The Arrow 2023

The Arrow

Student Editors:

Alberto P. ‘27, Sofia M. ‘27, Lola F. ‘27, Annabella M. ‘27, Gabrielle P. ‘27, Charlotte H. ‘27, Tyler S. ‘27, Olivia H. ‘27, Sofia I. ‘28, Sarah S.-O. ‘28, Margaret S.-O. ‘29, Henry K. ‘30, Navika K. ‘30, Xi H. ‘30

Faculty Advisors:

Jessica DiFalco & Monica Carrier

With Special Thanks To:

Shazia Durrani, Brad Walters, & Richard Robinson

Faculty Support:

Merideth Maddox, Ellen Ferguson, Ashlin Halfnight, Trevor Ogden

Cover Art: Aila R. ‘29

Inner Cover Art: Sophie P. ‘30

Evelyn W. ‘28

The house is empty, but what is that creaking noise? I’m not home alone.

Like a Bird, I Fly

Catherine S. ‘30

The crisp wind I glide in is the current throughout life. When I take off, I feel like a plane soaring through the air, and it makes me feel empowered with hope and positivity. Like a bird, I fly down below, brushing the sapphires that are the water and my dreams. Like a bird, I fly into the plants that drizzle me and my feathers in dew particles that are the thousands of memories in my life. Like a bird, I fly into my wonders and wishes that are big and fluffy like the snow-white clouds. Like a bird, I WILL fly up to the stars and won’t come down, not for anything.

Nick F. ‘28

Clouds

Johannah H. ‘29

The fluffy clouds, providing rain that keeps us from droughts.

Shade, white to gray, gray to gone.

Snow and sleet.

Sun clears my soul.

Windows

Josephine M. ‘29

Spacious, empty, spotless glass panes overlooking a miniature scene with trees the size of blades of grass and long plains that erase any remaining sense of scale.

Windows stealing my attention, blue sky, clear of darkening clouds that steal the sun and the joy. Instead, leaves and flowers fluttering in the wind and reminding me of the big picture.

Peeks of the world outside, noise, but not noisy. Laughter, talking, yelling. People.

I knock on the window, but nobody hears.

Sister Relationship, excerpt

Zoe S. ‘28

(Lights up on Sadie storming in through the door, walking straight to the cabinets full of food)

EVA: (Eva working on homework on the table next to the kitchen) Hi? (no response from Sadie) Hi? Hi? Hi?

SADIE: STOP!!!! I’m not in the mood.

EVA: What, did you lose your soccer game?

SADIE: Yes, in fact I did. (silence for 10 long seconds) Well, aren’t you going to say something?

EVA: No… Why? Was I supposed to say sorry or something?

SADIE: Oh my gosssssshhhhhhh. I don’t want to talk to you right now.

EVA: Fine.

SADIE: Good. (one minute passes.) Ugh. I can’t find it. (still looking around in the cabinet)

EVA: Really, one minute? Come on Sadie. (Eva sighs.) What are you looking for?

SADIE: Lucky Charms, of course, why else would I be here?

EVA: I don’t know.

SADIE: I am really craving cereal and marshmallows. (going on to the last cabinet) Ooo, jackpot! (throwing snacks more harshly onto the ground)

EVA: Wait!!!!!

SADIE: What?

EVA: That’s my favorite cereal! Could you give it to me? Mom got it for me yesterday.

SADIE: I knew it! I knew it! You are mom’s favorite child. She gets anything for you even if you are mean in any way! I just knew it! (throwing the cereal, hits Eva’s head)

SADIE: I knew it! I knew it! You are Mom’s favorite child. She gets anything for you even if you are mean in any way! I just knew it! (throwing the cereal, hits Eva’s head)

EVA: Ouch! You physically hurt me and emotionally hurt me. I have feelings you know!

SADIE: No, you don’t.

EVA: You’re so mean! And why do you need Lucky Charms?!! Why can’t you just buy them separately?!!!!

SADIE: Because I don’t want to. Geeze. They are perfect together. Also for your information, I am not mean; I just tell the truth!

Eva: No you don’t! You don’t! You’re the worst. You know that? You’re the WORST!! I don’t get why it has to be Lucky Charms?! Why can’t you just get marshmallows and put it into another cereal?

SADIE:(getting angrier) It’s NOT the same! You’re the youngest; you get everything that you want. I am annoyed by you. YOU are annoying!

EVA: I am NOT annoying, ok?! I am sorry that it is so hard for you to find your stupid cereal, for your stupid game. And for the last time, I AM NOT ANNOYING!

SADIE: YOU did NOT just say that! YOU THINK YOU’RE NICE?! Well, I’m here to tell you that you’re not. (She runs upstairs as Mom walks in through the door.)

MOM: Hi! I’m home!

EVA: (Mumbling) Hi, Mom.

MOM: What’s wrong?

EVA: Nothinggg.

MOM: I came back from the grocery store…

EVA: Cool.

Zoe S. ‘28

MOM: Hey, where’s your sister?

EVA: Upstairs.

MOM: Can you tell her to come down?

EVA: She’s busy.

MOM: Evaah…

EVA: Fine. (shouting up the stairs) SADIE, MOM WANTS TO SEE YOU!! (no response from Sadie)

MOM: Eva, could you go to your room? I’ve got to talk to Sadie for a minute.

EVA: Sure.( EVA runs up the stairs, and Sadie comes down.)

MOM: Hi…

SADIE: Hi.

MOM: What’s wrong?

SADIE: Nothing…It’s just that I feel like Eva gets anything she wants, and I’m just there, invisible.

MOM: Oh, come on. Is this really what it is all about?! Sadie, that’s ridiculous. You know that I love everyone equally.

SADIE: Yeah, yeah, I know.

MOM: Come on, let’s go get you Lucky Charms.

SADIE: Wait, how did you know I wanted Lucky Charms?

MOM: I’m a mother; what can I say? (lights out on Sadie and Mom putting their shoes on)

Ode to My Family

Brandon G. ‘29

When my mom gets home, there is nobody at home, and she starts making a good-smelling dinner for my brother, my father, and I who will be hungry after school and work.

My dad is in his car, going back home after picking up my brother and I from school. He wants to eat, and it is dark outside, but he is still driving his kids home because he wants them to get home, do their homework, and get some good food.

My brother, who is next to me, is watching YouTube on his phone, and he is letting me watch the video with him because it is one of our favorite YouTubers to watch, and it makes the ride home quicker.

Headphones

Juno S. ‘29

Next to the turf, hidden behind the stairs, blocking out the screaming students and listening to the chirping birds. Up on the hill, isolated.

The leftover taste of the really sweet fruit punch lingering in my mouth. I was feeling calm, no stress about tests; homework was done.

I pick up my headphones, lean on the stone wall, and just relax, The Beatles blasting in my ears, as I watch the ruby red and auburn leaves fall from the nearest tree.

Heidi C. ‘28

You and I

Jonah G. ‘27

If you have not seen what I have seen it would be easy in the bright, wide sheen of memory, ever to forget that what you deal must someday then be met.

Our earth-bound souls are ever chained down here, forever failing to peer through the mirror and see our icy cruel and sundered minds as you wander under dancing wind-swept pines.

All too easy it ever is to be forgetful of what sunders you from me. My mistakes are not just mine alone; they belong to us and are for us to bemoan.

The cruelty that I can render out: it is not mine, but yours that gives you doubt. You look upon me; hereby can you lie and say that you are not what you descry.

They are not not different, fox and little shrew: evil I or sweet and gentle you. For if we would, we all could be as I. Capable of evil, so we “try”.

But maybe, someday, I could be as you. I could heal the hurts I once did do. Fox grows to shrew, and winter loses cold if we all could ever be so bold.

So I sit and try to do as I, a stupid, feckless mortal to defy. My inner soul will ever this day rue. This is the day when I become like you.

Ode to a Snowflake

Sarah S.-O. ‘28

Oh, how I love snowflakes –gracefully drifting from clouds in the sky into my palm. They bury me in gentle hurricanes. Delicate crystal shards, fragile and unique, each one different, clump into piles on the ground, forming hills and mountains, valleys and cliffs out of millions of snowflakes.

Cracks in the Aquarium, excerpt

Sofia M. ‘27

“You have a point,” nodded Sienna. “How about this?” she planned. “We’ll tell the teacher that we both need to go fill up our water bottles upstairs, and instead of that, we’ll stay in that hallway over there and then quickly come back.” Aiden gave a thumbs-up. Soon, both thirteen year-olds raised their hands, asked the teacher, and walked quickly up the staircase. When Sienna knew that they were out of the teacher’s view, she pulled Aiden to the corner of the aquarium’s hallway.

“What do we do now?” asked Sienna after a few seconds of silence. Aiden shrugged trying to think of something to do. Suddenly, something caught his eye: a long narrow door with the only distinguishing feature a yellow sign with the words “Restricted Area.” Aiden eyed it carefully.

“Why don’t we check out that room over there?” Aiden said pointing to the door.

“The sign on the door says ‘Restricted’ though,” said Sienna, confused.

“Yeah, but that probably means that that exhibition is just being renovated. There’s probably just a bunch of cleaning products that they don’t want anyone touching.”

“How about we just open the door, look around, and if it looks okay, we stay there for a bit?”

“Sounds like a plan,” replied Sienna, opening the door and walking in stealthily. Aiden followed silently behind her. A cold gust of wind blew in both teens’ hair. Upon entering the room, the lighting changed from a cheery bright yellow to pitch black with only a small lamp lighting the back of the room. There was a tall, dark glass vivarium, presumably filled with water. On the floor next to the glass, there were a lot of tools and materials spread around as if someone just carelessly left it there. In the corner of the room, there was a shelf filled with tools next to a table and two chairs. On the walls of the room, there were professional paintings of sea animals.

“This place looks really cool,” said Aiden, taking out his phone from one of his pockets and snapping a few pictures. Both of them lined up with the art and took some selfies.

“I say we just stay here for the rest of the aquarium trip. When there’re five minutes left, we’ll sneak back in, and if they ask, we’ll say we both got lost heading to get water and ended up in another exhibition.”

“Okay” agreed Sienna plopping herself on one of the chairs and taking out her phone. Aiden followed her sitting on the other side of the table, taking out his airpods from his pocket. Time passed as Aiden and Sienna sat quietly taking selfies, editing pictures, and posting them. Not too long later, Aiden looked up from his phone and eyed the glass in the room. Sienna watched from her phone as he got up from his seat and walked slowly, stepping over the disaster of a floor and avoiding all of the tools left carelessly on it. Posing next to the camera, he snapped a couple of pictures in front of the glass.

“Aiden be careful. There’s a lot of sharp materials and pieces of flooring behind you,” warned Sienna, eyeing Aiden. Aiden, with his Airpods in, turned around quickly and was about to go back to his seat when

Cracks in the Aquarium, excerpt, continued

slipped on one of the pieces of flooring. Aiden was pushed backwards, and one of his legs went up as he fell into the glass lining. Sienna’s eyes widened as she jumped from her chair to tend to Aiden.

“I-I think I’m okay,” Aiden reassured Sienna. She sighed in relief and was about to turn back to her chair when her eyes caught something on Aiden’s sleeve.

A dark-wet spot. Sienna picked up Aiden’s damp arm, and that’s when she saw it. Aiden’s eyes followed her, and he moved away from the glass quickly. It was a crack, a small one no doubt, but a crack in the glass, and a bit of water was leaking out.

“Oh, damn it,” Aiden gritted his teeth. “We are going to get in so much trouble.” He shook his head.

“Let’s just get this over with,” sighed Sienna walking over to the door to go back and get a staff member to stop the leak. As Sienna twisted the door handle, she realized that it wasn’t budging. Thinking it was just stuck a little, she used her other hand to try and pry it open. Still no luck.

“It’s…it’s not opening,” Sienna said frustrated, moving the handle of the door back and forth. Moving Sienna to the side, Aiden tried to open the door. But it just would not open.

“Lets just stay calm” Sienna breathed carefully. “Let’s start pounding on the door, maybe someone can hear us.” Both kids knocked on the door, their knocks turning into pounding as time passed. No luck.

“That’s obviously not working,” stated Aiden as the water from the glass pooled onto the floor and around their feet. “Let’s just call the teacher. She gave us all her phone number in case of an emergency.” Sienna showed Aiden that her phone had no battery. Aiden looked at his phone. It was at 2%. Speeding, Aiden found the teacher’s number and called. It rang so many times that both teens lost hope their teacher would answer. Attempting to call again, the screen of the phone soon went black. The phone was dead.

“I guess we just wait until someone notices we’re gone, right?” asked Sienna. Aiden nodded. Going back to their seats to wait, both of them noticed the crack in the glass had gotten bigger; it was spreading. The intensity of the leak was stronger, and both pairs of shoes were now soaked. Aiden went over to the crack, picked up a roll of tape that was sitting on the floor and started taping the glass to try and make the water stop leaking. Sienna joined to try to help him. This seemed to make the water from leaking stop for a few seconds, but the cracks spread to the left of the glass. It was obvious that the tape had only made it worse. Aiden turned back to walk to his seat in defeat but stopped when he heard a loud thud and a piercing scream. Lying on the floor was Sienna, with a large cut below her skirt on her thigh. Blood was oozing out of her leg and was staining her hands as she covered it and cried out in pain. Next to her was a big piece of glass that had fallen. Water was pouring like a faucet onto her. Trying to comfort Sienna and stay calm, Aiden found some pieces of paper towel and wrapped it around her thigh.

“It’s okay, Sienna. You’re going to be alright,” comforted Aiden, as he tried to get her up on her feet. With tears streaming down her face, she tried to get up, but she just couldn’t.

eyes.

Misha J. ‘29

Everywhere I look, I see eyes. Glossy eyes, dry eyes, upturned, monolid, double lidded, you name it. As I walk through the dark rainy street, eyes stare at me. I try not to make direct eye contact with them. Nobody comes back after staring into one of those glass-like eyes that stare into and burn your soul. They say that if you make direct eye contact with an eye, the eye will eat away at your soul until you crumble to nothing. The last thing you will see is eyes. A dropping feeling enters my body. I slam against the ground as I look around me. I see the light above me fade away. Did I leave my stomach up there? An echoey voice flows around me: “Are you the next victim?” I see a silhouette of a person as they slump to the ground, the life ebbing out of them. Oh no! I look in front of me and am faced with a bloodshot eye. I’ve been seen. I spin in a circle to see that I’m surrounded by thousands of eyes. I realize that the abyss that I’m in will be my resting place. All the eyes are the previous victims, dying. I blink as I die, surrounded by the eyes.

Alberto P. ‘27

Alberto P. ‘27

(Lights up on BRUCKHEIM’s “Frankenstein-esque” laboratory. Upstage Left, there is a metal box with two large switches attached, from which tubes run to other devices in the lab. ALBERT-3 lies on a surgical table Stage Right, while BRUCKHEIM and FALSWORTH frantically set up an old video camera Stage Left. BRUCKHEIM backs up in front of the camera, and FALSWORTH puts his eye to the camera. FALSWORTH gestures toward BRUCKHEIM, cueing him to start. BRUCKHEIM clears his throat.)

BRUCKHEIM

(Grandiose) May the inventor of the wheel look upon this day from highest heaven and weep, for today he is finally outdone. This night shall be remembered from now until the end of time, because this is the day that I, Doctor Werner Bruckheim, have CONQUERED DEATH!

(Thunder crashes. BRUCKHEIM pauses for a moment, looking for praise from FALSWORTH. FALSWORTH gives him a polite thumbs-up and nods reassuringly. Satisfied, BRUCKHEIM resumes his passionate speech.)

BRUCKHEIM

I have taken this assemblage of measly wires and steel, once naught but scrap metal, and from it I have created the FIRST ARTIFICIAL LIFE! A perfect amalgam for the human form, untethered by any of its frailty. I look in the face of that grim mistress Death, and I scoff at her; for tonight, it is I who commands life as I command you now, my creation: rise. RISE, AND ASSUME YOUR DESTINY!

(BRUCKHEIM throws the first switch on the box Upstage Left, and the lights begin to flicker. An electrical hum begins. Then, BRUCKHEIM throws the second switch, and the flickering grows more intense and the hum gets louder. Electricity crackles, and the lab table shakes. BRUCKHEIM cackles madly. Finally, the flickering and the noises reach their peak intensity, and everything goes dark at once. Suddenly, a spotlight appears on the lab table. [If a spotlight is not available, fade the regular lights in.] After a beat, ALBERT-3 begins to sit up slowly and mechanically. Sitting straight up, he stops. BRUCKHEIM stands still, captivated.)

ALBERT-3

(Tired) Five more minutes.

(ALBERT-3 lies back down mechanically. BRUCKHEIM stays frozen in the same position, gaping. Pause.)

BRUCKHEIM

(shellshocked) ...What did he just say?

FALSWORTH

I believe he said, “Five more minutes,” as one might say when woken up prematurely and against their wishes, Sir.

BRUCKHEIM

I know what he said, you dolt. Why did he say it?

FALSWORTH

Perhaps because he was tired, sir.

BRUCKHEIM

BECAUSE HE WAS TIRED?!

ALBERT-3

Hey, Doc, d’you think you could, like, keep it down? I know it’s like, your house n’ all, but there’s still, like, other people here, y’know.

BRUCKHEIM

(Gritted teeth, contempt) The last I checked, dear Falsworth, robots are not in the habit of getting “tired.” Nor should they be wont to use contractions, I might add.

FALSWORTH

Forgive me if I’m wrong, Sir, but, you did just call your machine “a perfect amalgam for the human form”? Humans are in the habit of sleeping, unless I’m mistaken.

BRUCKHEIM

(Caught off-guard) Well... Fair enough, but... See, the thing is... (giving up) Um. Yes...I suppose you are correct. (To self) Naturally. Just because the machine is revolutionary does not mean it will wake up speaking in prose. No, it says nothing about the craftsmanship. Nothing at all.

Kayla R. ‘28

Halloween Haiku

Annnabelle

R. ‘29

On Halloween Eve, apple bobbing with Grandma false teeth on apple.

The Magic Whistle, excerpt

Emmett G. ‘27

Today is the first day of July. I woke up before Mom and Dad, like normal. As I sit on the bottom step of my porch, I count two blood-red cars driving by, followed by a white minivan, spray painted with graffiti. I watch grown-ups run past me, as they sweat from the early morning sun. Then I look at Rupert. I watch him roll in the grass, getting his golden fur all muddy. Suddenly, I remember Mom’s promise. If I walk the dog, she’ll take me for ice cream.

I walk to the mailbox as I call for Rupert. “Rupert! Come here boy!” I watch him pick his head up and look at me. He barks, then continues to roll around. “Rupert, walk!” I holler again. He jumps up and prances towards me as his ears flop up and down and slobber droops down from his mouth. As I look around the yard, I spot the leash next to my new soccer ball; the white and neon-yellow one that I got for my 10th birthday. I dash towards the ball and kick it towards the middle of the yard where the grass isn’t muddy from the water hose. I ignore his cries as I tie him to the mailbox with the leash, and I begin to showcase new moves to him. Suddenly as I’m running, my body goes flying as I trip and fall. I shake my head and search the ground. Next to my foot, I see a small, shiny stick, wedged in the ground. I yank it out of the ground, stand up, and totter towards the hose. Dad taught me how to use it, so I could clean Rupert in the spring. Once clean, I examine the shiny object as it gleams in the sun. It’s a whistle, but not like those little silver round things that you blow into. This one is long and thin with a small crescent hole to blow into. I look at Rupert as he barks at me, then back at the whistle. I squeeze my eyes shut and blow the whistle as hard as I can. All goes quiet, but then I hear a new voice yelling at me. I open my eyes and look around my yard. With nobody in sight, I glance back at Rupert. I watch his jowls move and realize it’s Rupert who is yelling at me.

“Untie me! You said walk. This is not a walk.”

“Whoa. Are you speaking to me? How are you speaking to me” I exclaim as I’m startled.

“Take me on a walk!”

Flabbergasted, I walk over to Rupert and untie him, but he runs off before I can grab his leash. “Wait, come back!” I shriek as I watch him run freely down the street and out of sight.

As I stare dumbfounded down the road, I hear a deep, raspy voice behind me ask “Are you the one who blew that whistle?” I turn around to see my neighbor’s dog, a big, slow moving black fur ball with white spots, walking towards me.

Still in shock, I begin to bombard him with questions. “Francis? How are you speaking to me in English? Why are you here?”

Emmett G. ‘27

Francis sighs, “I am here because you blew that whistle. Every dog in the neighborhood knows the sound of that whistle.”

I look down at the silver dog whistle, then hold it up in front of Francis. “This old thing? I just found this in my yard. ”

“That, my friend, is a magic dog whistle. It gives any human who blows it the ability to communicate with dogs. We dogs have been waiting for someone to find it.”

“So does that mean that I can understand every dog in the world?” I look back down at the whistle. “How do you know all of this?”

Francis sits in the grass and sighs. Just as he opens his mouth to talk, he picks his head up and looks down the road.

I turn around to see a large group of dogs, led by Rupert, running towards Francis and me.

“He found it!” one exclaimed.

“I see him! I see him!” another barks.

Dogs of all colors and sizes fill my yard and crowd around me, many of them roaring in exultation.

Rupert, who’s fighting to stay next to me, shouts out, “Here it is! The whistle!” as he licks my hand wet. When he does, all of the dogs start screaming with triumph.

After hearing the commotion in the yard, my parents rush outside to see numerous dogs running and hollering. I see their lips start to move as they try to speak to me, but instead of speaking English, they begin barking, just like a dog; as if humans and dogs swapped languages when I blew the whistle. As they are chased back inside the house, I try to fight my way through the crowd of dogs, but am nearly submerged as I trip and fall to my knees.

Suddenly, I feel a strong tug on the back of my leg as a warm, wet, rough object rubs against me. I swiftly turn around to see Francis trying to pull me towards him. He begins to speak to me, but is overpowered by the commotion of dogs. Together, we push ourselves to the edge of the yard where the cool grass calms us down from the racket. “I saw my parents but I couldn’t understand what they were saying. What is happening?”

“The whistle. As I was saying before, when you blow the whistle, you will gain the ability to understand dogs, for the price of not understanding humans. If you want to understand your parents, or any human again, you must destroy the whistle.”

Ode to Hot Chocolate

Ava F. ‘30

Rich and warm, I should add some whipped cream, marshmallows floating to the top. I put so much in my mouth. “Can I have some more, please?” One sip makes me sleepy. I love it very much.

Oh, warm chocolate, come back to me. You taste like watching a movie with my family. Hopefully, I will have some more tomorrow.

Jack F. ‘30

No Time to Fly, excerpt

Emerson P. ‘27

(Lights up on an airport, with a family standing, confused, in the middle of people rushing by)

MOM

(pointing while talking) Okay, so we came from there, no there, wait…

JAMES

No, we came from the right, Mom. We have to keep going left to Gate C.

DAD

(sighs) No, James, listen to your mom.

MOM

Thank you, now everyone just hold on a moment while I figure this out.

JAMES

No, I know which way to go. Just listen to me. We-

BELLA

(tugs on Dad’s arm) Can I get some animal crackers??

DAD

In a moment, just let your mom find our gate.(Everyone turns to the mom as she stares intently at a map.)

MOM

Okay, everyone, I think...it’s...that way. (points in direction they just came from)

DAD

(looks relieved)I agree with that; let’s go everyone.

JAMES

(smacks forehead) What? No! We just came from that way!

Steven S. ‘28

Emerson P. ‘27

MOM

James, trust me, I’ve done this so many times before.

BELLA

(looks upset) Dad, why are we arguing? I’m hungry.

DAD

Don’t worry about it; we’re figuring it out.

MOM

(immediately turns to him) What do you mean we’re “figuring it out”!! I have it figured out; James is just being difficult for some reason.

JAMES

If difficult means right, then yes, I am. You’re horrible with directions; we know this.

MOM

Don’t take that tone with me, young man!

DAD

We’re running out of time, everyone. The flight boards in 15 minutes.

BELLA

(tugs on Dad’s arm again) Dad, do you have any animal crackers? I want a snack!

DAD

Just hold on a minute, okay? This is really important.

JAMES

Mom, you’re wrong, and we won’t be able to catch the flight unless you listen to me now!

Madelyn C. ‘29

An Anti-Ode to Slush

Navika K. ‘30

Oh slush, oh slush –just a pile of stinky mush.

Nothing good for anything fun, you will fall on it if you try to run.

When the only thing outside is slush, it’s a terrible day.

It’s just terrible however you slice it, no matter which way.

Nothing in slush is good.

I’d rather stay inside and sit by the firewood. Just a pile of stinky mush, oh slush, oh slush.

Olivia H. ‘27

The lemonade-yellow house glares at me just the way Aunt Minnie used to. The red roof is Aunt Minnie’s hair, the same shade as mine. The candy-apple-red door is her stuck-out tongue, mocking me. I take a deep breath as I look at it. This is the last time I’ll go in. New owners move in next week, and the house is almost completely cleared of Aunt Minnie’s things. This is the last time I’ll have to step into this mothball-ridden depth of Tartarus. I walk up the cement steps, eying the spongy green mold growing in the cracks. Why any person would want this dump is beyond me. I unlock the front door and walk straight down the hall. No need to look around; I already know what I’ll see – an empty living room to the left, a bare kitchen to the right. Six months spent cleaning this place. All alone. All alone except for the ghosts of the past, and God knows I don’t want to see them again. But that all ends today, I remind myself as I climb the rickety stairs at the back of the house. I reach the top and enter the bedroom at the end of the hallway. Neatly labeled boxes line the wall under white squares of paint, saved from the monotonous nicotine gray of the rest of the room by pictures of the countryside, which I’ve already taken down and put into several large boxes labeled “Goodwill.” It took forever to stack them all. Aunt Minnie always had a thing for art. On the other side of the room is the closet. I walk over and open the door. An avalanche of dusty garments rolls to the floor. I sigh. Great. Just great.

I kneel down, pulling out my phone and my earphones from my backpack. I gently push back my hair and twist the buds in. I pick up my phone and open the NBC app. The news anchorwoman, Sally Cormic, provides me with my only company these many Sundays I’ve spent in this house, cleaning up a dead woman’s mess. I space out as I ruefully remember the day my family refused to help to do this last job. Like me, they have bad memories of Aunt Minnie, but I’d say that I have it worse. However, ever the dutiful one, I’ve come to complete this last favor. After all, someone had to. Sally is talking about some stolen artwork. Some Van Gogh portrait. Art isn’t really my thing. I tend to curate more historically-centered pieces for the Madison History Museum. This train of thought reminds me of a piece I’ve been trying to obtain. The stubborn MET doesn’t want to let go of it. I pick up a red scarf and see a light at the end of the tunnel, a bit of wooden floor. I notice an odd crack in the wood. I knock on the floorboard and an echo bounces back. A hidden compartment.

I pry open the loose floorboard and find an old, beaten shoebox. Something exciting? It could be money! It could be hordes of silver and gold coins… from the Roman era! Yes! Those would be great on display at the museum! I open the shoebox, my heart full of hope, and I see… a key. How disappointing. I pick it up. On one side I make out a small Yorkie dog. The Westy storage company sign. I flip it over. “#308.” This is a storage unit key. I groan. Another thing to clean out. The key is as bumpy as the diorama of the Himalayas at the museum and rusty as the leaky pipe out front, which is to say, old. Who knows what kind of junk has piled up in the unit over the years?

I walk across the parking lot at Westy. That is, the second one which I’ve visited today. I had assumed that the key would belong to a unit at the Westy in Jerryville, Wisconsin. It’s nearest to Aunt Minnie’s home.

But curiously, there was no storage unit #308 there. I am now in Madison, a full hour away. I live in Madison for my work, but why would Aunt Minnie rent a unit here instead of in her hometown? Reaching the door, I pull it open. A security guard is reclining in an office chair, his cap pulled over his eyes. A faint droning sound exudes rhythmically from beneath the hat.

“Heavens to Betsy!” he exclaims, startled. My footsteps must have woken him up. He quickly pulls his cap back onto his head. He sees me and smiles.

“Howdy, Ms. Lawrence,” he calls chipperly in his Texan drawl. I stop, unsure of what to say.

“I’m sorry, but I’m afraid you might have the wrong person,” I offer. “My name is Camilla. Camilla Mazzala.” The security guard rises. It’s a slow process. He plants his hands on the armrests and shakily pushes himself up. He stretches out his back and walks over. His name tag reads, “Frank.”

“My mistake, Ms. Mazzala,” he says. “It’s just you look very similar to a Ms. Lawrence who often passes through.”

“Really?” I ask, “Usually, I find that my red hair really sets me apart from other people.”

“Actually, darlin’, that’s what made me think you were Ms. Lawrence. Although, she usually has a red hat coverin’ her eyes and face. Anyhow, what brings you here, peach?”

“I’m here for unit 308,” I say.

“That’s just over yonder,” Frank explains as he points to the right.

“Alright, thank you.” I start walking the way he was pointing.

“Anytime, darlin’!” he calls as he gets back in his chair and covers his eyes with his hat again. I unlock unit 308. Maybe something interesting could be in here, I tell myself as I start to open the door. Maybe the boring box was just a guise. Afterall, why would she have hidden the key if it was just a bunch of boring junk? A bunch of boring junk. That’s what the room is filled with. A mess, like the rest of Aunt Minnie’s things. I walk further into the unit, disappointed. Nothing. The boxes are filled with the same random assortment of items as her house. Just a boring, average, uninteresting storage unit.

I lock the door to unit 308, defeated. Another thing that I need to clean up for Aunt Minnie. She never did anything for me, but here I am dedicating so much time to wrapping up her life. I sigh. The key gets jammed in the lock, and I pull at it until it flies out onto the ground. I bend down to pick it up, tightly gripping it so that it can’t slip out of my grasp again. I open my backpack and drop it in. My palm stings. I bring it up to my face to inspect the imprint which the key left. It almost looks like a number. I turn my hand to see the print at a different angle, and find I was right. However, it isn’t just one number, but two. It reads ‘308+307.’ I look up. 307 is adjacent to 308. This time, I don’t get my hopes up. By now, I know that there was nothing interesting or mysterious about Aunt Minnie. She was just a mean, middle-aged woman who drowned and is gone. Gone forever. I probably just didn’t see the “307” because of how misshapen and rusty the key is. This is probably just an overflow unit.

Owen S. ‘27

And the Hunted, excerpt

Alberto P. ‘27

Most nights, my routine is the same. I take a ride in my 1947 Austin Sheerline, going down the dark, winding road by my estate until I come across someone in need of shelter or transportation. I take them back to the estate and offer a steak dinner along with a place to stay for the night, an offer they reluctantly accept out of a mixture of necessity and convenience. This far north in England, it snows whenever it is not raining; one rarely wants to be without shelter in such weather. After my guest goes to bed, I spend three quarters of an hour tidying up before I go upstairs, descend upon the visitor in their sleep, and suck the blood from their body. The year is 1966. My current name is Nikolaj Botezatu, and I am a vampire for the twentieth century.

Tonight, I find a hitchhiker trying and failing to shelter himself from the storm. The bright headlights of my automobile cut through the shifting, inky haze to create a blurred silhouette of the man: he is of average height but lanky, a characteristic accentuated by his long wool overcoat. The long brim of his hat begins to droop in the front under the weight of the rainwater, which still drips from its edges like a leaky faucet. As he warily comes closer, features become more defined, and I make note of his markedly average face. In an American accent, he sheepishly asks for a ride and climbs into the passenger seat. I ask him to call me Mr. Botezatu, and he introduces himself as Roy Thompson; my performance has begun. I go through the motions of flavorless small talk, feigned consideration before I propose that he wait out the storm with me. After almost a century, this entire act has become mechanical.

Finally, we arrive at Stanwyck Manor, an “acquisition” of mine from the previous century. I bring the car to a stop in front of the looming double doors and open the car door for my guest. Walking in pace with him — a subtly unsettling behavior that helps set the tone — I unlock the double doors and give them the slightest push so they swing out slowly, ominously. I smoothly turn back to the hitchhiker while standing in the doorway, flash him a perfected creep’s grin, and say: “Come in. You look pallid.” As always, I pause for a moment to watch his skin crawl… yet this time, the moment does not come.

As I said, I have gone through this routine for quite some time. No matter who I pick up, be he a traveling salesman or a circus strongman, this line will cause a reaction within them. Every single time those words escape my lips, I watch as my victim feels that first primal tinge of fear and their “rational” minds try to silence the feeling that something is wrong. This response is guaranteed, and yet… I receive nothing from the hitchhiker. Outwardly, his reaction is nothing abnormal, but nothing about it feels genuine. It feels unnatural, and I cannot help but become irked. What gives this transient the right to react as he does? What does he–

No. No, I should not preoccupy myself with this. Some people simply have a higher tolerance for fear, I suppose. This was only my opening move; the true terror begins inside! Reassured, I lead the hitchhiker into the dimly lit, cobweb-filled foyer of the house. An infirm yellow glow coats the room, which bounces off of the aged sheets covering the furniture. The grand staircase with its ratty carpeting rises opposite the doors, and hallways branch away on either side. The suspense in this room sits palpably in the air, so in this room I let him marinate. I excuse myself to prepare supper, and he watches me leave down the dark hallway.

Kiran J. ‘27

Karen A. ‘29

Roy sat up in bed, gasping for air. He’d had the most horrific dream. A dark silhouette who Roy couldn’t quite make out had been swinging a globe of light. A little boy stood next to the man, glancing into the distance. A ghostly ship had risen from the water, and then…he was awake.

His neck was clammy as he touched the left side of his chest. His heart was beating, babum, ba-bum, ba-bum. His hair was drenched with cold sweat, and he leaned back, relaxing. He couldn’t figure out what had seemed so chilling about his dream. He wasn’t the kind of kid who chickened out to go sleep with his dad, but he felt strange. It wasn’t that he was scared. He couldn’t name the feeling. His eyes darted around the room, and he dashed out, fearing what would happen if he stayed for another second.

He unbolted his father’s door and cried out, “Dad!” He jumped on the bed, feeling for his father. All he felt were smooth blankets. His heart started beating faster, and he checked the time. It was two in the morning. His father couldn’t have possibly gone back to the lighthouse. He glanced at the lighthouse through the fog. Roy couldn’t make out a light, and fear fell upon his innocent face. He didn’t believe it, but the truth dawned on him. His father wasn’t home. Nor was he at the lighthouse.

Roy shivered. It wasn’t cold, but goosebumps rose on his skin. He grabbed a sweater and slipped on some shoes. He didn’t stop to adjust his laces. He stepped out onto the faded, scratchy grass. The iciness of the breeze made his shoulders tighten. He was a brave kid, and he wouldn’t back out of any challenge. This time was no different. No matter how uneasy Roy was, his father was more important.

Roy couldn’t imagine his father going somewhere without telling him. But it had happened, and Roy felt a strange feeling of loneliness and discomfort. He had never really been alone without his father before. He was an only child and only had a father. He was used to having to do things alone, but not completely alone. He always had his dad with him, a gentle hand on his shoulder saying, “Son, I will always be there for you, okay? I know it’s hard for you sometimes, but you’ll always have me.” That was comforting while it lasted, more like when he believed it.

Delilah M.-H. ‘30

The Cuckoo Clock

Kate V. ‘29

When the clock strikes twelve o’clock, there is a beautiful noise.

A symphony of chirps, like a choir of young children singing. It is beautiful. After it goes on for a while, your ears will start to ring, almost as if there was a highpitched violin playing.

It plays on and on beautifully, seeming like it will never stop. You don’t want it to.

Then you hear a click. It is over.

However, the music of the high violin plays on, spiking as the bow hits the string. Over and over again.

I can’t wait until one o’clock, until it will start again.

James C. ‘30

Eight Ways of Seeing Conveyer Belt Sushi

Misha J. ‘29

1 A circle that goes round and round, a never ending carousel of maki.

2

Lightly chilled ikura and tempura eaten on a nice, hot day

3 Stacks of plates on a private table.

4

Delicate pleats of seaweed, flaky and fragile

5 A lovely runway filled with bliss for sashimi and nigiri presented by the two.

6

The first bite, always best. The fine grains of rice with thin cuts of sliced sashimi with flowery notes.

7

The fluffy taste of fatty tuna melting like popsicles in your mouth on a light summer day.

8

No words necessary, just the dry sound of a motor.

Arya G. ‘27

I’ve known Andy Carpenter since I was eight years old. We met on a playground when he decided it was a smart idea to take my Barbie and bury it in the sand. I slapped him. God, I love that memory. Now the two of us are in tenth grade, our friendship still going strong. Except for the fact that my two other friends, Caitlin and Flora think I like him. And I don’t even know how! Yes, I think he is cute, and he is sweet, but every girl in our grade thinks that. Who wouldn’t? He has the cutest smile with dimples, and his hair flops perfectly on the right side of his face. What can I say, Andy Carpenter is perfect in every way. But no, I do not like him. I mean sure, my stomach does somersaults when he smiles at me, but that’s probably because I have midterms coming up, and I’m insanely nervous for them. And yes, we flirt around sometimes, but that’s because everyone around us flirts, and it would be strange if we didn’t. I don’t get why Caitlin and Flora make a big deal out of nothing. I’ve explained this to them many times.

“Hey Emily,” Veronica March, my sworn enemy and nemesis says to me. I roll my eyes at her.

“It’s Emi, and what do you want?” I ask, glaring at her.

“I was just wondering if you’ve heard about Ashley Garcia and Andy.” A small smirk appears across Veronica’s ivory face.

“What about them?”

“They’re going out on Friday.”

“Hah, that’s not funny.”

“Hey, ask him yourself.” Then she walks away.

I have never liked Ashley Garcia. I mean yes, she is probably sweeter than honey, but I have always known she was a kiss-up. Also, Andy would’ve told me about liking her. I walk through the sun-soaked hallways of Hackley to Andy’s locker near the art room.

“I heard the stupidest thing,” I say to Andy.

“What?” Andy asks me.

“That you’re going out with Ashley Garcia,” I say laughing.

“Um…I am going out with her.”

“Haha, very funny, Andy.”

“I’m not joking, Em.”

Arya G. ‘27

I stare at him in shock. He is telling the truth. I don’t say anything; it’s like I have completely shut down and forgotten how to talk. Ashley Garcia and Andy have gone out on a date. I can’t comprehend it. Ashley isn’t Andy’s type…is she? I mean sure, she is pretty and nice, but that is it. Everything else about her is…boring. Andy has never mentioned anything to me about her either, so when…when did he start talking to her?

“Em? Em, you good?” Andy asks me.

“Uh yeah…yeah I gotta get to class.” I say.

I turn away from him, walking through the crowded hallways of my school. Thoughts run through my mind faster than a cheetah. Millions and millions of thoughts, all about the same thing: – how did they get together? When did they start talking? How long has he liked her? How long has she liked him? Ashley Garcia is not good enough for Andy. I’m sure she’s only with him for attention. I’m not surprised if she is. She’s never mentioned anything about liking him. That was all I thought about throughout the morning. Andy and Ashley. Ashley and Andy. I didn’t even realize it was lunch time; Caitlin had to drag me out of math class and to the cafeteria. And right there was obviously Andy, sitting and laughing with Ashley Garcia.

“Ugh.” Watching them, I scrunch up my face like a kid being made to eat their vegetables. “I wanna puke.”

“I think they’re cute,” Caitlin replies, also looking over.

“I mean sure, but it’s weird seeing Andy with a girlfriend,” I say, stabbing my food. “Plus he never told me about her, and I’m really mad at him about it.”

Caitlin and Flora look at each other, then at me.

“Are you jealous?” Caitlin asks. I look at her and scoff.

“No.”

“She definitely is!” Flora says, joining Caitlin. The more I deny it, the more the two keep making fun of me about it. I am getting annoyed with them and tell them to shut up. “Jeez, Em. We’re just joking.”

“I-” I start to say just as Andy walks up with Ashley. I look up, staring at them. Andy has a smile that reached to the ends of his face and Ashley’s milk chocolate skin shines just like her perfect smile. “Hey.”

Eight Ways of Seeing Camp Cobbossee

Logan L. ‘29

1

Nervous smiles from restless campers spread like Covid. We wait for the bus. Soon we will part from our normal lives and escape like astronauts to another world.

2 The aroma is a welcome hug. The first meal has me floating like a cartoon character. The special fried chicken is Christmas morning.

3

A name so fitting, like King Kong is to a giant ape. The “Blob” is the main water attraction. Jumping and flying like a cannonball.

4

The fear is grabbing me. We have been warned. BTM (Browntail Moth) is here and ready to attack like an enemy at war.

5

High up like Mt. Everest, It’s time to jump into the unknown.

I can taste my nerves.

Charles N. ‘27

Eight Ways of Seeing Camp Cobbossee, continued

Logan L. ‘29

Coos Canyon, twenty-six feet piercing the sky. I leap to a new dimension. The water sings to me that I made it safely.

6

I hear the chaos and excitement.

“Eye of the Tiger” blasting through the campsite. This means Tribal Games have commenced. The campers are ecstatic, like lottery winners.

7

I ran for my life, for my team. Relay format. One winner, Green.

8

Twenty-six days have passed. Memories made, friendships that last. Challenges overcome, no adventure left undone. Camp is over; I am sad. I reunite with my family, I am glad.

I say farewell to Camp Cobbossee, It’s been a blast. See you next summer. It better get here fast.

Kate F. ‘30

Henry K. ‘30

Acquaintences

Jonah G. ‘27

1.

Could I have known you? I feel like I once did. I see your face on every sleepless night. It’s been a while since I’ve thought of you, and then, I saw you in a place I don’t remember.

2. Could you have been a friend from childhood? A friend from long ago that I’ve forgotten? One I ran and laughed with many times? That I let go, thinking, not again.

3. I seem to see that you were saying words that I had once remembered every day. And now I can’t remember what they were, if it should be the last day of my life.

4.

There are no others that I love so much, but I can’t recall what I once loved. How did we separate so long ago that I have forced your voice from my recall?

5.

Could I have known you? I remember now, a few things. People blur like leaves before the storm.

And sitting quietly without a care, I saw your face smiling beyond the grass.

6.

I run over to where you are sitting and ask you if you could remember me. You smile and turn, looking at my eyes and answer my question, with wonder in your eyes.

Atthispoint,theauthorasksyoutoflipacoin.Ifitlandsheadspleasereadstanza7. Ifitlandstails,pleasereadstanza8.

7.

“Yes I knew, but I had long forgotten what it was like to behold your face; but now I see you, and everything comes back –how we had once spent our lives together.”

8.

“Yes I knew you, and I have not forgotten how you cast me off like rotten meat.” You leave me wondering every sleepless night why you and your face made me remember you.

Savannah S. ‘30

Slim, dark shapes rounded by time, silhouetted against the blank, blue-gray sky. The glossy black feathers flow together in a smooth, fluid stream.

Beady black eyes seem to gaze beyond the ever-drifting horizon— where cloudy dreams and misty wishes linger aimlessly. An airy plume of hope wanders—a glint of light— a flash of smoke, and all is gone. And still they wait, perched on a tallest tree, austere and expectant. They know what fate does not. Not a caw resounds through the crowd, though hundreds stand stiff. Something in the air ripples and unfolds, for even silence has its echoes.

Josephine M. ‘29

This poem means nothing, but it also means something because before, I was bored and now, I am not. So someday, we’ll learn that we’ll never be bored. There’s too much to do and not enough time. So close your screens, and open your eyes, because before, this meant nothing, and now, it means something.