Creation Issue 2

Winter 2013 Issue #2

Scitech Literary Magazine

Creation

I’M A DREAMER A

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e l e b r a t i o n

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a l e n t

ArtAttack is about bringing the opportunity for SciTech students to display their artistic abilities.

Students who are interested in acting, singing, dancing, drawing, writing, film, and even cosmetology are welcome to join ArtAttack. ArtAttack is a club open to all SciTech students who are willing to participate in bringing the arts back to SciTech. After CASA, a local arts program, became a charter school a lot of students lost their chance to be able to partake in the things they loved to so. Seniors Alisa Vazquez and Markisha Peace felt the need to provide their classmates with a club that helps them better and display their artistic abilities. The club holds meetings every Friday and plans on putting together a huge performance for the end of the school year.

The mission for Creation is to have a student-run literary journal at SciTech High that seeks to showcase previously unpublished literary fiction, nonfiction, visual art, performance based art, music and poetry. We are looking for works that capture those unexpected, often abrupt moments in life that jolt us into a new sense of awareness—one that transforms the way in which we see ourselves and others. We are accepting previously unpublished works of fiction, nonfiction, poetry, performance based art, music and visual art.

You may submit more than one entry. You may email your submissions to gelo@hbgsd.k12.pa.us.

-Poetry: maximum length of 1500 words -Prose: maximum length of 3000 words -Visual art: high resolution jpeg or png files -Performances: a link to a file where the performance can be viewed Ideally we would like to showcase student work. Knowing how difficult that is, we have invited other people at the building to submit work that shows off their talents. So be it a bit of painting or an excerpt from a novel or a sample of poetry- we asked the teachers and staff to please feel free to share. You may be amazed by the hidden talents of some of your teachers and even discover some connection that you previously didn’t know was there.

What wll Your Verse Be? We don’t read and write poetry because it’s cute.

We read and write poetry because we are members of the human race. And the human race is filled with passion. And medicine, law, business, engineering, these are noble pursuits and necessary to sustain life. But poetry, beauty, romance, love, these are what we stay alive for. To quote from Whitman, “O me! O life!... of the questions of these recurring; of the endless trains of the faithless... of cities filled with the foolish; what good amid these, O me, O life?” Answer. That you are here - that life exists, and identity; that the powerful play goes on and you may contribute a verse. That the powerful play *goes on* and you may contribute a verse. What will your verse be?

John Keating, “Dead Poets Society

...what will your verse be...

Creation

by SciTech Campus Principal Mrs. Sieta Achampong CPD Sponspor George Elo Editors Daradano Toun Contributors Kwentis Lane, Lexus Allen, Kyle Layton, Chantrell, Mikaele Joseph, Alize Chapman, Terryn Brown, Anyea Cheseter, Naliston Por, Alyssa Payne, Brian Frazier, Aliya Daniels, Emily Ochera, Evelyse Gonzalez, Ashia Letterlough, Jaylyn Singleton, Darnell Ducre-Harden, Nalason Por,

VOLUME 02, ISSUE 01 Copyright 2013 NO part of Creation by SciTech Campus may be reproduce in any form without prior written consent from the publisher. Creations liability in the event of an error is limited to a printed correction.

Creation Magazine 215 Markey St. Harrisburg, PA 17101 T: (717)-703-1904

Mosaic: ACelebration of Writing Call for Submissions You have a voice that needs to be heard!

Express yourself through the power of writing!

All students and employees of Harrisburg School District are invited to enter a piece of writing that will be published in the Mosaic Literary Journal.

The submission deadline is Friday, April 4, 2014.

Categories: Poetry - Fiction - Creative Fiction Criteria: * All entries must be original work. Plagiarized work will be disqualified. * All entries must be less than 800 words. * All entries must be submitted electronically as a Word document to mosaic@hbgsd.k12.pa.us * All entries must use 12-pointTimes New Roman font, double-spaced, standard formatting, no bold type. * All poetry entries may be single-spaced. * All entries must include a Header: * For students: student name, grade, teacher name, school. * For employees: name, position, building.

Questions please email mosaic@hbgsd.k12.pa.us

The Young Lust Of A Teen Anonoymous Senior Lust

Mikele Joseph, Grade 11 One picture can capture a perfect moment. A picture is just a picture to you, but to me it means a moment of beauty. I love taking pictures at just the right moment, with each moment it tells a story. The story could be a begining of something, the prime of it, or the ending. When i focus my llense onto an object I can see all the detail of, the designs of it, the dusts that covers it, and many more. I can also see the dents and scratches on the surface of it. These objects had a long history with them.

The silent killer of many teens Who think the blood running their heart is a river Of passion from a fermented love brewed Over a summer of heated embrace The lust felt in the flesh often results in An untapped cache of emotions that could be Self-destructive and dangerous Afraid is a young lover That a river of passion may Turn to dark blobs of hate with purple clots Of betrayal and stain the soul The hunger for happiness has left Many with a sealed tin of memories Memories not to be shared with anyone who wasn’t there A tin of forgotten memories and lost lust.

Terryn Brown, Grade9

Alone In The Dark Kyle Layton, Grade 11

I woke up with a start, flinging the duvet off of my half-naked body. Perspiration stained my pale forehead, soaking my hair so that it clumped over my eyebrows. My arms were goose-bumped and shivering. I looked around the room, as if to make sure everything were the same as before I dozed off. It was seemingly normal, but as always, I was uneasy. This wasn’t the first time.

Ever since I was five years old – when I truly learned to analyze my dreams – nightmares have ruled my night life. Vibrant visions of abstract darkness laced with poisonous torture soaked my mind and made me dark. Not so much so on the outside, for I was still the loving son, homecoming king, and school valedictorian who got a full ride to Harvard early Junior year. But things weren’t that virtuous on the inside. There are things inside of me. Malevolent, terrible things. I have engraved into my mind that I must be distant to people outside of my family. No one will get hurt when I finally explode, which is inevitable.

I threw the duvet off the rest of my body and crawled out of the bed. The floorboards screeched under my weight as I quickly got undressed and padded into the bathroom to the shower. Usually, around this time, My mother would be in the kitchen making breakfast already. But there was an absence of breakfast aroma. I shrugged it off as my mom running late again and took a shower before heading back to my room and slamming my door as too wake up everyone else in the house.

There was not a sound to be heard.

I opened the door again and honed my hearing.

Nothing stirred.

“Mom?” I called, my voice echoing off the walls of the apartment.

Still, silence responded.

I stepped warily out into the hallway, still clad in my bath towel. I called again, louder this time, but to no avail.

‘She might have gone to work early for some reason.’ I thought. I stepped back into the room and closed the door again. The school bus would be here in less than an hour. I hastily dressed and prepared my supplies, still not hearing a sound throughout the house.

When I finally made my way out of the apartment, things hadn’t changed. The atmosphere was dead, contrary to the fact that we were in the Empire State Building; and things were supposed to be alive around this time of the year. Although summer was just ending, things were still live, but not now.

Things were the opposite of live. Things were dead.

When I got off the elevator, and reached the lobby; Louise, who usually is there at the desk to greet me every morning, is not there. Neither is Will, the bellman, or Ceere, the Janitor. A glimpse of panic struts across my thoughts, but I wave it away, justifying it irrationally. But when I finally leave the building, the panic comes back.

Empty was not a word to describe my city. Empty was not a word to describe my state. New York City was never an empty place, and in all of my 17 years have I ever seen anything thisEmpty.

Suddenly a strange light passed over me, as if I was on stage. Then a black figure erupted over the sky, It was massive, like rain, but it wasn’t. It was liquid, but it definitely wasn’t rain. I stared for a minute, and then realized that it wasn’t moving. Something was floating over top of New York.

I ran as fast as I could down to the end of the street, hoping to reach and end to the darkness, but to no avail, so I ran some more, until I couldn’t run anymore. I stopped near a burned down building, and ran inside, hoping to reach the roof where I would be able to get a better view.

I looked up at the sky analytically, as I had been self-taught. The darkness still remained, and the attempt to get a better look at things had gone dormant. There was better look, there was nothing. I edged toward the rim of the building, peering over the edge. I shrieked in horror in what I had seen.

Like a river, black mud ravished the roads, sweeping up taxis and buses and cars in it’s path and reducing

them into ashes. Still, no people, not that it mattered anyway.

The river swept down the street in front of me, breaking windows and throwing vehicles about. I ran and jumped across to another rooftop, silently thanking the fact that the houses were so close-quarters. I peered over the edge of this building too, only to see that the road as suffered the same fate as the other. My mind quickly descended into madness.

“Where the hell is everybody?” I screamed at the top of my lungs.

Then, abruptly, a giant wave of black slammed into the building, sending brick and ashes flying everywhere.

I hastily made my way to another platform before the darkness swallowed the building whole. Tears began to stream down my face as I realized.

“I’m going to die.”

It all fell over at once. The billowing reached it’s peak and enveloped the platform I had been standing on, taking me with it. I felt hands lock around my limbs, and I snapped my head around to peer at them. They were covered in red. Everything, was covered in red.

I bent my back around, and felt the darkness eating away at my skin, my clothes, my teeth, my soul. Searing pain coursed through all of my being, and my head was a pool of nothingness. This continued, until I could feel the darkness feeding on my insides and tearing me limb from limb, and somehow, through all this, I remained, my soul fully intact. I felt the pain tugging, and I knew that I would be dead soon.

Ashia Letterlough, Grade 12

The Death of My Rock

Lexus Allen,,Grade 12 As I slept, the eerie silence was shattered by her scream, “Nooo, no, no, no!” It was my grandmother. As I walked downstairs I felt my heart skip a beat, I was very afraid. My grandfather was admitted into the ICU the night before; therefore I knew her screaming was not a sign of good news. When I finally reached the bottom of the stairs, I saw her just lying on the couch in complete hysteria. Then suddenly my mother bursts through the door. The look in her eyes told it all. The image is unforgettable; she had bloodshot red eyes and bags under her eyes that showed the lack of sleep she had gotten the night before. She came in and looked at me with a look that will remain with me for the rest of my life.

Then trying to put up a facade, she said, “Hey momma, I didn’t think you were awake yet.”

And I snapped back, “ What’s wrong with Pappy?”

“He is in the ICU downtown and the doctors . . . are unsure he will make it this time,” she said as the tears rolled down her face. I did not want to believe what I was hearing. My grandfather was the person that kept the family together and always made things work when times were rough. What would I do with out him? I just cried. My mother asked me if I wanted to come to the hospital to see him and told me that the rest of the family was already there. Of course I said yes; feeling horrible about sleeping in at a time like this.

As we drove to the hospital, my grandmother and mother were talking. I just sat in the back and cried. I did not say a word, except for when they started to talk about him dying.

My mother said, “Well he is very ill and they aren’t sure they can help him. If he passes I don’t know what I will do. We will have to accept it.”

And then my grandmother cried out, “Noooo—.”

I cut her off and screamed, “Stop it! Just stop it, he is not going to die!”

I could hear my whole world crashing down as they spoke. My grandfather and I did so many things together. I remember picking him up from his job and after we would take the car and he would drive wildly behind the Kline Village GIANT. The thought of losing him felt like a thousand knives stabbing me at once.

We finally arrived at the hospital, and once we reached my grandfather’s room, I ran to him. But he was not responding. He just lay there, unresponsive, completely oblivious to the world. Next I saw my two aunts and my cousin with my mother and grandmother. They all came in and we all just kind of sat there. I would have rather been in there with him by myself. Moments later a doctor came into the room and asked to see the family of Michael Mentzer. We gathered in a small conference room and what I heard made me very angry.

Emily Ochera, Grade 11 Emily believes art is a gate way to another world. To be good at it you don’t need fancy tools or anything.

What you need is the imagination and the inspiration to be a good artist. She always uses a pen for her work and she finds that that’s all she needs to draw though a pencil is appreciated at hand.

“Drawing is a hobby of mine that I do to pass the time mostly. Inspiration to draw can come from anywhere from music to your current mood,”said Emily.

“Your father has reached a stage in which he can no longer live on his own. The machines are what's keeping him alive. He is suffering from end stage renal failure. I’m so sorry, there is nothing we can do.” I immediately stormed out the room, tears rolling down my face, in complete devastation. I tried calling a friend. No answer.

The only person I wanted to be there for me was nowhere to be found. I tried calling and calling, looking for some kind of comfort, but to my disappointment found none. All I could do was fall on the bathroom floor and sob. I came out of the bathroom and went straight to his room. As I sat down in the chair, I felt a heap of unhappiness. I just stared at him for a while, unsure what to say.

“I love you Pappy,” I said almost inaudibly. And amazingly he looked up at me and just stared. It was a look that reassured me that he was going to be at peace. He kind of smiled at me and I knew that he knew it was me sitting right there at his side. I wanted him to talk to me; however, I knew he was not able to. I felt like he knew it would be the last time he would see me and that was the most special moment in my life. It felt like it was just he and I on the earth at the time and I would kill to relive that moment one more time. However, the bickering of my loved ones ruined that dear moment.

“You were so damn mean to him, why are you even here right now?,” said my aunt.

“I did every damn thing for your dad, shut the hell up. You caused him all of his pain, you put so much stress on him,” shouted my grandmother. My cousin and I just sat there and cried, as I thought to myself: Why are they arguing at a time like this? And at that moment I realized that the next few years without my grandfather around was going to be rough. He was not going to be there any more to stop all the fighting and keep us together. That scared me.

“I wanna go home!” I said to my mother.

“Okay honey, do you want to go to a friend’s?” she said.

“Yeah,” I sobbed.

Then I found myself in the home of my best friend, Amari. She let me lay in her bed and cry. She made me feel safe and avoided talking about the situation. She was always there and she still is today. We kind of just sat there and watched movies together. I liked the fact that she did not expect me to talk, which made me feel much better. A couple hours later I went home. And later the next day my mother told me that they pulled the plug.

“Grammy told him to go home and be in heaven, and then we pulled it,” she told me. I did not answer. I was not angry or sad, but comfortable. At least he would not have to suffer any more. He had been sick for so long. It hurt so much to see him go, but I knew he was and will always be with me. However, I was glad that I did not go along when they pulled the plug because I would not have allowed it.

God works in mysterious ways though.

My father always told me, “God never takes anything, without giving something back.” And he was right. The next summer our family was blessed with a healthy baby girl. My cousin had her second baby and we all love her so much. It was not that she had replaced my grandfather, but she had reminded us of him and his presence in our lives. That is when I learned to always have faith in God and love. Love is what got us through those rough times. I learned that even though things seem to be horrible there is always a silver lining behind every dark cloud.

Alisa Vasquez, Grade 12 This image is the result of taking a picture and applying several layers to it in Photoshop. The skill is in finding the right effect. using the tool to achieve just the right look.

The Difference Between Being Different, And Being Alive Kyle Laughton, Grade 11

Life is probably one of the most harrowing gifts that nature can give to you. It will reduct you, slowly and painfully, until you are no more. It influences people to take action, things that can damage physically or mentally; most likely with little benefit to anyone. Being different than others, you learn to take a different stance on life.

You learn to stuff your skin and prepare for winter. You learn to live, even when you’re dead.

Why are men so angry?

Simran Basnet, Grafe 10

Why are men so angry? Why are they so filled with contempt and hatred? Or maybe it’s not the anger that sleeps as a giant in their hearts. Maybe it’s fear. The fear of losing the dominance that they have had. But how will abusing a woman prove their “manliness” in any way? It proves their cowardice only. We, as in you and I, live in a very delusional environment. We think, it is the 21st century, who passes comments on gender? False. We close to our eyes to the things that we don’t want to see. That’s why we are oblivious to these things.

But it’s not us. It’s history who has been harsh on women. Women have fought for equality since the very beginning of time and still continue to. Freedom is only so limited. And what of those poor girls who don’t even know the meaning of freedom? Those girls get married as young as 7 or 8 years old. They get sold off. They have to sacrifice their education and their opportunities so their parents can pay for their brother’s education. How is that fair? Why is the idea of a woman ruling a country so preposterous? Why was the idea of a woman voting for her own leader so frowned upon? We are limited. Our thoughts, our ideas are limited.

A poor girl gets raped, and she is the one who gets punished. This is not being written on the basis of anyone’s opinion. These are facts. This is victim blaming. What they tell us is: “Ladies, if someone rapes you, it’s your fault.” It is our fault, isn’t it? Wearing provocative clothing, seducing men, and whatnot. So what if that man raped me or if he raped her? So what if he has no morals or that he is vile? Women are the ones who go out wearing miniskirts, right? Men do that to prove that they are more dominant.

So the question was: Why are men so angry? The answer? Insecurity. When they feel inadequate in their own environment, they tend to attack someone to release their anger so they can feel better about themselves. But no matter what, women will still progress like they have all these years. Chauvinistic egos will not stop them.

Anthony Tyler, Grade 10

Apollo Evelys Gonzalez, Grade 12 In the theater,

-showing stories

through the eyes of Harlemappreciation plays in the winds of your songs created from instruments traded for your cows within the plains of Pennsylvania where you glow golden in the sun you drag -amongst the gardensas you flutter from Hyacinth to Hyacinth.

A Great Dane, you are the breed of all breeds and the bright side of the moon belongs to you; one of a kind

-as you float through the spaces

between the starsbefore landing on the moon and molding a crater from the gears of travel in the last century that fuel your own creativity as you drive past the racing horse that you are.

On a rocky road, you made it your creed to believe in yourself and beat the ground until you were found shining in the rough

-ready to be sold as a marvel

of your own design: painted porno graffiti and poetry on the walls of hard wells; wondering if your lovers remember you in the wake of the sun that burns eyes with your beauty.

Visions of tomorrow seen in the glass of pure and holy wine -where you and your best friend swimas medicine is given to the children, who dream the dreams that you once dreamed.

You generously play music for the soul and mind

-pulling at the strings of liars.

You are the protector of those you love; you take your bow out for mom and aim at the sun.

This is an Ode to your every thing.

God of Any Thing; Apollo give us you.

Where I'm From Evelys Gonzalez, Grade 12 I am from the bloody pages of disturbing literature, from The Raven, Alone and American Psycho.

I am from the clean carpets of a passionate home (White and rough, untouched, but scrubbed; It lingered with the smell of lemons).

I am from the dying plant, hanging potted from the ceiling and the lone and trapped cactus, which was miles away from it’s natural climate.

I’m from the Christmas Trees of Thanksgiving, and thick, dark locks, from Brianna and Yesenia and Joseph, my little love.

I am from shaking legs and bigger dreams, from “Don’t lick knives” and “Don’t whistle at night”.

I’m from Godless Sundays for Football games and debate.

I am from within the cracks of the sidewalks, dollar icies and guanimes.

From the demon that possessed my grandmother and the aunt who stabbed her twin with a pencil when she was only seven.

I am from the moments without and featuring me: The girl with bitter eyes on the inspired edge of giving it all up for everything.

Icarus by: George Elo, Teacher Warned away, Told not to come close, To keep at a safe distance and not approach your scorching brilliance, I approached anyway, ignoring the sage advice of those more wise.

I singed and burnt myself on your radiance And fell in gyrating ecstacy, Plummeting to my fate enlivened by Approaching so close to your splendor.

Anthony Tylor, Grade 10

Brian Fraiser, Grade 12

Anthony Tylor, Grade 10

Chanelle Coleman, Junior Chanelle has been drawing and creating art all her life. She says “I used to want to be an artist, but then art became more of a hobby. Art is a way for me to express myself and the things that I love. If I admire a person or object enough, I draw or paint it..” She also sees art as being cathardic, saying” If I’m felling down, I’ll draw a depressing depressing picture. She enjoys creating all different types of art like drawing, painting, dancing, etc. She recognizes that , “Without my artisitc abilities my life just wouldn’t be the same. I owe it all to my family for passing down their are genes.”

Chanelle Coleman, Grade 11

Chanelle Coleman, Grade 11

Chanelle Coleman, Grade 11

Chanelle Coleman, Grade 11

A killer

Mikielee Joseph, Grade 11 A smile found its way on my lips. But to anyone but me that smile was anything but normal. It was a smile that was forced. It wasn’t a smile of happiness or joy, no; it was a smile of evil and wickedness. “p-p-please don’t do this?” she begged. But I couldn’t stop. The smile enlarged as if it has a mind of its own and a craving for blood. Lindsay laid on the dirty concrete in a pool of her own blood against the brick wall. She looked bleak. Every inch of her was bruised, punctured and scratched, her arms, legs were limp and she could no longer move them.

“PLEASE!”she gasped, her eyes boring into mine, searching for a sign of my humanity. But I could tell she knew there was none. I laughed bending down to pick up the baseball bat I dropped earlier. I slowly strolled over to her and I knew her fear had intensified.

“I’m begging you, please don’t kill me!” she screamed with the remainder of her strength. Being me, I laughed and stricken a blow to her face. She shrieked and the warm crimson cascaded down her face. She looked so helpless it was funny. “You monstrous witch” she spat whimpering. I laughed. I found it amusing that she still has the strength and courage to tall like that. I hit her with another blow again and again until the color from her face had drained and her chest stopped moving.

I dropped the now blood soaked baseball bat and then I proceed to strip myself of my gloves and clothing. Going to my bag I changed into my school uniform, tied my hair in a ponytail. I disposed of the bat, clothes and any other evidence that would give me away. Then I strolled out of the alleyway into the quiet night streets of Chicago’s south side.

Choices DARNELL T. DUCRE-HARDEN, Grade 12 Every Choice that I’ve made Every day that we spent My price has already been paid With tears and heartache I meant Who would have known this could be I missed my chance, my window again Constantly thinking of you and me I should have thought about us then I wish I could have known you first But I don’t regret knowing you still I guess things just turned for the worst And you easily forgot me at will

Zong Lin, Grade 9 Faces DARNELL T. DUCRE-HARDEN, Grade 12 In the infinite twilight of eternity I see the faces that are of eons past From the pale white of longevity To the blackest day of our last I see my other in a past life Still waiting for the longing of time My other is me and my sorrow and strife From every note, to beat and to rhyme In this mundane stance always watching Never even blinking in our timeless wait We travel from level to level always notching Always feeling watched as if being bait

Kami Slaughter, Grade 11

What more can one truly say to its amnesty Its complete absolution drains the mind’s very reason Who can resist its motion of insanity?

But to betray or understand would be nothing more than treason.

Inspiration DARNELL T. DUCRE-HARDEN, Grade 12 Pure essence of inspiration Beautiful as the sunrise to sunset As ingenious as the design of life’s creation Truly the vessel of one so perfect Nannette Blank , Teacher

The melody of a fallen seraph The origin of such a sound can only come from you Alone with you I seem completely helpless You affect me like no other, this I must admit to be true.

“It Be Like That Sometimes” DARNELL T. DUCRE-HARDEN, Grade 12 Now Were coming to our final years I’m writing about in between the lines I look back and remember all of my fears But hey it be like that sometimes

In my eyes you are known for the beauty that you are To describe in words how I feel would be futile For the peace of mind in life is a road that is much too far But something about you bends me to be servile Even now my thoughts prove to be scattered Wanting to know you more continues to be a struggle If nothing more I wish for this to at least acquire you to be flattered Just as your inquiry to “snuggle”

I remember every song that was sung Every note that was played I even remember the high keys that stung Looking back I can remember why I stayed And it be like that sometimes

I hope that we can move to be more to each other’s company But with good times there comes the bad Forgive me if I present any unwanted pleasantry Lines of broken hearts hung throughout the halls I hope that you will accept my personal sympathy Everyday you see our people friends and family with hearts still sad But I am deeply glad to have met you Destiny Who still remembers those late night phone calls?

Its okay because it be like that sometimes Now things are starting to unravel Life is hitting us all pretty hard The faces that we knew leave us and begin to travel All of their fates twisting together, while they hold all the cards We Know it be like that sometimes

Nannette Blank , Teacher

We never forget what it is we fight for What we must do just to survive The world tries to stop us even with our fates waiting outside our door Don’t worry so much we can do this together and reach for the sky Cause it can be like that sometimes No matter how rough the world can be We always trust and strive together We stand tall and with each other, can’t you see?

We are the Harrisburg Cougars and no ones better!

Just so you know, it be like that sometimes

Nannette Blank , Teacher

This is our city and our time today and tomorrow Live for you, your song, your life, your rhythms, and your rhymes!

Forget about all that fighting, for nothing more then pain and sorrow Because by the end of the day IT JUST BE LIKE THAT SOMETIMES

Alondra Cruz, Grade 11

Alondra Cruz is a young passionet artist. She first dicoverd her passion in Puerto Rico when she was just a child. She was a natural. When she came to the USA she when for the apportunity to attend an art school, she made it in Capital Area School for the Arts at Downtown Harrisburg.

Alondra ejoys the feeling she gets when her pencil makes contact with her paper.

Malika Willians-Brooks, grade 10, has many talents including pencil and paper scetching (image to the left) and creating a image on Silk using her skills at composing (image to the right). She enjoys using art to express her feelings and finds it relaxing to sit with any meduim and allowing the moment to speak to her and is sometimes suprised to find out what the final product has become.

Regrets TATYANA M. HARRIS, Grade Why am i stuck in yesterday?

You froze my brain and threw it away.

You had me continuously pressing replay.

Over thinking these regrets i shouldn't have made .

I tried my best to let it go.

Yet i'm still holding on to what was over and gone.

I wished I would have knew before.

That I should have walked right out the door.

My heart was telling me to keep away.

My mind was begging and begging to stay.

Would I let go now its a brighter day.

The feeling of Guilt has had me dismayed But yet today i'm mentally confused.

Keep thinking the past is some interesting news.

I know by myself is where I should be placed.

Yet i'm over thinking these regrets i shouldn't have made.

Taquanasia Reddick, Grade 12

Taquanasia Reddick, Grade 12

Terryn Brown, Grade 9

Voice of Songwriters Naliston Por, Grade 12 She’s the first sound of the future Taking the world as her stage With her leek in hand And a YAMAHA piano keyboard as her instrument Singing with MEIKO and KAITO Along with mirror sounds And songs to all around the world as scent spreads

Aaliya Daniels, Grade 12

Being the number one princess in the world Her fans enjoying vegetable juice And tapping to the beat of her songs From the east and now to the west Reaching out to us to tell your world She’s no longer a rolling girl She has reached the impossible dream It’s her time to be a super idol Dancing with a pop step In the world’s end dancehall

Aaliya Daniels, Grade 12

Aaliya Daniels, Grade 12

Aaliya Daniels, Grade 12

Aaliya Daniels, Grade 12

Yaika Cuevas, Grade 12

Kassai Meyers, Grade 12

Drip, Drip, Drop

Some times the simplest of images take the most work. Creating a water droplet is a multi layer, multistep process in Photoshop, taking at least an entire class period of intensive work for students to create.

Shawn Merritt, Grade 12

Shaquaya Baylor, Grade 12

I’m Money Though...

Students were given the option to create their own money as a part of the Computer Graphics class. Sam Bui, Jaylyn Singleton and Mr. Elo all choose to create different bills. Sam chose one of his favorite actrecesses, Jaylyn choose to use the bluebird of happiness to reflect her usual mood and Mr. Elo used a selfie that he had taken, as well as the image of founder Lisa Waller from the mural.

Devron Solomon I First Found Out About My Instrument When I Was Around the Age Of 11 When I Walked Into My Older Counsin’s Room While He Was Making a Beat. I Actually Started Making Them When I Was 14. I Can Remember The Name Of My First Beat Its Called Speed I Loved It I Still Have The File For It. But I Love Music I Dont Think I’d Be Devron If I Had To Go Without Music For To Long. I Think Fl Studio Is One Of The Most Used And The Easiest Software To Use WHen You Want To Start Off In MAking Music. Im GOing To College To Be a Music Major. But When You Try To Persue a Music Career You Have To Have a Lot Of Connection/ Know a Lot To Get What You Want Or What You Need To Get To Continue And Be a Better Music Maker.

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