Juxtaposition - Fall 2015

Juxtaposition

An Anthology of Art and Literature 2015

Juxtaposition An Anthology of Art and Literature

Cheshire Academy

Published December 2015

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Table of Contents Tiny Traveler by Paola Fortes..................................................................................................... 6-7 “Journal” by Yifei Lu................................................................................................................... 8-9 “The Universal Bread” by Corin Porter.................................................................................. 10-11 Comic by Theresa West................................................................................................................ 12 “Get Your Bread On” by Zoe Genden........................................................................................... 13 Half and Half by Bella Chen ............................................................................................................................... 14 “Do You Get It This Time?” by Amalia Gutierrez........................................................................ 15 “The King In Chains, Death’s Child Series, 1 of 3 (working title)” by David Mathisson...... 16-17 “It was a Pleasant Summer Day” by Aiden Worrell.................................................................... 18 Child Image by Peter Deng.......................................................................................................... 19 Woman by Regina McCoy............................................................................................................. 20 Collage of Images by Paola Fortes............................................................................................... 21 3 by Mac Arnot . ........................................................................................................................... 22 “Fold Over Story” by Student Writing Group............................................................................. 23 Leaf by Jenson Colberg ............................................................................................................... 24 “First Honors” by Regina McCoy................................................................................................. 25

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Cherries by Rachel Abraham........................................................................................................ 26 “I Remember the Night” by Erin King........................................................................................ 27 “Living in the Moment (Travel Lit)” by Lancy Lan................................................................ 28-29 3 by Jason...................................................................................................................................... 30 “Bruised” by Anonymous............................................................................................................. 31 Day of the Dead Pieces............................................................................................................ 32-33 “Yellow” by Anonymous............................................................................................................... 34 “Reflections” by Giovanni Filippone ........................................................................................... 35 “Travel” by Shirley Zhang....................................................................................................... 36-37 Flowers by Regina McCoy............................................................................................................ 38 “Crisp Cold Bread” by Drey Upsher-Obear.................................................................................. 39 “(A Novel) Novel” by Paola Fortes........................................................................................... 40-41 “Novels in Fifteen Words”............................................................................................................ 42

Cover art: Peter Lee ‘17

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Paola Fortes PAGE

Tiny Traveler

by Paola Fortes

The tiny traveler is all packed up and ready to go Ticket in hand, shoes polished, ribbon around her waist neatly tied “There is nothing to be afraid of!”, her lying mother says Then she is dropped off in this strange place She is thrown in to this new world, pushed against her will The wall says “comienzo,” but is it really a beginning?

The tiny traveler anxiously waits She doesn’t know what train to take or where it might go She just knows she has to go, the final destination is her minimal worry She glances around her and notices she is alone All alone in the train station, all alone in her jaunt Loneliness was her only companion from there on, she thought The tiny traveler cannot understand Years of nurturing and protection, years of promises and well-being And all of a sudden, without a warning It is all gone I’m only a little girl, she thinks, But the tiny traveler continues on a road that she doesn’t know I’m small and I’m frightened, she thinks, but I must go

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Journal

by Yifei Lu

I

sized myself up in front of the mirror, in amazement, like looking at a stranger. Something has been unconsciously influenced during this year I was abroad, I realized. Short untidy hair was replaced by lustrous long black hair. I was taller, stronger and looked more confident. Looking at this slim girl in a nice soft dresses with some exquisite patterns on it, a satisfied smile floated on my face, “No longer being a silly girl,” I whispered. It was only six o clock in the morning, fresh air filled in the little house, and windows were covered by burst of the green leaves. Hot tea with honey and cakes just brought to the table. The morning was awaked. My mom was yelling at me from the kitchen while I was eating breakfast, seemed like she still trying to make me stay.

“Are you sure you want to go? It is only the first day since you come back to China.” A pause.

“And you know you lost contact with them for a whole year,” my mom hesitated and eventually decided to speak her real worry out. My hands holding the fork and knife stopped in the air. Overwhelmed by those fragments of memories of my 67 classmates, I was frightened. What would I feel if we were no longer close? We lost contact for a year and there was not even an official farewell when I left. A myriad of thoughts swarmed into my mind so quickly that I was caught unprepared. The sound of insects was haunting me. Once again, I felt like I was walking through that unbelievable beautiful campus soaked in a lemon grass shade, on a hot summer day, same as a year ago. Enrolled in the best high school in the province does not always means the highest honor. The most famous saying coming down thousand years in China is “If you wish to be the best one, you must prepared to suffered the bitterest of the bitter”. The word “best”, always accompanied with the word “hardest” or “most suffered”. I was confused, hesitated and struggled during the year I was in my high school, where I was lost in an insane amount of homework that can never have end. We wear the same school uniform, girls have same short haircuts and any decorations or make up were forbidden. “You all should know some about our school rules,” our head master said unhurriedly and clearly in the orientation meeting at first day of school “Do not feel wronged when school ask you to be uncool, yet you are not step on the real stage of this world, keep simple, in both your study and social life.” A mysterious smile floated on his face. He continued,” I don’t care how many years will you guys spend to understand, but once you realize I PAGE

bet you will feel grateful that you listened to me when you were in high school.” Because we were only mouse and man, we were one of the crowd in this colorful and colossal world. People told us we are too young to stand in the middle of the stage, but we never stop dreaming about one moment, the moment we stand in the middle of the stage, each tiny movement never failing to catch the attention of millions of people: the moment we get into college. This is going to be a battle. The air in the classroom was always tense from 6:15 in the morning to 10:50 in the evening, like a war field without fire. Nine classes per day seemed not enough to make us be competitive. Nonetheless, the 10 minutes break between classes became another competition.

The winners were students who do not move from their seats and work on their homework until the next class. “I feel like I am already so behind since I spent 8 minutes chatting with people in the hall way.” My friend squeezed a forced smile and said to me, when we came back to the classroom and saw everyone was doing their homework quietly. Successful peers encouraged us to study for tough questions and study all the time. In their belief, one who doesn’t give up when they were studying a tough and huge amount of work, would be able to carry on great responsibilities for our society in the future.

“I know it is reasonable, I would probably say I agree with them.” I wrote down in my dairy, “I just feel really bad sometimes because no one was able to take a shower more than 8 minutes.”

“And no one even have time to complain about this.” Every time I recalled things have happened that year, I was shocked, and wondered how a group of fifteen year old teenagers possibly handle it. But we actually did. Those 67 people I spent the whole year with, a lot of them became my soulmates and some of them were my closest friends that I would never forget in my life. In those gloomy days fighting with giant schoolwork helplessly, we wrote letters to each other, even if we were sitting in the same classroom. “If you get everything you want the minute you want it, then what is the point of living?” I found this note left by my best friend on my pencil case, after she heard I failed a test that I prepared for a long time and crying in my dorm for a whole afternoon. When coffee and those beautiful dreams no longer function as an encouragement but transferred into more weight, we encouraged each other. “Are you still listening?” my mom interrupted my thought, and brought me back from the scenes of the campus, “Do you still want to go?” she asked. The breakfast on the table was still warm, but I feel like there has already a century passed.

“Mom, it is just an official farewell” I paused, then replied firmly, “they mean so much to me.” Like every fairy tale needs a happy ending, I was going to visit the place that I dreamed to go back, with gratitude beyond measure.

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“The Universal Bread”

by Corin Porter

From darkness came a loaf, majestic and glorious in its scope The first loaf from which all other loaves rise Filling empty darkness with calories and carbs We live on the edge, the outside the crust of it all Heated by a cosmic oven to the perfect temperature for life And on that build our lives from the spongy material It is the body it is the life from which we all sprang

Breakfast A slice of the loaf Toasted, melts the butter on A cold winter morn

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“Ode to the Loaf” (after Pablo Neruda) From grain wheat grown in sunlight from the fresh scent of baking goodness, rich in fragrance oven glow down from the bakery and kneading hands bread descended to the earth.

Knives slice a piece plane flat from the loaf grains opened, revealed to tomato and cheese, mayonnaise spread mustard cold cuts, held together.

So, when you grasp the slices of a bread loaf above your plate, you bite a field of wheat a double handful of satisfaction, a bounty of nutrients from the field and deli, grain made to bookend

Tender loaf!

The fields, the mom and pop shops full of yeast and sugar; I cut slices fall a miracle, carbs and calories crumbs falling from boundaries of a sandwich, a most solid foundation of lunch, layered, satisfying, together, born of the deli, fresh bread of the fragrant bakery, its crust, perfect match.

the life raised by a planet.

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Theresa West

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Get Your Bread On

by Zoe Genden

Soft, sweet and chewy Makes my heart go gooey Twisting open the plastic Has me going ecstatic Toast, sandwiches, bagels and buns I can’t choose only one Whole wheat, raisin and white I can’t help but take a bite Breakfast, Lunch and Dinner It makes me feel like a winner Fall flavors like chocolate and pumpkin spice Makes my tastebuds feel nice Smooth peanut butter, jam and butter on bread These are all yummy spreads!

Go ahead and share some with a friend Who is the best thing since sliced bread

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Half and Half Bella Chen

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“Do You Get It This Time?”

by Amalia Gutierrez

I remember when I remember when I could think out the first thoughts so clearly Clearly enough for other people to understand the first time, agree and listen I remember, remem-member when listening to what you said was so easy Speeches weren’t complex puzzles, asking “Repeat that?” to my chagrin I remember, R-E-M-B-E-M-E-M-R? When I was the human dictionary Dork savant, the English editor for all, essay contests I’d win I think I remember what I needed, what’s important to me Glasses aren’t on my face, realize when I press the skin I sort of remember the old, what I used to be Would I? Am I? Do I? Had I been?

I can’t remember before ADD Need pills, nods, fake grins Remember?

Sorry, No.

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The King In Chains, Death’s Child Series, 1 of 3 (working title)

by David Mathisson

Vikad 5 ikad hadn’t expected to stay in the library for long. He put down his book, A History Of The Zaxki, and crossed the room. He was soon at the Political section. He found the one surviving copy of Lying, Bribing, Stealing, And Killing; The Story Of Renthian Politics. He removed the precious book, one he had read many times over the years, and pushed in the stone behind the bookcase. The entire bookcase descended into the floor, and Vikad stepped over it. He pulled down the head of a gargoyle, and the bookcase slid back up, leaving him to a full view of Renth from a private balcony.

The Punishment Sector was always the first thing he saw, with its flat, blockish gray stone. He saw the many clusters of small buildings in the Training Sector. The Army Sector was a mass of towers, walls, and yards. Vikad hadn’t seen the inside. The Living Sector, below that, was a place Vikad often went. He’d climb on a roof and read a book from his satchel. The last sector was the Trade Sector, where he saw it.

A small building burned near the docks, and a small ship was sailing away. This would cut his reading session short. Renth was almost entirely wood. Buildings were close together in Renth, so fires could spread. They did collapse quickly, but it was late into the night and most of the guards would be so drunk they wouldn’t be able to ride a horse across the city.

As always, he checked to make sure his sword wouldn’t fall out, and all the leather straps were ready and working. He slipped over the balcony’s railing and swung from the bottom. His feet made contact with the steep roof on top of the stables, and he slid down to grab on to the wall outside the castle, swinging his legs over. The flat roof of a building in the Punishment Sector greeted him like an old friend.

It wasn’t always this easy. Once I didn’t swing far enough, and fell on my leg. Another time I missed the wall, and broke my arm. And of course there’s the time I smashed my face into this building and barely pulled myself up. It’s amazing my mother didn’t even bother to look into it.

Wrapping his arms around a small pillar, Vikad slid down. He ran to the Living Sector and reached a roof by straddling a narrow alley. Clouds gathered in the night, but he didn’t need to see to run across the

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rooftops he knew well. He was surprised to hear footsteps behind him and looked around, but saw nobody.

Vikad was sure that most people would hurt themselves had they jumped down from the wall in between the Living Sector and the Trade Sector. He landed with a roll, then got up and vaulted a fence.

That was when he saw another man, following him. The man was wearing black, like him. Vikad couldn’t see much more than that. He ran towards the wall, ran up, spun around, and kept going. The wood and stone buildings were Vikad’s true passion, to climb and jump on.

Who is this man and how in all the world does he know where I’m going?

He ran at a building, lifted one leg up to a windowsill, jumped, and grabbed the roof. Pulling himself up, he looked around.

He called out. “Who and where are you?”

The wind answered him with a howl and a few drops of rain. The man’s footsteps made an ominous sound.

He could barely see his mysterious opponent, but he kept going even as rain started to come down. As he was about to jump to amother rooftop, he realized there was nowhere to jump.

He could barely see twenty feet in front of him, but he knew the other man was advancing towards him.

The sky flashed with lightning.

Vikad screamed. “Help! Help me!” A thunderclap blocked the sound.

Vikad’s hands fumbled with the wet leather straps holding his sword in his sheath. The man was closer, almost within striking distance, and he was wearing a cloak.

As his brother pulled off the cloak he was wearing, the tip of Vikad’s sword cut into his forehead.

Vikad slipped as Laran cried out in pain.

He dropped his sword far into the streets below. His left hand grabbed onto the roof, splitting open the cut from the blood oath.

He was losing his grip.

I’m such an idiot.

Laran reached out.

Their hands locked together as Laran helped Vikad pull himself up.

Piri and Omir were waiting for them at the docks. Vikad and Laran hadn’t said a word to each other on the way there.

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It was a pleasant summer day

by Aiden Worrell

I

t was a pleasant summer day, the wind was calm and the sun was setting. Rainfall had come consistently on this beautiful, green landscape. The mist from the waterfall twisted and raised eloquently, colliding with the peacefulness of the sky right above the hillside that seemed

to be carved by God. Two boys, presumably adolescent, made their way down the winding path, soaking in this natural masterpiece like a sponge. The calming ways of the water, the beauty of the sunset, all allowed the boys to get lost in a vivid daydream. Not a witness in sight and the two boys in and out of reality, the West Hill thief knew he had another golden opportunity. Pickpocketing the young travelers, a wave of guilt washed over him. Not for stealing from the boys, but for bringing bad actions to a place so heavenly, so peaceful. He picked up a piece of the fresh earth and whispered a whole-hearted apology, walking off into the sunset with new merchandise but the same old guilt. Nature seemed to be more judgemental to the thief than society, as he felt the eyes of the whispy and vibrant clouds watching him as he made his escape

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Child Image Peter Deng PAGE 1 9

Woman Regina McCoy PAGE 20

Collage of Images Paola Fortes PAGE 21

3 Mac Arnot ‘17 PAGE 22

Fold Over Story: Student Writing Group

I

t was so very cold that September day. With a shiver, she stepped out of the lake, her hair dripping with frigid water. This sort of moment brought her peace. Her hair, less graceful out of the water and everything feeling heavier. The water healed her, stripped away all of the

evils the outside world had pressed upon her while also magnifying her own imperfections. The water left her scarred for it had bestowed more demons than ever. Before then, she had always loved swimming

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Leaf Jenson Colberg ‘17

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First Honors

By Regina McCoy

Another calculation, Another vocabulary word shoved down my throat, Another process- meiosis, mitosis, symbiosis.

I must come up for air.

Another e-mail from some extraneous college, Another peer asking me for my SAT score, Another family member asking what I want to major in.

I’m seventeen.

Only seventeen.

How should I know what I want to be doing for the rest of my life?

I have spent the past twelve years of my life, Behind a desk.

And if I want to be rich, I will spend four more.

And if I want to be really rich, Four more for grad school.

I hate sitting behind a desk.

And after all of this, I will have a job that will make me really rich, Where I will work behind a desk Because the goal in life Is to have a bunch of pieces of paper With pictures of dead presidents on them.

Here’s my report card Mom and Dad, Are you proud?

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Cherries Rachel Abraham ‘18

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I Remember the Night

By Erin King

I remember the night I remember how you sat out in the pouring rain, hoping to be invited in.

I remember coming to you and how you held me close I remember you, how you cried as you clenched me tight, I remember holding on to the present like there was on future

I remember that, lie, “Always.�

I remember when you let go of me you turned and ran.

I remember, now I was the one sitting in the pouring rain.

I remember wanting to be let in.

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Living in the Moment

By Lancy Lan

B

ored. Reluctant. Catastrophic. The three words painted the sky of Beijing darker than ever before.

I had to travel with my parents to the northern part of China for the whole two weeks. I had jetlag.

I had SAT. I had to think about my college. I had no time to travel, especially when I was so busy.

Sitting in the car, I refused to talk to anyone. The skyscrapers became uglier when I was not happy. The trip began with my angry face.

I did not know where we were going, but the sky became clearer and softer. The drive was so long that crossed two provinces. The distance reinforced the idea that I should wear my unhappy face all the way to rebel my parents who had driven for the whole day. The ravishing red was like a naughty boy staining the grey sky quietly and secretly. The light coming from the far illumined the long travel. I was too tired to stay unhappy and fall asleep soon after lying on the back seat. My parents were still driving.

It was 12 a.m. We finally arrived at a place called Wutai Mountain. I came into a hotel room, pitching myself into a not comfortable bed. The sleepiness overwhelmed me. However, I would have never imagined the trip that I hated would lead me to a place I will cherish forever.

The next day morning was like a sedate song. When the first mild light slid down from far-east, I was woken by the cool breeze. It was the middle of July, but the weather in Wutai Mountain reminded me the spring time. I could smell the wind mixed with fresh grass and joss incense. Even though my eyes were closed, I could see everything that might happen there; I could hear a bell was ringing rhythmically. I was energetic. I was fascinated. I was lost. I forgot every single upset I had before. I fell asleep again. There was a brilliant shaft of dawn passing through my heart silently. This must be the nature.

My mother woke me up and asked me to visit the Shuxiang temple with them. The mild wind made me hard to say “No�. Wutai Mountain is a renowned Buddhist Holy Land. Both Tibetan Buddhism and Traditional Buddhism settle there. The monks, wearing red or yellow robes, walked hundreds or even thousands miles to reach there in order to visit the Buddhas. Their shoes were broken, and their face all looked awed and serious. They were reciting lections in low voices. Staring at them, I felt like I was one of them, holding convictions innocently and steadfastly. The claret rose red wall flared their dusty faces.

At that moment, they were the richest people all over the world. My heart suddenly fulfilled with love and PAGE 2 8

hope. I looked at my parents’ tired faces. They had driven six hours to this place and slept only few hours in order to visit the temples with me. I was a little bit touched. I held my mother’s hand again slinkingly. Everything seemed to be new in this morning. I could see smiles returning to my parents’ face. Sometimes, I will forget happy is much better than unhappy. I started feeling guilty about my immature behavior yesterday. I should not give that ugly unhappy face toward my parents, who will always love me. The sunshine drifted with the wind. My happiness was lying in my heart calmly.

Walking though the small gate of Shuxiang Temple, I was fascinated by a special rhythm, which is composed by a Chinese tradition instrument called Wooden Fish. Dong. Dong. The mysterious rhythm obstructed all the noises far away from me. Every Buddha statue looked bigger and more occult. The smell of incense led me to feel devotional. I am not a Buddhist, but I wanted to sing every single Buddhism lection; I wanted to pray for the Buddha; I wanted to burn incense; I wanted to be part of it at that point. It was the first time I realized the power of a religion, because most Chinese do not practice any religion.

It made me believe there must be a power to arrange the order of the World. It was the first time I knelt piously before the Buddha. I was fulfilled with satisfaction and hope.

The time was static but short. We had to leave, though I had billions of reasons to stay.

When our car drove straight through a forest, suddenly, we were on a high way without seeing anyone.

We had to stop. I felt like I was in an oil painting. The ravishing red and the golden nugget temples were hiding in the neon green mountains, which were lofty and quiet. Horses and cows scattered around, like hanging in the green sky. I could feel the wind was lemon freeze color, compiling all the beauty of the mountain and swayed through my heart. My sense was taken away. My soul would burn and distinguish with this moment. I aspired to be a wisp of wind, flying among all the beauties to elicit more people to stay.

I stole a glance to look at my parents, staring at their happy faces. I saw the breeze touching their hair, starting to hate myself. I was so stupid that did not understand their love. They were much busier than I was, but they canceled all the work in order to travel with me. However, I did not accept their profound love and gave them a hard time. Although I thought I had lots of work to do in these two weeks, I did not realize the family time is more valuable than what I was working at, because if I did poor on My first SAT, I could take it again; but if I lost the chance to travel with my parents, I lost it forever.

When I caught the last glance at Wutai Mountain, the shape of the mountain was changing every single second. I realized travel is living in the moment.

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3 Jason

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Bruised

by Anonymous

You used to play connect the dots With the freckles on my skin.

And you said the color of my cheeks Were your favorite shade of red.

You used to make me tell you The story of how I got the scar On my right cheek Hundreds of times As if it was your favorite song.

The way you stared at me Was like a deer in headlights; Terrified, But couldn’t look away.

I’ve never been the kind of girl, People turn heads for.

So when you told me I was beautiful, It took a while to believe it.

I have heard that the bible tells us Our bodies are a temple.

I would be content forever If you were my only visitor.

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Day of the Dead El Día de los Muertos este año, las personas celebraron mucho. Ellos se vistieron en ropa de muchos colores. Bailaron y cantaron para respetar a los muertos. Todas las personas estaban contentas durante el Día de los Muertos. Los niños dibujaron muchos esqueletos con flores y colores. Pusieron las comidas favoritas de los muertos en los altares. Fue un día muy divertido. Toda la familia participó. Los primos ayudaron con las decoraciones. Los tíos cocinaron las comidas. La familia preparó mucho antes del evento.

Este Día de los Muertos fue muy divertido.

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Dia Gawronski ‘18

El Día de los Muertos era lunes. Era el primero y el dos de noviembre. Hacía calor y sol. Cuando el señor Hernández cocinada, nosotros tomamos un examen. Cuando yo comía, ellos leyeron. El señor Hernández enseñaba mientras nosotros aprendíamos. La clase celebró el Día de los Muertos el lunes pasado. Muchas personas respetaban el Día de los Muertos. En el Día de los Muertos, las personas visitaron un cementerio porque ellos respetaban a los muertos. Lunes, el 2 de noviembre, en México, ellos pintaron máscaras y llevaron disfraces.

Ella Hampson ’18

Cuando era el primero y el dos de noviembre, los mexicanos celebraron el Día de los Muertos. El Día de los Muertos era un día muy feliz. Los mexicanos respetaban a los muertos en la familia. Ellos cocinaban la comida favorita de los muertos para las celebraciones. A veces, ellos bailaban, cantaban, tocaban los instrumentos y desfilaban. Todas las personas ayudaban para preparar la fiesta. Los artistas creaban el arte y pintaban las máscaras. Todos estaban muy felices.

Zach Pine Maher ‘18

El Día de los Muertos, yo bailaba mientras los esqueletos tocaban música. Ayer, los esqueletos celebraron porque era una fiesta. Ellos llevaban ropa de muchos colores. No llovía mucho. Hacía mucho sol. Cuando los esqueletos celebraban, muchas personas comieron la comida favorita de los muertos. Muchas personas estaban felices. Yo no fui a México para celebrar. Yo lo celebré en los EEUU con mi clase.

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Tara Lynch ‘18

Yellow

by Anonymous

You’re a natural disaster.

With your crooked smile, And your social drinking.

God damn, you’re so social.

You’re always squinting when you’re confused.

As if narrowing your sight Will somehow make things clearer.

How we’re still together is blurry To me too.

I never met someone who told secrets In such a loud voice.

Or who could spend hours turning constellations Into geometric shapes.

Maybe one day I’ll figure you out.

You’re twenty years old And you don’t know how to roller skate Or weave four pieces of string Into a bracelet.

But you can make my mind stop Racing seventy miles an hour.

One night you asked me What my favorite color was.

I told you it was yellow, But I really wanted to say “You.”

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Reflections Giovanni Filippone ‘17

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Travel

By Shirley Zhang

I

have never been so scared before in my life. I was shivering from my head to toe that I felt like I was on the edge of breaking down. “Two more,” the doctor mumbled his Thai accent English in an impassive tone. A sense of stinky fish and rotten tomato filled the tiny room that even became worse under the 38-degree Celsius air. It was hot and humid. I could feel the clothes on my body stick to my skin by my sweat. I tried to close my eyes, but I couldn’t help but notice the fan on the ceiling keeps making this cracking noise that I was afraid it would drop and hit me in any second. The paint on the wall was in a faded yellowish-brown color. Some parts of the wall did not have paint that I could see the inside that filled with questionable stuffing. The clinic looked like an emergency shelter from an earthquake that everything within could fall or break or just shatter somehow.

However, I couldn’t care more about the environment because the tearing pain from the center of my feet, and my toes challenge my pain endurance every second. I tried hard not to make any noise, but I couldn’t help to groan when the doctor cut his tweezers into my skin and tried to pull out a prick. I talked to myself, “ Just hold up and everything will be fine,” as I was griping the handle on the steel bed as hard as I could. I was breathing loudly and moaning with my eyes closed, but I knew it would only waste more energy that it was better just put up with it and shut my mouth. Both of my feet were bleeding, but there were still many prick crowded at the bottom of my feet. I couldn’t even bear to look at it. The pain kept reminding me how miserable and scared that I felt, and when the doctor finally pulled out the last prick from my feet, I busted into a cry of pain. I did not feel released at all, but I only wanted to lay down somewhere cool and nice and just have a good cry. I didn’t know what was going on with me. I did not even know if it was the pain, the stuffiness, or just simply being alone and lonely away from home.

Honestly, the reason that I signed up for the spring break trip to Thailand was the community service hours. Moreover, one of my best friends Anna decided to go to the same trip with me just because the trip was the cheapest compared to the others. Before the trip, 12 students, two teachers, and I had the meeting every day for a week to go over the basic knowledge and preparation for the trip. The teacher kept talking about the transitional Thai culture, history, and emphasizing how the condition over, there would be completely different from the school. I was not paying any attention. I even joked with Anna that I said, “ How bad could it be I mean? It is Thailand and anywhere can be better than school. “ Anna laughed and agreed. Every day we were on our phone, in a daze, or half asleep. We only participated unwillingly when there were mandatory group projects. I wish only if I knew what a mistake that

I was making, and this mistake will change my whole trip.

A day before getting on the airplane, I was packing. I expected the trip to be a total relaxation with food, shopping, and sunlight. The only thing that I was worried about was the mosquitos and other small insects. Anna was more worried about the communication problems in Thailand because the trip mentioned that no local could speak fluent English, but only a translator who had learned English by himself would follow us. I talked to my parents about the trip. They both thought the trip would not be a big deal. It would just be another trip that I take tons of selfies and get a tan by the beach every day. Other students on the trip didn’t seem worried either because almost all of us expected the trip to be a fun and relaxing vacation.

Therefore, I packed all my party dresses and fancy swimsuits. I threw two pairs of nice shoes in the baggage and jumped back to my bed. I had a sweet dream that night filled with delicious Thai food and hot spa message. However, none of these would happen.

The second that I arrived at the destination I was shocked. There was no sign of a city but a small village with a population around 40 traditional Muslim families.

I did not see any shopping malls, cars, or neon lights. I could only feel the intense humidity in the air that glued my hair on my forehead, and the loud mosquitos sound around my head as if they were going to attack us in any second. The condition was completely beyond my expectation. I was arranged upstairs in a tiny room with a small family. Their house was made of woods. There was no electricity after 8 pm and before 6 pm. There was no air conditioner under the 38-degree Celsius air. There were no comfortable bedding, showers, or even standardized toilets that I felt I would sink in my excretion when I tried to use the toilet at night. I tried to fall asleep, but the loud noises from the chickens and the monkeys kept me awake.

I was overwhelmed by the huge gap between the reality and the expectation. I was crying. At first, it was just this small little sobbing. Then the more I think about how the trip was going to be, the more desperate that I got. I couldn’t help but started to burst into tears and cried loudly like a scared baby. Anna came in and gave me a big hug. I realized that both of us were stinky because of our own sweat, and when we hugged our sleepwear even stuck together. I mumbled while tearing running down my face, “ This is not what I paid and signed up for. Oh my god someone please comes and saves us out off here. How are we going to survive here Anna? No, we will never survive in an environment like this.” Then Anna started to cry too because she realized that there was no phone signal. She couldn’t even call her worried parents and tell them what was going on.

People say that time is a magical cure for any pain and sorrow. It was true. I couldn’t care more about my makeup and my outfit after a few days. When I woke up, I just wanted to take a shower as fast as I could before anyone else occupied it.

I craved ice water and anything that could fill my stomach, so I could manage the heavy workload later in the day, which included fishing, building shelters, and Thai

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boxing training. Surprisingly, the more that I get used to the local environment, the more I started to like it. Life without social media felt enjoyable. I realized that there was no definition for good or bad but different life experiences between my life back in the US and my life in the small town of Kuraburi that pushed me out of my comfort zone. The culture and established habits that I adapted from my previous life probably seemed ridiculous to the local people, and the culture and life of the locals did take time for me to accept and understand. I started to pick up everything that I missed in the preparatory conventions. Without any knowledge or preparation, I had only myself to rely on to fight through the discomfort from the huge gap between my expectation of the trip and the reality. I realized that crying through the nights was meaningless and stupid because it would not change the situation but only gaining me black under eyes and yawns the next morning. My mother used to quote Darwin that “ It is not the strongest of the species that survive, but the one most responsive to change.” I was exactly going through a change. Deep inside I wanted to be the survivor, and I did not want to hide behind anymore. At first, I couldn’t understand why the locals seemed happy all the time. Even though I had everything I wanted in school, but I never seemed that happy or satisfied. The locals didn’t have neon lights, shopping mall, or fancy cars, but they built their happiness by their own hands through the daily hard work. I admired this spirit which made me wanted to be a part of them and to share a part of their happiness.

I started to have a sense of home when I went back to the little shelter. The Muslim mom would come out with a big smile and served us hot soup and rice. I was really happy deep inside.

I faced my biggest challenge throughout the trip on the fifth day. After an hour of constant rowing, our group eventually arrived at an island. The first thing that came up was the beach. The beach was filled with antique white sand that had the texture of yielding pebbles. The sand was in such small and round pieces that it felt so soft and smooth, which differed from any beach I have ever felt. The palm trees standing by the side were in bright alpine trail color that every one of them was huge and stood in the breeze like a proud soldier. They looked so young and vigorous.

Their long sharp green leaves slightly waved in the breeze as they were welcoming us to their secret wonderland, and the trees were the guards of the island. Then it came to the ocean. Oh my the ocean. I could feel my heartbeats pumping in my chest at the first sight. I had never seen any water like that, and I have traveled a lot. Words were not descriptive enough to express how clear and shiny and pure the water was. It was a mixture of pool blue, ocean green, and a very very dark watercolor blue that could attract everything by its gravitating magic. I stood and stared at the ocean for a long time that I felt everything was unreal. The scene seemed like a painting that would never be seen in real life, but it was visible and touchable right in front of me. For me, it was a dream came true. I couldn’t even breathe normally under this amazing beauty that I felt any noise or disruption was

disrespectful under such a view.

The locals were giving out goggles for diving, and I just couldn’t resist. I jumped right in the ocean without any hesitation. I forgot to listen for any instruction once again that I just had the urge to feel the coolness against my skin right away. It was so great. I was floating on the surface and felt so happy that I couldn’t imagine anyone happier than me in the world. I could feel the sunlight kissing on my skin as it was passing its joyous energy to me. Then I decided to dive in the deeper area. I was like a curious little kid who couldn’t help to put her hands on everything. At the moment, I was strolling around the bright orange coral garden; a loud scream broke all the peace. I stepped on the sea urchin. I could feel this piercing pain that tore me apart even if I just tried to move my legs to swim back to the shore. I was dragged by several people to the shore, and they put me down to do a quick check. The locals asked me to lift my feet, and they told me that I had sea urchin pricks all over my left feet. My foot was shaking slightly under the unbearable pain, and the skin was so pale and puffy because of loss of blood and being in the water for too long. The locals told me that I had to get some emergency care before I get to the local clinic.

The sea urchin was poisonous, and it could be dangerous if I do not sanitize the cuts and pull the pricks out as soon as possible. A boy in front of me started to take off his pants and tried to pee on my feet. I was shocked and asked him to stop right away.

The locals explained that only male virgin’s pee could stop the blood from coming out. I wasn’t able to accept the “special care,” but the locals all looked at me as I was an over conservative little girl. Eventually, I got all the pricks out, and I was allowed to stay in my bed for a day.

I was laying down the floor and staring at the fan that moved circularly on the ceiling. I could feel the sense of flower floating in the air and spread the sweetness through my nose down to my chest. The weather didn’t seem humid and hot to me anymore. I could only feel the coolness from the breeze that was sent over by the palm tree leaves. The cicadas were singing to each other on the perch as if they were celebrating the summer. I started to sing songs along with the monkeys that hung between the coconut trees, and I found it quite entertaining rather than annoying. I asked myself if I regret to come to the trip at all. I had this one answer that I was so sure. No, I do not regret at all, and I would come again if the time went back when I had been making the decision. The first time in my life that I felt how a travel changed me bits by bits that I didn’t even notice. By the end of the trip, I felt like that I have grown from the ignorant caterpillar to a colorful butterfly, and the hardship and suffering were crucial to my transformation. In fact, I wouldn’t have achieved a stronger self without forcing myself to adapt the change and going through the hard times. While I was doing all my thinking, the host lady knocked on the door.

“Dinner is ready!” She called out in this adorable Thai accent English. I answered “ Coming! “ right back to her. I felt this happiness running around in my chest. “I am at home,” I kept telling myself. I was home.

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Flowers Regina McCoy

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Crisp Cold Bread

By Drey Upsher-Obear

B

read is love. Bread is life.

Ok, that’s not the whole story. It all started out one freezing morning. I strolled across the street to the local bakery to pick up some bread. After I paid for the bread, which by the way was whole grain. I went back to my apartment clutching the warm package under my coat. I walked into my apartment, took off my coat and went to the kitchen to make a nice breakfast for myself. About 20 minutes later, I emerged from the kitchen with a plate which consisted of, eggs, bacon, toast with butter, and 2 pieces of French toast made from the bread I recently bought. I sat down at my kitchen table and started to go straight savage on my food. I lost control, before I knew it, I had made 3 more absurdly large servings of French toast and my bread was gone. It was Saturday, I had plenty of time to get more bread. I hurried across the street in my pajamas and bought 2 more loafs of bread, except this time I got the most heavenly bread ever made, challah. I returned to my apartment and scrambled to make more French toast as fast as humanly possible. I was finally full. After 3 loafs of French toast, a pan full of eggs, and at least half a pound of bacon. I was satisfied. I sat down on my couch and started to fall asleep, with the satisfying sweetness of the syrup mixed with the savory, greasy taste of the bacon.

I woke to doctors staring at me intently, as if expecting something. Something seemed newer, more modern, as if time had gone forward. Then I realized something, I had been in a food coma! I checked my watch. The year was 2035. It had been almost a century and a half! My mother always told me about food comas, but I never believed they were real, until now. No one else knew that they were real either.

We believed it was a childish saying. I checked out of the hospital and returned home. No big deal. When I got home, I put my coat down, changed into some sweatpants and a sweatshirt. Took out cookware, and went to go get some more bread, not quite sure what type I’ll get this time. Just planning to coma my life away to French toast. Not such a bad plan if you think about it, something about the work of the bakers, the grainy flower between the board and the delectably smooth dough. The sweet and maple syrup flavor that comes from the crisp cold sap of countryside maple trees. Just a lifetime (death time maybe?) of sweet bread.

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A Novel

By Paola Fortes

A

s I got closer to the truck, my heart started beating faster. We all waited cautiously for our turn to go inside. First, were the children, since they were easier to accommodate, then the women. I didn’t want to go first, so I just stood behind all the men. One of the women was pregnant, which only made me more anxious. What is she doing here? What am I doing here? As everyone else was getting in, I turned around and stared at the desert. Everything looked astonishingly beautiful. I was away from home, but everything reminded me of it. The mountains looked just like the ones I could see from my window as a child.

The stars looked like diamonds floating around me. Will they look as beautiful on the other side? I doubt it.

My Mexico. The place that created me and destroyed me. Will I ever see you again?

“Hey, you!” the coyote said. I quickly turned around. Everyone was already inside, it was my turn. I jumped into the back of the truck. I had never seen anything like this before. From outside, the truck didn’t look unusual. A 1994 Ford ranger. Most Mexicans had this truck, especially in the granjeros in south. He had a sticker on the tailgate, the logo of the Rayados de Monterrey. This guy knew nothing about soccer, just like all the other norteños.

He jumped in right behind me. I stood there uncertain of what to do. “Here”, he said. He opened a weird compartment, and then I saw it. The six people I had been traveling with for days carefully arranged in a strange hiding place under the truck. “Go! There, next to that guy”, he pointed where. I jumped in. I carefully laid where he told me. I looked at the few faces I was able to see. One frightened, one crying, one with eyes closed.

As I was lying there, fear started getting to me. The coyote grabbed the metal part to close the hiding place. He was about to put it on top of us, but he stopped. “Last thing, when we get there, don’t say anything.

Gringos are smart. If they hear any noise, they will find you”.

As soon as he closed it, it was completely dark. The coyote started putting boxes on the truck, right on top

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of where we were hiding. I could hear it. I didn’t know what they were, but they must have been harmless.

Gringos don’t allow anything harmful into their country. As soon as he finished placing the boxes, I heard him jump out of the truck. Then, all I could hear was the engine. It sounded really strange. I basically had it next to me. I couldn’t see anything. One of the women was muttering the our father. Her voice frightened me. She sounded like la llorona. The car kept driving. The woman kept praying. The children kept crying. I couldn’t get my family out of my head. That was all I could think of. Will I ever see them again?

The car stopped after about five minutes. We all knew what that meant. All of us laid there quietly. I heard a door slamming. It was the coyote getting out of the truck. The gringos started asking him questions.

I couldn’t understand a word of what they were saying. I could barely speak English. All I remembered was “hello” and “thank you”. Only rich people spoke Spanish in the South. I kept listening. The nine of us were trying not to make any noise. You could barely even hear breathing. I heard one of the Gringos say a word that sounded like passport, which meant the coyote had to show his documents. That is one thing that we all had in common; none of us had any documents.

They kept asking him questions, which only frightened me more. Why was this taking so long? I felt the drops of sweat running down my forehead. My hands were shivering, but then I stopped. Any movement could make a noise. I tried to look to my sides to see if the people next to me seemed worried, but I couldn’t see their faces. It was still pitch black.

Someone opened the tailgate, then a person jumped in just above us. It was a dog and a man. I recognized the sound of the paws. I felt more sweat running down my forehead. None of us made any noise, but I could sense the fear every single one of us had. The woman next to me held my hand. I forgot she was still there.

I held it tight.

The man started moving the boxes and throwing them around. The dog was probably sniffing them. I could hear the dog walking in circles around the back of the truck. Then, it stopped, just above me. My heart stopped. The dog barked. I felt a drop coming down my face again. It wasn’t sweat, it was a tear. The woman held my hand tighter.

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Novels in Fifteen Words Pear cut diamond ring for sale. My former fiancé forgot I’m allergic to sterling silver. – Theresa West She smiles, slithers, strikes. He cringes, challenges, chomps. Dancing, dueling - till death do they part.

– Patricia Nozell The curtain rose. The magician froze. The glass was empty. Moments ago, it looked half-full.

– Susan Eident He didn’t know what was wrong. She was clearly crying. She turned and he knew... – Christine Monahan I watched the rocket take off, both of the suns set, and felt intense solitude. – Corin Porter Old soup again for dinner, Mikey thought, his eyes peering into the sweet, warm bakery. – Zoe Genden The white blanket covered ground, cheerful children, frustrated sleepy parents, Merry Christmas everyone.

– John Fox The eerie, iridescent light coming from the abandoned house was suspicious. I could not resist.

– Mazie Lebowitz I related to the tiny tumbleweed. We were both lost, alone, fragile, and unbearably thirsty. – Jenna Denomme Destiny told her to fight. Everything else told her to run. So she did neither. – Jenna Denomme The bottle of medication collects another layer of dust while the man’s mind slowly rusts.

– Shiva Carey Music blared through the speakers. Sitting alone, just the sound of someone thinking, escaping reality.

– Cassidy Vinal

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