Issuu on Google+

EXPRESSIONS Arts & Literary Magazine

SPRING 2 0 1 3 Wilmington High School 159 Church Street Wilmington, MA 01887


Dan Amaral ’13

Editor -

Michelle Barnes ’13

Editorial Staff/Members -

Jacki Cote ’14 Bella Cigna ’16 Lilly Day ’14 Megan Denney ’15 Connor Farnham ’14 Liz Harvey ’15

Faculty Advisors -

# Bellavia # Parviainen

E x p r e s s i o n s!

Spring 2013

ii


Poetry Anonymous Anonymous Anonymous Amaral, Dan Amaral, Dan Amaral, Dan Ball, Alex Bomboy, Micheal Bomboy, Micheal Barnum, Mei Lu Barnum, Mei Lu Denney, Megan Doane, Sarah Doane, Sarah Farnham, Connor Farnham, Connor Farnham, Connor Harvey, Liz Lee, Victoria Pappas, Niko Pappas, Niko Warner, Amy Fiction & Prose Ball, Alex Bertolami, Nicole Burke, Kiley Cimeno, John Judkins, Hannah MacEacheron, Colin McGilvray, Kory Rae, Danielle Ryan, Conor Tassone, Marianna Musical Arts Connor Burke Sharmetha Ramanan

“Ain’t” “Google” “Lost Innocence” “Collective Destiny” “Tranquillity” “Love Conquers God” “Worn and Torn” “Those Standing In The Shade” “Like Clay Molding The Potter” “Holiday Fever” “Wind Postcard” “Drunken Promises” “Fields” “Landslides” “4/7/13” “4/15/13” “4/21/13” “Stage Manager” “Untitled” “Live For Nothing” “Paris” “The Stage” “The Tiresome Child” “Memoir: When People Change” “Casualties” “Street Rat” “One Man’s Dream” “Round 24” “The Last Hoorah” “Untitled” “A Trip to Wendy’s” “The Blue Rubbermaid Box” “I Love You In Secret” “Just The Way You Are”

E x p r e s s i o n s!

Spring 2013

ii


Poetry “Ain’t” - Anonym$s Ain't Am not Isn't Aren't But we say Ain't. Why do we choose this word? Because we can. We want to. Stop telling us it ain't a word. We can talk how we want to. Unless a person of 10 or more years older disagrees. Ain't I right? o f c o u r s e I a m “Google” - Anonym$s Google Übersetzer Read a book with a sad ending. Watch a movie where the hero dies. Write a song that makes you cry. Make a friend that needs defending. Be the little guy once in a while. E x p r e s s i o n s!

Spring 2013

1


Poetry GET A REALISTIC SENCE OF WHAT LIFE IS No one lives a fairy tale life. Those who claim they do, have money, And they certainly aren't satisfied, only wealthy. Help a man on the street corner. Buy him three gallons of water. Don't do it. That's not normal. And that's what is important. Isn't it? “Lo% Innocence” - Anonym$s Take me back. Back to when I was a princess, Waiting for her prince. Turn back time. To when fairies flew, And unicorns pranced. I want to go back. To when I was Daddy’s Girl, And Grandma’s Angel. I don’t want to be afraid. Not anymore. I want death, To be non-existent. Take me back. To my childhood. Give me back. My innocence. “Collective Destiny” - Dan Amaral ... Let go The final war concerns no nuclear technology Nor our ideological enemies. E x p r e s s i o n s!

Spring 2013

2


Poetry It is a war we wage on our souls And claim victory in unity Unite to save each other, unite to be set free Shatter the chains suppressing our empathy For the end of solitude, for our posterity See our reflections in each other This is our collective destiny “Tranquillity” - Dan Amaral Hidden shadows  Are the ones most seen. If light is a virtue of this construct Then darkness is infinity,  for beyond every light and flame Is the void it could not illuminate Amiable luminosity It doesn't shine far enough to reach me. Refrain from wondering, Your bath in the light of bliss Is another's flood in darkness No light shines bright enough No, Not for me. I am the void that wasn't reached, The shadow unseen, I endure apathy and relish in dark tranquillity  Oh, how these stars are transient in their glow, frozen to me,  A gallery of constellations and shadows is our life. No, some stars aren't connected, Some go unseen,  But they're the ones to see the figures of constellations, never to be. 

E x p r e s s i o n s!

Spring 2013

3


Poetry “Love Conquers God” - Dan Amaral A flaw in the design of  the spiritual plan The desire of passion in the minds of man The doubts, inhibitions caused  by God's demand These boundaries spelled out that we cannot understand I will destroy God's will with this ardent stand Love conquers all Love conquers God This passionate life... Our love is deicide Our burning desires  will orchestrate our final destinies Lust and passion  Will annihilate these synthetic entities I can see it in their eyes: The apples' shining cores Our unholy temptations will  Forge the final spiritual wars Love conquers all Love conquers God This passionate life... Our love is deicide Metal forged from these purity rings now melted Crafted into bullets from these deicidal hands unangelic Into this metaphoric gun of dissent, cock and load Ignite this passionate climax: I sell my eternal soul A wrinkle in time, a few fleeting seconds of love This deicidal bullet, this blackened dove, pierces the heart of her God above 

E x p r e s s i o n s!

Spring 2013

4


Poetry “Worn and Torn� - Alex Ball First born Always feeling like Love hath scorned Me Born into a military family Raised as a boy Yet treated by a man Uncle Sam Feeling like he always had a Plan For me In my life I should have control Remembering my life I always had to strife From the things I loved To be the one you trusted And now I lay here Rusted Like a machine from the Cold War What did I do to deserve this? What did I do to feel so Torn? Teen life Started off using that knife Remember, all the people making Fun of you at night. Opening Their mouths wide open Not in body, but in unspoken Word Taking their time Trying to design E x p r e s s i o n s!

Spring 2013

5


Poetry A plan To tear apart this boy Now a man Just waiting for Uncle Sam Right around the corner… He’s right around the corner… Remembering my life I always had to live by the knife Away from the ones I loved To be the one you trusted And now I lay here Lonely and rusted Like a machine from the Old War Looking back down at the battle scars You’ve sworn That didn’t exist What did I do to deserve this? What did I do to feel so Worn and torn? Nearly Eighteen Just trying to stay clean And trying to forget the entirety of mean People In my world Still looking for that perfect girl Did I find her? No But that’s just my world Living day by day Forgetting to remember the people Who have just stayed the same Gosh, that seems really uber Lame Remembering my life I always had to live under the light E x p r e s s i o n s!

Spring 2013

6


Poetry From the things I loved To be the one you dis-trusted And now I lay here Lonely, cold and rusted Like a machine from the Cold War Losing the battles That you had made me swore Never to lose again What did I do to deserve this? What did I do to feel so Worn and torn? “&ose Stan'ng In &e Shade” - Micheal Bomboy As time fades away We forget about all the wrong things we did We find refuge in our mind, and pray for the dead Death Is the price of shame Life Is the cause of pain And we are the cause of life and death We are Hell No more pain No more sorrow Life today Life tomorrow You’ll live to die another day Happy are those standing in the shade Desire And anguish Hinder the thoughts of the weak Power the corruption of youth and mind The time of the End has come E x p r e s s i o n s!

Spring 2013

7


Poetry When your hope is lost Your heart fails you Lead into temptation, and facing desecration We know the way We can quench your thirst Your need of emotional food We see your scars And you can see ours Let us lead you to refuge Let us carry you through Let us carry you through No more pain No more sorrow Life today Life tomorrow You’ll live to die another day Happy are those standing in the shade Happy are those standing in the shade We are those standing in the shade “Like Clay Mol'ng &e Po(er” - Micheal Bomboy In the beginning, man was created by the arrogant gods Though strong, their power has faded The gods watch us totter Struggling within Humans learn only how to slaughter Killed for our sins Man has waged war On the gods' weakened state Hoping life is worth fighting for They laugh at our dying fate E x p r e s s i o n s!

Spring 2013

8


Poetry Now it's our turn We shall win It's time they see how cold the sun burns With broken dreams and no will to kill Even from the gods we will plunder Using our skill to slaughter With voices impure as thunder Watch the rise of Satan's daughter Our bodies torn asunder Our spirits shattered and weapons dull My brothers dying words "we are the hunter"  With his last breath he summons esoteric carnival The love for metal is what makes us follow For immortality we sought her To make our souls disappear, our minds hollow Like clay molding the potter Like the perfect clay  Molding the imperfect potter The nightmare will forever prevail But remember this, to those who can't sleep Through metal and from earth we hail From me to you, though we are few, our enemies have Souls for us to keep As for their worship, don't even bother They are a son Without a father A sheep without a shepherd And we are the perfect clay Molding our imperfect potter Our imperfect father

E x p r e s s i o n s!

Spring 2013

9


Poetry “Holiday Fever” - Mei Lu Barnum The doorbell rings, I hide in fear The troops come marching in There's grandma, cousin “whatsherface” and some random kid Who I've never seen before Pass around the fruitcake Light the menorah Sing Christmas Carols Watch the ball drop Depending on the week   Glasses chime with a clink Chattering bounce off the walls Now it's my turn to say something I stand there speechless 48 pairs of eyes stare me down Here it comes The migraine is approaching Sugarplums dance around my head I swear Santa is laughing in my face   I've got it bad “Wind Po%card” - Mei Lu Barnum Let's run away Never walk the same earth twice Tread some new ground Break away from ordinary   Taste the wind It calls to where the cherry blossoms fall Where tea is served on a remote mountain top And lanterns float like stars in the sky The snow beckons To a field where a shepherd watches his flock E x p r e s s i o n s!

Spring 2013

10


Poetry Where the salty sea smashes upon the jagged cliffs The blazing sun is a reminder of where I long to be Traveling in the desert Watching the sand dance among caravans At an Indian spice market Wandering the streets   Always moving forward Never forgetting where I've been Where I've left Until then I'll send my wishes with the next wind storm So the earth can know I'm on my way “Drunken Prom)es” - Megan Denney You're intoxicating like the finest wine and I wish I could sit forever drinking in your charm so sweet it has to be a spell. I would trade forever just to have one of those all-knowing looks that see's nothing but me. We spend hours into the night telling of the weights that hold us down, yet we never mention the motivations. I will save you someday the way you're saving me. I will tell you these words and not be afraid of the response you will return or of the silence that may follow. We'll grow and change and one day die. And that's all I can promise. “Fields” - Sarah Doane The greatest thing to understand The one thing to grasp To truly know To bet your life on Is that you are, E x p r e s s i o n s!

Spring 2013

11


Poetry Yourself To know that you are okay with it It takes some time to get there But come here, ill walk with you Through the thorny bushes of self abhorrence Through the years of criticism You're safe, I've got you Past these bushes are fields Empty fields, You will fill them over the years With a house, a family What ever you want to fill them with I promise you, there is no limit But from now on, You are not allowed to doubt yourself You know who you are Be proud, grow these fields plentiful Such beautiful, untouched land Its yours, forever Never let go. “Landslide� - Sarah Doane You thought life could continue after this And it might But we sit here in complete silence Not hearing anything Stuck in thought, you never pictured us falling this hard Reminding us of a landslide Rocks falling destroying everything in their decent, jagged edges slicing through the untouched air Making us choke up The trees all around stay firmly rooted watching and knowing that they can not protect the valley at the bottom. Where children play, where baby deer run on their new weak legs Everything that you thought, Everything you planned for was crushed under those rocks E x p r e s s i o n s!

Spring 2013

12


Poetry But there are trees its path, red woods, hundreds of years old Your hand reaches out to mine And suddenly, The rocks stop falling The children and deer are safe, its becomes easier to breathe And what you once thought was ruined, is stronger than ever “4/8/13” - Connor Farnham I traced your smile All the way down to your waist. I couldn’t help but stop And take in the moment. Your soft skin held close to me, I clung to you; rust to an anchor. But maybe I was the anchor. We held hands in the field, Cold, wet, and alone For a few more moments. I cherished your dark eyes. And then I woke up. “4/15/13” - Connor Farnham I really hope you’re enjoying life; In fact I know that you are. It just kills me because you’re not around anymore. But it’s okay because you’re much more happy Without me And I’m a wreck As usual. I mean nothing And you are E x p r e s s i o n s!

Spring 2013

13


Poetry Above Me. “4/21/13” - Connor Farnham I got confirmed into a Catholic Church. I felt dirty and it made me hurt. I tried scrubbing all my sins clean That I never even wanted to commit. I don’t believe in your god; I don’t think I ever will. It wasn’t my choice to submit, But I thought the earth had stood still. Your eyes fell to the floor. I am lost in this universe without a maker. If God is a woman, I see her only in you. That is when I pray.

“Sta* Mana*r” - Liz Harvey I see all. I know all. I could be all. Giving information could be a burden but, I love it. It is what I do. Who I am. Why I am here. I need an audience, So that I have a story to tell. My pride is not my own E x p r e s s i o n s!

Spring 2013

14


Poetry it comes from the town, the people. I have nothing to be proud of that is just mine. My life, grand as it is revolves around the town, the people, the lives, the stories, the deaths, the memories, the lessons. Who would I be, Without stories to tell? “[Untitled]” - Victo+a Lee I wish I’d sent that letter. Though it may not have meant much, Though it may have been thrown away after being opened, Or it may have been kept – as a symbol of hope and sympathy. I wish I’d sent that letter, and I had not been afraid. Afraid of what would be thought of me, Afraid that I would get in trouble. But no – Now I know I would not get in trouble. Now I know that I would be just fine. I would be fine then. Yet I am not fine now. Now I am living with regret. Finding myself asking constantly: Why was I afraid? What was the worst that could happen? I wish I’d sent that letter, To send my sympathies, my thoughts… To be hidden all the time, Too afraid, too timid to be heard. I wish I’d sent that letter, Because if I was lucky enough, E x p r e s s i o n s!

Spring 2013

15


Poetry Maybe I could have gotten a reply. A reply that I would keep forever; A reply that I would cherish and treat as if it were gold. Something that meant so much; that would never be thrown away. But I do not have that reply, because I had not sent that letter. Would that letter make a difference? It would to me. To let my voice be heard. But now those words are trapped within me. Without anyone knowing what I had to say. The words in that letter. The letter that I did not send. Where is that letter now? Not here. Not sent. Gone. Not important at the time of its disposal. A careless person not realizing its worth after it was gone; Not knowing that the recipient would never come back. A foolish person being too afraid to place that white envelope in the mailbox. One simple step‌ But I did not. And that letter was not sent to who could have replied. A reply I know that I will never get. I am still here, But the other is not. The other is gone for good, Without reading my letter. I am still here, Feeling so cowardly for not sending that letter; The letter that, now, I would have been so glad to send. But no‌ It’s too late. No. No. No. None of this happened. None of this will happen. I am left without a letter, E x p r e s s i o n s!

Spring 2013

16


Poetry Without a response. Asking myself: why? I just really wish I had sent that letter. “Live For No,ing” - Niko Pa-as

Can you see it in the air Can we feel the wear and tear So much of this strain No one can feel my pain Are we just floating here In a sea of death and despair No one ever looks above them now To see the sun and the sky and the clouds Are we really all on our own? Are we ever truly alone? I look to the sky and think to myself My mind is fading but I still have my health Are we really on our own? Are we ever truly alone? Is there someone watching over me Someone with wings who can fly and be free Do we really live for nothing? Do we really work for something? Do we really live for nothing? I just want to live for something. “Pa+s” - Niko Pa-as The nightbird preys On a dead morning dove Pains from my head Piercing from up above E x p r e s s i o n s!

Spring 2013

17


Poetry The night edges to day Brushing MY LIFE. A. WAAAAY. I love her because she's creative She loves him because he's kind I love her because she was daring She loved me because she was mine As I, Paris, fall from his sword Will you forgive my disgrace As I move on to a better place Your voice it calls For a new lasting love My shaking fingers slip The nail from the leather glove As you walked away AS YOU WALKED. A. WAAAAY. I love her because she's creative She loves him because he's kind I love her because she was daring She loved me because she was mine As I, Paris, fall from his sword Take back the live you once had Replaced from this tasteless myriad As I, Paris, fall from his sword As I, Paris to his Romeo, please Take back the life you one had THE LIFE. YOU. ONCE. HAAAAD. The life you once had The life you once had Woah, woah.

E x p r e s s i o n s!

Spring 2013

18


Poetry “&e Sta*� - Amy Warner I feel so warm and comfortable in front of those blinding lights. You see, that stage has always been there for me. I go there, I lay on his surface, I feel him beneath me, I sink down; he holds me. When all has abandoned me, and I stare at his hair dwindling down from the ceiling, curtaining me from harm, I feel safe. I feel home. He lets me be anybody I want to be, anybody I have to be. When it comes time for the seats to be filled with a couple dozen spectators, craving entertainment - I fear not. Why should I? That stage has always been there for me. Lord knows, I will never lose faith.

E x p r e s s i o n s!

Spring 2013

19


Fiction & Prose “&e Tiresome Child” - Alex Ball ! “Hey there!” The mysterious darkness said to the child in the bed, “Why are you still awake child?” ! “Well,” the boy replied cautiously, “I was actually about to go to the bathroom before you…” ! The dark figure interrupts the boy with a deep, almost demonic, voice, “I don’t think that’s a good idea, nope not good at all” Darkness envelopes the room, and the lamp beside the adolescent’s bed flickers out. ! “What is going on…who is this person?” the child thought to himself as he hid underneath his covers. “I should be safe under here, if I can’t see him he can’t see me. Why is this happening? I don’t even get what’s going on” As he lay in his bed, the 12 year old tried to remember what had transgressed that night. From the start of the night, nothing appeared to have been wrong. It started off like any other night… …The boy rushed to bed at his usual bedtime, 9 o’clock. In his red puppy PJ’s and his bright blue t-shirt, he leaped into his King-sized bed full of joy, for tomorrow was Christmas. Curled up in his flannel and denim sheets, the young man just couldn’t fall asleep. Was it the thought of the presents tomorrow would bring? Or just the fact that he had accidentally left his nightstand lamp on? Lifting himself up from his covers, he turned to his left and reached to his lamp. That is when a frail voice was heard from the shadows in the corner of the room. It was to dark to see who it was, but the boy thought nothing of it… ! …Now that we’ve caught up to the beginning, lets get back to the story… The boy lay under his covers, hoping this horrifying being would just “go away”. Covering all but his face in the blankets, the now terrified boy, sat there waiting for the mysterious shadow to speak again. However, nothing happened. 10 minutes pass. Still nothing. 50 minutes pass. STILL, nothing has happened. ! “Maybe whatever it was has gone away?” the boy whispered to himself. To his own dismay, he was not alone. ! From behind the boy, the apparition spoke. “No, I won’t be going anywhere for a while now, my young friend.” ! The room, now pitch black, had begun to grow cold. The boy, shivering in his own blankets, had no idea what to do. ! “Make a run for it,” he thought, praying for this nightmare to end. “That’s it, this is a nightmare, it has to be” Just as before, he was horribly mistaken. ! “This is no dream, child. If it was you would have awoken by now,” The creature said sadistically, “No, this is something much worse” E x p r e s s i o n s!

Spring 2013

1


Fiction & Prose ! “Please, who are you? Why are you here?” ! “I have had many names, but you can call me Sir. Why am I here?” Sir replied, giving off a slight chuckle, “Well I’m here to take your soul of course!” ! “Please, Sir, just leave me alone. I’ve done nothing wrong!” ! “Oh, very good point child,” Sir whispered with a semi-sarcastic tone, “I guess I’ll just be going then!” ! The boy had begun to hear subtle footsteps pitter patter across his hardwood floor, and he could hear his door crrrreeeeaaaakkkk open. After letting out a large sigh of relief, the boy in the red puppy pajamas rose from his cocoon like bed. He still had to go use the bathroom, of course. ! Upon exiting his room, nothing appeared to be abnormal. He could not see anything, but nothing could be heard as well. Just to be sure, the boy decides to make a mad dash to the bathroom just down the hall from his room. He immediately flipped on the bathroom lights, and to his delight there was nothing in there but his lonesome self. ! The bathroom was a small room; almost closet sized, with ivory white walls and an overhanging light. The ceramic toilet bowl and sink were just as white as the walls, and the floor was covered in a sky blue carpet. As he walked over the fluffy carpet, the boy began to feel safe again. ! After flushing the toilet and washing his hands, the boy proceeded to leave the white room. Without thinking, the boy turned the light off in the bathroom as he was leaving. This would reveal one of the most terrifying sights this young man would have ever seen. ! At the end of the hallway, now also pitch black as before, something seemed strange to the boy. He couldn’t quite put his finger on it, but something appeared to be wrong. Then it hit him. A pair of terrifying amber eyes stood in the middle of his room, peering back right at him. With these eyes was paired a smile, in which all the teeth had begun to radiate a color similar to that of the eyes. This was what Sir had looked like. ! Petrified by the sight of the face of his shadowy intruder, the child rushed back to the bathroom door, praying it was still open. Again, his hopes were not strong enough. The door had been closed, and although still able to be opened, he hadn’t realized it wasn’t open. Accidentally, he bashed the back of his skull against the brass hinge of the door. Collapsing to the ground, the boy knew he was finished, seeing his assailants’ devilish eyes approach his body as everything faded to black… ! “Alex! Alex wake up! Alex how did you get out here?” Dad whispered in shock, picking me up from the ground and bringing me back to my room. “Oh my god, you’re burning up! Let me go and check your temperature.”

E x p r e s s i o n s!

Spring 2013

2


Fiction & Prose ! Now awake, I sat in my bedroom alone, feeling the large goose egg on the back of my head beginning to swell up tremendously. “What was going on? What happened?” I thought to myself, not remembering any of what had just happened. Luckily, my Dad had returned to my room with his thermometer, all prepped to check my temperature. “Oh man, 104 degrees!” Dad yelled, trying not to be too loud as to wake my brother and sister. “I’ll be right back with some medicine! Wait here, and lie down for a bit” So that’s what I did, I lied there under my flannel and denim covers in my red puppy pajamas, waiting for my father to return with medicine that would hopefully make me feel better than earlier. Something was on my mind though…something I couldn’t quite remember fully… My dad came back with the medicine, cherry flavored. By far the worst flavor to choose for a children’s medicine, but I digress. He asked me if I needed anything else, and I simply replied with a quiet “No”, he left the room and soon I was dozing off to sleep. Still, something was itching at the back of my mind. I don’t know what it was, but a strange breeze was pushing at the back of my neck. It wasn’t warm, but it wasn’t cold. It was almost like…breathing… “Memoir: When People Chan*” - Nicole Be.olami ! Don’t you hate when you think you know someone but they turn out to be someone completely different? Well I remember a time when that happened to me. It was sixth grade and I was friends with a girl named Isabella. She was my best friend, or so I thought. We used to do everything together, and I mean everything, we would go to the mall, go to the beach, do our hair and makeup, but we also were both very into theater. I thought that us both having that in common was so awesome, at first. I thought we could audition together and rehearse together and I thought it was going to be great. I thought she did too but later on I realized she had other things in mind. ! When we started being friends it was great we were both very talented but Isabella was always slightly better than me. I always knew that she was better than me but I always wanted the same parts she did and she would always get them over me because she was better. That would make me upset but I understood I needed to work a lot harder. ! I started working harder and harder to get better and in the summer going into 8th grade I was finally better than her just a little. When we got to 8th grade we both auditioned for the school play. We both wanted the same role. I practiced very very hard for the part I wanted, I would go home every day after school for 2 months before E x p r e s s i o n s!

Spring 2013

3


Fiction & Prose the auditions just to get this part. I didn’t say it but I knew in my heart I deserved this more than Isabella. ! Finally the day of the auditions arrived and I was so nervous I remember glancing over at Isabella who was strangely calm. They called her name to go in to audition, I told her good luck when she walked by but she kind of just gave me a snooty look. I waited there patiently while she was auditioning. While she was in the room I could just barley hear her singing and she sounded amazing. My stomach dropped. When she walked out of the room I started to get more and more nervous because I knew I was next. “Nicole Bertolami?” said the director pronouncing it slightly wrong. I got up shaking and walked into the room where the director and music director were waiting. “It’s the lamest place in the world, but it just got a little it better” I sang out trying to hide the fact that I was so nervous I wanted to cry. I was pretty confident about how I sounded and the way I read the script, until I saw the cast list. Isabella got the part I wanted so badly and worked so hard for. She got the part without trying. She got the part AGAIN! I was so upset and wanted to just give up after that. ! Ever since that she gets almost everything over me unless it’s something she’s not doing. She got in the high school singing group, and a lot of roles I wanted over me. But even though she was getting all the parts and she already knew that was killing me! On top of that feeling she started rumors about me that I was pregnant and depressed. Then she would call me fat. One day I was at her birthday party and instead of giving me cake she handed me a 100 calorie pack and said “I got these special for you because I know you’re watching your weight.” She would call me ugly every day and just basically tried to lower my confidence, and it almost worked. I was very upset and discouraged for an extremely long time, I felt so defeated, and I really didn’t even want to try anymore. Finally I realized that being sad and feeling bad for myself was not going to get me what I wanted, and that was to get the parts that I deserved. ! I noticed she was only mean to me because I was seen to her as her only threat with getting parts. So I worked on my singing and I practiced like crazy, until I finally got what I wanted. I got a bigger role than Isabella in the high school play and it was the greatest feeling ever! I felt like finally I got something that I deserved and I needed. But she wasn’t as happy. She is still mean to me and spreads nasty rumors and tries to get me to quit. I do admit that she has held me back, she had stopped me from doing things I wanted to do because she was doing them. ! But I know now that there really is no point to just give up just because someone else wants you to. It might have taken me a while to figure it out but when I finally did its an amazing feeling to get something you deserve and worked hard for. Also I was never arrogant or cocky about the things I got. I would never brag because I knew how bad it is when you don’t get the part you want. Isabella always always bragged and was extremely full of herself. E x p r e s s i o n s!

Spring 2013

4


Fiction & Prose ! Soon everyone else began to catch on that Isabella was not a nice person. And pretty soon a lot of people did not like her either. But she doesn’t care that she has not friends because she loves to put people down to get to the top. I stayed with her all those years because I felt bad because she had no friends but now I don’t care and I am finally doing something for myself and no one else. “Casualties” - Kiley Burke “Yesterday, December 7, 1941, a date which will live in infamy, the United States of America was suddenly and deliberately attacked...” ! Sidney Thompson was sixteen, and staring vacantly outside when he heard these words. Static overpowered the speech and his teacher tried to tune it so they could all hear the president's voice a little clearer. He knew something had happened somewhere, somewhere in the big Pacific ocean, that his country had been attacked. But he did not know that it would change everything he had planned for himself and everyone around him, that would come later. ! Sid heard Roosevelt's call for war, and no matter how quiet and benevolent he had always been, he lusted for the blood of his new found enemies. As every young man across the country did on that cold December afternoon. He glanced at his best friends, each of them in a separate corner so as to not create trouble. Joey Angeletti sat in the front, already mouthing words to the ever mischievous Izzy Marten, who had been banished to the back by a frustrated teacher. Joey looked to Sid, and nodded. He looked back out of the window, listening to the rest of the speech. ! Sid thought about his birthday, and how it wasn't until May. ! And how you couldn't join up until seventeen, and how his best friends could join already. ! He imagined Kitty, the final member of their little Temple Street gang. He imagined her in her classroom downstairs, her face with that worried look that made her forehead scrunch, listening to the same words as he did, but listening much more carefully. ! He also thought of Maggie, he thought about her most. ! Sid day-dreamed on as the president's words cut back to song. ! “Sid, we're real sorry.” Joey had his hand on Sidney's shoulder, a small pack over his own. He looked at Sid, maintaining eye contact as the charismatic Italian boy was known to do. “We wanted to all join up together, but you, you uh, well we knew you couldn't for a while.” Sid's eyes fell. ! “I feel like a coward.” He murmured. Izzy, who had been talking animately to Kitty, overheard this and grabbed Sid's arm roughly. His face had an uncharacteristically grave expression. E x p r e s s i o n s!

Spring 2013

5


Fiction & Prose ! “Don't you evah say that, just because we signed up to get our fool heads shot at, and yore staying doesn't mean you're a coward. Everyone unduhstands, you gotta take care a yore family, take care a Maggie.” He grinned and pulled Sid into a hug, regaining his playful attitude. ! “Now Isadore Marten, you aren't gonna say goodbye to me?” Kitty teased, trying to keep the negative feelings away. Izzy made a face of disapproval. ! “You know I hate when you call me that, Catalana Angeletti.” It was Kitty's turn to make a face, but not before he had lifted her into a bear hug then put her back on the ground and kissed her cheek in true Izzy fashion. “Aww, Kitty doll, you'll always be the best girl I know.” He turned, and waved as he boarded the bus a little while away. Smirking at Kitty's expression the whole way. Joey looked back at Sid again. ! “Take care of her alright?” Sid nodded and shook his waiting hand. ! “You take care of Izzy, and make Summaville proud eh?” Joey smiled, and whispered something in his little sister's ear before hugging her tightly. It was then that Sid saw she had tears in her eyes, something he had never seen before. Joey boarded the bus, and sat next to Izzy. The pair left at the bus station continued to wave, even after the bus was out of sight. ! “They'll be alright Sid.” Kitty tried to reassure herself. “Right?” ! “Shoah, they'll be the best marines the corps evah had.” The tears that had been held back for the boys' sake fell from Kitty's eyes. Sid did the only thing he knew how to, offered his respectful silence as comfort. He put his arm around her shoulder as she leaned into him. He just guided her back to the two family at 25 Temple Street, and hoped everything would be alright. ! June came eventually. Sid knew he would dread going back to school, more and more of his classmates were disappearing. Come September he feared he would be the only boy in a sea of female seniors, they would whisper and giggle behind their hands. ! He had gotten a job for the summer, at the Charlestown Navy Yard. all those summers at his uncle Jim's garage had made him pretty decent with a welding torch. He also felt like he was doing something for his country this way, even if he wasn't picking up a gun, and if he got to walk Kitty to work too, he wasn't complaining. ! Every night, after walking Kitty back to the house that the Sicilian Angelettis and Quebecen Martens managed to share in peace, and saying hello to each of his best friends' mothers, he took his time getting to his own house. It was dark there, no tomato sauce bubbling on the stove, no quick chatter in either French or Italian, hardly any speaking at all. Sid would take a deep breath, after bounding quickly up to the second floor apartment before old Mrs. O'Malley could corner him in the front hallway, and count to three. It was not that he didn't want to see Maggie. ! She was a reason to stay. ! The musty smell of stifled air and sickness pervaded the moment he stepped in. E x p r e s s i o n s!

Spring 2013

6


Fiction & Prose How bad was she going to be today, how drunk, how sick, how sad? He only had to glance at his little sister to know the answer. Nine year old Maggie was sitting at the kitchen table, shaking slightly, even in the oppressive July heat. She smiled just a little bit as Sid walked through the door, but it did not reach her eyes. Maggie, the brave. ! “She asleep?” A nod. ! “What do you want me to make you for dinner?” ! “I ate at Patty's.” Sid murmured a small prayer of thanks to the Withrows who lived next door, four kids to feed and they still found more for her. He nodded, brushed her hair with his hand as he passed and went to face his mother. ! Life had been good, until his father died four years ago. It made his mother snap. She drank a little with dinner, and weeped in her bedroom. Then she started drinking in her bedroom and weeping over her dinner. She became a ghost, a ghost that ate food, and stole money. At thirteen Sid was his own father, and a father to the little four year old girl left behind too. ! Thank god for Joey, Izzy, and Kitty. Thank god for Maggie. ! Then his mother got sick, so sick that the doctor said it would be best to just let her die. ! That is why Sid could not become a soldier so soon. His aunt and uncle would have taken Maggie in a second. But for whatever reason, he felt an obligation to his ghost of a mother, that she would not die alone. U.S. WINS GUADALCANAL; JAPS GIVE UP ! On their walks to work, Sid and Kitty talked about a lot of things. The good old days, when they played cops and robbers on the street until the lights came on, or when they found frogs, right there in the city. Sid laughed at how Kitty was always wearing handmedown overalls and usually had mud streaking her face. She looked down at herself, and laughed at the fact she was still wearing overalls, albeit not Joey's and for work. Her usually unruly black hair was twisted up and hidden by a red bandanna. She looked like one of those pretty girls from the posters at the drugstore, as big eyes and smiles. They discussed the latest headlines, and letters from the boys. Sid decided the thing he liked most about Kitty was that she did not giggle behind her hand. She just laughed and was not ashamed. Sometimes she dragged him down the street, holding his hand, and Sid usually so quiet, didn't know when to shut up. ! Sid received letters from his friends, from somewhere in the vast Pacific ocean. He wished he could be on the same wild adventure as them, like boyhood had never ended, and Somerville had suddenly become the whole world. But Sid had stayed behind. He watched his best friends sign up together, but he could not go, not yet. They understood, they did not blame him. But he still got the knots of worry in his chest that E x p r e s s i o n s!

Spring 2013

7


Fiction & Prose he was letting everyone down. It was 1943. He saw the looks he got at the store from women who had given up their son or husband, he knew they were trying to tell what was wrong with hi,. They watched his actions and the way he spoke or walked. They wanted to know why he was allowed to stay and their man wasn't. What could be wrong with a boy like that? Sid knew the word they eventually came to. Coward. ! Despite no longer working everyday, Sid and Kitty still took their walks. Sid eventually blurted out that he fell in love with the girl the day he saw her dive under a bush to catch a frog. She had grass and sticks in her hair, and grass stains down her overalls. Kitty reached up on her toes and kissed him. But not before laughing at the image of a seven year old, towheaded boy falling head over heels for the neighborhood tomboy. And with a nickname like Kitty “fah gawd's sake boy.” ! He didn't want to think about Joey's opinion on the matter. 1ST MARINES FIGHT IN MONSOONS ON GLOUCESTER ! He came home one day, to find Maggie, not in the kitchen or at Pat's but in his mother's room. His mother looked waxen and older than she ever had. Maggie was putting a washcloth on her forehead. She hummed a soft lullaby, soothing her. He was glad she was not screaming or crying for once. He put his hand over his mother's. She had been watching him under heavy eyelids. ! “Sidney, is that you?” She asked lucidly, having run out of whiskey about two weeks ago and being bedridden she was not able to get more. ! “Yes ma.” Sid tried not to be harsh with his tone. ! “I'm sorry.” ! “Yes ma.” He shooed his sister away. If she was apologizing then she could not have long to live. ! “I just missed him so much.” Sid nodded. “I didn't know what to do with myself, I was alone.” ! She sniffled, and took her son's hand. He pulled over a chair and sat next to the bed. “I really am sorry.” ! Sid did not know what to do but squeeze her hand. She fell asleep, Sid not long after, slumped over himself. ! By morning she was gone, and Sid was free. INVASION BEGINS ON NORTH FRENCH COAST ! He was scared. He stood huddled next to twenty other men in a tiny landing craft. the early morning light peeking overhead. He was scared for the kid next to him praying the Hail Mary, over and over. He was scared he wouldn't keep his promise to his sister, about coming back alive. He was scared he'd never see her, Somerville, or Kitty Angeletti again. And of all things to be scared of as one is heading towards battle, he was scared of Joey's reaction to him kissing his kid sister. He smiled ruefully, gripped E x p r e s s i o n s!

Spring 2013

8


Fiction & Prose his rifle tighter and tried not to vomit in the rough waves. ! Bullets flew past his face as he trudged through the sand and sea. Giant barbs rose from the beach, overlooked by cliffs, and Germans. Sprays of machine guns strafed the beach. Everywhere bodies collapsed to the beach, screams and shrieks littered the air. It took what felt like hours to get off the beach, as waves of more young men were thrown into the bloodbath. Sidney somehow managed to crawl, and run, legs feeling like concrete to someplace bullets could not reach. Somehow he survived the invasion of Normandy. He felt more like a coward than ever. CASUALITY RATE ON PELELIU RISES ! Thousands of miles away, a brown car pulled up to 25 Temple street. Two blue stars hung in the windows of the house, and by the end of the week there would be only one. The neighbors held their breath as the sedan passed. Not him not him not him. But it had to be someone. The government men came to the door. Kitty saw them from the top of the hill and sprinted to the door. Guilty hoping it was not her mother that had just fallen into the officer's arms. It wasn't. ! Izzy Marten, the happiest, loudest, most fun boy that anyone had ever met would never laugh again. As some comfort, they told his mother that he had died in the arms of a friend. That just gave Kitty nightmares, about her brother and the boy who lived downstairs. She did not cry as she lead Mme. Marten to her sofa, and held her as she chanted. Mon beau garçon. Over and over as she sobbed. But no one was there to comfort Kitty, she had to stay strong, those she loved were thousands of miles away. ! Sid woke up in a hospital. That's all he remembers. He remembers weeping from the shock when he looked down the first time, and saw no right leg. ! When Joey comes back he does not speak. Not to his mother, father, older brothers, and not even to Kitty. But she can hear the nightmares, and counts down the days until Sid can come home, someone to help her understand her brother's silence. But Sid could not talk about what had happened either. He had been in Belgium and that's all he knew. He hardly talked to Maggie, hardly ate. Mostly just barked at those who tried to help him maneuver himself with crutches. How could anyone, anyone who had not seen combat understand. They fooled themselves into thinking they could try. He sat for hours, alone in his room, same as Joey three houses down. ! “Is this what you wanted?” Sidney screamed at himself. A private war in the confines of his mind. “You wanted so badly to go to war and now...” He felt for a leg that was no longer there. “Now....” ! “What happened to us?” Kitty spoke softly. Neither of the other two answered. “How can one war dismantle so many lives?” Her voice rose as she continued to get absolutely no reaction. The wind blew gently in the old trees lining the path of the E x p r e s s i o n s!

Spring 2013

9


Fiction & Prose cemetery. An aggravated sigh escaped from Joey. ! “We're fine Kitty, stop being so damn dramatic, we're fine, stop trying to help, we're fine.” He was not looking at her as he sternly commanded her. She bolted up. ! “FINE? Fine? In what world is you not speaking to anyone, Sid not having a leg, and us all sitting on our best friends grave on what should have been his twenty-second birthday fine?” ! “The one where humans can't stop fighting each other.” Sid murmured softly. Kitty sat down again. Took a hand from each man, and took a deep breath. They all stared at the headstone ahead of them. Each took a swig from their bottle of root beer, resting a final unopened one on the grave marked Marten. “Street Rat” - John Cimeno ! Cold… That’s the first thing that comes to mind when she opens her eyes and uncurls herself from the side of a dumpster. Shivering against the slight breeze, she tucks her unkempt red hair behind her ears, adjusts the worn and fraying grey knit cap on her head and pulls her too large for her frame black jacket closed around her. Everything is cold, the steel wall of the dumpster, and the layers of threadbare, dirty clothing hanging limply around her body, her face, hands and feet. Her belly swollen from malnutrition and lack of food quivers in hunger and her entire figure shakes as she shuffles out from behind the old blued metal dumpster and walks the length of the alleyway. Stepping out onto the sidewalk, she pulls the tattered brown scarf up over her nose and mouth leaving only her once bright blue eyes, now dulled from duress peering out from the multiple folds of worn cloth that protects her person from the elements. All around her people stream about their daily business, oblivious to her presence as they brush past her. She begins to walk down the street, following the flow of human traffic, her head bowed against the chilling breeze. As she walks, she repeats silently to herself. My name is Wilhelmina Adelaide. I have no mother, no father, no one to trust and nothing to call my own. My name is Wilhelmina Adelaide. I… The smell of warm bread tickles her nose and she looks up and sniffs the air. Up ahead is a streetcart vendor selling various baked goods to those on the sidewalk. Pushing forward through the rush of people going in the opposite direction, she melts into the cluster of bodies gathered around the vendor. As the group shifts to let others leave with their purchases, she eyes a large blueberry muffin that sits low enough on the serving rack for her to reach, if only she can get close enough. Wriggling forward, she slips past a few people in line. No one has noticed her, their attention being held on the vendor as they place their orders. The girl shivers and E x p r e s s i o n s!

Spring 2013

10


Fiction & Prose leans against the streetcart. The vendor turns to take an order from a man wearing a red and white plaid shirt, a brown leather belt and a worn pair of jeans, and she shuffles forward. Her hands dart out and wrap around the muffin, her fingers gouging into the muffin’s surface. Twirling around, she darts away from the street cart. At first she grins in elation as she melts back into the stream of passerby, only to be brought back to reality as shouts of alarm sound behind her from the vendor and his customers. Clutching her prize to her chest, she pushes her way through the crowd, darting around the legs and bodies of others as they flow around her. Breaking away from the stream of people, she stumbles and falls, scuffing her knees against the coarse asphalt. Getting her legs underneath herself again, she stands up and totters into the alleyway that she calls home. Pounding footsteps echo on the tarmac behind her and she runs behind a trio of trashcans, startling an alley – cat that had been resting there. As the cat scurries off yowling, footsteps clip – clop past the mouth of the alleyway. The girl trembles in place unwilling to move or so much as breathe. The footsteps fade away and she exhales loudly. Stepping out from behind her hiding spot, she slowly makes her way to the mouth of the alley and looking around sighs in relief. Unwrapping the muffin, she takes a few small bites out of it, before wrapping it back up and stowing it in her pocket. Her stomach grovels for more, yet she ignores it, determined to make the muffin last a few days at least. She moves further down into the alleyway, occasionally glancing over her shoulder to check for any activity from the throngs of people walking by the alleyway’s mouth. She steps behind the blued metal dumpster, whose steel has been warmed by the rising sun. Sitting down on the nest of cardboard and roughly hewn blankets that makes up her shelter, she leans against the metal wall of the dumpster and closes her eyes. Her breathing slows and her head sinks forward, her chin resting against the bony ridge of her sternum. While she sleeps, the sun advances across the sky, making its slow leisurely crawl west. As it sinks, a thin shadow slinks into the quiet alley, its limbs long and lanky, its hair is a flax – colored mat of filth. A woman or more correctly what remains of a woman in her late twenties with a pasty face and muddled hazel eyes comes sneaking into the alley and sits herself down not too far away from the girl. The woman had a home once in the wealthier part of the city, along with a husband and a daughter as well. Yet, when faced with the ever present stresses of work and childcare, she turned to recreational drug use to ease her anxiety. What started out as an occasional marijuana joint soon devolved into full time cocaine and heroin snorting and injections. A slave to her vices, she had burned through her money to pay her dealers, falling behind in tax payments and driving her family deeper and deeper into debt. Eventually, her husband, tired of the constant run – ins with the law, the mounting debt and the constant insanity of dealing with the mercurial nature of an addict threw her out of their house. Unable to return and unwilling to changer her behavior, she wanE x p r e s s i o n s!

Spring 2013

11


Fiction & Prose dered alone and unaided till she stumbled into the girl’s alleyway and took shelter there. For the most part, the two ignore each other. The girl, refusing to share food with the woman after the first incident, in which the woman, who hadn't eaten for all of three days, had concussed the girl upon being offered a crust of bread. The peace they share is an uneasy one, broken cyclically by periods of unrest brought upon by the woman's withdrawals and the girl's occasional inability to scrounge up food. Today is just another day in that violent cycle as the woman is fresh from a heroin injection off of a street - roaming dealer and is hungry. Getting up off the cold, soiled ground, the woman sniffs the air and makes her way over to the cold blued steel dumpster that the girl rests against. Lifting her drug ravaged body up over the lip of the dumpster, she slides into and begins to rifle through the grime and refuse of human consumption. After several minutes searching, she finds nothing, and hoists herself up over the rim again. Landing stiffly on her knees and hands, she stands up and turns to the girl, who remains asleep, unaware and blissfully caught in the embrace of some passing dream. Stooping down, the woman shifts aside some of the looses scraps of cloth near the nest of rags and cardboard scraps that the girl sleeps upon, and uncovers the stolen muffin. Grasping it greedily with both hands, the woman brings it up to her face and sinks her teeth into it, gouging off large chunks that she swallows without chewing. She finishes off half of the muffin before retreating further into the alleyway. Now a moderate distance away from the girl, she sits with her back up against the brick wall of one of the condominiums that make up the walls of the alleyway and falls asleep. A few minutes later, the girl wakes herself up from the depths of a nightmare, her slim body jerking upright from where it lies against the dumpster. Looking around, she catches her breath and rubs her eyes as she gathers her bearings. Checking the pile of moth - bitten blankets, torn scraps of cloth and the flakes of cardboard that make up her nest, she finds her muffin gone and panics. Franticly, she ruffles through the many folds of the blankets and knocks aside layers of cloth. In desperation, she clambers up into the dumpster and begins to dig through the remnants of human consumption. Hanging her head in dismay, she pulls herself up and out of the dumpster and catches sight of the woman, asleep, mouth slack and grasped in her right hand, the remains of the muffin and its wrapper. A mixture of anger and fear swells up inside the girl, sinking its tendrils into her heart and sending adrenaline coursing through her veins and arteries like quicksilver. Moving quickly, she closes the distance between her and the woman and pries the remnants of the muffin out of the sleeping figure's corpselike grip. Turning on her heel, she sprints off into the first tender rays of the rising sun, while the woman continues to snore behind her. The only sound is the pounding of the girl's feet on the asphalt. She flees from the alley, and rushes down the sidewalk, slipping and dodging around early morning pedestrians. She stops at a street corner, resting her hands on her E x p r e s s i o n s!

Spring 2013

12


Fiction & Prose knees and gasps for breath, the piece of muffin still clenched in her left fist. Raising it to her lips, she nibbles off a few bites, before placing it in her pocket and turns to begin heading back. Meanwhile, the woman remains asleep and unfeeling from the depths of a drug fueled fugue. The girl returns to the alleyway 4 days later. After another two days, the woman goes missing and the alleyway is cordoned off with police tape. ************************************************************************ Coroner's Report File # 88-1347 Name: Jane Doe Died: Unknown Date of Autopsy: 6-23-07 9:30 P.M. Doctor: J.D. Sewin Pathological Diagnoses: 1. Severe head trauma a. Multiple skull fractures b. Cerebral contusions. c. Subdural and occipital hemorrhage. d. Aspiration of blood. 2. Toxic levels of benzoylmethylecgonine in bloodstream. Opinion: Subject died of severe trauma to the head cause by blunt implement. File # 88-1347 J.D. Sewin “One Man’s Dream”- Hannah Judkins ! The man was hunched over, wrench in hand, working on a car. The air was thick with diesel fumes and old car smell. His name was Ralph Emerson, a vehicle repairman. For 20 years he worked in the auto shop that he owned, making a living the old fashioned way. With a large pair of glasses set low on his brow, a receding hairline due to his middle-aged status, and his favorite hat atop his head, Ralph was quite the man to meet. ! “Pass me the spark plugs, will you?” Ralph asked, rather curtly to the man beside him. “I need to bring this baby back to life…a pity we couldn’t have gotten to her sooner.” He stood with his head inside the inner core of the front a red Honda Accord, desperately in need of repair. E x p r e s s i o n s!

Spring 2013

13


Fiction & Prose ! Car noises abound, the spark plugs did its job and the engine started at last. Suddenly, Ralph’s wife calls, which sends a piercing ring through the air, demanding he tell her when he will be home from work. He ignored the call, trying to regain his composure, before he struggled back to his bag. He hit the button for voicemail on his old, Razor phone, hitting too many buttons at once. ! “Shit, I hate this damn contraption of a phone….what are these people thinking making these pieces of crap that don’t work! And then there’s the missus jabbering at me for not coming home on my curfew. What am I, 17?” Ralph quickly redialed the phone number, answered with “umhmm” and “yes” in between his wife’s long-winded ramblings about Josh and Mike starting middle school and how all the mothers seem to hate her guts. He sighed, which resulted in more lecturing, making him question his marrying Gertrude in the first place. It felt as though he married his mother. Would they ever be close like they were before their marriage? ! “Dammit Gertrude, everything will work out. Stop getting in a fit about everything….I’ll be home in 15 minutes.” And with that, he closed up shop, left tools where he saw fit, and drove away in his Honda Accord. Getting on the congested highway, he made it home 10 minutes later than he’d planned. ! Back at home, Gertrude was fixing dinner. As a housewife, she had most of the responsibility to drive the little ones to and from school and their many activities. This being the 1950s, she had her own knitting club which met at the house once a week, offering her solitude from the busyness of her everyday life. Josh and Mike, twins, both 13 years of age, sat, restlessly waiting for their dinner, whining that they were feeling hungry. By the time Ralph made his entrance into the house, the kids were wired and Gertrude was at her wits end. ! Dinner was ready: meatloaf, peas, and mashed potato. As the twins pushed their food around their plates and Gertrude tried without success to get them to eat even a morsel, Ralph talked about his day. ! “I just love the sound of sparkplugs coming together to breathe life back into an innocent car!” Ralph exclaimed. ! Trying to look interested, Gertrude said with a smile, “I’m happy your day went well…I just hope the kids stay healthy and I stop getting wrinkles! I notice a new one on my face each and every day!” ! “I’m sure the kids will be fine, working hard in school, going to college, and breaking all the girls’ hearts.” Ralph said, his voice filled with pride. E x p r e s s i o n s!

Spring 2013

14


Fiction & Prose ! And so the typical dinner continued, undisturbed by the outside world, Ralph and Gertrude, Josh and Mike, one big happy family in a dystopian world. ! Clearly the anticipation of a new day, a new task at hand was present in all the Emerson’s lives. What could possibly go awry? Will a dream, long left unnoticed, finally be realized? It was up to the new day to tell. ! The next day, a dream was realized. The tow truck towed an old beat-up Mustang into the Emersons’ driveway. The car was rusted, missing some essential pieces. Ralph kindly took the keys from the truck driver, handing him an easy $5,000 in cash in return. !

“This is it boys.” exclaimed Ralph, “We are going to build us a Mustang!”

! Josh and Mike exchanged glances, standing at the front of the house. Although both were equally busy with basketball most days after school, they were willing to take the time to help their father achieve his goal. !

“Cool.” said Josh. “When do we get to drive it?”

! “That’s the cool part, son. We get to work together as a team to reconstruct this Mustang and bring it back to its original state.” replied Ralph, carefully avoiding his son’s line of questioning. “You can drive it when you are older.” he ordered, with a sigh of relief. !

“Let’s get to work!” exclaimed Mike, eager to get started on the car.

Over the next few months, Josh and Mike helped their father each and every weekend to piece together the Mustang, gathering supplies from Ralph’s auto shop when necessary. Long hours at the auto shop working on other people’s cars helped Ralph familiarize himself with the inner mechanisms of the Mustang. All their hard work paid off when on August 13, 2010, the Mustang roared to life. Ralph decided that night he was going to take his wife on a romantic drive through the town of Winchester, Massachusetts. So after yet another home-cooked meal made by Gertrude, the family cleared the table. Ralph and Gertrude exchanged glances, and left for the Mustang. They both got into the Mustang, Ralph started the engine, and they rode off into the sunset.! “I really appreciate you doing all this for me.” said Gertrude with a smile. “I don’t mind doing things for you honey.” Replied Ralph with a smile. They were pulled up in an abandoned lot, all alone at long last. Ralph leaned in to kiss his wife, slowly, with immense passion. The world was theirs tonight, with an enormously E x p r e s s i o n s!

Spring 2013

15


Fiction & Prose plentiful future ahead of them, filled with love, their children, and many more memories to be made, this being a first, longing memory made in some time. Who knows what the future may have in store for these two! “R$nd 24” - Colin MacEacheron ! Gingerb0y194 signed in. Do11ah Bi11 signed in. Start. Zombies. Multiplayer. Private Match. Map: “Kino der Toten.” Start match. Neither of them had headsets and didn’t plan on communicating. ! It was the last day of senior year. Bill and Sean had just split a nice, fat ‘L’. Cake’s Motorcade of Generosity was blasting in the background. ! Richtofen’s monologue was finished. Round 1 had started. Both players threw both of their grenades into the teleporter terminal. They would get more power-ups in future rounds that way. Round 1 ! Nine .45’s to the legs or arms and the knife for the finish got them at least 200 points. That was how Bill and Sean handled the zombies in the first round. ! They also allowed all the zombies to dismantle every barrier of every window they came through so as to acquire more points by rebuilding the barriers. At the end of the first round, they each had about 1,100 points or so. Round 2 ! They could have knifed each zombie twice for about 150 points per kill, but they did not want to risk getting swiped – not even once. So, they pumped over a magazine’s worth of bullets into each zombie and knifed them. They did that until they ran out of ammunition in their Colt .45’s and then they just knifed. Rounds 3 & 4 ! They spent these rounds racking up points from kills and headshots. Round 5 ! Dogs came early. Sean went down and Bill revived him. Bill went down and Sean revived him. The spirit of trust guided them through the round. Each of their fields of fire covered the other person’s flanks and even though there were quite a few dogs, the strategy was quite effective. Max Ammo. Rounds 6 through 11 ! They finally started buying doors. First, the upstairs door. Then the door to the MP-40 room. They each bought one and held off the staircases on each side of that bluelit barrier. Once they had enough points, the headed through the dressing room, onto the stage. The mystery box was there, but they resisted because they needed Juggernog (or Juggernaut) and they were going to upgrade their MP-40’s. They lasted a round or E x p r e s s i o n s!

Spring 2013

16


Fiction & Prose two on the stage and then switched on the power opening the curtains and completing the loop back to the main lobby. Round twelve ! Dogs again. Bill posted up stage right; Colin stage left. The dogs fought ferociously but with no focus. Plus, the boys had Juggernog now and were able to withstand the attack. It was silly, but they were almost scared of the dogs, regardless. They were massive pups, flaming and slobbering with hunger. Nikolai called them “demons” and that didn’t help. But nothing was sweeter than a dry chamber rewarded by Max Ammo and the serenity and ease you felt afterwards. Round 13 ! Now they had linked the teleporter. Only, Sean had enough; Bill had spent most of his money on mystery boxes, so Sean had to hold off a while Bill killed and tried not to die. He succeeded and entered the portal with Sean. They held X and ventured up to the projector room where Sean upgraded his MP-40 and Bill upgraded a Ray Gun he’d received from the mystery box. ! So, with Sean’s Afterburner and Bill’s Porter’s X-2, they set off to lap around the side of the map they had unlocked and periodically turned around to kill their undead enemies. They racked up thousands of points this way and went on to kill many, many zombies. Round 22 It was the beginning of the end for Bill and Sean. To start, Bill traded his dry Porter’s for a crossbow with explosive tips. Then Sean went down. Luckily, Bill revived him. Unluckily, Sean had no many at the time he went down because he had spent all his points on mystery boxes. Now he had cheap guns, no points and no perks. ! They were still able to run around and activate traps but only occasionally because they were running out of points - between the mystery box and the continuous purchasing of ammo, it was just too much. In fact, the mystery box was failing them – giving them futile weapons. They might as well have sautéed themselves in a pan full of brains and livers if they couldn’t depend on the mystery box. They were breathing their dying breath at this point. Round 23 ! Their first Nuke of the game, if that’s even believable. It came towards the middle or the end of the round during Double Points and not a moment sooner. They seized it and launched themselves into Round 24. Round 24 ! They were hoping for dogs. They got zombies instead. With the points earned from the Nuke, they were able to better equip themselves. Sean had upgraded an M14 and Bill had upgraded yet another Ray Gun. But, pretty soon, they were surrounded in the Theater. Bill went down first. He frantically sprayed bursts of Ray Gun ammo eveE x p r e s s i o n s!

Spring 2013

17


Fiction & Prose rywhere. Sean could do nothing but let the zombies kill him. But, before he entered last stand, he was shooting just as frantically as Bill but as one of the rounds from his M14 burst open the head of a zombie far back in the crowd, Sean made out the tail fins of a nuke. Running and dodging swipes at his character, Sean dove for the nuke. He got it, but a moment too late. There were too many zombies and too many swinging, undead arms to avoid. He went down along with his friend in the middle of a crowded yet empty theater. “&e La% Hoorah” - Kory /Gilvray !

Dear Diary,

I fought in that damn war for a year one month and 4 days. I did not see my family, friends, or loved ones since that day I got my call of duty. I worked my ass off in North Korea and did not get more than three hours of sleep a day. There was always a battle somewhere and it sucked, but man I love my country and that’s why I was there. ! Let me tell you a little bit about myself. My name is Wayne and I am proud to be a U.S. Marine. I got a wife Sue at home with a little girl on the way. I have never been smart and had not much of a future. I set myself straight and ever since I was sixteen, I wanted to fight for my country and make her proud. I fought in Iraq for a few months but not much went on there. I have been waiting to get back in the swing of things and now, the U.S. is back in the swing of things. Ever since North Korea’s beloved dictator Kim Jong Ill died, the Koreans needed someone to put them back on top. The damn Koreans picked the wrong country to launch missiles at. Now they got about eight countries wanting a piece of them. They started world war three, and I was the one to end it. I have been in the trenches of Korea for months and months making my country proud. My body count is 157 and I sure as hell ain’t done yet. The word on the street is the President wants to use a Hydrogen bomb but is hesitatin’ to do so. There is also a three million target for whoever slays Kim Jong Un, the Korean Dragon himself. My station is just a few miles outside where the Korean Dragon is hiding like a little sissy. He doesn’t know what the U.S. Marines have in store for him. After a few weeks of long, hard planning, we finally figured out the master plan to put an end to the war. We were going to divert the Korean defenses to one side of the building and on the other side; one brave soul would sneak in and pop a cap in the Korean Dragon’s head. That brave soul was me. E x p r e s s i o n s!

Spring 2013

18


Fiction & Prose The perfect day to strike came along on a Saturday. It was foggy and misty and you could barely see twenty feet in front of yourself. The walk to our battle positions felt like walking in a desert trying to find a way home. It seemed endless until the building was right before our eyes. It looked like it was a mile high when really it was only six stories. Our team located Kim Jong Un on the fifth floor and gave me precise directions to do my duty. I remember the first bullet being fired. I swore you could’ve heard it from a mile away. Two minutes and thirty seconds later, Operation Dragon had begun. I snuck into the building through a back door. I slowly began walking up the stairs with a suppressed .44 Magnum in my right hand and a knife in the other. My heart was beating out of my chest and I was sweating like a pig. I did not want to fail my mission so I sucked up my nerves and right before my eyes…the door to the fifth floor. I did not hear any commotion going on so I knew I was in the right place. I opened the door and it was an empty office with four computers but no one in sight. It was strange but in the corner of the room was another door which had to be the Dragon’s room. The walk seemed endless going over but I cocked my pistol, sucked in my gut, prayed to God and was ready to rock and roll. I turned the knob ever so slowly and when I broke in, looking out the window was the emperor of North Korea. I walked up to him, tapped him on the shoulder and said, “Hey Dragon, the war is over.” I put a cap right in between his eyes and he fell to the ground. I sprinted out of the room and all the way outside. I rejoined my team and we fled the scene. Days passed until the war official ended. America and its people were peaceful and ecstatic once again. Myself, I am still wondering if I can keep the secret for as long as I live. “Untitled” - Danielle Ray ! Senior year was coming to an end and the time that they had all been secretly dreading for months had arrived. As much as every senior in high school looks forward to moving on and getting out of town, they were scared. It’s that simple. You are going out into the real world with no one to guide you, no one holding your hand along the way. The toughest part for most of them was all the people they were leaving behind. For Jenna and Matt, leaving the small town where they grew up was even more difficult.

E x p r e s s i o n s!

Spring 2013

19


Fiction & Prose ! ! The two had been dating since their freshman year and were inseparable. The way they felt about each other was different and everyone knew it. They were best friends and they were in love. Some may say that at seventeen they were too young to know what love really was, but who ever said that about them was wrong. They did not know Jenna and Matt. ! ! They were neighbors and grew up right next to each other. They went from being best friends as kids to dating all through high school. Their families were close and everything about their relationship seemed perfect. ! ! Considering they had spent almost every day together for as long as they can remember they had always planned on going to the same college. That way they could be close to each other and leaving town wouldn’t affect their relationship. Plans all started to change when Matt received a full scholarship to play football at a school in Texas. Jenna wasn’t willing to go that far. She wanted to more than anything in the world, but she knew that her family was tight with money. She couldn’t ask her parents to pay that much money just so she could follow Matt. ! ! As much as Jenna knew that Matt going to Texas was the right thing for him she couldn’t help but hope that he was going to change his mind and say that he was willing to go wherever she went. All she could think about was him leaving and forgetting about her. “So I’ve been thinking a lot about colleges and if you choose to go to Texas what does that mean for us?” Jenna asked Matt as they were out driving around one night. “Well if I’m being honest with you I’ve been thinking a lot about it too, I was thinking that we should take a break before we go away,” Matt started to say with a nervous tone to his voice, “That way we will know if we really do love each other, we can see if being separated makes us miss each other even more.” Jenna was shocked with what she was hearing and as she sat in the passenger seat of his car she could feel her heart breaking. Her biggest fear had come true. The boy that she had spent the last four years of her life with no longer felt the way she did, or so she thought. Matt tried to explain himself but Jenna had heard enough out of him. “Please bring me home” Jenna said as she starred out the window. “I’m not bringing you home, we should talk about this. I don’t think you understand what I mean.” “Just bring me home.” E x p r e s s i o n s!

Spring 2013

20


Fiction & Prose The rest of the car ride was silent. When they finally pulled up to Jenna’s she couldn’t get out of the car quick enough. She slammed the car door and went into her house without even looking back. Matt tried to get in touch with Jenna for days after they had that talk. No answer. Days turned into weeks and weeks turned into months. Jenna ignored every phone call and text from Matt. When he came to her house she wouldn’t answer the door. She would not let him explain anything. It was the end of August when Jenna was getting ready to go off to school. She was going to a state school about two hours away from her home town. This was the school that her and Matt had both planned on going to. As she placed her last couple of boxes in the trunk of the car she thought of him. She thought of what he was doing and where he decided to go. She started to regret ignoring him for all that time but knew that it was too late. Jenna arrived at school and her parents helped move her in. When they finished unpacking Jenna and her family said their goodbyes. She took a walk around campus. She felt so alone. Her family was gone and she wished that someone was going to be there for her. This was going to be her new home for the next four years. As she looked around she did not see any familiar faces. This was all new to her and it was out of her comfort zone. She had just turned the corner when she heard someone call her name from behind. “Jenna?” a familiar voice had said. Jenna knew that voice. She turned back around to see Matt standing there. With a confused look on her face Jenna just stood there and looked at him. She did not speak she just starred. At that moment there was so much running through her mind. Why is he here? Is he staying? What is he doing? Matt started walking towards her. He explained that he turned down the offer from Texas. Instead he was going to go to a local college and be with the girl that he loved. He chased her, he went after her. He found her. And he did it all because he didn’t want to be without her. “A T+p to Wendy’s” - Conor Ryan Hi there, my name is Conor Ryan, and I’m going to tell you about a story how seven kids attempted to walk to Wendy’s. My father Fred, or Freddy as the neighborhood kids call him, grew up in the same neighborhood that we live in now. He had told me a story about how he and his friends would walk to Wendy’s in North Reading through a path by the woods of our neighborhood when he was younger. Now you’re E x p r e s s i o n s!

Spring 2013

21


Fiction & Prose probably thinking to yourself where the hell does this kid live? Well my neighborhood, Hathaway Acres is the last neighborhood before you hit North Reading, so it doesn’t take long to walk over the border. It was two summers ago, and neither my friends nor I had our licenses, so we had to walk everywhere. We were playing whifle ball in the backyard when Woodsy said “I’m starving, lets walk to Pizza Mia or Elias, or something” Then everyone agreed so we were about to leave when I said “How about we walk to Wendy’s” and everyone just kind of looked at me funny and laughed. I said “c’mon it can’t be that bad, my dad said you just follow the same path the entire time”. So everyone was like alright let’s try it, but little do we know we were in for a three hour journey that no one expected. The first thing we did was walk to E.F Shea’s Construction site because the path runs along side there. We found the path and followed it because we figured this had to be the famous path. While we were walking we found a giant pond that we didn’t even know about and there where kayakers and people on small boats fishing in it. There was also a giant random rock in the middle of it, so we wanted to know how that got there. As we continued down the road, we saw people on four wheelers riding on the sand dunes, so now I knew we were on the right path, because my dad said there were sandy hills along the way. So we continued our walk and when we looked up there were massive high tension lines so we were like “where the hell are we” my friend drew then goes “Yo I don’t think we should be back here, there’s a fence that says U.S government and I heard theses wires give off radiation” so we were thinking about heading back, but then I saw something. As I walked up on top of one of the hills, I saw the very tip of Piccadilly Pub Restaurant, so I knew we were almost to North Reading. I screamed out “I see it, I see it, Its Piccadilly!’’ The next step was to follow the path, except there was one problem, the path stopped randomly. It was disappointing, we shrugged our heads and started to walk back, but then Steve said “wait lets go back, we came this far, and I really want a burger so I’m gunna find a way one way or the other”. We turned around and headed back to the spot where the path ended, and we encountered a problem. There was a small swamp that led was in the middle of the path, and the government fence ran alongside it. In the swamp were random cones, planks, and carriages, the waters smell was unbearable, and the bugs were bad. To top things off the fence was laced with barb wire at the top so we couldn’t even climb over it. Drew decides that he was going to make it to Wendy’s, he jumped on the fence and scaled it, he was also able to use the objects in the water as something to keep his balance, the rest of us followed. Everyone was across accept for Masi, now we figured Masi would have a little trouble with the fence because he was a bigger kid, it came down to the last plank, and Splash! “Down goes Masi, Down goes Masi” Drew said and it was hilarious, Masi got his entire right leg in the Swamp, there was shit all over the leg, and he smelled terrible now, but dam it E x p r e s s i o n s!

Spring 2013

22


Fiction & Prose was funny to see. As we made it out from the swamp we entered some dirt bike trail, and there were bikers hitting jumps. “Hey do you guys know how to get to Wendy’s” I asked, and they said “yea, just follow the path and you end up behind Wal-Mart” we were almost to our destination, just a few more hundred feet. We followed the path, and there we were, we saw all garden stuff and we knew we were at Wal-Mart. You could start to hear voices, and as we went out we were in the North Reading Plaza, Wendy’s was 300 ft. ahead of us. Marcus started to run and the rest of us followed, we had made it. In Wendy’s I don’t think I have ever seen so much food ordered before, Marcus got three burgers, two chicken sandwiches, fries and a drink, I got two burgers, two chicken sandwiches, fries and a drink, Steve got two burgers, Woods got two burgers, and Drew ordered the biggest combo meal you could get. It was a trip to remember and countless funny moments, the journey to Wendy’s always comes up in conversation sometimes and we look back at how dumb we were. The good thing was, Drew’s brother came and picked us up, we were not going to walk that again. “&e Blue Rubbermaid Box” - Ma+anna Tassone ! Deep inside my moms walk-in closet there is a big blue Rubbermaid box. It looks like any ordinary blue plastic storage box that is sold in stores. To me however, it is so much more. Inside this box contains the pieces to me and my brother’s childhood. Every project, every paper, every piece of art my brother and I have ever created from preschool to present day is held inside this box. The box represents a collection of our childhood memories and youthful experiences that brought us to where we are today. ! Every once in a while the blue box is brought up in conversation between my family, so we drag it out of my moms closet and down the hall into our family room. This box is literally like a walk down memory lane to me. I can’t get through looking at everything in the box without cracking up or letting a tear slip. It makes us all burst into laughter when we find something my brother or I made in preschool with spelling errors that make it almost incomprehensible and scribbles of crayons that at the time me and my brother thought were great works of art. It was the days where we thought “practicing” was spelled “prackdesing” and sentences were either never complete or never ending. And then there are projects we did in which we wrote about our family. Portraits we drew of our family consisted of four little stick figures, but it still represented our family. As we read through worksheets from years past we see sentences get stronger, images get clearer but the meaning remains the same. ! My favorite thing my brother made was when he was in Kindergarten. It is a picture of him and his handprint. Under his picture he wrote, “My name is Joey Tassone, and I am special because I like to play with my sister.” It reminds me that even though E x p r e s s i o n s!

Spring 2013

23


Fiction & Prose we’re older now and do not always get along, that we’re family and we’ll always love each other. The blue box is a symbol in my family of growing up. For me and my brother it is all about how much we’ve changed, and for my mom and dad it’s all about realizing that their two babies are growing up. ! It’s crazy to me that this one box full of stuff that some would call old and unnecessary has so much meaning to me. Here I am, preparing myself for college, 18 years of my life in my past with this blue box holding hundreds of memories. I am grateful that my parents kept all of our old school and art work because it reminds me where I started out and how much I’ve grown up. I could say I am a completely different person from that preschool work I did, but I’m not. I’m still the same kid at heart, and no matter where I end up in my future this blue box lets me know where I came from.

E x p r e s s i o n s!

Spring 2013

24


Musical Arts “I Love Y$ In Secret” -Connor Burke; words by Pablo Neruda

E x p r e s s i o n s!

Spring 2013

1


Musical Arts

E x p r e s s i o n s!

Spring 2013

2


Musical Arts

E x p r e s s i o n s!

Spring 2013

3


Musical Arts

E x p r e s s i o n s!

Spring 2013

4


Musical Arts

E x p r e s s i o n s!

Spring 2013

5


Musical Arts “Ju% &e Way Y$ Are” - Bruno Mars:

Cla+net Arran*ment by Sarme,a Ramanan

E x p r e s s i o n s!

Spring 2013

6


Musical Arts

E x p r e s s i o n s!

Spring 2013

7


Musical Arts

E x p r e s s i o n s!

Spring 2013

8


Musical Arts

E x p r e s s i o n s!

Spring 2013

9


E x p r e s s i o n s!

Spring 2013

X


WHS Expressions 2013 Issue