Juxtaposition

Juxtaposition An Anthology of Art and Literature 2017

Juxtaposition An Anthology of Art and Literature

Cheshire Academy

Published May 2017

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Table of Contents Girl with Globe by Joyce Shi.......................................................................................................... 6 “Villanelles are Hard” By David Mathisson................................................................................... 7 “Regina” by Olivia Williamson....................................................................................................... 8 “Love Withdrawn” by Lucas Tuman.............................................................................................. 9 “Lost My Dignity” by Erin King................................................................................................... 10 “Waves and His Songs” by Vivian Jiang ...................................................................................... 11 “I can see the face” and “I spilled a glass” by Corin Porter........................................................ 12 “The Simple Things In Life” by Taylor Castelot.......................................................................... 13 “The Brigit Chronicles” by Tara Lynch................................................................................... 14-16 “12 am” by Amalia Gutierrez....................................................................................................... 17 “Between Silences” by Olivia Betancourt.................................................................................... 18 “Cardinal” by Theresa West......................................................................................................... 19 “Incomplete List” by Klee Hellerman.......................................................................................... 20 “Cuba” by John Jiang................................................................................................................... 21 Serenity by Mazie Lebowitz.......................................................................................................... 22 Untitled by Meghan Bouwman.................................................................................................... 23 “Understanding and speaking is just too hard for me.” by Zhaorui (Jerry) Dong.................... 24 Trees by Yichen Wu...................................................................................................................... 25 Untitled by Amara Sorosiak......................................................................................................... 26

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“Isolated” by Jack Palmer............................................................................................................ 27 “Six” by Stella Liang..................................................................................................................... 28 “Spring” by Amy Noh .................................................................................................................. 28 “To Build a Fire” by Corin Porter................................................................................................ 29 “A Hard Drive and a Dream” by Darrell Draughn................................................................. 30-31 “The Teenage Nightmare” by Regina McCoy......................................................................... 32-33 “The Three Traitors” by Henry Melo....................................................................................... 34-35 “The Beast with No Name” by Jenna Denomme......................................................................... 36 “Villanelle: When the Light of Life Goes Out” by Jenna Denomme........................................... 36 “The Sakura Falls” by Zelin Chen............................................................................................... 37 “What is Cruelty?” by Shiva Carrey............................................................................................. 38 “The Aftermath” by Shiva Carrey................................................................................................. 38 “Lament of the Bride” by Dayna Freeman................................................................................... 38 “Poison” by Julia Williamson....................................................................................................... 39 “To My Dearest Friend” by Duncan Silloway.............................................................................. 39 Sewing Machine by Sumin Jung.................................................................................................. 40 “Character Change Throughout Macbeth” by Ella Hampson.................................................... 41 Man by the Beach by Peter Deng................................................................................................. 42 Cover art: Midsummer Day Dream by Peter Deng Edited by: Grace Greene, Class of 2017 Henry Melo, Class of 2018 PAGE 5

Girl with Globe Joyce Shi

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“Villanelles Are Hard” It is a thought I wish to ignore But the fact is I’m no good at it I cannot put it off anymore Though I have thought this way before Writing poetry is hard as shit.

It is a thought I wish to ignore Because I can dwell on this no more And there are times when I want to quit.

I cannot put it off anymore But either I write this villanelle or My parents will both have a fit.

It is a thought I wish to ignore But if I wish to write good metaphor Then this poem I must edit.

I cannot put it off anymore And with my tears teachers shall mop the floor If my poem is considered unfit.

It is a thought I wish to ignore I cannot put it off anymore.

David Mathisson, Class of 2018

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“Regina”

R

egina is the girl with eyes like skylight in summertime. The color of blue crystals. Everyone at school thinks she’s beautiful because her hair is shiny blonde like Rapunzel’s and when she smiles, she swings her hair and twists the strands between her ruby painted nails and laughs. Her parents say her beauty gets her in troubled situations, though they are not strict. They know when she sneaks out late, through the window in her room. Rapunzel always sneaks out. Out through the window.

Regina, who taught you how to paint your nails that bright ruby red? And if I crush the rubies in my mother’s necklace to make my own, will you teach me? I like your matte pink lipstick and those skirts you wear, where did you buy those? My mother says to wear skirts that short is dangerous and attention seeking, but I want to buy skirts just like yours, like the white one made out of stretchy material, just like that one. And then one day, when my mother agrees, maybe when I turn sixteen, I’ll buy the black lace one you wear too. You know, the one you wear on Fridays when you go to parties.

Regina, why do you drink at parties? Why did you start? When did you start? Is something wrong at home? Everyone at school envies you. Everyone at school praises you. You’re confident, you request command with your smile, you’re the queen. Queen Regina. You’re who everyone wants to be. The things I hear about you. The things I hear that you’ve done at parties worry me. That boy must be lying. The stories the kids tell about you cannot be true. Are they? You told me Regina. You told me that everyday, right when you get out of the shower and wrap yourself up in the warmth of the long cloth, you look in the mirror.

You told me you stand in front of the mirror everyday with your eyes wide open. Why do you do that Regina? What do you think about? Regina, do you sometimes wish you didn’t wear tight lace skirts and go to parties? Do you sometimes wish people didn’t know you for your looks and what you’ve done at parties?

Do you wish they knew you for you?

And everyone would say: I know Regina. The one who makes cheesy jokes about chickens crossing the road, they one who keeps 5 books in her backpack all about how to find Bigfoot, the one who loves puppies, fuzzy furballs in shades of sand, smoke, mud, and coal. Is that what you want? You just want to be loved for the real you? Is that who you see in the mirror? Is that why you stand there?

Olivia Williamson, Class of 2020 PAGE 8

“Love Withdrawn”

S

ometimes there are people that just don’t feel needed in life, and that’s all there is to it. It’s terrible to think people go through that knowing they have no purpose whatsoever with their life. The only problem with that is I worry too much that I’m making people feel that way.

You never know if you are, making someone feel unneeded isn’t something you can figure out by looking into someone’s eyes; they have to speak up. If they don’t say anything, the cycle continues: trying to do my best for her, I’m always worrying for her, “am I showing enough care to her?”

One time, when we were both too young to worry about a problem as complex as this, we were at the happiest point in our lives. I couldn’t think of a worry that was on my mind at the time, everyone I knew was making the right choices, everything worked perfectly. We were all in it together, boys were starting to find a girl, and the girls found a boy. No one showed jealousy, hatred or depression it was all sweet bubbly sunshine. I thought nothing could go wrong, this was the perfect reality. I was wrong.

As the tables turned on me, everyone started taking their separate paths, but oddly enough, my path led straight back to the girl I could give the world to, Hannah. She was my everything - my other half, she was the one. And I didn’t think I had a soft side, but she definitely brought it out for the best of me. Although our paths met once again, we still live nowhere near each other. She could be in the deepest depression, or the saddest sorrow, or even going suicidal on me, but the most I can do is talk. I won’t be there to hold her in my arms, give her little kisses on her forehead when she’s sad, cuddle under the stars and moonlight since talk isn’t enough. I know Hannah deserves more, her friends know she deserves more, and it’s my fault I’m not showing that more. I fear that little expectation that I can’t reach, not because I don’t want reach it, but because I physically can’t reach it.

I don’t know if Hannah knows how I feel about her fully, or even cares about me like I care about her. All I hope is that she feels needed because I’m afraid that’s not how it is. I trust her though, and that trust I have in her is what helps me keep functioning without worries. A little hope in one can go a long way.

Lucas Tuman, Class of 2020 PAGE 9

“Lost My Dignity” We grasp each other’s trembling palms Huddling on the floor The seven o`clock news fades Into unwanted background noise, For it is blaring into their ears The worst news possible.

For the world is ending today And we are all sitting Idly by and watching.

Noting in our brains, The precise time and place We are, For the world is ending today, And this is the beginning of the end And we all want to remember To answer our future children`s question Of “Where were you when it happened”, But many of us Will lie, But only between silences Will we tell the truth.

Say “Sweetie, I was working in the hospital” So we do not have to tell them “I was sitting, watching the news, “And hoping This would all go away.”

Erin King, Class of 2018 PAGE 10

“Waves and His Songs” Blue and white Rushing and sliding back White dots flying inside the blue deck Below the golden light Sha, sha, sha, sha…. Over and over Repetition with different rhythms for each wave He sings, she sings and they sing and repeat “Salty, salty” It sings and rolls back “Chatty, chatty” A crab walks past and waves “Easy, easy” A seagull hovers over and passes “Ooze, ooze” A gust of wind pushes Sha, sha, sha…

All of a sudden, this is the only sound He rolls and waves Now he is alone Alone in peace and listening to himself Sha, sha, sha…

He slides and smiles Enjoying and sighing Alone with no loneliness Without all the sounds around The world belongs to him And is fulfilled by his songs Sha… sha… sha…

Vivian (Ruwei) Jiang, Class of 2019 PAGE 11

“I spilled a glass”

“I can see the face”

full of feelings and cried, just the way my mother told me not to regarding milk

of the Moon a little better sometimes when there’s a thin layer of clouds in front of it

It shattered, glittering across a floor already wet with emotions,

And I can see the same with you in the way you’ve chosen to disguise yourself, accidentally revealing everything you meant to hide –

I left fingerprints at the scene that a forensic scientist specializing in murder and broken hearts could trace back to my guilty hands

which craters you don’t like or think people will find ugly, the hits you’ve taken without an emotional atmosphere between you and the hurtling chunks of ice or men who tried to plant flags, to claim you as their own

Rather than clean up, we both left it there like children hoping no one would see the mess or blame us – me for knocking it over, you for leaving it out in the first place

In a cold, lonely vacuum, no one can hear you scream and I don’t blame you for wanting to hang around up there all by yourself Corin Porter PAGE 12

“The Simple Things in Life”

T

he little things matter. You might not realize every little thing in life but someone’s always watching. Someone will always be there for you even when you least expect it. Some people are hard to understand. One minute they might be your best friend and the next minute they act like you’re a complete stranger. You can’t always understand everyone and everything about them. People are full of surprises; you just never know what you might find out about them. Best friends can be the most unpredictable. They go from crazy, to happy, to sad but you stay with them through it all because you think of them as if they were your own sibling. You don’t have to know people the way you know yourself. Even when you think you know someone, you really don’t. You have to learn from your experiences with people before you can determine if you really do know them.

People come and go, but the ones that always stay are the ones you know the best, the ones you can’t imagine living without.

The little things in life are so important. Just a simple compliment could change someone’s day from bad to good. Be good to others, make new friends, and really get to know them, you never know who or what you might discover.

Taylor Castelot, Class of 2020

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“The Bridgit Chronicles” “You could travel the world, But nothing comes close To the golden coast.”

W

hen I was young, I moved with my parents from the Northeast to California. The Northeast has four seasons; from blizzards to heat waves, they have it all. It’s like a weather buffet. When I was little, my dad was hired as the Head Coach of the San Diego Chargers. We moved when I was about six and now I’m sixteen. Everyone asks why are you sad about leaving the snowy cold Northeast?

You moved to Southern California! California’s landscape is very similar to the Northeast. It has beaches, mountains and large cities such as L.A., but I really miss my family. La Jolla is a beautiful place with gorgeous beaches and sunny weather all year long that lets you enjoy PGA level golf courses. The city loves my dad, the Coach. With him, the Chargers have been to AFC Championship games and even the Super Bowl.

But, I miss the snow and my family. I visit them on holidays, but it’s not the same. I’ll always be from the Northeast, but now I embrace SoCal. “You just remember what your old pal said Boy, you’ve got a friend in me”

I have many friends at San Diego Prep, but my best friend is Ryan. We’re both juniors and he understands me better than anyone else. The people there think they know me because I am popular, but they don’t know the quirky side of me. I “fit in” at my school because I look and seem one way, but really I can be the complete opposite. I’m like a cube because I have many sides. People at school only see me as the funny, smart and confident girl. They can never really see all my sides because those don’t fit into the mold in which I am supposed to be. Sometimes I only feel like a square, but in reality I’m a cube. Most importantly my family and Ryan know that.

“There she is, Miss America There she is, your ideal.”

For most of my life, I’ve been an outcast because I’m a pageant girl. Many people think that I’m a stuck up snob with a mom who goes crazy when I don’t win, but that’s not true at all. Luckily, Ryan does not think of me like that. He knows that I’m smart and talented and one day, I’ll be Miss America. Just because I work hard at school, athletics and pageants doesn’t mean I’m an overachiever. It just means I do what I love, to the best of my ability. Being a pageant girl doesn’t make me dumb and it doesn’t mean I have to PAGE 14

wear wigs and fake eyelashes. Those girls are fake. I’m a real pageant girl in the Miss America program. I fundraise for the Children’s Miracle Network. I volunteer my time instead of spending it at a party. I feel strongly about my platform. I live by these four words everyday: Scholarship, Service, Style and Success. I believe strongly in them. I am a pageant girl.

I’m not a typical pageant girl because I am short with brown hair and brown eyes, not the stereotypical blue-eyed, blonde haired pageant girl. I think of myself as Brigid, not Barbie. Yes, I always appear with my hair as close to perfect as possible and my makeup done, but people have to talk to me to get through that shell. I may wear nice clothes to school every day and seem to be good at everything I try, but I’m always Brigid. I may look like someone who is just pretty, but that’s not all I am. I always try to look my best everyday and if that classifies me as a pageant girl, so be it.

“We are family Get up everybody and sing.”

My family is very close because we only have each other on the West Coast. The rest of our family lives around the Northeast. There is my brother Riley, my mom Shay, my dad Bart, my dog Buddy and me. We’re a small but mighty Murphy family.

My brother is one of the top football prospects for the NFL Draft and right now my house is a training zone for the NFL Combine. My dad knows Riley will be drafted high, maybe even by him and the Chargers.

Riley is a quarterback for the University of Southern California (USC) and if you aren’t a Trojan fan in my house, then get out. Even though we’re from the Northeast, both my mom and my dad went to USC and now my brother. I’m next, I hope. When my brother and I were younger, he would teach me what he learned at football practice that day. I love to watch football and I always wanted to play on the youth teams, but I never could because I’m a girl. When Riley graduated from San Diego Prep, everyone was talking about what the other Murphy sibling could bring to the school. Fortunately, I became the kicker for the football team! I always wanted to be a quarterback like my brother. I have the same arm strength as James, the San Diego Prep QB, but he was chosen only because of his gender. I guess they didn’t really want to win that much. At least I made the team like my big brother.

My dad is a pretty cool guy. He has been the Head Coach of the San Diego Chargers for the last 10 years.

He is such a good leader and I believe I get that quality from him. Everyday he has to control a room of alpha males with egos the size of Texas. He always treats every game the same, whether they’re playing the first or last ranked team. I believe he has coached some fantastic players and made some players who were not so fantastic, fantastic. I have been to many games and practices with my dad and I always learn something new from him, his other coaches and the players. The team is full of good character, leadership and confidence.

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My mom is the Athletic Trainer for the San Diego Padres. She has to deal with a lot of drama from many different players, but she is always positive and upbeat. The best part is she can diagnose most of my injuries and help me train. She also taught me that I can do anything. She is the inspiration behind me playing football and doing pageants.

Buddy brings adorable Golden Retriever energy and enthusiasm to our lives. Riley and I always take him out to the beach and run and train with him. Sometimes the whole family goes to the beach and plays football together. People often think we’re the “perfect” family or the first family in San Diego, but we’re far from it. We fight and bicker, but we try to put that aside because we’re family first.

“San Diego Super Chargers, San Diego Chargers! Charge!”

Every Sunday, I hear these words from our 50-yard line seats. I love football and always will. My life has revolved around sports for as long as I can remember. I’ve played so many sports I can’t list them all, but I’ve stuck with football because of my brother. I’ve always wanted to be like him. I would copy everything he did, except I did it in heels! Football is a comfort zone for me. My brother plays, I play, my dad coaches and my mom knows everything about the sport. We are football. It is all we talk about, think about and do because it runs through our veins. Last year my brother and I helped to “coach” with my dad during Training Camp. My brother drives home on the weekends that he doesn’t have games or practices to watch the Chargers and my dad. When he has home games, my mom and I drive up to USC to see him play. Sometimes my dad goes, but only when he has a bye week. We’re very familiar with the Pacific Coast Highway.

La Jolla to USC is about two hours. Even though we’re separated, we connect through football. It’s the easiest thing for us to discuss at dinner.

We may not be a “normal” family, but we’re our own normal. Some families talk about everything and others don’t talk at all. We’re in the middle because we share a common interest. Football is a game I love and care about deeply. It’s something I’ve learned from my whole life. People may not understand the game and why I love it so much, and that’s okay. All of my memories revolve around football: moving to San Diego, my dad winning the Super Bowl and hopefully when my brother gets drafted into the NFL. This is not just a game to the Murphy family; it’s a way of life: my life.

Tara Lynch Class of 2018 PAGE 16

“12:00 AM” Home is where the fire is Tearing through the halls, Grabbing at the walls, Destroying childhood memories And prized possessions Or at least I think so People are where the lies come from “Always here for advice,” “Oh, but you’re so nice,” Empty sentiment, manipulation They must want something else Or at least I think so Face is where my teeth are All sitting out of line, From molar to canine, Mimicking monsters from old cartoons I need to hide my smile Or at least I think so Head is where my brain sits Things are not as they seem, They’re clearly just a dream, I stare at my hands They’re real Or at least I think so I set aside time for this each day It takes hours to acknowledge each delusion, I can’t sleep until each hits their conclusion Amalia Gutierrez, Class of 2018 PAGE 17

“Between Silences” Between the silences of the gunshots, I felt my daughter’s lip quiver gently, head pressed to my chest.

I told her to be still, like a blade of unmoved grass on a windless day.

Every so often, a slight whimper would emerge from her I pulled her closer to me, hoping the raiders wouldn’t hear her soft cries.

The closet walls seemed as if they were pinching closer together, suffocating us.

We have been in here for what seemed like hours, time now still.

I reach into my pocket for my phone and delicately punch in 911.

Then, my heart sank.

The line kept ringing and ringing, no answer.

I call thrice more, nothing but the inevitable beeping from the other end.

No connection.

The grid has failed.

Moments later, the thrashing and crashing of broken glass came to a halt.

The door banged shut like thunder on a stormy summer night.

I crack the door ever so slightly, cautious as to what is out there.

The raiders left, not sparing a single canned good or drop of water that was left in the pipes.

Water shut off by now.

Following after me like a mother duckling and her babies, my daughter appears from the dark abyss that is the closet.

I gingerly pat her face, her tears resembling raindrops on a window.

I tell her everything will be ok, even though i’m not so sure things will.

Between the silences of our cries, the apocalypse unravels.

Olivia Betancourt, Class of 2018 PAGE 18

Cardinal Theresa West

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“Incomplete List, Inspired by Station Eleven”

N

o more twinkly, multicolored lights hanging from the gutters of otherwise bland, suburban houses.

No more children up past their bedtime, reading under the covers with a flashlight; all the batteries went stale after a year or two. No more nightlights keeping you from stubbing your toe on your way to the kitchen for a midnight snack. No more refrigerator for those midnight snacks. No more popsicles after a day at the beach. No more ice cubes to keep your soda cold. No more soda. No more air conditioning on a day too hot to bear. No more hot, buttery popcorn at the movie theater. No more movies, no more theater.

No more phones, anything you could possibly want just a few digits away. No more texting, emojis now replaced with real facial expressions and human contact. No more snapchat, Instagram, twitter, Facebook.

No more sharing every passing thought with hundreds, maybe thousands of strangers from across the globe.

No more strangers from across the globe.

No more powered transportation. Cars and buses lay dormant like skeletons littered across the land, cold, covered in greenery and rust. Now the fastest transportation has four legs and a tail. No more passports, driver’s licenses, school IDs, name tags from jobs at McDonalds. No more McDonalds. No more grocery stores, every food item imaginable an aisle away, lit up by too-bright florescent lights. No more food delivery, chinese, sushi, pizza, all at your doorstep in under an hour.

No more all-nighters filled with energy drinks to finish term papers or study for final exams. No more report cards. No more honor roll. No more stressing over college applications. No more college. No more medical school, business school, law school. No more scholarships for sports that don’t exist anymore.

No more celebrities, though some are still immortalized in beaten up posters and long abandoned movie theater advertisements. No more Youtube, random teenagers attempting to become the “next big thing”. No more next big thing.

No more 911, being able to count on someone to come to your rescue from any incident. No more sirens or flashing lights in your rearview mirror. No more television. No more sitcoms or talk shows or late night news. No more Internet, every piece of information needed just a Google search away. No more photos, every important memory captured and saved. Now we can only rely on our own brains to hold the memories.

No more flying. No more visions of a sunset from forty thousand feet in the air, orange light bouncing off puffy white clouds. No more red eye flights to exotic locations. No more travel from cold to warm in three hours. No more children with dreams of setting foot on the moon. No evidence that the moon was ever in reach.

No more wars, at least not between countries. No more countries, or borders. Now the wars are man against man or gang against gang. No more order or law either, every man for himself.

Klee Hellerman, Class of 2018 PAGE 20

Cuba John Jiang

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Serenity Mazie Lebowitz PAGE 22

Untitled Meghan Bouwman PAGE 23

“Understanding and speaking is just too hard for me.”

Understanding and speaking is just too hard for me.

I act like I know what to do after the terrifying leap into A Blue Danube without music but frustration indeed.

Whistleman made his special burst to get me out from my dream Staring at that peaceful blue ocean is enjoyment.

I was hypnotized.

By the magic power of the blue gorgeous, so now those children are swimming in paradise.

Whistleman told me a strange story.

I know what he is doing is to encourage me.

But I know I can’t stand up a chance, The blue beauty, To face against.

I realized this foreign country is an anarchy, He dragged me and forced me to leap.

“I thought people could do what they want to do!”

When you are learning, that is never true.

Gasping and panicking then almost crying.

Never thinking I would be treated like this, when I’m learning how to swim.

All of a sudden, I think I got it.

I was floating and chilling and tasting happiness.

I didn’t know that I can be so progressive.

Whistleman was smiling at me and so did my beloved blue.

I realized that if one could manage to break down the barrier, dreams would come true.

Zhaorui (Jerry) Dong, Class of 2020

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Trees Yichen Wu

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Untitled Amara Sorosiak

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I

“Isolated”

once read a paper that stated change is the mechanism that dictates our perception of reality. That without change we would not be able to recognize time, understand value or pass judgement. That we perceive life through changes, they shape and define us. It also stated a good portion of people do not like change. This is because they are happy with how the changes before shaped life and wish for life to remain stagnate. If this is true, why do people constantly cut me from their life?

What the hell did I do to you? You can’t just strip people from your life, I am not some toy you just get to throw away at the slightest whim. I can’t stop hitting my desk... Why do you reject me? Why can’t you see that I am a goddamn person? Underneath this false bravado, I am a human being. Just because I have thick skin doesn’t mean that your silence isn’t slowly scraping at my fucking soul.

Whenever I see you, I think “Is today the day? The day this bitch finally starts talking to me again?” and you know what happened instead? Every Fucking Time? You ignored me, you looked the other way, you talked to someone else. You act like I am a piece of garbage. A piece of garbage that has been sitting on your front lawn and won’t go away. Is this your revenge? Every Time I made a off colour remark, an edgy joke, a long winded rant were you secretly planning to throw me away?

I hate this feeling, I am a good person, I do not deserve to be treated this way. Fuck you for making me feel this way. Like I am missing a part of myself, as if there is a empty vortex slowly sucking away the rest of my fragile self-worth until I am less than a fraction of a penny. You have stuffed me so full of regret that I wanna throw it all back in your face. But how can I? Every time I try to make amends I stall, I cannot bridge this insurmountable gap of silence. I am a coward, too weak to face you. So I let this thick fog of desolation linger between us, consuming my thoughts and feelings. I can barely talk when you make a comment in class, I cannot bare to look at you directly for fear of reproach in your eyes.

Your selfish childlike refusal to talk to me has caused anxious sweat and angry outbursts when no one is around.

Perhaps this is what you wanted. You wanted me to feel this despair, this cancer of the mind. I dunno, I really don’t. I do not understand you. I would never do this to someone, I would never let them experience this anguish as I have. It’s torture. You are torturing me, tearing away until there is nothing left.

Why? Why are you doing this? Do you even know the weapon you’re brandishing? Are you unaware of the prison you’ve put me in? No. You have to know. How could you not? Haven’t you seen the pain when I’ve dared glance at you? You can’t lie, you can’t claim innocence. You know what you’re doing, you wretched soul, I know you do. You were my judge, you carried out my sentence. YOU must know…

I am sorry. I admit it. It’s all my fault, I am the one in the wrong. Just speak to me, acknowledge me, anything!

I want you back. I want to talk to you, to touch you, to laugh with you. Why must you deny me? I repented for my sins. I have done my time. Would you please just look. Just one glance. One single look. Please…

I love you.

Jack Palmer, Class of 2018 PAGE 27

“Six”

“Spring”

Small rosy forepaws with blunt claws hidden inside, long, fluffy tail waving at the back and a pair of verdant pupils seemed like emeralds, were dominating.

The day was January 6th, we named the new boy ‘Six’.

An American shorthair cat, snow white ribbon wrapping around the plain gray, was a gift from our deer winter.

Hopping in the fresh air swiftly, trying to catch the colorful feather swinging around.

A perfect leap---the prey never struggled anymore.

I smiled and cheered for him----hooray!

Then surrounded the fluffy one with arms, and held him up.

Softness of fur made me surrender, and nature in the eyes---feeling walking into a rainforest, embracing the warmth.

Can you see this?

Sitting outside on a bench And taking a sip of an iced latte Enjoying a peaceful Sunday morning As the breeze swipes across your face It’s green everywhere around you.

The breeze carries around the scent of dandelion.

Breath in as deeply as you can And exhale all the air out.

Give yourself some time Of that moment when you Get good vibes inside you.

Everything seems nice right?

Except…

Dear Spring Showers, Please don’t kill our good vibes.

Amy Noh, Class of 2017

Xinrui (Stella) Liang, Class of 2021 PAGE 28

“To build a fire” in essential intervals throughout the joints of your building. Leave gaps between or it’ll suffocate.

is to breathe life and energy and creation into inert wood, dead and dried.

It all starts with architecture – a cabin, a pyramid, or hybrid of the two.

Make an arch of thin twigs to guide the young fire like copper wires wrapping around a bonsai’s branches – life needs air, so draw in oxygen to be consumed, for it to grow and rise upwards.

Smell the sulfur as you strike and set it against the ragged edges, flames licking inward until the tender tinder within ignites.

As it grows, engulfing the twiggish building that once bounded the kindling, add slightly larger sticks (thumb width) in gradually growing rectangles to expand the foundation.

Start small with your building blocks of tinder and kindling (leaves, grass bark, twigs) as an amuse-bouche to whet the appetite for a hungry bonfire, a combustible preview of later courses it will soon devour.

Advance to bigger sticks, branches, longer logs as the fire grows, engulfing and outgrowing its original confines and requires larger housing as a baby outgrows a cradle and needs a new bed.

Rest them gently pointed to the sky, not too much or an infant flame will be smothered within the bounds of its structure.

Take paper, any paper, newspaper, paper towel, and roll tight spirals to stick

If it ever starts to die down, reignite the embers, coax them back with a breath of life like Prometheus animating his clay creations and gifting them the heat of the gods, the energy to flourish.

Corin Porter PAGE 29

“A Hard Drive and a Dream”

T

here was once an inner city kid named Tyler. He came from an underprivileged family in Brooklyn, New York. Tyler was a very shy young man who didn’t really speak much to his high school classmates. It was his senior year of high school and every day he would get out of school and sprint to the library nearly a mile away in hopes of being able to use one of the computers they had for patrons. On this computer he would often spend three to four hours researching computer engineering, and how computers worked. He often dreamed of the day when his mother would buy him a laptop of his own to use for research. The fact that he was poor and his mother had three other kids to take care of, made it an impossibility that would ever happen. Once the library closed he would reluctantly walk home, do his homework, and think of questions he could research the next day when he returned to the library.

However, one day he had to get a job in order to help his mother pay the rent for the apartment they lived in. The only job that he get anywhere in his neighborhood was at the local McDonald’s. When he started his first day of work he hated it. He worked as a cashier and customers were very rude and impatient with him when he would get their orders wrong. In his mind he would often think about how one day he would leave this job and become a computer programmer. After months and months of aimless work his uncle came to his mother’s apartment with good news. He exclaimed how the computer shop that he used to work for had a job opening. However, he said, the job only consisted of throwing away the trash and cleaning up after closing time. Another setback was that the shop was a thirty minute bike ride away from the apartment.

Nevertheless Tyler was very enthusiastic about finally being able to quit his job at McDonalds. That same afternoon, Tyler rode his bike thirty minutes to get to the shop and sent in his application. Later that week, on Sunday morning, he found out he had gotten the job and his first day was going to be Monday. On that Monday, right after school, Tyler began to run back home in order to make it to his new job on time. Panting for air, he jumped on his bike and began to ride as fast as he could to the shop.

Luckily he got there on time and was soon greeted by the owner of the shop, Mark. Mark showed him the ropes and told him his responsibilities for the week. Mark also said that Monday was the day that they would throw out old computer parts that would not work in newer machines. He then left and Tyler started his first day on the job.

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Later that night while Tyler was about to throw away the last of the computer parts his eyes caught a quick glimpse of an old hard drive and motherboard. Tyler only knew about these parts because of his research from the library. Suddenly an idea popped into his head. He thought that maybe if he worked there long enough he would be able to build his own computer rather than beg his mother for one.

With this in mind he stowed these parts into his backpack and put them in his room when he returned home. After weeks and weeks of doing this he was able to scavenge a cpu, hard drive, network interface controller, sound cards, video cards, pieces of RAM, keyboard, mouse, and lastly a power supply. The last two things he needed were a case and a monitor. One day he decided to make a deal with mark that if he worked overtime for two weeks that he could get these last two items from the shop. After two long weeks of hard work Tyler was able to get all these last two components and finally he was able to make his own computer. Luckily he remember how to link all the components together from all the time that he spent at the library.

Once he finally configured his system with an operating system, he began researching again. One day he happened to see a coding competition for a company called Intel. Intel was his favorite brand of computer components so he chose to enter. He decided to code a better program for ordering food at fast food restaurants. After long nights of coding he finally completed his program and submitted it to the contest. Later that week he found out that he had won this national contest. With this accomplishment, along with his high grades, he was able to attend college at Massachusetts Institute of Technology on a full scholarship. It was there that he finally was able to explore his interests in computer science and really flourish as a coder. It was with this education that he was able to create a very popular social media app called “Connect�. With this app he soon began to make a lot of money. Through the popularity of the app he was able to accumulate a small fortune.

It was with this money that he was able to buy his mother and younger siblings a new place to live in Massachusetts. He also was able to set up brand new computer labs across libraries in New York City.

Often times he would show up to these new labs and teach the inner-city youth about the career of coding and how it is used in everyday life. He would also give away new laptops to some of the kids who did not have access to computers at home. When kids would ask about his journey he would often say it all started with a hard drive and a dream.

Darrell Draughn, Class of 2018

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“The Teenage Nightmare” Fifteen I kissed a Spanish boy who never called me back.

I look in the mirror at myself in my underwear and I feel fat.

Maybe he left me because I look like this.

Now it’s the pretty girl with long hair in my history class who gets his kiss I order Chinese food at night.

I learn the Spanish words for left and right because I don’t understand why he left when it felt right.

My roommate hates me and my best friend is a sociopath and a pathological liar.

Sleep is the only time when my lungs and heart don’t feel as if they are filled with fire.

You make me feel like I’m not good enough.

I do things I shouldn’t have.

I made a mistake that haunts me until today.

I just want to feel okay.

I’m so sorry mom.

I try to be someone my sister can look up to, You told me things wouldn’t be like this. I wish it was true.

Sixteen I had a best friend who was always there to help.

And then that best friend killed himself.

He left me all alone to pick up the pieces, It was if he made all of these homes in these apartments and left me to pay the leases.

I want to die.

My roommate is so kind and tries to comfort me every night while I cry.

My roommate gets permission to sleep in her friend’s single.

You go through life thinking your depression is situational, You have so many pretty things and you think you are just being ungrateful.

It’s a chemical imbalance in your brain!

You didn’t leave fingerprints in my life, you left stains.

I do not feel at peace.

You wrote me songs, you wrote me melodies.

My mother told me no one will ever love me because I keep acting like I’m broken.

How can she say this when I feel as if I’ve been robbed and it was my best friend who broke in?

At least I have my driver’s license.

Seventeen This is my year.

I wear a smile from ear to ear.

I wonder if they’re talking about me?

Every time I enter a room, I feel like everyone wants me to leave.

I keep hearing people mentioning my name in their conversations.

I spend more time in my room alone, and once again fail to meet my teacher’s expectations.

Sometimes I feel like I’m being followed.

I tell my psychiatrist all of this and he gives me more pills to swallow.

My mom tells me that I always look wired.

My dad gets upset when she says this and explains he had a busy week at work and he is very tired.

I sit in class and forget how to breathe.

I spend hours in my own mind, and nothing changes but the leaves.

No one seems to notice.

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My grades slip, I lose my focus.

At least I have all of these pills.

This is my year, I wear a smile from ear to ear.

Nineteen

Eighteen Why am I so sad all the time?

My therapist tells me I shouldn’t speak to you anymore; I tell her that I am fine.

Sometimes when I’m alone, I get these voices in my head, The only place I ever want to be is in bed.

You never text me first, I always see you on the way to math class and I have to act like it doesn’t hurt.

Why does it seem like my existence isn’t significant?

You’re my entire world, and you won’t even listen.

I don’t even sleep anymore; I just read and replay our conversations in my mind.

I think I’ve lost my mind.

I can’t think of any better way to spend my time.

My psychiatrist prescribed me Prozac, Wellbutrin, and Lexapro.

I don’t even know what I know.

In all of my eighteen years, this is an all time low.

I hate you.

I make up scenarios in my brain, and spiral into depression when they don’t play the way I imagine.

Sometimes, I don’t know how to get through to you.

Sometimes, I feel like the color blue.

I cannot seem to wake myself in the morning for my 8 A.M.s I sleep and sleep, it takes too much out of me to begin again.

I am failing all of my classes and I have gained fifteen pounds, My willowy mother urges me to wear baggy sweaters when the family Thanksgiving comes around.

I never thought it was possible to feel so alone, whilst being constantly surrounded by people.

I spend my grocery money on sorority dues, Because maybe if I pay enough for my friends, I’ll become a size 2.

I fall in love six more times, Each one feels like a mountain I am required to climb.

I just want to go home, But I don’t feel like I belong in this biome, or even this world.

I just want someone to tell me that it’s all going to be okay, My mother said that she would pray, but I don’t even know if I can make it another day.

You saw me in the crowd, You searched me out.

You knew that I was weak and knew that I would fall if you were sweet.

But you got what you wanted and you turned sour.

I need to stop giving the people I care about so much power.

I cannot seem to wake myself in the morning for my 8 A.M.s

Regina McCoy, Class of 2017 PAGE 33

T

“The Three Traitors”

he man looked over his shoulder, then shut the door behind him. His unkempt hair stuck to the sweat on his face. Two men, drinking and talking loudly, already occupied the train compartment. “Hello Michael!” said one of them. “We thought you were never going to come. Take a seat.” The raspy voice filled the small room, which held the three most wanted traitors of the State. They were fleeing the country.

“Don’t talk so loud.” Michael started checking the room for bugs and wires. He felt the underside of the seats, and the surface of the wooden shelves. Then he started pacing through the room, viciously looking around. He was about to go check outside again when Steven stopped him.

“Calm down Michael, how many times did you check outside? You are the one drawing attention to us. Sit and have a drink.” Michael was tired. So he finally relaxed on the couched seat, and poured scotch from the decanter. Very few things relieved his paranoia, alcohol was not one of them.

Michael grew up in the poorest neighborhood of the biggest city in the State. He was accustomed to being robbed as soon as he showed any sign of distraction. He could not blame the thieves. His family was poor, so he did anything to help them. He stole, scammed, and even killed to bring food to his home. He resented all those things, but he strongly believed in the idea that the end justifies the means.

He was introduced to the rebellion early on his life. He was just ten years old when he promised to bring justice to the poor. He became a freedom fighter, and joined many different factions against the oppressive government. The boy was imprisoned many times, until he met the leaders of the current revolution. Michael’s skills and wisdom helped him to quickly rise up the ranks.

His cautiousness kept him alive and out of prison. And his love for the poor was what kept him fighting. He didn’t think much of his two current companions: Steven and George. They were lucky; he was not sure about George, but he knew that Steven had never set foot in a jail cell. They lacked the fear and awareness you only get in prison, and with punishment. They were his allies, but they were also

reckless fools. He tolerated George, because although he was a rich man with no scars, he was quiet. Steven was the one he could not stand, a talkative self-centered idiot, who knew nothing outside his books and booze.

There was a knock on the door of the compartment. Two of them shriveled. At first there was silence, they only gazed at each other, with their mouths ajar. Steven coughed, hiding his heavy breathing. George drank from his cup in silent gulps while looking at Michael’s face. It was pale, and cold.

“Yes?” said George between sips. Someone opened the door.

A scrawny man, wearing a white shirt half-entered the room. “Drinks?” Steven and Michael were hit by embarrassment. There were still traces of horror on their faces.

Steven straightened himself “Of course.” He said with a fake nonchalance. The man retrieved the decanter to fill it, and his gaze met Michael’s suspicious eyes. He kept pouring until the liquid overflowed. Michael was nervous, and his unbreakable gaze was unsettling the waiter. He tried to ignore Michael’s presence, and pretended to focus on the liquid flowing.

When the short man left, Steven chuckled. “Paranoia is contagious after all.” He coughed to conceal his embarrassment, and poured more scotch to recompose himself.

“That man, he didn’t even look at me.” said Michael. He stood and walked around the compartment. It was a spacious, and comfortable room. They were surprised by its size when they arrived. There was even a table in the middle between the two rows of seats. Michael pressed his ear against the door. “He probably heard your entire conversation.” he whispered.

“Michael, I’ve been curious….” Steven raised his glass.

“Why are you so paranoid? Aren’t you a rebel since childhood? You should be used to this.”

“I’ve been a rebel my whole life. This is not about me. If they get us, the Revolution won’t receive our intel.” Michael was surprised, Steven rarely asked questions about other people but himself.

“What intel? All I have is information on bank raids. I’m running away to survive.” After a few drinks George always

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became more talkative.

“That’s very gallant of you to say George.” Steven laughed.

“It’s true. I don’t have any significant tidbit. My contributions to our cause are not even revolutionary…” he looked down and mumbled: “....raiding banks for money. I’m just a traitor.”

“We are all traitors.” Exclaimed Michael, immediately regretting having said that out loud. “And without that money, the people would be fighting with wooden spoons.”

“I am no traitor. I fight for my country.” Steven cleaned his spectacles on his shirt.

“No, you fight against your country.”

“My country is not the State, it is the Revolution.”

“The Revolution is not a country. It is an idea, a concept.

It is justice and fairness. A world where everybody has a chance. It is the paragon of safety.”

“Tell that to the bank raiders…. and the soldiers.” said George “Many of them --” “What does it even mean to be a traitor?” Steven interrupted George while frowning, and looking at the scotch in his glass.

“A traitor is the man who betrays his country by not following the rules. Like outlaws and thieves.” George pasionately rose his fist in the air. He spoke as if uttering undeniable facts. “A revolutionary is something different…. He is devout to his cause, and that means he must be willing to break the law for it. If he didn’t, there was no way he could be part of an uprising. Revolutions orbit around unlawfulness, both concepts walk together. One cannot be against their government without breaking its law. Therefore, for a rebel, breaking the law is much more than just spitting on the government. Breaking the law is a statement. It is a signature on the manifesto against society. The essence of an uprising is rising up.”

Michael was thoughtful, his views on this matter were quite different. “I do agree that a revolution is an idea, a state of mind, not connected to any country. However, I think of treason as a much more subjective matter, something less concrete than you argue George.”

He paused.“Betrayal is a human emotion, defined by the inside, not by the outside. I think that to be a traitor, you

must betray yourself, your beliefs. Those may include your country, your well being, your people, or your revolution.

They must be something you believe in, and would die for.

If you betray that, then you are a traitor.” He hesitated “Of course, countries tend to label people that go against their beliefs as traitors…. So perhaps we are all traitors.”

“A revolution is a country!” Steven spat “If it is not right now it will be one day. That is the whole purpose of a revolution: to overthrow its enemy and become the government.

People often forget that it is, ultimately, a fight for power.

You are a traitor if you betray your country. But what exactly decides which country is yours? Supposedly, it is your birth; however, people do not decide where they are born.

Therefore, their nationality is imposed on them. I believe that people should have the free will to choose the country they represent. If I chose to represent the Revolution, I am not a traitor of the State because that is not my country. My actions are much more similar to that of a soldier, fighting against a foreign nation than to that of traitor, betraying his mother land.”

None of them agreed with each other. Nevertheless, a distinct silence filled the room as they pondered about the different answers. Despite their views, none of them ever ignored the fact they were considered traitors of the State.

They had entered the city a while ago. However, now they were approaching the station. Skyscrapers sprouted out of the dusky landscape. They were to spend their night in this city, and their trip would continue tomorrow. While the train was approaching the station, a sudden noise startled the group. Michael went outside to check for anything suspicious as he always did.

The train stopped and hasty passengers started to hustle outside. George and Steven were advised to stay until Michael said it was clear. They could not risk being seen.

As Michael walked down the corridor of compartments he stopped on the last one. There was only one man inside.

He wore a grey suit and was cleaning his gun. He stared at Michael through the door window. Michael hesitated, but he opened the door and went inside.

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Henrique-Hian Melo

“The Beast With No Name” There’s something coming For you in the dark Don’t look back Now, it’ll disappear Your feelings numbing Bark worse than its bite Soon it’ll attack You with your worst fears It goes by many Different names Depression, Anxiety, Lack of self esteem Its tactics vary Playing the same games Birthed by a society With no faith in dreams You choke, you drown, you bleed out, you fall Never a chance to breathe Before you’re pulled back under Hatred is its food Tears let it grow tall It grins while you seethe At each of your blunders Yet you say you’re well That nothing has changed Questioning reality Convinced this is normal.

Your guest from hell You want to estrange But parasites don’t go easy When you spot nothing abnormal You are fine, you say.

“I am fine,” you say.

“We are fine.”

I am fine.

“Villanelle: When the Light of Life Goes Out” Our eyes remain fixed on the sky From pits of hell, flames burn brightly.

We could not watch the light life die.

Through eons we’ve strived to climb high.

From death we thought that we were free.

Our eyes remain fixed on the sky.

To our birthland we said goodbye Its beauty too smothered to see We could not watch the light life die.

When resources are running dry We flee with nothing to carry; Our eyes remain fixed on the sky.

Each doomed planet we leave to cry Blurred colors are our memories We could not watch the life light die.

We’ve long run out of room to fly We fall, wings charred, into the sea Our eyes remain fixed on the sky.

We could not watch the life light die.

Jenna Denomme, Class of 2019 PAGE 36

“Where Sakura Falls”

“S

akura is a flower that represents hope and love; it is always passionate and noble. And most importantly, it is part of my name” said Ada, or Nogawa actually, which is her true Japanese name. “Every April, when the Sakura falls, the wind would carry everyone’s thoughts and love to him or her, and bless them to live happily forever, no matter how long.”

I was happy that I could be her friend. I liked her because she knew everything. One time when we walked by a poster of a man hugging a woman, and we didn’t know what is it was Ada said “Date.” She was quite sure. You could tell she was confident about something by looking at her eyes. You could see strength inside of them.

Mum said that I better stay away from her because she spends all her time painting. “Her grades are bad,” she said. But I have my opinion. Her father doesn’t care about her study, so she had the chance to learn something else. She was fine most times. She was talented, knew how to play piano and violin, and was a master in painting. However, sometimes I felt like she was strange, like when she would suddenly stop speaking and stared at the east and squinted her eyes for a few seconds, and walked away with a sigh. But most importantly, she never respected teachers. One time she was caught drawing something in her notebook during class. Usually, the teacher just asked her to stop because they didn’t dare scold her as Ada’s father donated a classroom for the school. But Ms. Carly took her painting, and Ada got mad---she grabbed the notebook, you never understand it! People like you will never understand me!

She shouted, and ran away. Later I found her crying in the abandoned music room.

“It’s April,” Ada said when we are packing our books one day. “Do you know if there are any cherry blossom trees near here?”

“Yes,” I said with a confused voice.

“Take me there, please, will you? This weekend, can you help me?”

“Yeah, sure,” I said, I know Mum wouldn’t be happy if she found me hanging out with her, but since Ada is my friend, I agreed to help her because I had nothing else to do anyway. A few days later, I took her to the only cherry blossom tree on our block. When I was about to say something, I noticed Ada’s smile. It was a smile I had never seen before, so happy and relaxed. “Winds are coming,” she said. And as she said this, the wind came. She watched the flowers falling, silent but concentrated, and murmuring in a language that I didn’t understand. Then she stepped ahead and hugged the tree.

The view was astounding. Flowers danced in the air, spinning, rolling, intertwined as if they spent their whole lifetime just for this moment. The wind, the flowers, and the people formed a graceful painting. Then Ada laughed, louder and louder, as if she was asking the wind to deliver a message. The sorrow in her eyes seemed bigger.“Seimei,” she said, with tears streaming. “Where are you now?

Do you still remember me? Why don’t you help me? Do you know how much I miss you?” She questioned the flowers as if they would know the answer to all her questions.

I then knew that she belonged somewhere else, and sadly, I was right. A few weeks later she transferred to another school, and I didn’t know where it was exactly, but certainly part of her Motherland. My sister thought that I was going to cry, but I didn’t because I heard a conversation between her father and the headmaster, and knew many weeks ago that she would be leaving. Before she left, she found me and told me everything. She was born in a village with only her mother because her father was working far from the village and she never had much information about him. So she always sat on the steps in front of her house, hoping he would come for her someday. And one day, she saw a boy, strong and handsome, coming to her and he asked if she wanted to play with him. And that’s how she and Seimei become friends, and that’s how she started to suffer.

“Why? It seems like you finally had a friend, what happened?”

“My father, he came back, three years later, with a woman I didn’t know and money. My parents divorced, and he took me away from Mum, and also took me away from Seimei, bringing me here to the US. I didn’t know what to do because my village did not have a network or even cell phone signal, and my father never gave me a chance to go back until recently when he told me we are moving to Japan because of his business, and wants to take me with him.

Please understand me; I need to see Seimei again.” Ada ended our conversation.

I never saw her again, and never heard anything about her. Maybe she found Seimei, or maybe one day she will cross a rail near many cherry trees, and they will pass each other but will not recognize each other. After the train passes, maybe she will look back, but see there will only be flowers waiting for her, still dancing, spinning, rolling, just like many years ago. I found a quote from her notebook’s drawing about Seimei, “I feel like there are a million miles between us, and even if I mail him thousands of letters, our distance will only become ten meters closer.”

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Zelin Chen, Class of 2020

“What is Cruelty?”

“The Aftermath”

Pride.

Antigone has been hanged Hanged by herself, her own lost hope Hope crushed by Creon Creon might as well have tied the rope.

Power.

Agony.

What’s cru·el·ty?

Haemon had arrived Arrived minutes too late Late to save her Her death was her fate.

Inhumanity.

What makes a man cruel?

Pride, power, and agony.

Why do these create cruelty?

What twists a man into a monster?

Pride blinds a man of dangerous missteps, Power gives cruelty a canvas, And agony shapes the vision.

Creon followed faraway cries, his son’s cries Cries tinging with sorrow, grief, pain Pain amplified when his father showed his face Face to face, deadly tension, Haemon is near insane...

Agony breaks good judgement, Power arms agony, Pride drives more mistakes.

Cruelty is, Agony, Power, Pride.

Insanity pulls his sword, aims it, steadies, ready to strike Strike his father down, take his crimes into his own hands Hands shake gripping the sword, missing his first swings Swings it around and takes his own life, dying where he stands.

Shiva Carey, Class of 2019

Shiva Carey, Class of 2019 PAGE 38

“Poison”

“To My Dearest Friend:”

Ear to his chest. I feel his heart racing. Our eyes lock. He smiles. My heart skips a beat. My stomach’s tossing and turning. His rosy cheeks and soft pink lips come closer to mine…

I never believed in love at first sight, until I saw him. The mysterious way he kept to himself, kept me intrigued. Even his name gives me butterflies.

Gavin. His soft words leave me breathless. I can see through him. I can see his struggle. I can feel his pain, like every inch of my body echoes his hurt. My love for him is like poison, rushing through my veins; a poison that is sweet, but will kill you in the end. I know I can live my life to the fullest extent without him, but that is not something I would like to do. When I’m with him I feel complete; everything just makes sense. Without him, the clouds turn grey, and the sky cries.

Passing him in the halls, I can’t help but stare.

I begin to walk towards him smiling ear to ear, but then I stop. Realizing that I am walking on shattered pieces, I back away watching him go off with somebody else. My smile fades away, everything becomes blurry.

I believe in a voice, you should be able to say what you want without anybody giving you shit, because no one should have to bite their tongue in fear that he or she won’t be accepted for their sense of humor, because no one should be afraid of being an outcast just because you think differently, or feel different just because you can’t be as happy as everyone else around you, A stain on Society’s Face.

Because should she have to walk around the halls acting as if everything is okay so people won’t ask what’s wrong? Because all she does is just smile and say ‘nothin’, as if scissors in her leg from her own fucking mother wasn’t enough she puts on a mask every morning only expressing hollow smiles and laughter for just long enough so she can go home and put back the broken pieces that fell out of her beautiful smile- Forced to bite her tongue and shut the fuck up so she won’t be called a sad depressed whore because the cuts have already run dry.

She just wanted an escape from this living hell.

Duncan Silloway, Class of 2019

Julia Williamson, Class of 2020

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Sewing Machine Sumin Jung

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O

“ Character Change Throughout MacBeth”

ver the course of the play, two important characters drastically change. Macbeth changes due to his fatal flaw that is initiated by the prophecies of the three witches, while Lady Macbeth’s emotions shift in a different direction. Macbeth is originally considered the “good guy” while Lady Macbeth is considered more cynical and direct (mainly the audience feels this way towards her.

In the beginning of the story, Macbeth is the great hero that fights for his king. A wounded captain the military stated, “For brave Macbeth (well he deserves that name), disdaining Fortune, with his brandished steel, which smoked with bloody execution,” (1.2.17-20). Captain is talking about how Macbeth was able to slay all of their enemies even though the army was betrayed and outnumbered. Various people, including the King (who is also Macbeth’s cousin), rave about how amazing and brave he is. When Macbeth runs into three witches in the woods they chant, “All hail, Macbeth! Hail to thee, Thane of Glamis! All hail, Macbeth! Hail to thee, Thane of Cawdor! All hail, Macbeth, that shalt be king hereafter!”

(1.3.51-53). Soon after he hears this, Macbeth realizes he has been promoted to Thane of Cawdor. He then starts to think, if two parts of the prophecy are true, perhaps the third part is as well.

Although Macbeth knows it is wrong, he finds himself planning to kill his cousin, the King, in order to take the throne. Just when Macbeth believes he can not bring himself to do the terrible deed, his wife convinces him it is necessary (after he told her about the prophecy). Macbeth continues to send orders for murders to kill people and their families in an attempt to maintain his position on the throne. Greed completely takes over and he starts to disregard his wife and his country before making decisions. The guilt of killing his close friends and family has also taken a toll on him. He says things out loud about the killings that others should not hear, resulting

in Macbeth losing his supporters. He refuses to follow the acceptable rules of being king and is eventually brought to his downfall by Maduff, a man who Macbeth ordered for his family to be slaughtered. Although Macbeth does not surrender or go down without a fight, by the end of the play he does not have anything to live for.

Directly after hearing about the prophecy, Lady Macbeth is ready to murder King Duncan so her husband can become the new leader. After Macbeth tells his wife that Duncan will be coming over and leaving in the morning she states, “O, never shall sun that morrow see!” (1.6.7172). Lady Macbeth clearly states that he will never see the sun again. During the majority of the play, she is hungry for power and success. She appears to have herself under control and tries to keep her husband sane as well. While he is very freaked out and concerned about the murder that occurred, she continues to tell him to get it together and relax. The audience really sees the change in Lady Macbeth at the end of the story. The Doctor observing Lady Macbeth at night says to the servant, “Unnatural deeds do breed unnatural troubles. Infected minds to their deaf pillows will discharge their secrets.” The Doctor is referring to Lady Macbeth walking around her room and admitting to the murders in her sleep. Although she may seem calm in public, this scene is where the readers first realize she is vulnerable and does posses guilt. While their castle is surrounded by people trying to overthrow Macbeth, Lady Macbeth becomes overwhelmed and kills herself believing there is no other way out.

Both of the characters started to change because of the prophecies told by the three witches. I truly believe that if the “future” had not been told to them, Macbeth and Lady Macbeth would have been completely happy with his new promotion and would not have tried to control their destiny.

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Ella Hampson, Class of 2018

Man by the Beach Peter Deng

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Juxtaposition An Anthology of Art and Literature Cheshire Academy

Published May 2017