Epic Winter 2016

I’ll Be Blue / Angie DeLucia ‘18

epic winter 2016 / 1

RYAN CLIFFORD / THE

EPIC PRESENTS: A TABLE FIRST TIME I OPENE D MY EYES

7

LUKE GIOFFRE / INNOCENCE IS BLISS

MARK SHEEHAN / IN THE CAVE OF TH E ITH / ANGEL LIA GOLDSM

JU

11

BEN TAUBER / BARBARIC YAWP

13 14

JANVI SIKAND / HIGH SHELBY FAIR CHILD / INFLA ME NOA BOYD

/ LITTLE THING S

BOBBY MCCABE / THE BOOTH HUMZA RASHID / AMAZON

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8

17

24 JU

24

25 26

WALL

18

31 33

CHRISTINA DANIELS / OLD PHOTOGRAPH

JOANNA WILLIAMS / COLORFUL RAIN

27

30

16

21

IN THE

LOEM OLIVIA ROSSI / B

28

15

BRICK

LOCKED LIA GOLDSMITH /

12

D

ANGIE DELUCIA / LUMIERE

S OFFRE / TURTLENECK

22 LUKE GI 23 RYAN CLIFFORD / A

NOTHER

11

VINZ UMALI / (BULL)Y

CONTENTS

6

CAPYBARA

OLIVIA ROSSI / TRAVELING IN TIME

OF

KAYLA GLEMAUD / PROGRESSION

N / BITTERSWEET VIVIAN GOLDSTEI ALI ZILAHY /

29

SISTER

OLIVIA ROSSI / LEANING TOWER OF PARIS COOKIE TRUTH

HE FORTU CHRIS HEALIS / T JOHN LEUSCHNER / ODE TO MY GRAND FATHER NE

32

MAITLAND BAILEY / HEAVEN ON EARTH

ABBY EBERLE / WISE

34

VINZ UMALI / STOP

SASHA BASH / HARD DAY AT THE O

35

FFICE

GWYNETH MCDONALD / BURRITO BOY

38

SAM DIBACCO / COME ALIVE

41

ALI MEIZELS / P HOTOGRAPHER ’S

EYE

41

HANNAH BASH / SUNNY DAZE JANVI SIKA ND / FUNHOUS E M

IRRORS

HOLLY LOMBARDI / ROBOTS

TEARS

42

ST

51

BOBBY MCCABE / BIRD N / MIRROR

DAKOTA MCMAHO

SHELBY FAIRCHILD / GAY 2

53 LEXI BANASIEWICZ / T

42

RANSIENCE

53

43

55

44 47

ALI ZILAHY / PARK AVE

ON / THE BEA

52

BOBBY MCCABE / THERE’S A PLACE IN HEAVEN FOR YOU SHARIF MUT ASIM / WATER FALLS OF

49

NOAH GIBS

50

52

THE NIGHT BECAME A BLUR

Z / MELBOURNE LEXI BANASIEWIC

48

36

37

ENGLISH CLASS IAN BRITT /

47 BRITTANY SCHWARTZ /

56

ALI MEIZELS / ETHEREAL

54

SEAN CLIFF

ORD / CHANN

ELS OF

REALITY

TALINE NORSIGIAN / FLOWERS IN FOCUS

LLS AND BONES SASHA BASH / SKU

epic winter 2016 / 3

Letter from the Editor Hello Reader,

First of all, I hope you enjoy this little issue of Epic. A lot of work went into this book you’re holding right now, and I would like to tell you a little bit about the process. When I decided to to put my name down to be this year’s editor-in-chief, I wasn’t sure of all the work that would actually have to be put in to create a magazine. Now, having built it up from scratch, here are some things I’ve learned;:: 1. Be involved in things you are truly interested in:. Your time should be spent with things that you love because that is what makes all the work worth it. (But still do things you are required to do!\) 2. Teamwork is crucial to making something great. Every person involved has something to offer and collaboration allows everyone to contribute something special.

3. Details are important!~: When leaving your mark on something, make it the best it can be because it will be something you are remembered by.

A Special Thanks to;:: -Mr. Bateson and Mr.Durr for downloading our beloved font “A Little Pot” onto the computers.

-Jason Meizels —for digitally creating the snowflfl ffllflake seen on various pages throughout this book.

-Joe, our publisher- You are the best! Thanks for answering all our calls and making our vision possible.

And everyone who submitted, you guys make epic...well Epic!

Sincerely, Lauren

4 / epic winter 2016

S(unset)napchat

/ Angie DeLucia ‘18

epic winter 2016 / 5

The First Time I Opened my Eyes

A TIME magazine opened by the side of a box of

Honey Nut Cheerios A seven year old me curiously observing the modern struggles of the world Page 19: A man fully engulfed in fire screaming as he runs down the street

Does he have a family?

Where are his parents?

Why is he on fire?

Is this real?

No, it can’t be It’s fake. It has to be…

It’s just like the comics my brother and I read It’s not real A tear begins to well in my eye I turn the page to reveal a woman holding…

What is that?

Are those sticks?

A mummy decoration for Halloween?

It takes me a while to see it is a baby Starved Skin and Bones Counting Ribs Title: “The Endless Drought”

6 / epic winter 2016

/ Ryan Clifford ‘17 The tear falls Lands Drop Seeps through the page. I make out a hanging head from a noose Magazine closes with more tears “What’s wrong, Honey?”

I look up at my mother:

The world

Innocence is Bliss

/ Luke Gioffre ‘17

epic winter 2016 / 77

In the Cave of the Capybara

I

/ Mark Sheehan ‘16

t was 6 AM in Rocky Hill and the sun was rising. Another night had passed in the City of Devils. That was what he called it. Sure, someone just passing through saw a quiet, pleasant suburb, maybe a bit boring, but he had seen the city’s true face, and it wasn’t pretty. Beneath the veneer of order and morality, this city was rotten to the core with vice and corruption. The filth of the sewers flooded the streets and there were criminals lurking in the shadows. For too long, the people had done nothing, but now that was all changing. He was changing it.

He scaled the fence, wincing as pain from the wound he had sustained earlier that night shot up his side.

Nevertheless, he made it, dropping gracefully into the backyard. The neighbor's damn German shepherd started barking. That fool, they were looking for him and the dog might put them on his trail. He darted from the fence to the sliding door, steering clear of the pool of light from the porch lights and sticking to the shadows where he belonged.

He made it to the door and tried to open it. Dammit, locked. How many times had he told that woman not to lock the door? Was she trying to get him killed? No matter. He crawled through an open window, dropping onto the floor of the kitchen with a stealthy thud. He activated the control panel to his secret basement–cleverly disguised as a door–then padded down the stairs and flicked on the lights.

He had expected the Capybara Cave to be empty, but it wasn’t. James Canon’s wife was there, as were his three children, probably the first time they’d all cared enough about their own parents to come visit since they left for college.

“What is this?” he demanded of them in his low voice. “Why are you in the Capybara Cave?”

“This isn’t a Capybara Cave. It’s our basement and this is an intervention, James,” Mrs. Canon explained.

“Who’s James? Do you mean James Canon, under whose house this cave is? While I don’t know him personally, I’ve heard he’s a very respectable man, certainly not in need of any interventions.”

“Cut the crap, James. We all know you’ve been sneaking out at night for the past few weeks in that stupid get up and ‘fighting crime’ and it has to stop.”

Capybara Man’s brow furrowed with confusion. What did she mean, stupid get up? He had fashioned this outfit himself to conceal his identity and strike fear into the hearts of his enemies. In the darkest corners of Rocky

8 / epic winter 2016

Hill, the very name Capybara Man was spoken in low whispers from those few criminals brave or stupid enough to even say it out loud. Stupid get up? Who did she think she was?

Mrs. Canon continued: “You’re turning this family into a laughingstock and the police would have arrested you by now if not for the fact that you’ve been a pillar of this community for so long.”

“The police arrest me? For what? For having the guts to stand up for the people and fight the League of Shadows when no one else would?”

“I wish you would stop calling the Homeowner Association that. Herbert is a very nice man, not the leader of some sinister cabal.”

“Then why wouldn’t he let me put a garden gnome in my yard?”

“It violated the neighborhood regulations. It was all in the contract you signed.”

“Some men just want to watch the world burn.”

Up until now, Mr. Canon’s children had been quiet. Now the oldest, Robert, his face red with embarrassment, spoke up: “Dad, we all know it’s you, can you please take that stupid hood off?”

“Fine,” Capybara Man growled. He began to remove the hood. A string of expletives followed as he realized the zipper was stuck. Robert ran over and helped him get it undone. Without his hood, the fearsome Capybara Man felt like he was a far less commanding presence. Under the hood was the face of James Canon, 60, a bit overweight, actuary at the local branch of General Insurance, Co. and for the past four weeks, a man the very sight of whom struck fear into the heart of even the toughest goon in the Rocky Hill underworld.

Now it was his daughter’s turn to speak: “Dad, this has to stop. We’re all worried about you.”

“I can’t stop now,” he proclaimed. “This city is afraid of me, I’ve seen its true face.”

“Come in, Captain Oldman,” his wife called out. The door to the Capybara Cave opened. The captain of the Rocky Hill Police Department walked in, flanked by two of his armed gorillas. The captain was carrying a pair of handcuffs.

Captain Oldman spoke in the low growl of someobody who had seen it all, an old disillusioned cop too tired to fight the wave of crime and violence sweeping over the city, a sellout without the guts or the heart to protect the people he was sworn to protect and to defend a man’s right to a garden gnome in his own bloody yard. That voice

epic winter 2016 / 9

made Capybara Man sick.

“You’re an old friend James,” he said, “and I wanted to give you one last chance. If you had just listened to your family and given up this nonsense, we would have looked the other way, but you’ve left me no choice. James Canon, you are under arrest for vigilantism, assault, destruction of property...”

“You’ll never take me alive,” James Canon declared, rushing up the stairs in an effort to tackle the captain. One of the men jumped in front of the captain and kicked him down the stairs. Before James could get up, he had been handcuffed.

“And resisting arrest. You have the right to remain silent. Anything you say may be used against you in a court of law...”

“The day is darkest just before the dawn, but I promise you, the dawn is coming.”

“You have the right to consult an attorney before speaking to the police and to have an attorney present during questioning now or in the future. If you cannot afford an attorney...”

“I am the Capybara.”

10 / epic winter 2016

Drawing:: Bobby McCabe ‘16

Angel

/ Julia Goldsmith ‘17

Traveling in Time

/ Olivia Rossi ‘18

epic winter 2016 / 11

(Bull)y

/ Vinz Umali ‘16

12 / epic winter 2016

Barbaric Yawp

/ Ben Tauber ‘18

I

shout my quiet play call over the presence of my teammates, my second family.

I love them in a way that is unexplainable they have my back and I have theirs.

All eyes are on me, although I know the crowd is loud I do not hear it.

I am in a large black cube and silence is in abundance.

I start to feel the same butterflies, but these butterflies are not so yellow these butterflies are dark red and they need to get out.

All I want is for the butterflies to be released but even I do not have the key to the cage.

The time comes where I must leave the black box and enter the field: all I can see is the green turf and the shining black helmets of my brothers.

The ball is snapped and everything goes silent.

I see everyone running but it looks as if they are moving as fast as turtles.

Then I come back to reality: the crowd is screaming the receiver is in the endzone the dark butterflies are released to fly into the blue sky my stomach refills with the yellow butterflies in a snowglobe; it is one of the most amazing feelings in the world.

epic winter 2016 / 13

High

/ Janvi Sikand ‘19

He laughed and said, “What are you on?”

I laughed right back and said, “Life” And at that moment I saw it, my life as a colorful swirly bubbly substance, drip-drip-dripping through my veins.

Giving me speech, laughter, and those jokes for days.

14 / epic winter 2016

Yes it’s true, I get high on life itself.

Don’t need anything else– And I can’t stop.

What if I quit the colors, pulled out my literal lifeline?

I’d be lifeless: Would I turn grey?

An empty shell without the kaleidoscope of life pumping through me?

No, the truth is that I’m afraid to stop.

Inflfl ffllamed

/ Shelby Fairchild ‘17

epic winter 2016 / 15

Lumiere

/ Angie DeLucia ‘18

16 / epic winter 2016

Little Things

My pink and white scarf wraps infinitely

around my neck I walk in and get a quick whiff of the expo markers that are always smelling like chemicals and the chalk that always smells dusty and ashy.

/ Noa Boyd ‘18

I look around, and there are colors engulfing the classroom quotes inspiring students to do their best everyday I feel the passion for English in the room as kids are shouting ideas across the room

These are the little things Throughout the class, my phone continues to ring that mean something in a classroom as we sit in silence waiting for the ring to stop These are the little things I open my used copy of The Scarlet Letter that make students want to walk the pages fold and bend, into this room the faint smell of old-books and learn something and the smell of freshly new ones opened. everyday.

epic winter 2016 / 17

The Booth

G

/ Bobby McCabe ‘16

rowing up, I was captivated by imagery. I felt as if the life around me was something beautiful that deserved to be captured for the world to see years after it has lost its natural charm. Unfortunately, my artistic abilities weren’t as keen as I would’ve liked. Yes, I spent my childhood taking art classes, but my products would always come out awkward. Unbalanced. Dirty. They didn’t reflect the subject I wanted to preserve, and, by the age of seven, I became uninterested in the art of drawing.

For my eighth birthday I received my first camera. It was clunky, big, and awkward to carry. I loved it unconditionally.

I isolated myself from the other children at school solely for the purpose of taking pictures and adding new film.

Looking back, I realize I took the most horrendous images, at least in comparison to my current skills. Nevertheless, I loved them.

As I matured, so did my craft. I was able to frame, zoom, and focus on particular subjects to preserve them in the best possible manner. I kept all my photographs in carefully arranged albums describing their beautiful subjects and the date, thus preserving the memory. At the moment I think I currently have about twenty-five filled photo albums, but I’m not positive on that. I haven’t really looked through them in quite a while now.

It was completely unsurprising that I would enter the field of professional photography after completing school. Some feel I didn’t live up to my potential, as I had been an excellent student. To them I say, “Nonsense!”

What good is science or history without the photograph to preserve their claims? Just a collection of words on paper from which it can easily be disassociated. My peers rolled their eyes, and they most likely have forgotten about me by now. But that doesn’t matter. I was appreciated by my fellow photographers.

I rose as a professional photographer. You’ve probably seen my work in sophisticated galleries as well as in small articles in the New York Times. I usually wasn’t credited, but I wasn’t concerned. What matters is that the memory is preserved forever. Or at least this is what I believed. Time did not prove favorable to my photography.

I was making a reasonable living for myself, but I truly struck fortune when I was discovered by Hollywood, becoming the primary photographer for the biggest stars. Wealth came at a price. I took many pictures of this one celebrity, only to have one of them be chosen by my superiors and pasted onto some poster that would be replaced

18 / epic winter 2016

the next month. Rinse and repeat. An unceremonious procedure. Remember those terrible photographs I took while in elementary school? I kept every single one, and still have them to this day. But with such dismissive actions towards my photographs, what is the point? Is there nothing to take away from each photograph in its own special way? These questions went unanswered for a long time.

I became disenchanted with the craft. I went to work every day, took a few dozen photographs, and didn’t think twice about it. What once took careful consideration and purpose became automatic.

One day, in the most unexpected of places, a diner near my studio, I ran into my subject. With awkward grace, the bangs of her unkempt dusky hair carefully broke up the view of her hazelnut eyes. She lacked makeup, leaving her cheeks’ natural fleshy colors exposed. No eyeliner masked her brown eye lashes, revealing them as the thin strands they really were. Her clothing was surprisingly ordinary: a cream-colored sweater and brown skirt. What did this world-beloved actress drink? A strawberry milkshake. It was all unexpectedly ordinary. It was imperfection to the upmost standard. It was beautiful.

I removed my camera from my knapsack and took a picture of her in the booth. Unfortunately, technology at the time wasn’t what it is today, and the camera made a “click” sound. It was most likely a minor disturbance to the other people in the diner, but from my perspective it was a sudden demolition. The actress looked at me with large, shocked eyes. She was probably on guard in case some “representative from the media” arrived, making my decision to take a photo of her all the more thoughtless.

What occurred next can only be described as the longest moment of my life. Like a deer in the headlights I was paralyzed in fear. I looked to the door, begging my legs to move toward it only to be denied the satisfaction. I can only imagine my petrified expression. In spite of this dysfunctional display of an antisocial man obsessed with photography, she motioned me to come to her booth.

I thought it’d be best to apologize and so I walked to her booth, gently holding my camera for reassurance.

As someone who is around quite a few celebrities, my awkwardness may seem surprising. However, my exchanges were mainly limited to the occasional direction behind the protective barrier of my camera lens and their agents.

epic winter 2016 / 19

She motioned me to sit down. I was looking at her up close for the first time. I could see the subtle crevices and wrinkles in her face, and the minor blemish here and there. Imperfection at its finest. I felt reassured by the warm smile she gave; she must not have been upset. I apologized, and introduced myself. She already knew my name, as I would be her photographer for the day. She had the same singsong voice I’d heard in the movies. She asked why I had taken the photograph now. I looked to her bewitching gaze and thought I may as well be honest: “I don’t know.”

She looked at somewhat suspiciously, but I reassured her I didn’t have malicious intent. I told her how she looked by the window, gazing into the streets as the light pooled in, highlighting her face. ISshe looked very natural, and I liked that. She was flattered, which must have been saying something; she got complimented a lot, I imagine. A young man in a suit came in just then, signaling for “Audrey.” She rolled her eyes.

Audrey was an excellent conversationalist, and she actually was curious about who I was. I will always value this exchange more than anything else in my career.

A half hour later, the young man returned, begging for her cooperation. She sighed, and rose from her seat, masking her face with a pair of rounded sunglasses. She smiled, saying that it’d been fun. I wish I could say I stood confidently and kissed her. I wish I could say I said something deep and meaningful, but I won’t romanticize what happened. I looked into her eyes and thanked her. And with that, she was gone. I took the receipt and started to leave, but a waiter came after me, telling me I had forgotten something. He handed me my camera.

Being with her recaptured why I loved photography. It wasn’t because of the process; it was because of the subject. I have Audrey to thank for reminding me of that. While I did not make as much money as a print journalist, I got to meet all sorts of fascinating people. Beyond the photoshoot her agent had scheduled, I never met Audrey again, sadly. Our exchange was not meant to lead anywhere, despite what Hollywood showed in theatres. I just wish I had discovered that she had written her home phone number on the receipt all those years ago, but I have moved on. In its own ironic way, it made my sole encounter with her all the more precious. Besides, I will always have this photograph.

20 / epic winter 2016

Amazon

/ Humza Rashid ‘18

I

think I could turn and live into a tree, they are so easy to be stay in one spot for centuries When I first came into existence there was no one near me Years later thousands surround me Closer and closer do they come, the precious dirt underneath me crumbles Hot or cold, it doesn’t matter all I hear is the distant chatter I fall down neither by disaster nor old age but rather men with their dreadful ways I think I could turn and live into a tree, the are so easy to be Well, that was untrue and now I am dead

photo: kings((wood)s / Ali Zilahy ‘16

epic winter 2016 / 21

Turtlenecks / Luke Gioffre

22 / epic winter 2016

‘17

Another Brick in the Wall

I sit here

at my desk again I have forgotten the definition of electromagnetic radiation again…

It’s 1:30 A.M. I stand up calmly this isn’t important to me, at least Why is it forced upon me?

/ Ryan CLifford ‘17

because it’s important to me, at least

Electromagnetic Radiation-Energy that can be described in terms of either oscillating

elect

r

…I’m fine because this is madness but this madness is normal

So I sit back down, take out a piece of paper and write this poetry

epic winter 2016 / 23

Locked

/ Julia Goldsmith ‘17

Old Photograph

/ Christina Daniels ‘18

The dead, dry grass seems to glisten and perk up, the rusting chapel bell rings, a celebration of uniting two into one

The purest of white lace is draped in a perfect circle, hugging her husband.

Smiling like their life is complete, like they fulfill each other.

Her veil swooning over the side of her face, blending with the lacey dress.

The flower bouquet barely noticeable against the pale whiteness of the whole picture.

Elegant and proud they sit tall: Together.

24 / epic winter 2016

Bloem

/ Olivia Rossi ‘18

epic winter 2016 / 25

Colorful Rain

26 / epic winter 2016

/ Joanna Williams ‘16

i will keep my eyes down when i walk through the streets

Progression

/ Kayla Glemaud ‘17

Then it dawned on me that they don’t matter Then the high-noon sun kissed my melanin, because to have my head up like a melanin queen means embracing me in a warm hug arrogance and too much pride Then the wind picked me up and put me on my feet i will look at the natural curls of my kinky hair and Then the ones who mattered wonder how many people will comment on it today reminded me of what it is to be human, try to touch it as if i am an exhibit they dare not resist to touch to love myself i will subdue my energy in attempt to not appear Then a determination to reignite aggressive or ill-mannered a sense of self poured through i will have a boulder sitting on my tongue, my heart and soul and has never left: built with fear and angst that if i don’t say my words leading to the breaking of ideals, confidence, and correctly, they will be assumed a correlation to my race a mindset to prove that accepted i will wear what they do, truths and stereotypes of not the bright, eccentric colors of my heritage because my people do not define me. my skin is enough of a distraction i have changed myself i have lost curiosity and bit the apple of constraint i have vocalized less and disjointed myself from conversation because to say less means fewer down casted eyes i have conformed myself into the ideal person they want me to be, only then receive the name oreo i have cried, wondering what is wrong with me

epic winter 2016 / 27

Bittersweet

/ Vivian Goldstein ‘17

The first time I saw her the distinct taste of lemonade flooded my mouth, which was weird because at the time I had been drinking Gatorade.

People say that blood tastes like iron. It has to do with the iron molecule in hemoglobin or something. To me, blood had the distinct taste of tangerines. At least, it did when she was involved.

After the fight, she offered me a hand and helped me up, thanking me for coming to her defense like that.

When I asked her out, the smell of tangerine was so strong I was sure I was going to pass out. I don’t know how I even got the words out. When she said yes, I felt like I was on a sugar rush all day.

The first time she kissed me it was a mix of my burger and fries, her mac and cheese, and newly applied cherry Chap Stick. I wanted to gorge myself on the flavor for the rest of eternity. I couldn’t get enough of it. For the rest of the month I only ate a burger with mac and cheese and a cherry coke (doing my best to imitate the inimitable flavor of her lips against mine).

We had our one-year anniversary. She bought us “our” favorite desert: Chocolate cake. I hate chocolate cake.

She cancelled our date for the third time. Later, I remember trying to brush away the taste of salty tears and breadsticks (that had already been brought to the table for two, now for one) with my fresh mint toothpaste.

We had our first fight. Rotten eggs. Her anger increased. When she slapped me, the tang of tangerine became tainted with iron.

My Gatorade stopped tasting like lemonade when I saw her.

When I finally left her, I’d lost all sense of taste.

28 / epic winter 2016

Sister

/ Ali Zilahy ’16

epic winter 2016 / 29

Leaning Tower of Paris

30 / epic winter 2016

/ Olivia Rossi ‘18

The Fortune Cookie Truth

/ Chris Healis ‘18

Omniscient, the fortune cookie speaks to us all

It tells us good fortune comes to those who stand tall But truly no fortune is the best To make us feel our fortune is better than the rest Monotonous and bland each cookie tastes, In my mind it tastes like nothingness and paste Believing that a piece of paper tells of a whole world Gives everyone who reads the little paper a mind-whirl The truth is the cookie is right We get good fortune by putting up a fight Born just to die that’s the human curse And this one bland little cookie contains a whole universe

epic winter 2016 / 31

Ode to My Grandfather / A gargantuan man With a smile that beams from miles off Guiding lost souls like a lighthouse in a storm Proclaiming the meaning of life:

John Leuschner ‘18

Atlantis, tempted by the ever-calm seas Focused in pursuit of a temporal life Seduced by the riches and the greed

Hoping to find what I had long been To live not in servitude looking for of material things, So tempting it can Rather teach be, the flash and the compassion and love glory for one another All a sham, for only what lies ahead: For where would I be a desolate life of in his absence? searching Perhaps searching for something that Cold like a January just isn’t there, morning.

Lost at sea.

And though there are creatures lurking, That is where I stood the open ocean feels Searching for as lifeless as the

32 / epic winter 2016

Himalayas Bellowing its unforgiving roar And by the time I may have found the great city (All I had desired), I become haunted by years of wandering, Feeling nothing but regret and despair, Dreaming only of what I missed back home There I loafe, wallowing in wealth Pondering the thought of return Only to see what I had lost During my adventures to the outside.

Discovering such was

worth far more Than this great treasure I had found, For it came with a hefty price, I wish I had not paid.

That is why I love my grandfather: he is a lighthouse like no other.

His beam of light as bright as God’s salvation, Steering any soul no matter how misguided, even my own, away from a life of ruin, regret, and despair, Guiding them home.

And with his light so bright, a man can always stand a chance Of returning with his f-a-c-u-l-t-i-e-s intact.

Heaven on Earth

/ Maitland Bailey ’18

epic winter 2016 / 33

Wise

/ Abby Eberle ‘18

Wise, your mind complex as an encyclopedia,

rich, brilliant, engaging: you have dark circles and creases from age and weariness, Wise, you soar, exploring the darkness of night with wings elongated for flight.

Wise, you are as captivating as the unsearched depths of our oceans, curiosity, passion, intelligence: you have a wired brain with sparking inquiries.

Wise, your thoughts are shooting stars in a fireworks display.

Wise, you are loved and looked up to by many, my hero, you lasso me closer with each living breath, so why stop now and contemplate death?

I plead to you, use your brain and rethink.

You can’t give up now, you can’t leave me alone, you are destined to seize the day because a journey awaits.

I am begging you, never allow yourself to float far away.

I need you to stop fearing the unknown, unbury the encyclopedia and enlighten our souls, for you are wise.

34 / epic winter 2016

Stop

/ Vinz Umali ‘16

epic winter 2016 / 35

Hard Day at the Offiffiice

36 / epic winter 2016

/ Sasha Bash ‘17

V(i(nz))brant

/ Vinz Umali ‘16

English Class

/ Ian Britt ‘18

An environment of great

intellectual advancement.

Lights slightly dimmed, an image of fog on the darkened board, a delicious flavor of learning like a ripe strawberry in summertime.

But not as juicy.

And different from a cotton-candy gum snack.

At the center of this room lies a smooth, glossy table.

And on it lies a bent, floppy entrance to an unknown world that unites all its participants.

He sits in this room, fascinated by the scent of dusty chalk that reminds him of when he was a child.

Surrounded by voices of living spirits, he tries to figure whether he is on the inside or out.

He hears a quiet hum.

epic winter 2016 / 37

Burrito Boy

W

/ Gwyneth McDonald ‘16

hen eating a not-so-delicate-burrito, there is one thing that a girl must always remember: you haven’t found “Mr. Right” until you can eat a burrito in front of him. I’m not talking about the children’s burritos that the barista hardly fills: I’m talking about the burritos that fall apart as soon as you peel back the tin foil: the ones with tomato and bean juice running down the side with guacamole slowly oozing out the bottom of the tortilla. These are the kind of burritos worth the ten dollars I make an hour. I work right next to a burrito bar. I get a burrito every night when I get off work.

On Monday night after work, I walk into the burrito bar to get my usual. I had my head buried in my phone as I walked up to the counter. Surprisingly there is no line tonight. The barista’s soft voice grabs my attention, and I look up to see a very handsome new barista.

“Hi, I’m Ellie.” Oh no… why did I just introduce myself to the barista?

“Hi, I’m Charlie.” I blush.

“What’s up?” I say, my eyes wide. Once again, I hear myself asking him unnecessary questions.

“I’ve been working for hours. How about you?” He’s talking to me. My face feels red as I prop my shoulders back and straighten my back.

“I just got off work,” I say. “I work right next door.”

As he smiles and nods, I can see the deep, shadowed dimple placed beside his mouth. I feel a wave of heat roll over my body and his sexy scent meets my nostrils and runs through my veins as I inhale.

“You’re the only customer I have had in the past two hours,” he says. “What would you like?”

I’d like you with a side of shirtless, I think to myself.

“Can I please have a veggie delight with all the veggie toppings?” He swiftly heats the tortilla and begins artfully saucing veggies and soy meat into the wrap.

“Do you want cheese on this?”

38 / epic winter 2016

He stares at me like a deer in headlights. I think for a minute that I have said wrong, and then I see his dimples again as he cracks a smile. I exhale deeply and pretend I am not completely confused.

“No way, I am a vegan too,” he says. I think he’s kidding. Maybe he is mocking me. But then he asks me how long I’ve been vegan for. I’m amazed that he wasn’t kidding.

“Six years and two months. How about you?” He has no idea how delighted I am: I’ve been holding out for a vegan boy.

He is still making my burrito when he says, “Ever since I can remember my parents are vegan. That’s how I was raised.”

“That’s amazing!” I tell him (because it is and so is he). He hands me my burrito with a smile.

“This one’s on me.”

“You don’t have to do that!” I protest.

“I want to,” he says. “On one condition.” Goosebumps rise on every inch of my skin.

“What?” I ask eagerly. “I get to sit with you while you eat,” he proposes. Oh no, I think to myself: he wants to watch me eat? It is not socially acceptable to make a mess while dining at a restaurant, let alone in front of a hot guy. He stands confidently awaiting my answer.

“But you’re working!” I protest. “And I normally just take it to go.”

“Not today,” he says smirking. “I go on break in ten and I’m starving. I’ll eat with you.” I nod and grind my teeth together.

I walk to the drink bar and take a mountain of napkins. I look over to Charlie, who has just finished making himself his own veggie delight. His long hair is messy and curly and has been accidentally brushed over one of his eyes. He lifts a hand to brush it out of his face, and I see his arm muscles flexing. He must lift. He sees me looking, and I quickly look down at my dinner.

epic winter 2016 / 39

The tin foil is hot from the steamy burrito inside, and as I lift back the foil, the smell of Mexican food rises and I am consumed by my own senses before I even take a bite.

There is a long pause before I pick up my burrito. I stare down at it some more imagining how badly this could go. I pick it up with both my hands, strategically keeping it from crumbling onto my lap by lifting it slowly and gently. I think about biting into it and juices rolling down my chin and tomatoes getting stuck between the cracks of my teeth. I imagine my breath after I delve into this onion-filled burrito. I lick the tortilla, but then realize that’s super weird and put my burrito back down on the table.

Charlie sits down and masterfully dives into eating his dinner. His burrito quickly falls out of the tortilla wrap and forms a salad on the tin foil sitting on the table. He has salsa on his shirt and guacamole on his nose. He is not holding back. I think about handing him a napkin but don’t want to imply that he needs it. I look back down at my burrito.

I pick it up again and take a small bite from the end. I only taste the plain white tortilla. He asks me what my favorite food is. I tell him it’s burritos. He tells me I’m funny and I blush. I take one real bite and already, I have guacamole on my hands and half of my dinner is in a pile on the foil.

“This is my first burrito date,” he says.

“Me too,” I say. “And the messiest date I’ve been on.”

“Well, life is messy,” he says. “You just have to embrace it.”

I smile and take another bite.

40 / epic winter 2016

Come Alive

/ Sam Dibacco ‘17

Photographer’s Eye

/ Ali Meizels ‘19

epic winter 2016 / 41

There’s a Place in Heaven for You

There was a time, I remember,

Of the not so recent past When your spirit was full of life And your energy would always last.

/ Bobby McCabe ‘16

I know that you’re leaving, But I’d just like to thank you For letting me into your life And to be part of your heart too.

You’re my best buddy We’d have fun on adventures And I’m just glad that And end the day so glad.

I was able to be with you, These moments are important to me. Though your absence makes me sad.

I think of them when sad.

But as the days turn into months, I began to feel afraid For your once striking eyes Have had their colors begin to fade.

Perhaps there is grace in not knowing.

While I’ll always miss you, friend, I’ll be a little happy too.

For at least your life had meaning So there must be a place in Heaven for you.

Waterfalls of Tears

Why do we adore waterfalls?

42 / epic winter 2016

Some think that life has no meaning, That we’ll all just eventually die.

I don’t think that this is true, Though I can’t prove that it’s a lie.

Salty water streaming off a ledge Angrily roaring like a thundering tsunami Yet it flows into a clear, tranquil pool And every glassy droplet implodes As it collides with the pool surface Like the tears of a woman Dropping from her pale face When she lost what she can’t replace

/ Sharif Mutasim ‘18

Who she gave her heart to Where they first met, she remembers What is right for her is not right for him Why? She asks herself And so she streams off the ledge In fear of drowning in the fetid water above In hopes of falling into the pool below And by overcoming the waterfall’s roar She dives into the clear pond As tears fall onto her serene face

Sunny Daze

/ Hannah Bash ‘18

epic winter 2016 / 43

Funhouse Mirrors

/ Janvi Sikand ‘19

“Life is a mirror and will reflect back to the thinker what he thinks into it.” —Ernest Holmes

L

ooking in the mirror, nice and smooth, she thought, “I’m fine.”

There were parts of her that were beautiful, and parts that made her unique, and parts that weren’t perfect but didn’t have to be. She was an oddball mix of quirky and serious, scholarly and childish. She didn’t need media to be social, she wore clothes she thought were comfortable. She saw all this and more in the split seconds of whenever she looked at the mirror. That glassy, flat surface showed all that she thought she was. And she liked that.

She was once looking in this mirror, not admiring, not hating, just looking, and she heard something. Voices.

Boys’ and girls’ voices, all talking over one another. It seemed like they were talking to—no, at—somebody. She slowly turned in the direction of these voices, and when she did, she saw a blinding flash. She shielded her eyes from the intense light. She of course then started walking towards the source. As she went, she heard the voices getting louder and louder. The path between where she had been and where she was going was a long and subtle one, yet she barely noticed what she was doing until she had reached the source of the glinting.

A mirror! Not just any mirror, a bent mirror. Twisted and convulsing, this thing was a monster. Yet as she gazed into her reflection, she saw how ugly she was. This mirror magnified her every imperfection. It contorted her this way and that. She was shocked, she’d never seen things this way. Now, even the little O of surprise her mouth formed looked like a big stamp of failure.

There were other people reflected in the mirror, too. They were the voices, and they looked great in this mirror! They had the right proportions, nothing seemed wrong with them. They looked, well, they looked right. And here she was. Looking the way she was looking. Ew. What was wrong with the mirror—no, what was wrong with her?

The other people in the mirror said things to her. Told her why she was different. It was quite obvious, wasn’t it? They saw all her faults. Why couldn’t she do her hair this way? The lazy ponytails she threw her hair into every

44 / epic winter 2016

morning and that she had never given a second thought to, well, honey, those were absolutely disgusting. Everyone noticed! And what, exactly, was she trying to achieve by wearing sweatpants to school whenever she could? Had she no self-respect at all?

Every time one of the others reflected in the mirror said anything, the funhouse mirror warped a little bit more. For every flaw they picked out, like vultures until her bones dried white in the blinding sun that was their comments, the mirror stretched her out a little more this way and pushed her inwards a bit more, until the figure she was looking at wasn’t just unexpected and ugly but hideous. She could barely look at the mirror anymore, she looked disgusting! She had no more time to lose, she needed to do something about how she looked before it got any worse.

So she did. She changed a little at a time, just a bit. A little of this and a pinch of that, as Amelia Bedelia would say. Wait—she didn’t quote Amelia Bedelia anymore! How childish she was. What was she thinking? Ugh. That had to go. She paid a little more attention to her hair. Woke up a few minutes earlier every morning, did some makeup. She chose her outfits with meticulous care before she slept every night: She wasn’t about to leave her clothes for the whole day to the last minute discretion of her rushed morning. These were tiny changes, were they not? She barely noticed she was changing, she knew she was, but, well, she knew what she was doing, right? These changes didn’t harm her at all. In fact, in this bendy, twisty mirror, she started to see herself. No longer did the curves and wide angles of the mirror distort her, they illuminated her. For the first time since she’d stepped in front of this mirror, she looked alright. She looked normal. Normal to the people in this mirror. Now she knew exactly how things worked.

How to be perfect. She’d done it! The others in the mirror congratulated her. Well, they said, they’d done it. It was their kind and helpful suggestions, wasn’t it, that got her to this point? So now that she understood everything she hadn’t before, how would she like to be one of them? The job description: To, along with the veterans of this mirror, pass judgement on the poor people who didn’t know the art of being cool from, well, being revolting.

And of course she had to accept. It wasn’t every day you could look in a mirror and say, “I’m perfect.” It wasn’t true until you were perfect in this mirror. The mirror with all the perfect people. And you could help other

epic winter 2016 / 45

people find that perfection too! She owed it to the mirror, to the others, to show the ignorant hoi polloi the way. So they all sat like vultures again—cool vultures—waiting. Soon enough, they saw someone: a boy. They saw from his gangly frame that he obviously didn’t work out daily, had on sweatpants and ate pizza all the time. This new guy was shielding his eyes as he headed towards the new mirror. He had on a tiny, confused frown—he didn’t yet know the enlightenment in store for him!

She wondered where he had come from, where exactly he had been looking before turning this way. She knew she shouldn’t, that she should be focused on her task. Still, she wanted a peek. She craned her neck and squinted her eyes. She saw a little flash—she almost missed it. Another mirror? She informed the others in this mirror that she was taking a break—before even having begun her job. With disgusted sneers, they let her go.

As she walked, she realized how familiar this path was to her. She got closer and closer to the source of the small blink of light she had seen. She was right, it was a mirror. Totally smooth! How could that be? She then noticed the silence—no babbling of voices and their sharp opinions. She finally stood in front of it and realized what it was. This was where she had come from, where the other boy had left in favour of the now clearly distorted mirror, twisting further with every harsh remark made.

And when she looked back at the original mirror, she couldn’t even tell who she was looking at.

46 / epic winter 2016

Robots

/ Holly Lombardi ‘18

What would we do without them?

The singly most loyal pet The pain still hurts Like a never ending bee-sting Days have past, but there hasn’t been a one that I haven’t thought of you.

I leak rusty water from my eyes Like a robot Because now adays, that’s all I am.

A soundtrack stuck on repeat Though, the track only has inaudible whimpers.

You cleared the black smudges And made them into a perfect artwork You incorporated your pastels To make my life beautiful I didn’t expect to lose you And you sure didn’t expect to go; I could see it in your eyes. The last goodbye I said It was almost like you were calling for help What more was I to do?

Day after day I tell myself Today will be a better day But I am only fooling myself I am forever grateful To have had you For if I didn’t I would live a life in darkness

The Night Became a Blur

/ Brittany Schwartz ‘16 epic winter 2016 / 47

Melbourne

/ Lexi Banasiewicz ‘16

48 / epic winter 2016

Park AVe

/ Ali Zilahy ‘16

epic winter 2016 / 49

The Beast

/ Noah Gibson ‘18

I

n a city that is always civilized, There will always be a BEAST. A BEAST is not afraid to be wild, Being wild is what fuels the BEAST. The BEAST is a being such as you and I, Except it is not bound by rules or expectations, The BEAST survives in its own world, Fighting the dogs of society.

For there is a cage in every one of us, A cage that contains our beasts from the world, The inner beast that we want to have locked up, The inner beast that most people hide.

The BEAST helps unlock our inner caged beasts when we need to become wild.

Being wild gives you the chance to become free, Being free relinquishes you from your chains of requirement.

The BEAST helps unleash our beasts to save us from stress and lets us have fun.

50 / epic winter 2016

Bird

/ Bobby McCabe ‘16

epic winter 2016 / 51

Mirror

/ Dakota McMahon ‘18

When you look in the mirror, you should like what you see, and appreciate the person you have come to be.

Through that thin square of glass, that makes you see your past, and a reflection that isn’t so easy to achieve.

Accepting yourself is the first step, then confidence is next, to create your own future that no one will change.

When you look in the mirror you should like what you see.

The beautiful smile that wipes those sad days away, and the laughter that gushes the tears down your face, the reflection staring back at you in that thin piece of glass is your best friend, yet the person you have come to surpass.

52 / epic winter 2016

Gay2 /

Shelby Fairchild ‘17

Transience

/ Lexi Banasiewicz ‘16

Ethereal

/ Ali Meizels ’19

epic winter 2016 / 53

Channels of Reality

/ Sean Clifford ‘19

People think they’ve mapped me out

know who I am just because of what I’m like that I’m just a normal kid maybe a bit too energetic but still just the same as everyone else but what they don’t know is the real side the real me because the world is just a show on tv everyone is a movie star perfect no matter the condition trying to look the best act the best be the best on their show

54 / epic winter 2016

playing on your tv that you’re watching wishing you could be them eyes glued to the tv but in reality away from the screen nobody is perfect no matter who they are what show they’re on because when we’re out in the world on our own show trying to act perfect we’re only hiding our true self because our true self in our own way is everything but perfect

Flowers in Focus

/ Taline Norsigian ‘19

epic winter 2016 / 55

Skulls and Bones

56 / epic winter 2016

/ Sasha Bash ‘17

EPIC STAFF Lauren Barnes Editor-in-Chief

Julia Goldsmith Associate Editor

Ryan Clifford Managing Editor

Asha Appel Faculty Advisor

Vivian Goldstein

Adam Kim

Skylar Barron

Chiara Rego

Kayla Glemaud

Alexandra Burke

Olivia Rossi

Meghan Dalton

Isabel Kaufman

Sasha Bash

Sasha Bash / ‘17

Taline Norsigian / ‘19

Olivia Rossi / ‘18