Kellenberg Memorial High School Creative Writing Workshop

POETRY, CREATIVE NON-FICTION, AND SHORT FICTION VOLUME 3 2016

KELLENBERG MEMORIAL HIGH SCHOOL CREATIVE WRITING WORKSHOP

Introduction

Table of Contents Introduction Writer Bios Poetry and Prose Acknowledgements

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Now in its third year, Kellenberg's Creative Writing Workshop is demonstrating that the writer, the artist, the Muses are alive and well in our 21st century literary ennui.

Year in and year out, educators and parents are distressed by the agging interest in writing and reading. Let them come to the Creative Writing Workshop at Kellenberg to see that their fears and frustrations are misplaced.

What the young people enrolled in the Workshop this year have proven is the timeless passion for creativity, personal voice, artistic expression, and the community to be discovered withal is still a human pursuit with an indomitable call.

Two dozen middle school and high school Workshoppers spent the week reading poetry and prose and writing and work shopping their drafts and ideas. What is most impressive is the conďŹ dence these young writers have in their work and in their voice. Equally impressive is the maturity of the group: there is no laughing or mocking or even judging of each other's ideas. Instead there is a collegial exchange, an empathetic guidance, a tacit understanding of the challenges writers face.

Needless to say, I am proud to have met and worked with each of the members of this year's Workshop.

Biographies Makenna Artigas - My name is Makenna and I am 14 years old. I will be in 9th grade at Kellenberg in September. I'm from New Hyde Park.

Amanda Baez - My name is Amanda Baez. I am fourteen years old, and I will be a freshman in the fall. I live in Franklin Square. Some of my other hobbies include volleyball, reading, dancing, singing, and drawing.

Caitlyn Barnwell - My name is Caitlyn Barnwell and I live in Valley Stream, NY. I am 14 going into the 9th grade at Kellenberg. What I like most about creative writing is that it doesn't have to be filtered. Your deepest thoughts can be expressed, without being judged for feeling and writing them. Some of my other interests include watching movies, reading, and eating ice cream.

Alice Crandall - My name is Alice, and I’m from Garden City, NY. I am thirteen years old, and will be attending eighth grade at St. Anne’s school. What I like about creative writing is that you are able to express your feelings, emotions, and imagination in the form of writing. Some other interests I have are playing basketball, baking, hanging out with friends, and going swimming.

Isabella Chungata - Hello my name is Isabella Chungata I'm 13 ( turning 14 in 4 days ). I live in valley stream and I will be attending kellenberg in September as an ninth grader . On my free time I like to swim and I like to dance as well. I like creative writing because it helps me bring my thoughts on to paper.

Michael DeRisi - My name is Michael De Risi from Hempstead, NY. I am 15 years old (16 pending within the pending weeks). In September I will entering my junior year here at Kellenberg Memorial High School. I like creative writing because it gives me an expressive outlet to break away from the societal norms and allow my opinions and emotions to blend together and be expressed. Some of my other interests include; volleyball, acting, singing, listening to the band twenty one pilots on constant replay, and trying to maintain a respectable theme on my instagram and tumblr pages.

Catherine Desiderio - I'm Catherine and I'm from Wantagh. I am 15 years old and I'm in 10th grade. I like writing creatively because it gives me a chance to express myself and write whatever I want, without any boundaries. Some of my other interests are reading, history, and music.

Thomas Dompkowski - My name is Thomas Dompkowski. I am from Farmingdale, New York and I am 17 years old. I will be a senior at Kellenberg in the fall. My interests are music, history, literature, studies of the Catholic faith, politics, public speaking, and journalism/reporting. I joined the creative writing workshop because I sought to improve my writing, open my mind to new possibilities and new ways of perceiving the world, and to express my ideas in new ways.

Ariana Guillame-Sam - I am Ariana and I am fifteen years old. In September I will be entering my sophomore year at Kellenberg. My other interests include soccer and karate. I joined this worship to write freely and create my own endings.

Isabella Giraldo - My name is Isabella Giraldo and im 13 years old and I live in Valley Stream. I will be going to 9th grade at Kellenberg. What I like about writing creatively are the endless possibilities of things to write about. Its all about what you think, and you really can’t do it wrong. Some of my other interests are dancing and playing Lacrosse. I also like to sing and act.

Evangelos Katsounis - I am Evangelos Katsounis, a soon to be junior at Kellenberg. I transferred here as a sophomore after spending freshman year in Germany whilst studying online. I’m a quiz bowl aficionado, and I’ve traveled to 21 countries (and counting). I intend on learning as much as physically possible and joining the UN or the French Foreign Legion.

Mara Lettera - I'm Mada, I'm 17, and I'll be a senior this fall at here at Kellenberg. I like writing creatively because you can put your thoughts and feelings into words and down on paper. I like to draw, and I do archery.

Nicole Kennedy - I am Nicole. I am thirteen years old and I amd going into eighth grade. I like writing creatively because it allows me to be myself and use my imagination. I also like to play volleyball and dance.

I’ve actually been dancing for nine years.

Francesca Morales

Francesca Morales - I'm 15 years old. I'm going into my sophomore year at Kellenberg. The reason I'm at this camp and the reason as to why I write is as follows: I love the fact that I can freely express the different realities created within my own mind, and the ability to give pieces of my world to others so they can better understand me. A few other of my hobbies are soccer, Science Olympiad, guitar, and (of course) reading.

Eddie Pisacane - My name is Eddie Pisacane. I’m from Baldwin, New York. I’m seventeen years old and will be entering senior year at Kellenberg this September. I use writing as a form of escapism. I like to read, watch movies, and play videogames.

Wilmarr Saint Surin - Hello my name is Wilmarr Saint Surin. I am thirteen going on fourteen years old and I will be attending the 9th grade at Kellenberg. What I love about creative writing is that you can literally write about anything you think of; you decide what will happen. I like reading, science, playing sports, and spending time with my friends.

Tom Sorkin - My name is Tom Sorkin. This September I will be a junior in high school. I am currently 15 years old. I like writing because otherwise I'd just be a psycho living in my own little world. When I am writing people get to live and see my world. I am also obsessed with moose! Mooses?

Caysie Supino - Hi! I'm Caysie. I am 15 and in tenth grade. I'm from Wantagh. I like creative writing because it allows me to express myself. It takes away the sensor in your brain and it gives me a voice. My other interests include reading and watching tv and movies.

Helena Ward - I was born in Illinois, but moved to Long Island when I was seven.

I am fifteen years old and just finished my freshman year here at Kellenberg. I have always loved to read and try to have a book with me more often than not. I love to write because I can shape the story to fit my imagination and it doesn’t have to end.

Michael Winkhart - I am from Malverne, New York. I am eleven, turning twelve in October. I am going into seventh grade at Kellenberg. Through creative writing, I am able to express my imagination through words. I can put my thoughts into a story. Some hobbies I enjoy are sports, doodling, video games, hanging out with friends, and studying history.

Works of Poetry & Prose Writing's not easy, and sharing your work is frequently even more difficult. So the writers demonstrate their skill and their courage when they workshop their ideas. And they learn what styles and techniques work or not. And they learn their own voice. And they learn, it seems, how to have fun while doing so.

Beach

By Isabella Chungata Feeling scorching sand under my feet Watching the waves appear Then disappear Listening to the sounds of the ocean The rays of the gleaming sun Hit me And now I feel complete One with nature My own happy place

Dreams

By Helena Ward Dreams reveal the Mind’s true desire.

You do not approach these feelings while In control, while you are Comatose those emotions come forth Dancing through dreams, painting as Skillful as Picasso, etching stories into Your brain so when the warm comfort Hug of someone far away that feels So right, will Grieve you for those Days to come, when you awake they Flee to the corners of your mind For they know that if discovered They will be Buried and bottled up

D R E A M S

A Silent Beast

By Thomas Sorkin A silent beast- stalk us in The shadows The first of us was taken By it, screeching and in barn The second sadly met a similar Fate. He too was dragged into the dark demon Forest Finally it came for me I saw it smile sickeningly Its fierce fangs were like swords Its eyes were black and beady Its scrawny legs seemed to be shackled To a tree if I could go no further I celebrate with a yell It growled and bared its brutal fangs In the back of the woods A clanking chain shattered, It looked back, then back to me I gulped.

Falling

By Francesca Morales Why Do We Fall For those we cannot have?

Why do we Give and give and give and give and give, And again give and give and give and give Pieces of ourselves, our souls, to Those who will never give anything Back?

It is said: “Love is giving someone the power To destroy you, but trusting they won’t.”

How do we find the ability to Trust After we are obliterated so Cruelly, heartlessly?

Breaking a heart Is breaking a mirror.

Once it is shattered, seven years bad love.

I will never be the same.

Charge to Three Hundred

By Caitlyn Barnwell

Dreams

By Catherine Desiderio

Charge to three hundredAlive. Sutured and stitches sloppily laid On a heart torn apart, by a raging raptor Known as him.

The pledge made to the ruptured organWas an alleged allegiance soon broken Like a paper crumpled then destroyed.

Blood, no longer running Like a car at a green light, never moving Then a blinding blank impactgone.

Is the sky the limit?

Can we let our minds go, Drift to the sky, Following the paths of our dreams Until we die?

What does your path look like?

Is it built atop clouds, a wonderland Within itself?

Or is it dark and dreary, Lonely?

Deadly?

My path may not exist, Be breaking down, Because they try to rip us down Like balloons on strings.

Deadly.

Candle

By Justine Cuomo (workshop 2014) Just a little tiny candle sitting there so innocent; Waiting to be lit, waiting for its time to shine.

To give the light to everyone, a light that everyone needs.

Waiting just waiting for that moment, When it is lit, it is lit for all.

And that is when it stops waiting.

Grass The beautiful green grass, so soft and tender to my feet.

Waving in the wind, growing taller and taller, only to be cut down again.

Morning light filling it with a sticky dew.

Walking through it, feeling the soft touch on my foot.

Laying down, looking at the clouds.

The soft prick of the top of the grass comforting me.

Dandelions Dandelions soft flowers searching, blowing, fluttering a work of art dreams

Eyes

By Evangelos Katsounis Tired, weary eyes Gaze upon the earthen floor I close them- light shines

Globe

By Caitlyn Barnhart High and tall it stands Atop a pedestal gold Glanced at by others So I go to itWhen spun no whoosh sound was heard Twas only silence The bumpy ridges Smooth beneath my fingertips Like braille for the blind And yet the globe stops Are you not supposed to spin Three hundred sixty-five days?

Feelings

By Michael DeRisi Feelings.

They are what makes us move Love, happiness, sadness, anger Why? Why must they consume us?

Why must they take over us at the Worst time?

Suppression doesn’t work; it just eats You alive until the only thing You can do is cry Why must we hide our love?

Why must we hide our happiness?

Why must we hide our anger?

Why must we hide our sadness?

All for what To not fear pain Pain exists in everything and it Demands to be felt

Happiness

By Nicole Kennedy She dances downstairs with Death on her mind but never Stops smiling Why? Nobody knows but She that God Is by her side She knows when she dies She will be in a better, happier place so, why Feel gloomy?

Library

By Helena Ward Columns of ancient books smell of countless journeys fading text frayed edges

Library Mara Lettera In the library I slide a book from the shelf.

Its pages crinkle when I open the novel its spine creaks like ancient bones.

Lies

By Isabella Giraldo Like the story Of the sun Loving the moon so much She died every night To let him breathe?

This is not a story of True love And the sacrifices you make to achieve it, It is yet a tale of woe and great oblivion.

We hear this story about people Giving themselves up For a nonexistent love.

But something commonly mistaken for love A cravingA hungerA desire Lust.

We make ourselves smaller Than we are so someone else can rise That is not sacrifice It is ignorance.

But I can’t shake this feeling Your feelingYour touch I longed for itFor you.

This faux love consumed me. your touch felt Like a rock making ripples in a pond.

Except you are a pebble And IAm an ocean - inevitably you sink You almost touched my heart But I wouldn’t let it.

Your lips pressed to mine.

Then my cheek Then my ear And you said it Those words I dreaded Warned you about I love you And lied when I said I love you too.

Listen

By Mada Lettera Listen to me please Don’t go in that darkened room It is perilous You don’t know what you might find Or what possibly finds you.

Mountain

By Helena Ward A snow topped mountain Little fox hopping around Poof! A cloud of snow

Pencil And Eraser

By Wilmarr Saint Surin Pencil you draw my world You are the tool we use to think When brushing against the paper, it suddenly Becomes real Eraser you erase the evil things.

When we mess up you are there to Fix it.

You are the eye of the storm Penalty Kick

By Ariana G. Sam Sweat glistening The sun beaming, The roaring crowds.

The goalie; threatening eyes.

Then The kick, the ball, he dives He misses Relief. Victory The pile on leaves the player on the oor Chants, chants, chants of her name.

When the pencil and the eraser are Entwined They make our imagination real They make us see the things we can Only wish for.

The Call

Rain Gloomy storm clouds soon appear overhead Like a grey blanket that covers a child.

The patter is heard as I lie in bed.

A tree branch breaks from the wind that runs wild.

The rain is lovely music to my ears The loud thunder makes me get up and dance It takes away all of my dreaded fears The droplets clear the way for second chance The rain is power, from it you may gain A broken heart left to be washed away Rain emanates love to hide away pain It’s a cost- a stitched up heart has to pay In our time of need we often feel woe Rain soaks through our skin to make our hearts grow (Written collectively by the Workshop members.)

I don’t know what I will be called to do.

I am afraid that I might never know I can be a nurse, judge, or teacher, too.

Actress, cop, or lawyer, to name a few So many paths, I don’t know where to go.

I don’t know what I will be called to do.

I know that to myself I must be true But the choice fills me with a sense of woe I can be a nurse, judge, or teacher, too.

To whom shall I turn to find any clue For my future I will search high and low I don’t know what I will be called to do.

Now, about this I can no longer stew.

My future, like an arrow from a bow I can be a nurse, judge, or teacher, too.

So I think I know what I will pursue God leads the way, and Him I will follow I don’t know what I will be called to do I can be a nurse, judge, or teacher too.

(Written collectively by the Workshop members.)

Silently He Strolls The Halls

By Amanda Baez Silently, He strolls the halls- thinking of What he did.

He watches as others laugh While he can only cry.

It was hard for him to stand, or even walk, Because what he did made him Want to die.

Carefully, He opens the door-looking At the majestic beauty.

He eyes the happy golden flowers, Remembering the Moment before he messed up.

Wishing he could turn Back time with all of his Power To go and change all that Had happened.

They are clean, while he was scarred They were laughing, while he was crying AND they liVEd, while he DieD.

Tired

By Caysie Supino TiredSleep won’t help Afraid to live but A thirst for life Life’s arms choke me The chill of darkness closes in Want to run but Can’t even stand Light in my eyes Fades, disappears Gone.

The Sun and the Moon

By Caitlyn Barnwell and Isabella Giraldo

When the earth was young and new The sun was born And she was lonely.

As millions of years went on She became brighter, stronger She persistently prayed for a companion.

She had everything Power, responsibility, beauty And she was acknowledged.

But despite all that, What she desperately craved Was something she could never have Love.

He illuminates the night sky, Surrounded by a billion stars a billion companions A billion friends.

Yet he lives in the dark When he emerges, Others ensconce themselves in their fire lit homes Something he cannot provide.

He wished to be acknowledged, But most of all He wanted to be loved.

This love they reminisce A warm embrace A cooling touch Eyes that have never met their own Arms that feel like home.

How could they live on and miss These things they have never known?

These feasible needs of love Proudly unattainable and Unsympathizing This feeling would linger And they could almost feel each other.

But it went away almost as fast as it came.

Both wished for love A tragedy that the others existence Was not known- hidden Until the solar eclipse.

Complete opposites Described them One bright as day One dark as night.

Radiant, Crater filled, Lovers.

Only seen twice a year Because She sets He rises She rises He sets.

Although their love together was short lived It was enough for them to realize that Perhaps this simple accident of falling in love Awakes the existence The promise Of what we most cherish.

Sometimes Life belongs to us.

Sonnet #2: "You are always near"

By Thomas Dompkowski You are always near to my weary heart.

To all my being so dear is your love.

In cold despair you are my most warm gloves.

And so I know from you I must not part.

Your measures, woven threads in works of art, are soothing, like a tranquil Peaceful Dove.

Your care I place no earthly things above.

Your tenderness was with me since the start.

Yet some I know do not take your embrace.

They try to douse the bright flames of your light.

They know you not. Far from your faithful face are they that love you not. They aim to fight, to burn and bury till remains no trace.

But I, Mother Mary, shall be your knight!

What A World

By Isabella Giraldo When I close my eyes I see a cluster of colors And I wish I could fall into them.

Tumbling gracefully Almost beautiful Not me but what I see.

What I dream.

I see a place that nobody knows Where you never die, but only grow.

When you fall you don’t turn into a Cloud of nothingInstead you burst into everything I long for a place like this But then A flash of light A stunning impact And a hard hit of reality This is when I remember why I Closed my eyes in the first place.

The Great Symphony

By Michael DeRisi Who would’ve thought things would End up this way The lies, the games, the deceit Neither of us innocent Neither of us guilty The way we played each other Like master violinists Although long I feel as if our symphony Is coming to an end The notes, the crescendos, the res All over played Measure after measure I love you Do you love me too?

Is it over?

Our masterpiece, the great symphony

The Nervous Crayon

By Amanda Baez and Makenna Artigas

Two Friends

By Michael Winkhart, Hope Gharagozlo, Alice Crandall

It all started in a small town in Louisiana…

Jess Tanner was the most handsome boy there. Emily and Amelia, best friends- yeah right. Best friends aren’t supposed to be in love with the same boy. Emily and Amelia argued with each other over who was better for Jess. They decided to play a game to determine who would be the best, but it went a little out of hand. They decided to determine who would win him by seeing who could spend the most time with him throughout the day.

They went to the mall and found Jessie at the food court. They spend the day spending all their money on what Jessie wanted. Soon they ran out of money so they told Jess to sit with them. They started asking him whom he liked better. Jessie asked incredulously, “What are you talking about?”

The girls told him how much they liked him, but apparently Jessie already had a girlfriend. Her name was Annabelle. She was gorgeous. The girls were so heartbroken that they ran away forever.

Shayna, at the age 24.3, woke up quite tiresome to prepare for her job interview. While getting dressed, she put on her bumblebee stockings underneath her neon pink bodycon dress. When styling her neon rainbow, she teased it, as if she were from the 80s. After saying goodbye to her pet bobcats she headed to her car- which was based on the Scooby Doo Mystery Machine.

Upon arriving at the job interview, she applied her white eyeliner, with luscious wings that extend to her Dumbo-like ears. Next, she dressed her lips in black sparkly lipstick. She also enhanced her facial moles by using brown sharpies. After feeling satisfied with her unique makeup style, looking like a nervous crayon, she entered the dull and depressing factory.

Upon entering, the secretary told her that the interview was scheduled for tomorrow.Quite angrily, Shayna fought the secretary saying her interview was today. As the secretary called security, Shayna summoned her pet bobcats. Frightened by the vicious beasts, the secretary took her to see the boss. The boss upon seeing the eccentric and ridiculous Shayna, gave her a job that matched her personality: a dog food tester…

On her first day, when Shayna was walking to her room, she bumped into someone. Instead of apologizing, Shayna screamed at the stranger. He had brown hair and grey eyes that matched his boring personality. In a monotone and depressed voice, he apologized. Shayna apologized only after seeing bacon in his hand. The man’s name was Steve, a librarian.

Soon, the two became best friends and eventually married. Shayna is now 24.95 years old and has twins named June and July. She, Steven, June, July, and her pet bobcats lived happily ever after in Tortina, Egypt.

The Leprechaun

By Thomas Sorkin I was about nine years old. My family and I just came back from Six Flags. We were staying at our house in the Berkshires. I was peacefully resting on the front lawn.

It was a beautiful day. The Sun was high, the grass was bright green. Flowers released a sweet scent and the temperature was perfect. The icing on the cake was the double rainbow stretching across the sky. This image was ruined with the shout of, “Look it’s a leprechaun!”

This was said by my brothers, Ryan and Kevin. They then began to bound towards me. I did what any sensible kid would do. I ran like heck! They wanted my pot of gold. Little did they know, I would never tell them...I mean I had no idea what they were talking about.

They caught up to me. It, sadl, was inevitable. Both were at least six inches taller than me, and the two were both more athletic than me. They began to try torturing the information out of me.

This was done by tickling me until I nearly peed my pants.

Witness The Tower

By Eddie Pisacane A child held its breath as it sought to surpass those who came before it.

It proceeded into a third swamp of odd and timeless creatures that could not see it due to an excess of oxygen.

Traveling over the modern marvel of a new century, it frequently bore witness to a stunning shoot of spindly iron.

Eventually, I broke. I told them the location of my gold. I calmly told them its exact location, up their rear ends! The torture resumed once more.

Soon, its mind raced and a smoky inferno of unquenchable thirst touched it. The child screamed, struggled and slighted the world. With terrible gnashing of teeth, their fits continued.

Eventually, mom called us in for dinner. The pair went charging into the house. I shouted with joy! I was free, and my gold was safe. It was hidden under my dirty laundry. I don’t think anyone would want to look under there, even if they won a pot of gold.

Days were built into weeks, hours broken down and ground into minutes. The pain beginning to flag, it acquired heart again, its tongue sharpened on the whetstone of time and its pride tempered in the forge of companionship.

It gazed up at the tyrant, solemn, iron, and unyielding. Becoming fuller still, it entered a swamp yet thicker.

My Mom

By Nicole Kennedy I was sitting in my room, in the corner, terrified of what was happening. I was only nine, no one told me anything. My dad grabbed me and drove me to the hospital, right behind the ambulance.

When we got there, I kept in my tears. I walked into the Emergency Room and there I saw, my mother, barely able to breathe. I still did not cry because I felt like I had to be strong for her.

Piraeus

By Evan Katsounis I sat near the kiosk, guarding my luggage like a sentry, watchfully eyeing the gypsy children scamper around a fountained pillar topped with the bust of Themistocles. A drunk, Greek mind you, stumbles to a bench and hands a small can of fanta to a gypsy girl, scantily clad in a torn stained pink shirt. The rest play in the dirt and fight over cigarettes, while the mother (presumably) cleans and excavates debris from a tattered tent. For a seasoned traveler as myself, witnessing this near dystopian scene of interaction, in the midst of bustling automobile and pedestrian traffic, I was quite shocked. Although I had most definitely observed worse in the Balkans, the obliterated charred remnants of the Powder Keg, I had never spectated the daily routines of a gypsy camp Children no older than six puffing cigarettes like experienced tobacco connoisseurs left me confounded and aghast. How can one portion of the world dwell in luxury and abundance while others are reduced to pitch tents in parks surrounded by dogs and filth?

My mom had Ovarian Cancer. She found out she had it when she was pregnant with me. When I was four or five the cancer went away but then it came back again.

When I left the hospital and got home, I ran into my room and stayed there for the rest of the night.

The next day, I had school. Nothing was different. No one knew so it was just an ordinary day. But don’t get me wrong, my mom was on my mind the whole day.

A couple days later, my mother passed away. That day my aunt and uncle took me out to dinner to get my mind off of it. That didn’t help though, my mom was the only thing that I thought about. When I went to sleep I started to think to myself. I had lost all my faith in God. I kept asking, why me? Now I know why.

I’m not the same anymore. I am older now and I understand a lot more. Now I truly believe in God again. God chose me because he knew that I am strong enough. I’m more mature than most people my age. I miss my mom but I have learned to deal with it. I also learned that God has a reason for everything.

Just You and Just Me

By Michael DeRisi Sometimes I like to think I’m something more than what I am.

In times of harsh realization I realize that I am nothing more than just me.

I’m smarter than average, but I’m only average. I sing better than the guy next to me, but we sing the same. It’s all about how we see ourselves. If I think I am better than the guy next to me, but he thinks we’re on the same level both are a reality. Perception is reality, and if we perceive it in a certain way then that only adds to the many layers of the reality of ourselves and of our world. I’m grunge, hipster, indie, and preppy all rolled into a single being.

That’s perfection among itself. All of my perfections and imperfections cultivating my history, my present, and my future. I am perfect, you are perfect, we are all perfect.

We don’t have to be better than anyone else, we only have to be better than the person we were the previous day. I challenge you to be better than yourself from the previous day, and to realize things about yourself that you would ever think before. Solely for the reason that you are just you and I am just me.

Disney World

By Michael Winkhart Disney World is and will forever be the most action-packed and enjoyable place on earth. I have taken three trips to Disney in a span of three years. My first appearance was when I was eight years old, and my most recent was when I was ten years old. I have had many memorable experiences down in Orlando, Florida, and I will share memories from my trips.

The first time I went to Disney, I was too young and small to do many of the attractions had to offer. This was the period of time to learn about Disney for the coming years I would be back.

The second and third trips to Disney were when I was really able to experience Disney World. As a taller and older kid, I could now experience the thrilling roller coasters, shows, and other attractions.

My favorite moments from these trips are going to Epcot and visiting the ‘countries’ of my heritage. I went on Splash Mountain where a huge wave of water soaked my family and I. I enjoyed a show named Fantasia where I saw Disney heroes and villains in an organized story presented in a show. My last memory is the amount of screaming heard from the three roller coasters I went on.

THANK YOU

A Beastly Night

By Thomas Sorkin I woke up in the pouring rain. I stood up feeling the furious wind on my face. “What’s going on?” I muttered. The last thing I remember was I was going to bed. After that, I couldn’t remember. I flinched as I heard thunder boom. I stared into the distance, noticing a building.

Thank you to Mr. Kevin A'Hearn, Summer Program director at

Kellenberg, and Mrs. Diane Hasset for all of the accommodating,

organizing, and assistance in the development and production of the

Workshop. Thanks to Mr. Eric Harnisch at KMHS for his assistance with publishing this iBook. Thank you also to Mr. Rich Lucidi at

It was my only hope so I began to run towards it. Out of the corner of my eye, I saw something. I turned to look back at it. It disappeared. “It must’ve been my imagination,” I thought to myself.

I continued my run.

Digital Graphic Imagery Corp. for the printed copies of this year's iBook.

A feeling of dread lodged itself into my skull. It made my limbs heavier, and my heart like a caged beast.

print someday soon! Thank you to all of the parents, grandparents,

I stopped for a minute to catch my breath. I once again saw movement from the corner of my eye. I saw the silhouette of a creature roughly ten yards behind me. It seemed nearly human in appearance. However, its eyes were different. They seemed predatory with a ravenous look. It grinned at me. Its slow gate slowly seemed to speed up.

I stood there petrified. Quickly I shook myself out of my stupor. I attempted to run. My limbs ignored my orders and kept still. It kept its slow pace/ As it got closer, I saw it in greater detail. Its skin was pulled taut with scratches all over its body. Its teeth were sharpened into fangs and its nails were long and grotesque.

Soon it was a mere breath away. It opened its mouth and a strange beeping noise came out. I woke with a start in my room. It was just a dream. I looked to my left to see my alarm. I cried silently, the clock read Monday October 14th, 7:00AM. Personally, I’d rather be eaten than go to school!

Thank you also to Aislinn Keely, KMHS '16, who assisted me in the day to day and who provided superlative guidance for the young writers.

Aislinn is Fordham-bound this year. We hope to see her own work in siblings, and friends who attended the Reading on Friday. It might be the highlight of the week when I see our guests' reactions to the student

works. Great thanks to Mr. Peter Vanderberg, editor and proprietor of

Ghostbird Press, who took time to share his experience as a writer and publisher with the Workshoppers. Thank you to Mrs. Tara Flood for

bringing coffee and munchkins and thank you to Miss Charlotte Flood and Miss Judith Flood for coming to the Reading and for their burgeoning interest in words and poetry!

Finally thank you most of all to the writers, whose energy, interest, maturity, creativity and BRAVERY made the week successful and enjoyable.

Thank you, and I look forward to another great week in 2017.