thing?

FERRYMAN (he lowers his paddle as he faces WILLIAM, calmly speaking): In the little time you’ve known me, have I ever told you a lie?

WILLIAM (shrugging): Yes...No..I don’t know, why does it matter?

FERRYMAN: It matters because it will make my words that much more true when I say them, so answer me. Have I told you a lie since we have met, little one?

WILLIAM: No, I don’t think you have.

FERRYMAN: And I will not tell you one now. I tell you I do not know because that is the truth. I simply do not have the answers for the questions you ask. I could have lied to you. I could have told you that you were indeed alive, that your parents were good people, that Limbo would make you relive your worst nightmares and that the place I was taking you would relieve you of your pain, but I did not. You wish to know why?

WILLIAM (nodding): Yes.

FERRYMAN: I chose not to lie to you because I learned that all you’ve ever known are lies fed to you by your mother and father. ose who swore to never hurt you, to always care for you, lied to you and I believed you deserved to hear the truth. I chose to believe that in the end, by me telling you these truths, that you would realize that it was not your fault. What your mother and father did, what they said, how they hurt you, was never because you did something wrong. ey did it because they were wrong. ey were the bad people. ey were the people with no names and, unlike them, you have a name, William. And that name makes you good.

WILLIAM stands still as new tears fall from his face. e fog begins to thicken as low wailing and cries o stage can be heard. WILLIAM and FERRYMAN are unmoved by

these noises as they continue to stare at one another.

FERRYMAN: is is where you decide, William. Do you wish to live in the dark or do you wish to see what the light has to o er you?

Before WILLIAM can respond, a group of people in white being to surround the boat. ey all look sickly pale and thin, but that does not stop them as they make their way towards the boat. WILLIAM looks around the boat, frantically as he stands on seat while FERRYMAN too looks around frantically.

WILLIAM (yelling in fear): Mister what are they doing? You said they couldn’t see us!

FERRYMAN (yelling back as he pushes people in the crowd away with his paddle): I said they couldn’t see us because we couldn’t see them. Now that you know of your own passing, you see them for what they are!

WILLIAM (yelling with a very confused tone, almost as if only now he’s realized it): ey’re dead?!

FERRYMAN (yelling back): Yes, they are dead!

WILLIAM continues to yell, yelping in fright as one of the people from the group tries to grab at him. FERRYMAN pushes them back.

WILLIAM: What do we do?

FERRYMAN (yelling): You must decide! Will you see what the light holds or fall into limbo?

As FERRYMAN continues to push the crowd away from the boat, WILLIAM looks around frantically as he tries to decide. He quickly speaks.

WILLIAM: Well! I’ve always been really scared of the dark.

FERRYMAN (chuckling): Alright, I need you to inform them of that!

FERRYMAN signals his head towards the crowd around the boat. WILLIAM looks at him before cautiously speaking.

WILLIAM: Um, I’m scared of the dark!

FERRYMAN: No William, tell them that you will not join them in Limbo! at you will see what the light brings!

WILLIAM: Oh, um, I will not join you in Limbo! I will see what the light will bring!

e crowd stops their attempts to grab at the boat and slowly step back. ey continue to mumble their wails and cries but they slowly disperse. e fog lightens and FERRYMAN begins to paddle. WILLIAM sighs and sits back down on his seat.

FERRYMAN: Good job.

WILLIAM (chuckling): ank you. (beat.) I even have a nightlight, you know. Well, I guess had a nightlight... that’s gone now, but it’s okay.

Castaway, Isa Velazquez, ‘23, digital photography collage

FERRYMAN: Is it?

WILLIAM: Yeah, I think it is.

e FERRYMAN stops paddling and places it at the boats oor. He looks towards William and then towards the audience.

FERRYMAN (he sighs): is is where I leave you.

WILLIAM stands up and looks towards the audience. He sighs deeply, before looking towards the audience.

WILLIAM: So, this is it? is is goodbye?

FERRYMAN (he smiles, and speaks lightly): Yes, this is goodbye, William.

WILLIAM (he smiles, and speaks lightly): Goodbye, Mister (beat; he steps o the boat and FERRYMAN grabs his paddle. He prepares to push o again) Mister, I have one more question before you leave.

FERRYMAN: Please, ask me what you wish.

WILLIAM: You said you never lied to me, but now that I think about it, you have.

FERRYMAN (raising his brow): I have?

WILLIAM: Yes, you have. You said you had forgotten the tune you whistled when we met, but I don’t believe it. Not one bit.

FERRYMAN (chuckles): You don’t believe it you say?

WILLIAM: at’s right and I’ll prove it the next time we meet.

FERRYMAN: I don’t know if we’ll ever meet again, little one.

WILLIAM: As long as you don’t become a distant memory, then I know it’ll be. Just like you said, remember?

FERRYMAN: I remember. (beat.) Goodbye, William.

WILLIAM waves at FERRYMAN before he walks towards the audience then o stage. As the curtains close, he begins to whistle the song ‘La Vie En Rose’.

insecure

By Caitlin Savage, ‘25

Poor Little Clown, Lucia Torres-Mugica, ‘23, mixed media

I felt sorry for that girl at school.

e one with all the aws.

Her eyes drooped with exhaustion,

e bags a symbol of her stress.

I bet she spends hours painting her face, Trying to conceal the darkness underneath.

Her pasty skin,

Her uneven nose,

Her yellow teeth, Her frizzy hair.

She looks like a clown.

Tired of staring at her,

I turn away from the mirror and wipe my tears.

I still feel sorry for her.

I feel sorry for the clown.

I Don’t Want Anyone to Know Where I Live

By Alejandra Torruellas, ‘23

I don’t want anyone to know where I live. I don’t want to invite anyone to know the extent of the endless ridges, twists, and turns of my thoughts and pillows. I want to be the only person that knows that the pile of clothes is about to earn a permanent spot in the corner of my room. I don’t want to share the feeling of tv static becoming deafening to the point of throwing it out and shattering it. I don’t want anyone else to hear the screeching doors I’ve spent years oiling to silence. I don’t want anyone to see the unbreakable glass panels I dare call windows. I don’t want anyone to notice that the pillows near my head have gotten punched in little ts of feelings I will never label as anger. I don’t want anyone to see the clutter on the oor and relate it to the turmoil they most de nitely see in me whenever I decide to show my face anywhere. I don’t want to be known. I don’t want anyone to be able to come to where I live without directions. I don’t want my street to become familiar to anyone else but me. I don’t want anyone to know what road to turn to get to me. I don’t want anyone else to be familiar with the brown cat that sleeps by the stop sign, which is barely recognizable.

I’m afraid of anyone coming to my home; trying to clean up the mess and failing because some messes are too difcult to clean up. Some strings are too tangled to pull apart. Some problems are too di cult to resolve, and some people are far too messy to x. I’m afraid of someone visiting, seeing the mess everywhere, and abandoning me again. I’m afraid of

someone reaching to clean up the pile of clothes on the corner, and then dumping it on the ground, resulting in a bigger mess. I’m afraid of someone leaving a er they cut their nger on the broken glass they were trying to clean up. I’m afraid of someone knowing me and seeing the mess and disorder that I am. I don’t want anyone’s car to develop a at tire because of them running over the pothole by the stop sign.

ough, I hope that maybe one day, the piercing static will so ly die down. Maybe one day, the glass from the broken tv will be nothing more than a distant memory. Maybe one day, the shrilly oorboards discouraging me from moving will cease to make noise. Maybe one day, the clutter on the oor will be discarded outside in a black trash bag. Maybe one day, walking around will become easier– natural, even. Maybe one day, opening doors will be quiet, maybe they’ll open without a hassle. Maybe one day, the clothes on the oor will ll the closet like leaves on a tree. Maybe one day, the windows will slowly open, maybe I’ll even hear birds chirping. Maybe one day, I’ll hear the so humming of a breeze and I’ll be able to nd peace. Maybe one day, walking outside and feeling the wind on my skin along with the warmth of the sun will become part of my routine. Maybe one day, I’ll see that brown cat cuddling up to the leg of a familiar face. Maybe one day, the directions to my home will become muscle memory to somebody else. Maybe one day, I’ll want someone to know where I live.

Across the Street, Juliette Fariñas-Correa Meyer, ‘24, digital art

Your Cosmos

By Moon Anderson, ‘24

I stand on ashes of what once was me

As I look towards your constellation. Guidance has surpassed me;

I’m alone, illuminated by you.

Running through burning bones and Jumping on skeletons has Never been less painful; I want you to carry me up.

Let me be a star in your galaxy.

Hold me and sprinkle me with stardust. Make me a part of your solar system, Just for a moment.

And once it’s done, let me explode

In a supernova before you.

Break me apart in every way imaginable.

Take away my only guiding stars and moons.

Because maybe then, in darkness, I’ll realize your stars are too far from me.

I’ll realize your galaxy is light years away.

And that the ground I stand on is my broken self.

Angel, Lourdes Suarez, ‘24, chalk

Pecado

By Angie Moya, ‘23

Los angelitos que son, bellezas esas estatuas, Admiro su perseverancia, que trajo los hombres con el blasón, Le debo a sus esfuerzos.

Les debo la vista, de me el Anabel, Que se ve en tardes noches, Brillosa la piel, Hermosa. Bella durante la medianoche, Y durante esas, en un cuarto en su normal oscuro, Le brilla una luz sin reparar, Mi preciosa Anabel con sus cachetes verdes, Quizás es la luz que inspira, ideas.

Pero mi princesa, mi el Anabel, yo soy humano, Y Dios tendrá su rapto, Pero yo lo tendré más temprano, Entonces quizás por un día escuchara mis penados, Perdón Anabel.

Infatuation is not Love

By Jeanette Perez, ‘23

Glittering, Rocio Lopez, ‘24, digital photography

It is easier to fall into infatuation than love. And sometimes it’s hard to tell the di erence between the two. ey are one in the same…almost. ey both lead to butter ies in the stomach, rosy cheeks, irty glances and wide smiles.

And it is an amazing feeling, isn’t it? Being infatuated with someone… falling in love with them. ese are good feelings one wishes to keep forever. But ultimately, nothing truly lasts forever. See, there is a di erence between infatuation and love, but it seems to go unnoticed.

ere are couples everywhere these days that claim to be in love. ey post all the good things about their relationship online for other people to praise and envy. ey seem to be the picture-perfect de nition of a happy and healthy relationship. And yet, a er a month, something changes, and the couple that claimed to be in love have broken up.

is is something I had never understood until recently.

How can you claim to love someone and then hurt them a couple weeks later?

Realistically, the answer is very simple; you never loved this person, you were simply infatuated with who they were and how they made you feel. But the answer is only this easy because I am explaining it logically.

For me to get to the logical understanding of infatuation versus love, I had to experience the pain of confusing infatuation with love myself. at was the hard part.

I had spent months trying to get to know a guy I had thought was attractive. And it worked. We became friends, and then we became close friends who would hang out practically every day. It didn’t matter what we were doing as long as we were together. Everything was going great.

And then one day—as we were watching e Hangover—we had a moment. He stared at me and I stared at him and eventually our lips met. A er that night, things went from great to amazing.

We went on dates to the movies, to theme parks, restaurants, and even more at home-date-nights. He even asked me to be his prom date.

He told me loved me. e way he said it was extraordinary too, it wasn’t something he had planned to say beforehand; the words just slipped out of his mouth.

Life with him in it felt right… at least, for me it did.

I remember sending him a good morning messages when I got to school one day and immediately noticing his lack of enthusiasm in his replies. I remember asking what was wrong and instantly regretting it a erwards.

He called it quits.

Claimed he didn’t want to tie me down to him and that he didn’t want to get attached to me any further.

At rst, I thought he was saying all of this because he was leaving for the military soon—he enrolled into the Army during his senior year of high school and was expected to go to basic training a few months a er his graduation.

So, I did everything I could to reassure him that I would wait for him to come back, that nothing would change while he was away. Looking back, I wished I hadn’t, but what else could I have done? I was in love with him.

When you are in love, you stay.

Simple as that.

You stay and you embrace your aw and di culty your partner comes with. You stay and work things out. You stay and you don’t give up. Because when you are in love, truly in love, there is no problem big enough to break two people apart so easily.

I was broken when I nally accepted the fact that he no longer wished to be with me. I couldn’t wrap my head around how easily he up and le (and seemed perfectly seen doing so) a er claiming he loved me.

I spent months trying to talk to him and become friends again, but it was no use, I could not be friends with someone I was still in love with; so, I distanced myself from him entirely.

en I noticed something strange about him.

He had started getting friendly with another girl I knew.

I was infuriated.

When he broke up with me, he said he wanted to focus on himself before he le for the Army. He said he didn’t want to get attached to anyone because it would make leaving for basic that much harder. And yet, here he is with another girl, doing the same things he and I used to do when we were together.

I had never felt so betrayed like that before. It was all I could think about for days and one day it hit me; he lied to me.

He lied to me when he said he loved me. He never did. If he had truly loved me, my story with him would have had a di erent ending, or maybe it wouldn’t have ended at all.

But it did.

He and I are no more because he never loved me, he was never willing to stay and work out his problem with me. He just up and le when he was hit by waves of insecurity.

He was possessed with short-lived passion and admiration for me, while I was doing everything I could to get him to work things out with me.

He was infatuated with me; I was in love with him.

Coming to that realization was a moment I’ll never forget. I didn’t cry or scream or throw things in anger. I was relieved, like a weight had been li ed o my shoulders.

I had gotten the closure he was never able to give me.

Auburn Embers, Rocio Lopez, ‘24, digital photography

Doll, Rocio Lopez, ‘24, digital photography

Learning to Lose

By Daphné Renoux, ‘24

ACT 4

SCENE 2

ree years have passed. ARTEMIS is in an apartment in Paris. He is sitting on a red couch, almost identical to the one from the bar. e couch is located center stage on top of a black rug. ere are piles of books around the couch, placed at random, and a lamp on the one closest to the couch, on its le . ARTEMIS is wearing a fully white out t, with baggy pants and a dress shirt. AMORY enters from upstage right, walking slowly towards the couch. She is wearing a dark red slip dress with silver jewelry and black combat boots. Her hair is down, and she is playing with the rings on her ngers in a nervous manner.

AMORY (quietly): Artemis? (beat.) Artemis, are you okay?

ARTEMIS (startled, turns towards AMORY): Amory? What are you doing here? Why? What’s going on?

AMORY (stepping closer): Darling, I came back for you as per our agreement, three years ago. I thought you would remember.

ARTEMIS (in anger): Amory, you can’t just waltz in here and expect me to fall at your feet. You le me. You. And without asking me anything! You can’t just do that (beat.) I can’t believe this.

AMORY (standing by ARTEMIS, calmly): Artemis, you know why I le . I had to. You were su ocating me, and I couldn’t stay in that situation anymore. You are not allowed to guilt trip me for disappearing.

ARTEMIS (standing up, voice rising): Amory! I loved you. I loved you and you threw that away. I wanted you to be safe, I wanted to know that you were safe. You are the one who could not handle being with me, not because I was trapping you but because you knew you were in the wrong when you disappeared for days on end. You knew that you were hurting me and everyone around us. You knew all that and still you le me. (beat.) I don’t know why you even bothered to come back.

AMORY (raising her voice): God, please just stop. Why would you ever think that? I le because I needed to, because you were su ocating me, because I hated it. Not because I felt guilty.

ARTEMIS (cutting her o ): en why did you come back? (beat.) Why did you come to me a er these three years away? Why didn’t you stay away, living your carefree life on your own, just like you wanted all along? Why would you come back, just to break me all over again with your never-ending pride and ego?

AMORY (in shock): Because I love you. (tears appear in her eyes) Because you are, and have always been, my everything. I adore you, Artemis, but you needed to learn. You needed to understand that I am safe by myself and that I do not owe you anything. You needed to understand so that we could be together.

ARTEMIS (shaking in anger): You are one heartless woman. No, you don’t owe me anything, but if you loved me you would tell me where you were. Not so that I could nd you, not never. But so, I could be comforted by the knowledge that you are alive. Just that, you could never give me. And when I gave you second chances time a er time you just blew them o in a matter of days. You would promise to change and break that promise every. Single. Time. (beat.) I’m done. I’m done, Amory. I can’t do this anymore. I have a life now, without you. It’s been three years and I’ve nally moved on. So, I’m bound to ask you to leave and never show your face here again. I don’t want to see you. I don’t want to hear about you. I don’t want to bump into you.

AMORY (in an appeasing tone): Come darling, you can’t possibly mean that. I love you Artemis, I love you I promise.

ARTEMIS (calmly): Nothing you can say will make me change my mind so

just leave please. I don’t want to have to do this the hard way.

AMORY(pleading): Please Artemis, please, I need you. Don’t do this.

ARTEMIS moves away from AMORY.

ARTEMIS: When I needed you, you were never there. Now it’s your turn to know what that feels like. (beat.) It hurts right? Well too bad, get out.

AMORY (crying): Artemis I beg you; I will be di erent I swear.

ARTEMIS (in a pained voice): Baby, you could never change when we were together, and you never will be able to. It’s just not who you are. You’ll nd someone, eventually, who will be able to accept this part of you, but it won’t be me. It won’t ever be me. Goodbye Amory.

ARTEMIS grabs AMORY gently by the shoulders and pushes her away from the couch towards upstage right. AMORY starts moving on her own towards the exit.

AMORY (whispering): I love you. Forever.

A tear runs down ARTEMIS’ face.

ARTEMIS (whispering): I wish I could say the same darling.

AMORY exits upstage right slowly. She has tears running down her face. e lights progressively darken on ARTEMIS standing by the couch, unmoving. e curtain falls.

Wilt,

Rocio Lopez, ‘24, digital photography

She stands there, Waiting for deliverance. Waiting for those arms, Tender arms,

To come reach her.

Ever since birth, She had been told, He will arrive. It is predestined.

An arrival has been foretol, For millennia.

She’s waited, For Him.

He sees her, Standing, Hands pressed against one another, Face up, Eyes gazing to the sky. A halo

Lays atop her gentle wings.

He sees her, An orchid, Delicate.

He waits his turn.

Directly behind her, He watches that orchid.

Awaits the rapture, With a patience turning to disappointment

Upon the ripping of her petals.

Rapture

By Ste Sarmiento-Mena, ‘24

Seraph, Isa Velazquez, ‘23, digital photography

NECROSIS

(n.) death of cells or tissue through disease or injury.

P R O M E T H E U S

By Cheryl Fi e, ‘23

e brightest star in our sky reaches its zenith, its light dissolving the ne line between justice and revenge.

e time of reckoning has arrived, drawn in on a chariot of re. In the darkness all our sins look the same, black stains on shaking hands, buried in moonlight, but under the midday sun there is no such mercy, only judgement.

Our mirage of reality vanishes, secrets dragged into the light, abhorrent and unwavering. We must su er for our atrocities with scorching rays melting our esh, burning and bubbling to reveal the truth, hidden underneath a cage of bones and glass, now charred by its blazing fury, ash on the scales of justice.

Our lies su ocate us in the heat, even death cannot absolve our crimes.

e guilt is poison boiling in our veins, fuel to our sunlit funeral pyre.

But the sun is just a star. Its fury does not make it invincible or protect it from its own punishment, screams that match our own as it sizzles over into nothingness, replaced by a thief of its own light, a new judge and jury while we wait for execution.

We are Prometheus, torn apart by daylight for our sins, le raw to atone by moonlight, a cycle of su ering that can only be destroyed by our own hands.

Prisoner of the Sun, Grace Martinez, ‘23, acrylic on plexiglass

Lie With Me

By Bobby Guerrero, ‘22

I love the way she looks at me in the morning when I bring her co ee. I love the way my name rolls o her tongue with ease and familiarity. I love her blue eyes, the scar on her eyebrow, her de ned Cupid’s bow, her crooked nose. I love my wife.

We were young when we got married. Everyone said it was a mistake, that we were moving too fast. I didn’t understand how they could say these things, how they could tell me that marrying the love of my life was a mistake. But the more they objected, the more I questioned my devotion to her, to my goddess. A er a while I started to think they were right, but when I saw her walking down the aisle in that long white dress, her hair pinned back behind her ears, looking at me like I was the only person in the room with her, I knew I was a goner. I knew that there was no one I’d rather spend the rest of my life with.

When we met, I didn’t think it would be possible for someone to love me as unconditionally as she always did. e moment I met her I knew I didn’t deserve her but her eyes drew me in. I couldn’t stay away.

I’ll never forget the day we met. One in the a ernoon, it had been raining since earlier that morning and was supposed to subside by then but as the hours went by it kept coming with an unstoppable fury. I walked into a bookstore to hide from the downpour. I shook the rain o my umbrella and walked to an empty table. I put my thing down on the nearest one and started walking down the aisles searching for my favorite section: horror.

Walking down the aisle and skimming the names on the spines, I bumped into her. Her hair was matted from the rain and she was wearing a ridiculous neon green rain jacket. She was carrying a pile of books bigger than her.

“Could you get that?”

“Sorry?” I didn’t even notice the book that fell to the oor.

“ e book. Could you grab it for me? My hands are kind of full,” She said.

“ Oh yeah, of course. I’m sorry.” I reached down and when I grabbed the book, I couldn’t help but notice the title.

“Children of Red Peak, seriously?” I asked.

“It’s a good book. Craig DiLouie is an amazing writer and does a great job telling this story, thank you very much.” She placed the books down on the table. I didn’t even notice we were walking.

“Sure, if you like authors who write the way a fourteen year old girl writes fan ction.” I sco

“Oh I’m so sorry book police, do you have any better recommendations? Sorry, any recommendations that aren’t Stephen king?” She mused.

“Ha ha, very funny. I’ll be right back.” I leave her to go nd the perfect book.

While I’m searching I keep getting distracted. Well I’m actually sort of distracting myself/ I can see her from where I’m standing if I just move my head slightly to the side and I can’t help myself from sneaking in a glance every couple seconds. And then I nd it, the perfect book. I walk over

to the table and take a seat across from her, holding out the book.

“I’ll trade you Children of Red Peak for this.”

“ e Silent Patient?” She questions.

“Trust me, it’s a good one. e best I’ve read so far this year.” I respond.

“Okay, but only if I can give you one in return.” She smiles at me and my breath leaves my body. Gorgeous. at’s how we were until the book shop closed, talking about and recommending books, leaving with noth ing but a promise to meet at the same table on the same day the following week and her smile carved into my brain. A er the third day, it turned into a routine and somewhere along the line it became a necessity for me. She was easy to talk to, that’s the only reason we kept meeting, at least that’s what I kept telling myself. I don’t know exactly when it happened, when listening to her laugh, staring into her blue eyes, and sitting through her endless rants became the best parts of my week. I especially don’t know when making sure that smile stayed on her face became the most important thing in the world to me, but if I were to guess it would probably be around the same time my heart started to beat a little faster whenever she smiled. And if I ever had any doubts when it came to my feelings towards her our rst o cial date completely squashed them. Our rst date was at the carnival. When she told me she had never been, I thought she was joking.

never been? Not even when you were a kid?” I questioned.

“Not even then. I just never really saw the appeal.” She smiled.

“Well come on then, I’m gonna show you what you’ve been missing!”I ex-

I grabbed her hand in mine and began walking towards a game stall, the one where you throw a dart at a balloon and try to pop it.“Five dollars a game”, said the stall worker. She told me not to spend my money, that none of the prizes were worth getting anyway, but I didn’t miss the way her gaze lingered on a teddy bear at the top shelf of the prize display. I handed him the money and we began playing. I spent way too much money on that singular game but I was determined to get her that bear and see the smile on her face when I nally gave it to her made it all worth it. What I wouldn’t do to keep that smile on her face. We spent all night indulging in rigged games and fried Oreos. I hadn’t realized how completely devoted I was to her until the end of the night when I took her to ride the Farris wheel. She sat next to me and as we got to the very top, she gripped my hand a little bit tighter.

“You’re kidding.”

“I swear I’m not.” She responded.

“How is that even possible? You’ve

“Wow! e lights look so amazing up here. You can see the whole carnival!” She was so excited. Her gorgeous smile is on display and I just couldn’t resist reciprocating it. Her happiness is infectious. When she looked back at me, I swore I had gone to heaven. Nothing so perfect could ever exist on earth and yet here she was. She started leaning closer to me and I cupped her cheek, warming her cold skin, asking

Her Smile Rotting, Rachel Rosado, ‘24, acrylic painting

her a silent question. She nodded and I didn’t waste a second, I kissed her. It was in that moment that I realized I loved her, that every single moment of my life had led me to this… led me to her.

I don’t remember when it stopped. If someone were to ask me to pinpoint the exact moment where I started hating my wife, I wouldn’t be able to give them an answer. I couldn’t stop the steady progression of rage that consumed me when I noticed the things about her I once loved. Her icy blue eyes, crooked nose, pronounced Cupid’s bow and neon green raincoat once drew me close like a magnet, but now they piss me o . Her high pitched voice, that used to be adorable to me, made me want to tear o my own ears. Her bubbly laughter that could sing the devil to sleep, the laugh that made me want to be a better man, was making me nauseous. Her gorgeous smile that once brought me to my knees, now made me want to drive a pike through her heart and roast her on a spit. And her eyes, bluer than a cerulean sea and even more captivating, the eyes that held my heart made me want to rip it from my own chest. I don’t remember when I started to hate her but I couldn’t face that reality, I couldn’t be the reason my own happiness was taken away from me. So, whenever I started to get these thoughts I would simply push them down, look in a mirror, smile to myself and say “I love my wife”. She called me bumblebee. e day before today, or maybe before that, she called me bumblebee. It was a term that I found endearing once upon a time. Something that I tried to forget, something I never mentioned to anybody else, the reason why rang clear in my head.

“Come lie with me bumblebee.” She looked up at me, her cheeks ushed and eyes dim.

“Bumblebee? Where did that come from?” I gave her a questioning look.

“I think it suits you my love. You’re my bumblebee.” She answered.

“I don’t know how I feel about you calling me that in front of others.” I hu ed.

“Aw, that’s okay. It’ll be our little secret, bumblebee. Just for us.” She kissed me. Just for us.

Maybe that’s what made me do it. Maybe that one word, that one stupidly sweet nickname is what made me turn my home into a long and winding road of regret. e home I once loved my wife in was cold and I didn’t know how to x it. One second was all it took for my life to fall apart. I long for yesterday, I long for the moment before I made my decision. We were eating dinner on the oor of our living room, our plans of an outdoor picnic ruined by a sudden downpour. I opened a bottle of wine and while I was walking to her I spilled it. I spilled it all over her white dress. e deep crimson pooled around her. “Come lie with me”. I used to love my wife but somewhere along the line that changed. I missed the memories we shared. e days we would spend together. Our days. Come lie with me.

But our days have ended. ey were over the moment I loaded the chamber. When her blood poured out onto the bed we shared. When her lifeless eyes stared at me and I looked back at her with nothing but malice.

e maggots made quick work of her esh, turning her once supple body into minced meat. I don’t know how long it took

for the smell to start, probably around the time her insides started to liquify or when her ivory skin became cold to the touch. But, what I did notice was that her eyes stayed open. Her eyes, a gorgeous blue that consumed my every thought from the moment we met, were piercing into mine and they gave way to a memory that I couldn’t believe I forgot.

It was the day a er we had said “til death do us part”, our honeymoon. I had woken up in the middle of the night and walked out to the balcony of our suite. I listened to the wind until I heard it— “lie with

me”— three words, three simple words that could bring me to my knees. When I looked into her eyes, the only part of her that was still completely intact, I heard them again “lie with me”. So I did.

I stood from my chair and walked over to the rotting carcass that occupies my wife’s side of the bed. I took my spot next to her, placed her hand in mine and waited for them to take me too. I don’t know how long it took for the maggots to start tearing away at me, for my body to be picked apart layer by layer but as I felt my muscles give way I had one thought on my mind.

ACT 1

SCENE 1

Self-Help

by Marina Devine, ‘23

DR. CONARY sits in a chair which faces the audience. Next to them on both sides are the two ends of a couch, in which ADRIENNE and LEAH sit, facing each other.

ADRIENNE: Wait, no. She hasn’t shared yet.

DR. CONARY: Adrienne, Leah expressed that she doesn’t want to expand on her answer. is is a safe space, so we’re going to respect that and move forward with the conve–

ADRIENNE: NO! She has to share! It’s her turn and I feel anxious and I communicated that and she has to share. at’s how this works: you say something and we respond and it’s a back and forth dynamic. is was entirely one way.

DR. CONARY: Adrienne–

ADRIENNE (coldly): Ms. Abrams.

LEAH: She always does this.

ADRIENNE: No, don’t do that, don’t. I’m not crazy, or dramatic or overreacting, this isn’t right and it’s not what I came here for.

DR. CONARY: You are not crazy, Ms. Abrams, there are simply more productive conversations we could be having that both of you want to–

ADRIENNE: God, this is bull. I don’t, I don’t pay you to talk to myself. I pay you to – you’re supposed to help us! You’re supposed to get her to talk to me. Because she won’t, at home she won’t, in the car she won’t, every moment in between “Hi Mom” and “Bye Mom,” she won’t. So you’re… you’re supposed to get her to talk to me.

DR. CONARY leans forward and opens his mouth as if to speak, but LEAH speaks rst.

LEAH: I don’t know what to say to you.

ADRIENNE: I’m your mom. You don’t have to know what to say, but you have to say something. You can say anything to me. I’ve always told you that.

LEAH: No, I can’t. at’s why we’re here.

DR. CONARY is writing in his notebook.

ADRIENNE: But you won’t even try. I’m killing myself babe, I mean, I know I’m a little over the top sometimes but you have to understand that I’m worried here. Do you think I wanted to do this, to tell a stranger every detail of our lives? Of course not, but I thought it would make things better. is is the third time we’ve been here and you’ve said approximately nothing.

LEAH: Okay, well how am I supposed to tell you that every time I breathe it hurts mama? at I wake up with weights strapped to my ankles like a prisoner in those stupid cartoons we watched when I was little. And that the brick wall I run into trying to escape from the good guys – it’s the same wall I’ve been running into for eighteen years. I keep banging my head again and again like a mallet that can’t nd the nail, and those bluebirds that are only supposed to circle around my head for a few seconds never leave me alone. I have dreams about wringing their necks or buying a BB gun or spraying poison gas in the air and watching the world turn green. I picture clumps of feather and bone falling like embers in a re, and just a few moments of QUIET. (beat; LEAH is exhausted and a bit breathless) How do I tell my mom that every day I try not to wring my own neck?

ADRIENNE and DR. CONARY both look at LEAH. ADRIENNE is crying, DR. CONARY jots something down and looks back up intently and expressionless.

LEAH: Point is, I don’t need to contribute to any more talk. ere’s enough noise.

ADRIENNE looks at DR. CONARY.

ADRIENNE: Can you… how do I x this?

DR. CONARY: You don’t. We just need time.

Blackout. ADRIENNE and LEAH exit, lights come on again to DR. CONARY center stage.

DR. CONARY: How do I tell my mom that every day I try not to wring my own neck? How do I tell? How do I stop?

Blackout.

Sarah Whalen for the Cavaleon, ‘23, digital photography

THE US TIME CHANGED

By Jeanette Perez, ‘23

FADE IN:

INT. ER WAITING ROOM – PRESENT DAY - 10:55 P.M.

Four roughed up teenagers sit in silence, sprawled out in hospital chairs and on the oor. Sounds are heard of vital machines beeping, hurried footsteps, and unintelligible talking. e characters’ clothes and faces are dirty with splatters of dirt, food, sweat, and dried blood.

CLOSE ON: EZRA

EZRA LANGTON sits slouched in a chair, his le hand continuously running through his messy black hair, the right is rested on his lap as he forms a rhythmic pattern of scratching his black jeans with his index nger. He has a small gash above his right eyebrow. e blood that trickled down from the cut is now dried.

CLOSE ON: EZRA’S FINGERS

We hear a loud tick-tock of a clock as EZRA scratches at his jeans twice.

CLOSE ON IAN:

IAN PETERS lays on the oor in a star sh position. He stares blankly up at the hospital ceiling. He has a blue bruise forming on the le side of his jaw. He mouths the words to a song and bops his head side to side, his eyes devoid of any emotion. e tips of his shoes bump into each other every time he bops his head.

CLOSE ON: IAN’S FEET

We hear a loud tick-tock of a clock as IAN taps the tips of his shoes together twice.

CLOSE ON: KENNA

KENNA YOUNG sits two chairs to the le of Ezra. She is in a cheer uniform. Her ponytail is half down, baby hairs are frizzed up, her makeup is runny, and her uniform is torn at the skirt. She is holding a small mirror to her face. She ignores her bloody nose and tries to wipe away the ruined mascara. Her

hands are roughed up, covered with dirt and a few scratches.

CLOSE ON: KENNA’S EYES

We hear a loud tick-tock of a clock as KENNA rubs under her right eye twice.

CLOSE ON: JACOB

JACOB GRAY sits on the oor, leaning up against the chair right of EZRA. He has his right leg propped up and his arms wrapped around his knee, hugging his leg to his chest. His le leg is extended on the ground. He has dirt marks on his cheek and a small footprint by his ear. He reaches his le hand up to his ear, his wrist is swollen and red, and tugs at his earlobe before rubbing it.

CLOSE ON: JACOB’S EAR

We hear a loud tick-tock of a clock as JACOB tugs his earlobe twice.

PULL BACK ON: ALL

e Kids , Lucia Torres-Mugica, ‘23, mixed media

All sounds mu e. EZRA keeps scratching his jeans and running his hand through his hair. IAN’s feet are still tapping but his head bops are getting stronger. KENNA places her right elbow on the arm of the chair, mirror in her hands, and continues rubbing at her under eyes. JACOB keeps his hand by his ear and drops his head onto his knee.

CUT TO:

EZRA scratching his jeans.

CUT TO: IAN tapping his feet together.

CUT TO:

KENNA rubbing her under-eyes.

CUT TO:

JACOB tugging on his ear. e four shots repeat the pattern four times, each time going faster and faster. We hear the ticking of a clock getting faster as well.

Ticks, Lucia Torres-Mugica, ‘23, ink

CUT TO:

Black screen is shown as the title of the lm appears.

CLOSE ON: THE ER WAITING ROOM DOOR

rough the window of the hospital entrance doors, we see two people running in a panic to get in: one man, MR. DAVIS, and one woman, MRS. DAVIS. e man has a look of terror on his face and the woman has tears streaming down her face. ey burst through the doors.

PULL BACK ON: MR. AND MRS. DAVIS

MRS. DAVIS

(Yelling)

Where is she? Where is my daughter?!

e four teenagers all look up at the couple running about the ER waiting room. JACOB immediately stands up and starts to walk toward MRS. DAVIS but stops as they run past him to talk to the DOCTOR in charge. JACOB returns to his seat and sits back in his former position.

KENNA

(emotionlessly)

What were you going to say to her?

Beat.

JACOB I don’t know.

KENNA en why did you get up?

JACOB

I don’t know.

KENNA

(Laughing humorlessly) at’s bull… What were you going to say to her huh? e woman hasn’t seen or heard from us in how many years, Jacob?

KENNA turns to JACOB in anger.

KENNA (CONT’D)

And then you’re just going to pop up again and tell her we are the reason her daughter is here? Are you stupid?

IAN sits up from the oor.

Kenna, stop it.

IAN

KENNA turns to IAN.

KENNA

No, this entire situation is ridiculous. None of this wouldn’t have happened if she—

IAN cuts o KENNA.

‘23, mixed media

IAN

is wouldn’t have happened if you didn’t push her so far. Drop the little act and own up to what you did.

KENNA

Fine. But we all know I wasn’t the only one involved in this stunt.

KENNA leans closer to IAN, putting her elbows on her knees and hands holding up her face.

KENNA (CONT’D)

So why don’t you take your own advice and own up to what you did, because we still don’t know the full story of what you did to her. Why don’t you tell us? Were you the one who told her to show up to the game today? Was it you that started the rumor?

IAN stays silent as he stares at KENNA.

KENNA

(Hysterically laughing)

No? Nothing? Did you do something worse than that?

EZRA

(Loudly and irritated) Can all of you just shut up? We have a life on the line right now and all you’re doing is trying to point the blame at each other. We’re all at fault.

EZRA sighs and drags his hand down his face for two seconds before looking back at the group.

EZRA (CONT’D)

Just be quiet and wait for updates on her condition. en we can start getting our story straight.

IDIOCY

e superbia dwelling within me blocks me from going back on my words. To dine upon my past wrongs and believed fallacies is an unappetizing thought. My forehead creases as I ponder my wrongs.

Every sin committed on every path trodden plagues me, yet I am stalwart in my admittance that I do not feel a thing. My mistakes, perpetually at the forefront of my mind, follow me everywhere I go. My forehead creases as I forget my directions.

A strange way to see the world, my view askew. An extravagant taste in earthly things yet a disdain for the morality of it all. Ignoring what is right for what is bene cial, I cringe as I contemplate my guilty conscience. My forehead creases as I forget my past.

Amnesia and forgiveness

By Andrew Lee, ‘23

for all I have done. Past, present and future. Still, the blood taints my mouth, the bitter taste of iron ooding into my throat. Gargling and choking on my own self-interests, I am sti ed underneath that which I do to survive. My forehead creases as I forget my senses.

A struggle between me and my other self — that one being a defendant before the judge of truth. I, the prosecutor, lack the evidence to convict myself of all those grievances dealt unto others. A sobering feeling washes over me, and my forehead creases as I forget my wars.

e holes in my soul leave room for darkness to overthrow what is right. I don’t try to ght back, a vapid shell is all that remains in the end. Shame for my mistakes and unbeliefs. Shame for what I have done and failed to do. My forehead creases; I begin to tear.

Garden of Earthly ings, Leah Ullman, ‘23, digital photography

A shi , a sob, a cry for help. I wish I could turn back time, but the futility of traveling to the past only to encounter my wrongs once more strikes a nasty chord within me. Muted colors surround me as I warp into something not unlike a monster; quite far from myself. My forehead creases; I sti e a frown.

Who, truly, is “myself” though? is being is one I do not know. A foreign subject matter, a strange yet convincing lie. A front put on to hide my truths, as I stand ashamed of all I’ve done. My forehead creases; my face warps.

e downtrodden, the bitter. ose whose peers send gazes askance at them, as they pass by slowly. An undying reverence for the reverie of silence, and the feeling of groping the soul with a foreign conscience. It permeates through the skin, violating both body and mind. My forehead creases, and I sti e the tears — to no avail.

Maybe that’s just me, though. Maybe I’m all alone in this wide world of ours. A sole survivor of a species long since extinct, simply a remnant of what once was. I’d say I’d look back on my “better days,” if I had any to look back on with a smile. My forehead creases; I cry in solitude.

Haunting, Rocio Lopez, ‘24, digital photography

Ever So Virtuous

By Madison Beaton, ‘25

Castle, Juliette

Fariñas-Correa Meyer, ‘24, digital art

SCENE 1

e castle is dim with nothing but candles and the moonlight shining through the tall, cathedral-like windows. A gorgeous Victorian style dining table is placed center stage, one large chair at each head of the table.

e other two sides have two empty seats.

SERAPH, a red-eyed, blonde long-haired man dressed in an entirely black out t with dark red undertones, is seated at one head of the table. LUCI, a green-eyed, short redhaired woman dressed in a long, owing, dark red dress, is sitting at the other head, anxiously shi ing in her seat.

SERAPH: Do not look so glum, Ms. Luci. Be not afraid. I have no intentions of harming you.

LUCI: Please, allow me to leave. You should not be near me. No one should.

SERAPH (leaning forward slightly with a pitiful expression): Why? You are a gorgeous creature, Ms. Luci. I fear you not.

LUCI (crying): I am a disgusting creature of life! See me, Sir Seraph! My hair is red as blood, skin pale as the dead, eyes green like sickness! I am the reincarnation of Satan himself. I am cursed.

SERAPH stands up and walks over to LUCI’S end of the table; he kneels beside her seat.

SERAPH: You are an angel, Ms. Luci. If you are the reincarnation of Lucifer him-

self, you are as if he never fell from grace. You, my dear, are grace itself. Please, hear me, and listen to me when I tell you that you are no devil. (beat; LUCI leaves her seat and stands. SERAPH stands as well, looming over the shaking and distraught young woman. He stares into her eyes for a few seconds before holding her in a tight embrace. She wraps her arms around him, crying into his chest. He pulls back, putting his hands on LUCI’S shoulders, looking into her eyes) You are an angel, Luci Court. You are my angel, and I shall worship you as such.

Curtains close and the scene ends.

SCENE 2

is scene is a ashback about two months ago to when LUCI and SERAPH rst became acquainted. Curtains open. e background is now that of a fancy Victorian style bedroom with black and red color schemes, like the rest of the castle. Stage le is a simple but nice-looking bed, tting with the theme of the castle. LUCI is wearing a simple, gray, ankle length dress and simple, gray shoes. She is chained to the bed by an eight-foot chain. She is sitting on the oor before the bed. SERAPH enters stage right.

LUCI (backing away, her back to the bed): What do you want from me? Please, I beg of you, release me.

SERAPH (walking up to her): Be not afraid. I am friend, not foe.

LUCI: I apologize, but I have issues believing you to be my friend a er being forcefully taken from my family and being chained to a bed that is not even my own.

SERAPH (taken aback): I would hardly call those cretins your family, Ms. Court. ey are your captors.

LUCI (angrily): How dare you! If anyone should be my captor, it is the monster I see before me.

SERAPH (yelling): I watched what they did to you! I have given you a lovely new home! You will be treated like a goddess, fed heavenly meals! (beat; his voice drops to a smooth, low tone as he kneels beside LUCI, caressing her cheek) And best of all, you will be loved.

SERAPH pulls out a small key and unlocks LUCI’S shackle. LUCI is crying.

LUCI (crying): L-loved?

SERAPH approaches LUCI and wipes her tears.

SERAPH: Yes, Ms. Court. You will be loved throughout all your time here.

LUCI (leaning her head into his hand): Please, call me Luci.

Curtains close and the scene ends.

SCENE 3

e curtain opens. e background is red and black in color scheme, that of a Victorian style recreation room. ere is a replace lit. Center stage is a beautiful Victorian style couch with red padding and a dark

brown body. SERAPH is already sitting on the right of the couch. He turns his head to the right.

SERAPH (calling to LUCI): Come out here, Luci! Let me see you!

LUCI enters stage le . She is wearing a dark red Victorian style dress with a black pattern all around it. She looks around shyly before locking eyes with SERAPH.

SERAPH (amazed): You look stunning, dear Luci. (beat; SERAPH walks up to LUCI and places his hands on her hips. LUCI interlocks her hands behind his neck. ey sway back and forth, as if caught in a mesmerizing dance.) Your beauty truly does hypnotize me.

LUCI: As does yours, Sir Seraph. I am caught in the safety net that is your presence. I need not anyone else.

SERAPH (ominously): at is correct, my dear Luci. You need not anyone else. (beat; SERAPH pulls away from the embrace.) Go and do up your hair, my love. We should attend a gathering a few hours from now.

LUCI: Yes, darling.

LUCI exits stage le .

SERAPH: I am all that you need, Luci Court, and soon enough, I will be all you have.

SERAPH pulls out LUCI’S locket of her family from his pocket. He throws it into the replace and follows LUCI, exiting stage le . e curtains close.

FATALE

By Andrew Lee, ‘23

The cold New York City air wraps around her slender frame. A product of her times, the woman discards a burning cigarette, stamping it with her stiletto heels. It’s nearly eight o’clock, but she’s not worried. She’s always made masterpieces in the dark.

In her time, some have compared her to fine wine. Yet no one knows better than her how bitter fine wine can be. She pulls another cigarette from her box — her last one. Lighting it, she puts it between her lipstick-covered lips. She takes a puff or two before frowning. The nicotine doesn’t ease her like it used to.

In the evenings, she hits the local bar. The leering gazes of worn-out businessmen fall upon her. Their stares wear her down inside, but she ignores it all. She orders a whiskey on the rocks; the bartender obliges and pours. The signature woody scent with hints of cinnamon assaults her nose. It’s strong — stronger than most other brands of whiskey out there.

The bold burn of the alcohol singes her throat. She holds in a cough and downs the glass. Air once more enters her lungs, and she wastes no time by ordering another glass. Every night, she orders glass after glass. She’s only had enough once she’s drunk. Because only when she’s drunk can she really forget the pain.

She realizes she’s a hypocrite for trying to change others, even though she herself refuses to change. She’s still steeped in the grayscale overtones that she superimposed over her once-picturesque view of life. Maybe she’s just a catcall away from being on the news for murder. But she just wants an escape from it all.

The New York City skyline, sepia undertones seeping in, stands cold against the horizon that looks down on her with disdain. The once-romantic feelings she had for the city have long since been destroyed by its denizens. The many men and women she’s spent the nights with have only known how to further break her heart.

Maybe it started with him. At this point, it doesn’t really matter anyway. She just wants to get away from it all. Move out of the city and back in with her parents. It won’t solve the issue, of course, but it’ll give her time to mend. The cold New York City air might’ve been a bit too much for her fragile frame to handle alone.

Burn, Rocio Lopez, ‘24, digital photography collage

As much as she knows to not ease the pain with those awful, fake highs, she just wants to go numb. Her old escapes were vices too soft for her jaded exterior. She frequents those dens full of needles so that she won’t be alone when she takes her personalized prescription. It’s cold outside, and it’s even colder within.

The motel room was full of cigarette smoke clouds floating above her as she lay there. There’s a mix of pain and pleasure, every time she makes another self-destructive move in this game of chess we call life. But sacrificing her pieces is the only move she sees that she can take to move towards victory. Although, maybe it isn’t the victory she needs.

Perhaps she just needs some warmth in this world of ice.

There Are Worms Beneath My Skin

Moon Anderson, ‘24, watercolor & acrylic

Wormhole, Isa Velazquez, ‘23, digital art

pulsing with the beat of my baleful heart.

Don’t Answer

By Van Galex, ‘20

INT. HOUSE - LIVING ROOM - NIGHT

e door shuts loudly. CARRIE locks it and reinforces the deadbolt, rushing back to the couch. RICHARD departs down the porch steps, and up the street to the right.

Her breathing is heavier. She takes a moment to slow down her breaths, fading into a deep slumber.

Stills, Van Galex, ‘20, motion picture photography

A few moments and the rain fades from a rough downpour to small pitter-patters, to nothing. e home is quiet. CARRIE is sound asleep.

EXT. HOUSE - NIGHT

e night is no longer a black-colored night. e moonlight is rich with a luminescent dark blue hue. An owl coos in the distance.

INT. HOUSE - LIVING ROOM - NIGHT

e blue night has fused into a deep wine purple within CARRIE’s home. A noise, like a thump of a heavy footstep, echoes from the kitchen. A clock on the side table reads 3:13 AM.

Greeted by the dark cavern that is the kitchen doorway, the gure of a TALL HEFTY MAN lingers deep within.

e rotary phone rings. In the shadows, it is visibly unplugged. It has been the whole time.

CARRIE lies on the couch, still asleep, unbothered by the phone ringing. Her head lies perfectly within the couch’s open armrest. As she lies peacefully, the hands of a WOMAN emerge, grasping her hair by the root from her forehead, attempting to yank her through the armrest.

CARRIE lunges up screaming just as footsteps scurry up the stairs. e phone’s ringing cuts out.

She is grasping her head and hair as she surveys her living room. ere is no one there. Yet, she perceives that there is a looming presence.

CARRIE inches towards the rotary phone on the side table slowly, making no sudden sounds. She slowly picks up the phone and dials 9-1-1. Her breathing is heavy and irregular. She sits in the dark while the phone rings longer than usual.

Unbeknownst to her stands a NAKED MAN in the porch window, staring at her. He is hidden deep within the shadows.

e line goes quiet. An OFFICER answers the call. eir voice is mu ed as they nish eating a donut.

OFFICER (V.O.)

Police, what is the nature of your call?

She maintains her whisper and talks slowly.

CARRIE

I think someone may have broken into my home. ere’s something very wrong going on.

OFFICER (V.O.)

Ma’am could you speak up, I can’t hear you.

CARRIE

Something or someone strange is upstairs.

OFFICER

You have to speak up. If there is someone in your home I need the address.

CARRIE

I’m at 1313 North Grandview Drive. I heard footsteps upsta-

She stops speaking as she hears a thump at the window. She snaps her head over to the source. e NAKED MAN stares at her. CARRIE, strick en with fear, pushes herself deep into the couch. She tries to get low and out of sight.

CARRIE

Did you hear that? He is right outside watching me.

OFFICER (V.O.)

I’m sorry, what do you mean? Who’s there with you?

e thud of a body falling upstairs echoes. CARRIE shoots her attention to the living room’s ceiling. e NAKED MAN is now gone.

CARRIE

Ohhhhh, he’s inside, he’s in my home.

OFFICER

Ma’am, I can’t hear you. You need to stop mumbling. What’s your address so I can send over the o cers?

CARRIE

(an annoyed whisper)

I already told you! 1313 North Grandview Drive. You aren’t listening to me.

e OFFICER cuts her o as they are no longer sympathetic. ey are stern and harsh.

OFFICER

Ma’am. You need to open the door.

A pause. CARRIE awaits instructions.

Stills, Van Galex, ‘20, motion picture photography

CARRIE

What?

eir voice is di erent.

OFFICER

Open the door. Open the door Carrie! Open it. I want you to let me in! Let me in Carrie.

Abrasive pounding on the front door bombards the home. It’s ferocious in pace and then the door swings open. CARRIE drops the phone receiver and rushes deep into the living room away from the door.

CARRIE

Stop it. Stop it. Stop iiiitttt!

She has mentally lost it. e cacophony of the banging and the o cer on the phone quickly morphs into a high pitch white noise sound. CARRIE presses her hands harshly against her ears while clenching her eyes shut.

A er a quick moment, everything stops.

She breaths in a heavy breath and checks to see if the bombardment has departed, unclenching gradually. Tears roll down her cheek. e room is silent. e darkness is rich in color.

CARRIE looks around the room. Everything is back in order. e phone sits untouched on the side table. e couch, unbothered.

LISA (O.S.)

(pleading from upstairs) Mom! Help me!

CARRIE’s demeanor changes, as if she has been possessed.

CARRIE Lisa?!

LISA (O.S.)

Come up here, please.

CARRIE makes her way toward the stairs slowly. She stops at the foot of the stairs and peers her head around the corner of the wall trepidatiously.

CARRIE makes her way up the stairs, approaching a long dark hallway at the top. LISA’s pain is more audible as we approach.

INT. HOME - UPSTAIRS HALL - NIGHT

e buzzing of ies is faint and a slight pool of dried blood seeps out from under the door on the far most right. All ve doors in the Hall are closed.

CARRIE opens the rst door on her le . She inches profusely in the doorway as the stench hits her. She avoids entering the room. In the background is Lisa laying in bed. Her head has been smashed in, the bed soaked in blood. She has been dead for days.

LISA

It hurts. Please, help me.

As CARRIE stares at LISA’s dead and decaying body, it becomes noticeable that she is missing the back of her skull, her brain protruding.

CARRIE

You’re okay Lisa. Go back to bed. I’ll see you in the morning.

CARRIE shuts the door as LISA screams and pleads. With the click of the door, we are once again engulfed in darkness.

Stills, Van Galex, ‘20, motion picture photography

CONVALESCENCE

(n.) gradual recovery of health and strength a er illness or injury.

A Love Dream

By Juan Subero, ‘24

Tonight I fell asleep, I dreamed of you. In this dream the clouds are white, the sky is pink, Contrasting my real world, so gray and weird. You make of my world your canvas, Painting it with pastel inks.

I’ve met many women disguised as you, Ignorant of their true nature, my heart they bruised. Fearful that it might happen again, I le it alone and tied it with a chain, en I met you, and saw the gravity of this mistake.

My mind told me to leave and run away; But my heart said otherwise, it wanted to stay. “You only have so much time,” it cried, Even with that in mind, I was willing to try.

I fear this love that has yet to come— Was it born from tender intention? or carnal desire that’s eeting and untrue? With you, my love, this feeling is all brand new.

Do you feel the same way?

at’s the question I must ask, yet more importantly— How can I express these feelings I have?

When I am just an earthling, and you, a star. Am I really willing to go to the moon and back?

For now, I want to believe this love dream is true at last.

Burst, Juliette Fariñas-Correa Meyer, ‘24, digital art

Amongst the Stars

By Caitlin Savage, ‘25

Last night I went on a trip

I told the moon about you

About your long hair and so lips

She smiled, knowing it was true

I told her about your lovely face

How it shines under her gentle beams

Your spirit, impossible to replace

How your smile somehow always gleams

And in that moment, when talking to the moon

at’s when I realized that I love you

e moon wiped my tears and sang me a tune

Singing about the utter bliss between us two

She calmed me down and told me

Even from here she can see your emerald eyes

Along with every mountain, valley, and sea

She can always spot them, wherever she ies

Our souls connected like constellations

Bright beings illuminating the sky

Sparks ying with every conversation

A love forged when the stars align

e moon loved our story

Glancing back at Jupiter and Mars

I am lucky to be with such glory

One that can be seen, even amongst the stars

Constellations Across the Sunrise

By Andrew Lee, ‘23

e rising sun on the horizon bathes me in a dull yellow glow. Melancholy tones shroud my skin, closing me o from the outside world.

From within my shut o world, a memory comes out. An orchestra of cicadas hum hymns of days long gone as I open my window. From that opened glass, a curious ray of dying sunlight illuminates my room. As I look outside, I can see where the plants sprout; where the ocean waves crash. Where the horses dance and prance, and where a kaleidoscope of starry shards hang nigh-transparent in the sky.

Perhaps I’ve just never seen or noticed those starry shards. I’ve certainly been missing out on a lot, the twinkle of each light lling me with an awe like no other. Each collective of bright ray, millions of light-years away, reminding me of our own world. Something so far from ourselves manifests as something so familiar.

e constellation Leo reminds me of the savannas, where the lions and gazelles roam. A place where the zebras can be free to wander, unbound by wall or fence. A place where the predator stalks his prey in the tall grass, and where the sun scowls upon the earth. e scorched ground still harbors the brave plant, the spark of life in a desolate waste — a reminder or two about futility unable to deter the courageous ones.

e constellation Capricorn reminds me of the hills and highlands. Where yodelers yodel yodels long over yonder, and where all the goats and ram roam wildly. Climbing up the side of mountains, they survey the grand world before them from their rocky thrones. e snow-capped peaks stand proudly over Earth, and those who dare scale their precarious and sheer cli -faces become apart of the visceral masterpiece.

e constellations Cancer and Pisces remind me of the ocean. e crashing waves upon the shore; the rushing tides swirling in the seas. e mere sight of the water’s great abundance stunning those onlookers who dare to see; the salty taste in my mouth as I stand by the shore. e undeniable, and frankly unbelievable, depths and stretch this form of blue takes truly incomparable even to the void that we sit in.

e constellations themselves, far out in outer space, comparable to the big blue expanse back on Earth, dri along with our vast sphere in the endless void. I’ve never thought of this dark endlessness as su ocating — in fact, I’m rather hopeful. A er all, there’s a chance ever so slim that there is more out there. More to see and more to be, even more to reminisce about. For when the sun begins to set on the edges of the world, a faint trace of a dim glimmer can be seen from far away.

e setting sun on the horizon bathes me in a bright orange hue. I feel celebratory, an array of memories laid bare, and a new appreciation overtakes me. Unbelievable.

Trapped, Isa Velazquez, ‘23, digital photography collage

Behind the Glass Wall

By Hugo Bustillo, ‘23

In a world so vast –I am trapped inside glass walls

Towering over me Leaving me enclosed No chance of breaking free. Every hour ey close in tighter –I’m soon under subjugation By unknown presence, It brings me into su ocation.

But a er spending life inside I will break out of damnation. For inside all the troubles I can feel e stars have aligned.

In the revelation of escape Cracks form in the walls, Light shines from their other sides. Slowly crumbling to the oor. e walls have opened! e rst sight One of many in the future –Of street lamps shining bright. I avert my rst to rst exposure, But I’m outside.

Finally given chance to breathe, Finally given sign of relief. A new reason to believe –ere’s a chance to be free So I will walk and live.

Petal, Ainoa Grisar-Cortes, ‘25, acrylic paint

My lily grows next to me in the garden of life.

eir petals long and white standing tall in sea of grass, and a radiant demeanor that lights up my world.

Once a hyacinth I drooped meekly, my purple petals shielding me from all which I could withstand. But it did not matter how much I was watered or how the sunlight fed me, I had no strength to grow.

Afraid and alone I began to wilt.

e rough weather of life pounding down dirt and soot scraping my pedicel.

en one day

my lily began to grow and as I died they stood by me, nding beauty as my petals darkened. As I began to droop and fall and become consumed by the earth, my lily waited and the water that was once never enough, the sunlight that could not satisfy my hunger, suddenly they were enough, because my lily gave me the strength to bloom.

From a seed in the ground I was reborn once a lone hyacinth, now a white rose. Pure within this world, and ready to explore.

I was reborn to never be alone again, for I have all that I could ever need–just me and my lily.

My Lily

By Elise Pagani, ‘23

Tranquility

By Keith Hernandez, ‘25

Delicacy, Rachel Rosado, ‘24, acrylic painting

is peaceful spirit that joyfully intrudes my thoughts like a serene wild re, it greets me in my dreams, as well as playing the heroine in my nightmares. It calms us and the other inhabitants, placed us within the perspective of a cloud nine extravaganza, a heavenly paradise. is serene highlight of the a erlife was pretty hideous for the spirit, not wanting this sanctioned promise of happiness. It wanted to taste the pleasantry sensations of life, going through moments both glorious and crude, not this gambit of being captivated by shining barriers. It wanted to live life in absolute tranquility, a solidarity of true peace that no entity could ever provide.

I felt like I had understood this seemingly forbidden language, this task that only I was destined to complete. Its determination jolted right across my mind and soul so unknowingly capable, become one with those prophecies from millennia ago. In a turn of events, the magical spell that broke an in nite curse, the spirit nally able to unshackle itself from a reign of terror and release its wings. It gracefully falls toward the outside world like a feather drop. It now takes on the delicate form of a bubble, transpiring all around the world and abstaining peace throughout these cornerstones of evil. Its movements corresponding to the movement of nature, trees dancing to its appearance, the breeze that swirls in a fragment so mesmerized, all until the end of dawn bleak at night. As the remaining bubble smiles and resonates about its life and fond travels, the spirit makes its nal plea.

e bargain being a lifetime of fortune, happiness and prosperity, gliding towards the very brink horizons that make up the relic lush portrait this world was. As it pops away into the sunset in delicacy, I come about and wake up from my dream to that very same morning sun, a dream that I’ll forever cherish.

The Act of Falling

By Alejandra Torruellas, ‘23

I want your ngers to know all the dips, bumps, and curves of my grounded formRecognizing them in the dark, backward, and upside down.

e knowledge of my spots being as normal as the ability to love, to breathe.

I want my voice to sound like home in your ears.

I want your memories of me to become second nature, being replayed on a bad day.

I want the knowledge of my existence to be of comfort to you.

I want you to admire me, as if I were the eighth wonder of the world.

I want you to know of all my sorrows, and childhood nightmares.

I want you to know the names of my rst pet, and my best childhood friend.

I want my name to be your favorite word.

I want to be cherished and admired with un ltered devotion.

Pink Oyster, Alexis Van Grieken, ‘24, digital art

Sculpting the Earth

Stag, Lorenzo Braojos, ‘23, ceramic and wood

a series of ceramic works

Lorenzo

“A graduation requirement is take a year of a ne art credit and when I saw it, I saw that there was a DE option so I thought I might as well get college credit while I take it. My favorite part of ceramics are the moments where I can just put my headphones and get lost in glazing(coloring) the bisk. I always look to nature for inspiration for my pieces, so when we had to use an ugly stick I looked at the jagged and uncontrollable branches and it reminded me of a stags antlers. e process just looks like a big word put on a dry erase board and no matter what I have to get there to nish my piece. I chose the speci c materials because they were a mix of materials given and others were things that I believed would make it better for me to nish the product.”

Cripta del Corazón, Cheryl Fi e, ‘23, ceramic and wood

Cheryl

“I’ve always used the arts as a way to express myself and I wanted to explore ceramics because I’d never experimented three-dimensional mediums before. It brings me joy to have the freedom to turn a piece of clay into anything my mind can think of. I always love learning new skills and ceramics is such a beautiful medium because it allows you to create art that is also functional. My intention with this work was to make it all about contradictions, since the very idea of the heart as the emotional control center contrasts with its actual function and the fact that your emotions actually a ect your heart’s reactions. e structure of the sculpture allows for the stick ribs to create the illusion of a cage, which could serve to both protect and imprison. For me, the process always begins with an idea and then I have to gure out how to bring the concept to life using the techniques I’ve learned in class. Once I create the piece out of clay and re it, I get to choose which glazes I use bring my piece to life. While glazing is my favorite part of the process, it’s taught me to let go of my expectations as I can’t control what happens inside the kiln and it can have unexpected results. A er that, my piece is done and ready to be shared with the world. I wanted to create a paradox between the organic and inorganic by using the organic material of the sticks to represent the inorganic ribs, and then doing the opposite by creating the sculpture of the heart, a beating living organ, out of the still inorganic material of clay. e glazes I used were more transparent, which displays the texture of the veins better and creates a really interesting layering e ect that I used for the shadows of the heart.”

Untitled, Nadina Amador, ‘24, ceramic and wood

Nadina

“What sparked my interest was the realization that I could make whatever I felt like. I could make things that I couldn’t nd anywhere else, and any idea I had could come to life. I really like ceramics because it serves as a creative outlet for me. Aside from the themes Ms.Stapleton gives us we have lots of freedom with what we make. e environment in her classroom feels very relieving and carefree which is very di erent from other classes. What inspired me to make this piece was my dad, he’s always supported my interest in art in very subtle ways. I don’t want to sound overly pessimistic but a while ago he told me that once he passes he wishes to be planted as a tree. So with the piece of wood he gave me I decided to capture the image of the tree once its fully grown. e face representing him and the tree giving life to other animals, or essentially giving them a home. He had given me this piece of dri wood a couples years back and I wasn’t too sure what to do with it, so when Ms. Stapleton presented us with the ugly stick project I knew exactly what I wanted to use it for. e ceramics making process for me is pretty simple, I start o with a general idea of what I want to make. As I’m shaping the basic form of the piece I start adding on the smaller details. I kind of just think of stu as I go. I chose the dri wood for this piece because I thought it was really cool on its own and I wanted to add on to it. I wanted there to be a consistent theme throughout all the little details such as the eyes and colors.”

Weaving an Ocean

By Luciana Callegari, ‘23

Aglow, Isa Velazquez, ‘23, digital photography

We are only as old as the rocks along the pier extend. And time cannot submerge you til the sun sets.

A friend splashes my body against the aming sun’s path til we cough laughter and salt. e horizon will not glow crimson til the salt is out of my eyes, the sand washed o my feet.

I know our tracks will soon be taken in by the shore and stored in the sea, but I will still see our memories in the glimmer across the water.

Designer Index

- 3, 4, 21, 22, 23, 24, 25, 26, 31, 32

- 53, 54, 85, 86, 99, 100

- 83, 84, 87, 88

- 71, 72, 73, 74, 109, 110

- 77, 78, 79, 80, 81, 82

- 5, 6, 7, 8, 9, 10, 11, 12, 13, 14, 15, 16, 17, 18, 19, 20, 27, 28, 29, 30, 33, 34, 35, 36, 37, 38, 41, 42, 43, 44, 45, 46, 47, 48, 49, 50, 51, 52, 53, 54, 55, 56, 57, 58, 59, 60, 61, 62, 63, 64, 65, 66, 69, 70, 71, 72, 73, 74, 75, 76, 89, 90, 91, 92, 93, 94, 95, 96, 101, 102, 103, 104, 105, 106, 107, 108, 109, 110, 111, 112, 113, 114, 115, 116, 117, 118, 119, 120

Publication Awards

Perspectives: 2022 Volume 13

FSPA: All Florida

Ukiyo: 2021 Volume 12

FSPA: All Florida

CSPA: Gold Medalist

De nitions: 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 Certi cate

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

Staf Awards

: Daphné Renoux, Ste Sarmiento-Mena

: Elise Pagani, Alejandra Torruellas

: Cheryl Fi e, Jacqueline Rodero

: Luciana Callegari

, : Caitlin Savage

: Luna Santiago

: Madison Beaton

: Hugo Bustillo

: Maya Carmenate

: Juliette Farinas-Correa Meyer

: Isa Velazquez

: Rocio Lopez

: Andrew Lee, Isa Velazquez

: Ste Sarmiento-Mena, Lucia Torres-Mugica

: Angie Moya, Rachel Rosado

: Ste Sarmiento-Mena and Maya Carmenate

: Juan Subero and Juliette Farinas-Correa Meyer

: Ste Sarmiento-Mena and Isa Velazquez

: Keith Hernandez and Rachel Rosado

: Andrew Lee, Rocio Lopez

: Luciana Callegari

: Alejandra Torruellas

: Cheryl Fi e

: Elise Pagani

: Madison Beaton

: Ste Sarmiento-Mena

:

Andrew Lee

:

Juan Subero

:

Andrew Lee

: Alejandra Torruellas

: Caitlin Savage, Isa Velazquez

is a literary and arts magazine produced by the student sta as a part of the Academy of Communication Arts, Film, and Digital Media at Coral Gables Senior High School. Volume 14 was made using Adobe InDesign CC Suite. Volume 14 was made using Minion Pro and Minion Variable Concept for body text and bylines.

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 sta members from entry-level creative writing, digital design, English and art classes. Although class time was used to create this magazine, countless hours were spent working a er school and on weekends to ensure its completion. e cover art is by Rachel Rosado, the illustration for the Awards Log and Table of Contents are by Maya Carmenate, and the section dividers and Editor’s Note illustrations are by Juliette Fariñas-Correa Meyer.

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

Editor-in-Chief: Cheryl Fi e, Marta Camps

Advisor: Gabriel Rodriguez

Editors:

Layout Editor: Isa Velazquez

Drama Editor: Elise Pagani

Poetry Editor: Alejandra Torruellas

Prose Editor: Myrea Ghetti

Business Manager: Mercedes Deltoro

Outreach Coordinator: Ihtzel Michel

Sta Writers: Madison Beaton, Stephany Bonilla, Hugo Bustillo, Luciana Callegari, Keith Hernandez, Andrew Lee, Angie Moya, Abril Orejon, Daphné Renoux, Jacqueline Rodero, Luna Santiago, Ste Sarmiento-Mena, Caitlin Savage, Juan Subero

Layout Team: Maya Carmenate, Juliette Fariñas-Correa Meyer, Rocio Lopez, Rachel Rosado, Lucia Torres-Mugica