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In A Grove 2013
Arts Journal
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In a Grove 2013 A Celebration of Writing and Art at Lakefield College School
Featuring the winners of LCS Writes! Sponsored by The Grove Society
LCS Writes! Winners Poetry Section Grades 11/12 1st Connor Mahony, "Life Lessons" 2nd Lyndsay Armstrong, "Tears" Jordan Ryder, "The Science of It All" 3rd Millie Yates, "Hannah's Question" and Jasmine Kheawok-Ashfield, "From the Fading Flames of Humanity" Grades 9/10 1st Carol Liu, "Newtown" 2nd Adam Milburn, "Missing Past" 3rd Cameron Maltman, "A Blanket That Doesn't Warm" Grade 8 1st Tess Wilson, "Tree" 2nd Megan McShane, "The Last Drop"
Prose Section Grades 11/12 1st Jasmine Kheawok-Ashfield, "Off With Our Heads" 2nd Elisha Sarkis, "Pulp Non-Fiction Or: How I Learned to Stop Worrying and Love the Muppets" ** 3rd Katie Moore, "A Lack of Reality" ** Grades 9/10 1st Mihir Kiran, "Wounded" (Excerpt*) 2nd Fiona Murray, "Lost and Found" ** 3rd Delaney Smith, "Love in Disguise" ** *Excerpt of prose selection published due to space restrictions. **Visit lcs.on.ca > Beyond the Class > Co-curricular Arts to read prose pieces in full.
Life Lessons By Connor Mahony Writing. Late nights. Working. Studying. Repeat. Commitment. Practice. Training. Competition. Finals. Repeat. Physical strain. Damaged body. Mental struggle. Inferiority. Failure. Repeat Planning. Involvement. Participation. Activities. Clubs. Contests. Events. Repeat. No spare time. Overly-dedicated. Too busy. That is life. Academics, athletics, involvement. Well-rounded? Is this how we define success? Yes. Or at least that’s what they tell us. Stress. Worries. Depression. Anxiety. What happens if we fail? What happens to us when we strive for too much? Reach too far? Commit too heavily? What is the price of success? Is this what well-rounded means? Is this the real meaning of success? They’d like us to think so. They want more. They want a bigger list with more awards, higher grades, greater involvement. But we can’t always give more. Enough is enough. Success is more than a list of words on a transcript. 1st place, Grades 11/12 poetry
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Newtown By Carol Liu Their parents kiss them goodbye, they say "Be safe, have a good day." One, two, three. Laughter, a beautiful sound, run around on the playground. Four, five, six. The intercom turns on, people are calling. They hear sounds like cans falling. Seven, eight, nine. Down, down, down. Screams of terror, "GET DOWN!" Ten, Eleven, Twelve.
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Huddle in the corner, turn off the light. Shaky breaths say, "Something isn’t right." Thirteen, Fourteen, Fifteen. They’re waiting outside, And wonder why the kids are still inside. Sixteen, Seventeen, Eighteen. Once a haven, "the safest place in the U.S." Now they sit and pray, God bless. Nineteen, Twenty, Twenty-One. As the president stands up to speak, He stops to wipes a stray tear from his cheek. Twenty-Two, Twenty-Three, Twenty-Four.
Twenty-Five. Twenty-Six . Twenty-six angels are flying to the sky, Perhaps they will never hear their parents cry. 1st place, Grades 10/11 poetry
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Tree By Tess Wilson I throw on my coat, and shove on my boots, anger coursing through my veins, I run outside and slam the door, the cold greets me like a familiar face, I climb up my tree as high as I can, I smell leaves rotting on the ground, I taste snow in the air, I hear leaves rustling in the wind, I see the branches swooshing in the breeze, I feel the rough bark of the tree, and I know everything will be alright, up so high, so close to the sky, too far from my worries, too close to my dreams. 1st place, Grade 8 poetry
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Tears By Lyndsay Armstrong I see it before it comes, there’s always a subtle twitch under her right eye. A slight flush in her cheeks, and when the redness reaches her forehead it crinkles. And then it washes over her, a wave crashing on her face. It steals my breath as she gasps for hers. And the wetness pours through the creases on both sides of her nose. There’s a stabbing pain in my chest, so I pull hers close to mine. As her salty tears dampen my shoulder my head always throbs. I weep because she’s weeping and I ache because she’s aching and I am filled with fury because no one and nothing should ever be able to take that smile from her freckled face. Please hurt me, hit me, curse me, punch me, yell at me, kick me, and tear me apart before you make my sister cry. 2nd place, Grades 11/12 poetry
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The science of it all By Jordan Ryder Don’t let them explain how science works Because it’s just a book And it explains how your heart works But it can’t explain what it is to feel And it explains how your brain is made But it can’t explain your thoughts And it explains how you can eat But it can’t explain the taste Don’t let them explain how science works Because it explains how you can touch But it can’t explain the feeling And it explains how you can hear But it can’t explain the sound And what it can do And what it can mean Don’t let them explain how science works Because its more than just explanations And you can’t define experience So don’t let them explain how science works Because what does that really tell you? What do you feel, think, taste, hear… And what does it all mean? 2nd place, Grades 11/12 poetry
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hannah's question By Millie Yates If you swallow a seed Will it begin to grow inside of you? Will the roots of its bloom latch themselves Deep in your stomach Winding around your intestines Fine roots passing through your stomach’s lining Invading your system If you swallow a seed Will its stem push through your bellybutton? Will the rough bark break your soft skin Pierce through layers of flesh Draw blood from the most sensitive spot A puncture where there was one already If you swallow a seed
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Will the tree continue to grow? When will you lay down Your body a small lump under the tree Your spine straight Now a breakable mound of earth If you swallow a seed Are you destined for a life of leisure? Under the shade of a tree Your face dappled by the sun If you swallow a seed Will its tree eat you whole? Will it draw nutrients from your fibrous skin Leech your body of fluid Drain it of life If you swallow a seed What becomes of you? I want to know Because I swallowed one today at lunch 3rd place, Grades 11/12 poetry
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from the fading flames of humanity By Jasmine Kheawok-Ashfield In this never ending labyrinth of moral grey and human indifference, In this place where the sky is always dark and the stars never shine, Where a helping hand can push you further down into the darkness, Where a smile can seem both sincere and sinister, In this place where we have given up on humanity, I caved in on myself and forgot how to live. My own heartbeat has forgotten how to live. But the world around me is indifferent. We are all losing our humanity. We have forgotten that which makes us shine, Instead we settle for what makes us sinister.
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This world without love is full of darkness. Our minds are clouded by the darkness. It’s a thriving thunderstorm that will live Forever until we drive out the black-hearted Sinister And her brother cruel Indifference, And we find our inner light that still shines A small flame, all that remains of our humanity. We must have faith in our humanity, In order to draw it from the recesses of darkness. We must nurse the flame so it will dance and shine, And grow and grow and forever live To remind those who remain indifferent That we chased away the Sinister. But we must not forget that which is sinister, We must remember that we can lose our humanity, That we can succumb to painful indifference, and cut ourselves on the broken shards of darkness. Regret, and pain, and sorrow teach us to live. Teach us to be grateful that we have the ability to shine.
Like the stars above, we were born to shine, but we can burn out and die if sinister indifference causes us to forget how to live. We must keep careful watch over the fire of our humanity, and ensure that its coals never fade into ashes and darkness, even if they try to snuff out the flame with their cold indifference. Our inner flames will only shine, when we rekindle our humanity. We can chase away the black-hearted Sinister, and the cold, cruel darkness. We have the power to live in a world where kindness overcomes indifference. 3rd place, Grades 11/12 poetry
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missing past By Adam Milburn The bombs will fall. The shells will rain. Gunshots will call, We feel deep pain. But guns are not the issue. Pack away your bombs and war. To the deceased we say "we’ll miss you." But there’s more we’re searching for.
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You can see it in museums, Empty halls now still and bare. We don’t have a coliseum, But castles crushed beyond repair. But they’re not crumbled like an old boulder. Nor are they victims of neglect. History ruined by soldiers, In war we can’t protect. In a perfect world there’s no fighting. But we know that’s not the case. Just don’t take our art and writing, Let us take them from this place. 2nd place, Grades 10/11 poetry
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A blanket that doesn't warm By Cameron Maltman Falling, floating, grace My hand tingles from your touch Like a long gone friend Allows me to shred
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A blanket that doesn’t warm There is no escape Slush, dirt, warming air Long gone friend you’re gone again Oh, how I miss thee 3rd place, Grades 10/11 poetry
the last drop By Megan McShane A poem telling the story of a world with no water left The last drop has disappeared. I cannot shed another tear. Soon it will come, when all will be done. As my death closes in on me, I think of what the world could be. A world with much strife,
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is now empty; there's no life. But now it has killed all, but my dreams, still unfulfilled. Why could we not have saved, to prevent the path we have just paved? Why could we not have strived to make our world much more revived? Why could we not have changed our ways instead of setting our world ablaze? I ask myself this as I'm feeling so glum. Look at what our beautiful world has become. 2nd place, Grade 8 poetry
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off with our heads By Jasmine Kheawok-Ashfield "But I don’t want to go among mad people," Alice remarked. "Oh, you can’t help that," said the Cat, "we’re all mad here. I’m mad. You’re mad." ― Lewis Carroll, Alice’s Adventures in Wonderland A teenager sits in the front row of the class. He can’t concentrate; he hears voices in his head. The professor asks him how his schizophrenia is doing, and assures the boy that it will pass by the end of the week. The student feels reassured and returns to his math problems. Now another student in the back of the classroom sneezes into a stiff, scratchy tissue, and the teacher glares at her. The girl is reprimanded for bringing her illness to school. The bell rings and the girl with the cold walks to her next class, World Issues. A class debate ensues as to whether the government’s health budget is being used correctly. A boy with disheveled hair insists that the health budget cuts are necessary. He believes that the ill are useless members of society, and that if we just allowed them to slowly suffer and die, then the rest of us wouldn’t have to pay such high taxes for their medical bills. He thinks it should be off with their heads, and down with our taxes. The teacher congratulates the student on his argument. The teacher then tells the class that their letters to Mr. Harper have been noticed in Parliament. The federal government has just passed the bill to outlaw the distribution of the drug insulin. A diagnosed diabetic boy rises silently from his desk and leaves the room; nobody notices. In the cafeteria the teenager with the broken arm sits alone, his head buried in the novel Alice’s Adventures in Wonderland. He’s failing most of his courses, but not even his parents seem to care. It’s not as if he’ll ever amount to anything with that injury of his. On the other side of the cafeteria a girl is having a seizure on the floor. The students laugh and point, but when her heart stops, and she finally stops jerking spastically, they go back to ignoring her existence, or sudden lack thereof. Do you know what it’s like to wake up every day to find that the sun is shining, a little less brighter than the day before? Do you know what it’s like to live life in an eternal tunnel of darkness, to greet each day as if it were the Devil himself? Do you know what it’s like to have each and every step you take result in laboured breathing from the pain of just existing? I’m supposed to walk around like a normal person, yet I feel like a puppet, my strings being pulled by society’s expectations of me as I walk around trying to fit in with the living things, but only ever pulling off a colourless imitation.
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1 in 5 Canadians will suffer from mental illness in their lives (Canadian Mental Health Association), but can we really believe the statistics? I can barely think the words, yet alone say them out loud; "I need help." How many people suffer in the dark? How many people spend their mortal lives trapped in that dimly lit, never ending tunnel of hopelessness? 1 in 5, apparently. 1 in 5. If there really are that many people suffering from similar ailments as me, should I not be aware of more people who share my predicament? If there really are that many people with mental illnesses then shouldn’t I feel as at home as the Mad Hatter at his own tea party, or the grinning Cheshire cat perched on the branch of one of the trees of Wonderland’s enchanted forest? Why do I feel so alone? Why do I feel like Alice, lost and forsaken in a place where no one can relate to her? How is it really possible that 1 in 5 Canadians share my secret?
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When I was a child there lived a girl next door. A pretty girl, a smart girl. But there was one problem with this seemingly perfect individual; she smoked. As a young child who had been advised to avoid cigarettes, I truly believed that this girl’s habit would kill her. And sure, smoking is an unhealthy habit, but they are much crueler, slower, and more painful ways to ensure one’s end. Madness is perhaps the worst. Virginia Woolf, with all her brains and talent couldn’t conquer it. Marilyn Monroe, with all her beauty, fame, and admirers, could not ignore it. And surely poor little Alice would have undoubtedly lost her head if she had remained in Wonderland. So what is madness anyways? Or pardon me, but perhaps the term ‘madness’ could quite possibly be interpreted as controversial, politically incorrect, or offensive. Unfortunately, for you though, dear reader, I have neither the savoir faire nor the tact to come up with a better word. Madness, my apologies really, is defined as "the state of being mentally ill." (Web Definitions Google) The second definition defines it somewhat differently, "extremely foolish behaviour" (Web Definitions Google). Now, if we are to accept the later definition as being correct, have not all of us experienced ‘madness’ at some point or other in our lives? Have you never done something foolish? No, you say? Come now, don’t lie to me, deceitfulness really is quite an unattractive trait for a person to possess. Surely someone bearing the status as a member of your "YOLO" generation has committed as least some bizarre act of foolishness or another? Have you never fallen flat on your face, or fallen head over heels in love? The great bard spoke truthfully when he said that "love is merely a madness." (Shakespeare) In emotions lie the makings of madness, for in the exhibition of
madness our true emotions are revealed. Have you never experienced great rage or sadness, heartbreak or joy, success or failure, which drove you crazy with emotion? Maybe not crazy enough to order someone’s head chopped off the like the Queen of Hearts, but crazy enough to consider it. Perhaps the correct definition of madness then, in the emotionally repressed culture in which we preside today, is the truthful expression of emotion. Madness has also been defined, by a crazy balding man at that, as doing the same thing over and over again and expecting different results (Einstein). But isn’t that what we do every single day of our lives, doing the same thing every day and expecting life to somehow, someway get better? If we are to believe the given definitions, are we not all mad occasionally? I think it is safe to say that all of us have experienced some form of insanity in our lives. We have all gazed through the looking glass even if we haven’t fallen down the rabbit hole. Perhaps these words mean nothing to you. But even if they don’t, I want you to try. Try to see what life is like through the eyes of someone wearing kaleidoscope glasses. Because that’s what life is like for me. Living with a mental illness is like walking on a tightrope; you could fall off at any moment. And what people really don’t understand is that often your misunderstanding is what pushes us off the rope and down into that abyssal tunnel of darkness. Even if you cannot even begin to conceive this alternate reality that I live in every day having a mental illness, it would be muchly appreciated if you could throw a rope down the rabbit hole, so that I might one day be able to climb back up and into the light of the real world. 1 in 5 people in Canada will suffer from a mental illness in their lifetime. Over three million Canadian youth are at risk for developing depression. Almost half of Canadians with mental illnesses or disorders go without treatment. Mental illness accounts for 24% of the deaths among 15-25 year olds. (Canadian Mental Health Association) What if we treated all illnesses the way we treated mental illness? What if we stigmatized and ostracized you? What if banned the drugs that would bring you relief from your pain? What if we did nothing to stop your suffering? What if we built up a society in which a large part of the population’s health needs were ignored? What if we let you cease to exist? What if we discriminated against you and left you high and dry in Wonderland? I’ll tell you what would happen if we treated you as such; it would be off with our heads. 1st place, Grades 11/12 prose
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Wounded
(Excerpt)
By Mihir Kiran It was a bitter winter night. The wind decided to show no hesitation and blew mercilessly over the entire city. Had it not been for a pale light resonating off the street lamp the entire city would have been engulfed in complete darkness. Houses were made to look deserted for no one wished to offer accommodation to anyone, especially in these times. The creature, being hungry all day, had decided to try its luck on a garbage can, hoping to find some remains that would help him scrape by. Suddenly the dog took to its heels as this silence was disrupted by a loud shout, "Get that damn camera outta my face� and the figure lashed out into the darkness only to come in contact with nothing but the cold air. He felt the heat in his body growing intensely. He tried a few clam breaths but to no avail. Had it not been long
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enough now? Wasn’t time supposed to have healed his so called wounds? Some had healed. Some. But there was still that dream. It kept haunting him every second of his remorseful life. As if falling into a trance he slowly shut his eyelids only to relieve that one memory that changed his life. During his youth when he would be asked what he wished to become once he grew up, unlike his fellow classmates, his answer was simple. All he ever wanted was a normal family, a roof over his head and three square meals a day. Often god favors those who show modesty and it was this very belief that he thought was the cause for his happiness in the near future. He took whatever little savings he had, and he invested them in a firm which did not show much profit in the beginning, however it did make profits later on, thus resulting in his progress as well. Being one of the wealthiest shareholders of his town, he managed to marry a girl of his dreams, live in a house which was considered simple by few and lavish by many others and needless to say, he enjoyed his life. 1st place, Grades 9/10 prose. Visit lcs.on.ca > Beyond the Class > Co-curricular Arts to read "Wounded" in full.
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Artwork Cover: Natalie Wagner Inside Front Cover (top to bottom): Shirley Zhang, Rachael Larose Opposite “LCS Writes! Winners”: Taeyeon Kwon Opposite “Life Lessons”: Ocean Saunders p3: Jenna Vander Velden p4: Justine Dutil p6: Greta Liu
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p8: Adam Thiessen p11: Jodie Sloan p12-13: Amber Wilson p17: Kana Hashimoto p18 (top to bottom): Guillermo Martin-Almendro, Daniela Gomez p21: Annabelle Price p22: Jodie Sloan p27: Jessica Tsang Inside Back Cover: Shirley Zhang Photography: Simon Spivey
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The Arts at 4391 County Rd 29, Lakefield, ON K0L 2H0 lcs.on.ca
In A Grove 2013
Arts Journal
Grade 9/10 prose 1st prize: Mihir Kiran, “Wounded” It was a bitter winter night. The wind decided to show no hesitation and blew mercilessly over the entire city. Had it not been for a pale light resonating off the street lamp the entire city would have been engulfed in complete darkness. Houses were made to look deserted for no one wished to offer accommodation to anyone, especially in these times. The creature, being hungry all day, had decided to try its luck on a garbage can, hoping to find some remains that would help him scrape by. Suddenly the dog took to its heels as this silence was disrupted by a loud shout, ”Get that damn camera outta my face” and the figure lashed out into the darkness only to come in contact with nothing but the cold air. He felt the heat in his body growing intensely. He tried a few clam breaths but to no avail. Had it not been long enough now? Wasn’t time supposed to have healed his so called wounds? Some had healed. Some. But there was still that dream. It kept haunting him every second of his remorseful life. As if falling into a trance he slowly shut his eyelids only to relieve that one memory that changed his life. During his youth when he would be asked what he wished to become once he grew up, unlike his fellow classmates, his answer was simple. All he ever wanted was a normal family, a roof over his head and three square meals a day. Often god favors those who show modesty and it was this very belief that he thought was the cause for his happiness in the near future. He took whatever little savings he had, and he invested them in a firm which did not show much profit in the beginning, however it did make profits later on, thus resulting in his progress as well. Being one of the wealthiest shareholders of his town, he managed to marry a girl of his dreams, live in a house which was considered simple by few and lavish by many others and needless to say, he enjoyed his life. Strangely enough these were the very thoughts that came to his mind that evening. There was not a single cloud in the sky that evening. A cold breeze blew over the town. The new movie had taken the nation by storm; many proclaimed it to be a work of genius. He was fortunate indeed to have gotten tickets. This week had been busy and the family was looking forward to spending some quality time together. His children hurried down the staircase looking adorable followed by his wife with that look of joyfulness that can in no way be expressed by words. Like almost any other family going for a movie they too were running behind schedule. His children were sitting at the back of his car while his wife was up front with him. People dreamed of having what he had: a loving wife two happy children but one never truly realizes the value of something until it is gone. He had always valued, so then why….. He stopped his car right before a traffic light. He turned around to find his children playing with a stuffed animal one that he had bought for them just this week. Slowly his wife placed her hand on his and for a moment time simply froze. He did not mind staying in that situation for the rest of his life for that was a time he was happy and in peace. The moment was shattered by a piercing honk and he then saw that the light had turned green. He slowly advanced forward when all of a sudden his wife’s grip on his hand stiffened. Baffled, he turned his head only to see his wife was not looking in his direction instead she faced the window. A bright light illuminated the street and then he saw the gigantic 8 wheeler speeding towards them. He already knew, judging by its speed, that no matter what he tried collision was inevitable. Page 1
He saw his wife’s beautiful face breaking into that of terror and slowly morphing into a scream. He looked back to see his children, staring at their mother who had frightened them, not even completely aware of what was going on, the side of the window. Thinking, panicking, doing anything was in vain. He had been told that keeping hope even in the worst of situations could be obliging in such situations. However he did not keep hope for the survival of his family, he just hoped that they would make it safely to the gates of paradise. Then came the loud blare of a truck horn and everything simply became obscure. The smell of smoke and burnt metal filled his nostrils; pieces of broken glass were all around the floor. He slowly opened his eyes to discover himself surrounded by a pool of blood. There were hardly any people there but in the distance he could make out vague figures approaching the spot. He just managed to catch a glimpse of the escaping truck, the driver with no intention to stop or slowdown whatsoever. It was only then that a sharp pain shot up his right leg. The sight of his trampled leg was something that would send any ordinary man to the state of unconsciousness. The same would have happened here if only he did not see what lay behind his leg. At first he could not make out what the heap in front of him was. Then he understood that that ambiguous figure was none other than his wife. The grief had only just begun for then he caught a glimpse of his children both lying right beside their mother. One of them still held on to the stuffed animal but its face was now smeared in blood. He could not even tell which one of his children it was, for both their faces had been marred beyond recognition. He tried crawling to his family but his legs would not obey. Every effort seemed wasted. He thought it was time to give up but then new hope sprung within him as he saw a man approaching him. The man crouched down beside him and then did something he was not prepared for. He pulled out is camera and began shooting away. “Get that damn camera outta my face� and the figure lashed out into the darkness only to come in contact with nothing but the cold air, once again.
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In A Grove 2013
Arts Journal
Grade 9/10 prose 2nd prize: Fiona Murray, “Lost and Found” She opened her eyes. She lay motionless in a hospital bed staring at a clean white ceiling. She threw herself up and started breathing frantically. Thrashing around in a panic stricken fit, her mother woke from a chair in the hospital room. The nurses and her mother ran to the spasmodic girl and tried to coax her back to sanity while they explained to her what happened. * * * * Mary Thompson was a very loud girl all of her life. If she thought something she said it. If she wanted something, she would strive to get it. She had a quirky sense of style and high self-esteem and despite the looks she got from strangers, she would simply hold her head higher. Her mother, Andrea, always scolded her for these ways. Her mother was emphatically proper. She dressed with class, talked perfectly and discouraged almost everything Mary did. She bought Mary the finest of clothes and makeup but Mary much preferred her more laid back style. Her signature outfit consisted of brown leather Blundstones boots, tattered beige breeches, a floral knitted shirt, and her hair tied back in a messy six part braid. At school everyone admired Mary in a role model sort of way. At the age of 14 popularity was everything anyone desired, but Mary didn’t care and preferred to be on her own. Mary’s differences, that set her apart from the norm, were what intrigued all of the kids in her year. She didn’t enjoy many sports. She wasn’t good at any of them except volleyball. At five foot eleven she was the star player of the game. She was academically inclined since the first day of kindergarten with ninety percent and higher in every subject. At least these things impressed her prudent mother. Mary spent most of her time outside where she could escape her mother’s criticism. When Mary was outdoors she felt that she could breathe and let go of all her worries. It happened that day. It was a crisp November morning. The plants were sprinkled with a light layer of sparkling frost and the pond glistened with a thin sheet of ice. Mary slammed the door behind her and filled her lungs with a deep breath of the cold air. Dressed in her usual apparel, plus a vest, mitts and a scarf, she started out for the creek that ran alongside of the property she lived on. Cobden was a small, peaceful town in the heart of Ontario, Canada, held secret and untouched by the modern world developing around it. Mary quite liked Cobden. When she reached the creek she was immediately soothed by the gentle trickling sounds that the creek made as it ran down the side of the ridge. She proceeded to cross the ridge where her fort awaited on the other side. She hopped from rock to rock swiftly as she did each day before. On the last stone as her foot came down she slipped on a patch of ice that covered the top of the rock. She was caught off guard and she flew through the air. Her head landed on the top of a rock with a thud that seemed to shake the entire forest. She lay cold, unconscious, nearly dead. * * * *
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“I called the police and we finally found you. You hardly had a pulse. You suffered hypothermia and… memory loss.” “I don’t know you! Get me out of here!” Mary screamed and thrashed in her hospital bed. “Calm down Mary!” her mother screamed out of fear and not knowing what else to say. “Who’s Mary, I want to leave!” the nurses quickly put her out. That November day brought a wave of sadness over Mary’s mother as well as the entire town of Cobden. Mary Thompson suffered of amnesia and could never regain her memory. She could only try her best to start fresh and get used to the life she felt like she had never lived. Her sense of style was gone. Her hard headed personality everyone admired was gone; Mary Thompson was gone. After a few more stressful weeks I the hospital, the doctors cleared Mary to finally go home with her mother, who was by now stressed to her capacity. Mary looked glum and lifeless the entire trip home. When they got home her mother showed Mary her room. “I lived here?” Mary wondered. “You do live here and these are your clothes,” her mom corrected her as she gestured to the closet filled with Mary’s array of bold coloured clothes. Mary leered at them. Mary’s mother could have taken advantage of her daughter’s condition and made her into anything she wanted, made up of fake products and expensive clothes. But Mary’s mom missed her and now she realized how much she neglected her own daughter’s identity, which was now lost. “You loved playing volleyball, reading books and Oh! You loved going outside! You stayed out there for Hours!” her mother proclaimed as they flipped through pages of a dusty photo album. Everything Mary didn’t know about herself seemed to fascinate her. It gave her a motive, she strangely believed everything her mother told her and she wanted to find out everything about herself there was to know and be Mary Thompson again. Mary couldn’t sleep that night. She lay in bed with her eyes wide open thinking about who she was. Her mind was swimming with all of the information her mother gave her. Star player, straight A student, popular. The words echoed in her head. To Mary it seemed like she had a lot to live up to. Tomorrow…..she drifted into a golden slumber. The next day she woke up early. She dressed in the unfamiliar clothes hanging in her closet. Mary would not go back to school for another month so she decided she would go outside. After she ate breakfast that her mother prepared for her, she ventured cautiously in to the unknown wilderness. Her mother opened the door behind her. “If you cross that creek over there,” her mother pointed over the ridge, “you will find one of your forts. You loved playing there!” Mary nodded and proceeded in the direction her mother directed her towards. It was December but the creek still flowed gently and innocently. Slowly, she made her way across the creek. Not as swiftly as she had previous times. She crossed the creek and came to the other side; she didn’t know where to go after so she kept going straight. Eventually she caught sight of a worn wooden house built high up in a bare maple tree. Her senses picked up on a stench that got worse as Mary got closer to the majestic tree house. “Damn thing must be rotting. Wonder how long I was in the hospital for.” Mary stated about the tree house and assumed out loud. When Mary reached the base of the tree she commenced climbing up the uneven ladder leading to a trap door under the tree house. By this time she was holding her breath for the stench was so unbearable. Mary pounded on the door with one hand before the trap door busted open. The reek that came from the old tree house numbed her senses and she almost fell out of the tree. It was so bad that she could not breathe in without gagging. She waited for a moment to regain herself. She held her breath and popped her head through the trap door of the secret fort she
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once loved to spend days in before she suffered memory loss. Mary was frozen at the sight before her. Dead rotting bodies of animals and people lay scattered on the floor of the tree house. The bodies looked as if someone burnt them then put them through a paper shredder. Knives, saws, ropes and tools Mary couldn’t name were covered with blood and laid sprawled out on a desk. It registered through her brain; before suffering amnesia…. Mary was a murderer. Mary snapped out of the frozen hypnotic state she was in and screamed. Larks flew from every tree within a mile. She started to go down the ladder as fast as she could then she fell the rest of the distance. She felt no pain she got up and ran through the forest. Branches whipped her face a she raced out of the bush wanting to get as far away from anywhere as she could. She reached the river and ran through the water not caring if she would get soaked by the chilling December water. She sped up the hill where she could finally see her house. She swung the door open and slammed it behind her then she ran into her room and hid herself under the covers. She lay in bed freezing, shivering and panting. “Mary! What was that?” her mother called out after hearing the ruckus. Her mother sat on her bed and pulled the covers down so she could see her daughter’s face. “You are soaking wet! And freezing! What happened?” Mary just stared blankly into the middle distance and did not respond. “Mary? You are worrying me.” Her mother urged in. “The, the tree house…” Mary chattered. “What Mary? What happened?” her mother was getting frightened. “They, they were dead, all of them!” Mary said as she slowly slipped into a state of shock. Mary’s mother was yelling now, she tried to get Mary to tell what she was talking about but Mary didn’t answer. She was curled up and shivering. Mary’s Mother called the police and took her to the hospital. The doctors told her mother that she must have gone through something very awful and she was now in a state of trauma. She would stay at the hospital again. Mary’s mother explained to the police what happened to Mary and what she had told her. They investigated the tree house. Cobden had an oddly high rate for missing persons that year; kidnapped children, missing adults, pets running way. Each investigation had been filed as a cold case. When the police saw what happened they confirmed all of the bodies in the tree house to be the missing victims. Mary killed them all. “She can’t go to jail now! She lost all her memory, she didn’t even know she did all of this!” Mary’s mother screamed hysterically at the officer. It took months of trial sessions but Mary was sentenced innocent but would be put on probation for the remainder of the year. Mary spent a few more nights at the hospital until she was calm enough to go back home though the images still haunted her vividly in her mind. One year after the accident Mary Thompson was as normal as she could be. She never regained her memory, but she made up for it. Her grades were ninety and above. She was popular at school but loved being by herself. She was the star volleyball player now at six feet tall and she loved being outdoors. As far as Mary knows, she is not a killer, but sometimes she fears for herself when she goes into a psychotic fit of rage before her mother gives Mary her prescribed medicine and she returns to normal. Mary’s mother, Andrea, suffered from anxiety but now accepted Mary for who she was. And the peaceful town of Cobden remained secret and untouched by the modern, developing world around it.
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In A Grove 2013
Arts Journal
Grade 9/10 prose 3rd prize: Delaney Smith, “Love in Disguise” Love can happen within the blink of an eye, and last a lifetime. It can lift you, crush you, make you and break you. Amanda and Thomas were perfect for each other. Everything about him drove her crazy and every little thing she did put a smile on his face. They were immensely happy together and had been for in love since High school. The day they first met, everything changed and both knew their lives would never be the same without one another. When they first looked each other in the eyes they knew that they were meant to be. He loved her smile and personality, and she adored how much he loved her. Amanda and Thomas Alben both lived in the small town of Brechin, Ontario. They decided to live on a farm because they were both fed up with the city and wanted to start over somewhere new. Amanda dreamed about starting a family and bringing more than four children into the world. The only problem was, whenever Amanda would bring up the idea of having kids, Thomas would quickly change the subject. She didn’t really mind this but she wondered what it was about from time to time. After adapting to their lives, Thomas started to work as an electrician and Amanda took care of the house. One day saw Thomas car coming down the driveway as she looked up from reading her book. Thomas stepped out of the car and walked up the path through the front door. “How was your day Honey?” said Amanda. “Just great how was yours?” replied Thomas. “It was good.” she said. Slowly their lives started to become a routine. After work Amanda would greet Thomas at the door, ask about his day and start cooking. Meanwhile Thomas worked until Amanda called him to the dinner table. After dinner both talked, read and went to bed. One day their daily routine was turned upside down. Thomas didn’t work while Amanda cooked, but instead went outside. He didn’t tell Amanda where he was going, he just left. Amanda was in shock, and truly surprised considering Thomas never took a step without telling her where he was going. She forced some food down her throat and anxiously waited for Thomas to get back. When Thomas finally arrived, he told Amanda he had just been out doing some errands and that she should have eaten without him. It was the next day and Thomas was just getting back from work. “How was your day honey?” said Amanda. “It was ok, this week I will be going on a trip to New York for work.” replied Thomas. “What? A trip for work!” Amanda thought to herself. Thomas work didn’t require him to go on trips ever. Amanda was confused and questioned Thomas but didn’t want to start an argument so she didn’t say anything else about it.
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But in her head, many different questions were sprouting. Why would he need to go to New York? What for? She was so puzzled that she didn’t realize Thomas was still talking to her. “Oh sorry what did you say?”, said Amanda. “Nothing, it doesn’t matter.”, Thomas replied. The rest of the week Thomas was acting weird towards Amanda. Every day he went outside to do errands and came back later with no real explanation of where he had actually been. The day of his trip had come and Amanda was nervous. “Would you like me to drive you to the airport?” offered Amanda. “Sure that would be great, Mandy.”, Thomas said, then quickly walked away to get his luggage. Mandy? Who’s Mandy? Thomas had never called Amanda anything other than her name. She decided to ask him what had been going on and why he had been acting so strange the past week. Thomas ignored Amanda’s question and walked back downstairs so Amanda finally took all her courage and said to him “Thomas, why have you been acting so strange this week? It’s like you’re a different person and I don’t even know you anymore!” “It’s nothing sweetie, everything’s fine. Work has been pretty stressful the past week, but I’m still the same. I’m still the Thomas you fell in love with.”, Thomas replied. Well there was her answer; work was stressing him out. Amanda didn’t dare to ask him again, but couldn’t stop second guessing him. His explanation seemed reasonable, but she had this odd feeling to her stomach that something wasn’t right. The whole drive to the airport they didn’t talk. Amanda would ask a question and Thomas would either reply with a simple yes or no or pay no attention to her. As they arrived at the airport and were about to step out of their car Thomas quickly mumbled, “We can say our goodbyes now, I’d like to walk the rest of the way.” “Are you sure it’s pretty cold out?” said Amanda. “I’m sure, I just want to take some air before the flight!”, he replied. Thomas then got out of the car, grabbed his luggage and started walking away. Without even giving Amanda a proper goodbye, he was gone. She watched him walk away and tears slowly started running down her face. She cried the whole drive back to Brechin all by herself in her car. Amanda had always been so protective of Thomas, that seeing him walk away from her without any sign of sadness, made her feel like he would never return. After a while Amanda pulled herself together and knew Thomas wouldn’t lie to her like that and that he really was a truthful man, especially with her. Three days went by and Amanda hardly did anything, besides stare out the window waiting for Thomas to return home. She didn’t want to eat or sleep, but forced herself to, thinking she was overreacting. The day of Thomas’ arrival came and Amanda was more than excited. She baked a welcome home cake and made his favourite dinner, steak with mashed potatoes. Amanda waited in the living room until she saw a taxi pull into the driveway. Thomas got out of the car and walked up the path, just like he used to after coming home from work. Amanda rushed to the door to greet Thomas, but the very first thing he said to her was, “We need to talk.” He sat down on a chair in the front lawn and Amanda followed him. “I can’t be with you anymore. I want a divorce.” Thomas said. Amanda was more than shocked and felt sick to her stomach. She never thought anything like this would ever happen. She thought Thomas and her were soul mates, meant to be until the end of time. Amanda was confused, upset and furious.
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Her first reaction was to refuse the divorce. She couldn’t live without him or a proper explanation to why he wanted to live without her. She loved him with all her heart and believed that he did too. They had been together since high school and she couldn’t imagine life without him. “Amanda, please I’m not happy anymore and I think it would be better for both of us if we just got a divorce...”, Thomas said. His words made Amanda so upset that she just couldn’t hold back her tears anymore. She started balling her eyes out unable to speak a word. “I know this is hard for you…”, Thomas continued, “but I think being away from and without each other would help us to live much happier lives.” The anger started to build up in Amanda. “A happier life? My life was happy; my life was perfectly fine with you and you just wrecked it!”, Amanda yelled. She just couldn’t handle the thought of Thomas leaving her, not loving her and him being with someone else. Thomas could tell the situation was getting out of hand and he felt Amanda’s anger increasing, so he decided to walk today. Without hesitation Amanda ran into the kitchen. Thomas saw the expression on her face, and felt that something was off. He asked her where she was going and what she was doing, but Amanda ignored his questions and continued running. Thomas followed her into the kitchen, but there was no sign of Amanda. He stood there for a while until he felt a sharp pain in his back. He fell on his knees. Thomas gained all of his strength for a last time to turn around and see what and who had caused this pain. Finally his eyes met the eyes of Amanda. She was standing behind him, a steak knife in her hand. Her face was blank. He never thought Amanda was capable of killing someone, someone she cared so much about and truly loved. His body hit the kitchen floor, surrounded by a puddle of blood. Thoughts of regret were running through Amanda’s mind, but she pushed them side, believing Thomas deserved to die since he didn’t love her anymore and was planning on leaving her. Amanda stepped over Thomas’ dead body, and said “Living a happy life now?” Suddenly a piece of paper in Thomas’ pocket caught her eye. She pulled it out, it was letter. It said “Amanda. I love you; I always have and I always will. I could never stop loving you, even if I tried. But our life together, it isn’t happy, nothing exciting happens anymore and I can tell you feel the same every time I see you all alone. I know this divorce will be hard on you, but it will be even harder for me. You may think it’s a foolish idea for us to do this but it’s only for the better. I will never forget all the amazing and happy memories we have together, and I hope you won’t either. Please remember that you are my true and only love and you will always be in my heart. Yours truly, Thomas Suddenly Amanda felt weak and empty. She dropped the knife. What had she done? She had killed the most important person in her life; her one and only true love. Thomas had never stopped loving her; he just knew that their lives were not happy anymore. She wanted to take back what she had just done, but couldn’t. This was the biggest regret of her life. It broke her heart. Amanda fell to the ground, only wanting to die, so she could be reunited with her one and only Thomas.
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In A Grove 2013
Arts Journal
Grade 11/12 prose 2nd prize: Elisha Sarkis, “Pulp Non-Fiction Or: How I learned to Stop Worrying and Love the Muppets” I don’t exactly recall what I was expecting to be on television during late November of 2011, but I know I certainly found more than I was looking for. Things in my life didn’t seem to be at a high point, not just on a personal level, but globally as well. The world was still in a poor economic standing. Thailand was flooded, people were stealing vast sums of money from their subordinates, and Steve Jobs was dead too, along with the final creative genes of the Apple corporation. None of these issues sound like they would profoundly depress an ignorant high schooler, at least not on their own, but altogether they contributed to a very negative view of the world around us. Everything was getting worse all at once, and I was powerless to improve it in any aspect. It was clear that the world was tumbling in a downwards spiral of poverty and greed, crime and apathy, decay and rabid over-construction as international disaster was just an everyday occurrence on our dear Earth. It was the kind of thing you were always becoming more and more sure about. Right up until that November, it had been a negative view building ever since I’d begun to listen to and accept the news. Fortunately, I became released from my dependency. I was flipping through the channels and just happened to land on a news station. Not just local news, but an international news network. This station was undoubtedly one of the five most watched channels on Earth, being pumped into the eyes of over a million viewers. Viewers in hotel lobbies, in airports, and even in their own homes, were all offering up their valuable time to this channel in exchange for a better understanding of the world’s condition. Earth was filled with violence, earthquakes, political distress and there was no escaping it, so we could watch it here, comfortably from the edge of our seats. Here, everything would be as promised: all the unbiased information for every citizen’s concern and available all of the time. Instead I found myself treated to a clip from The Muppets. It was not something I had expected to see, as the sub-header asked me the one controversial question on every international citizen’s mind: “Muppets Too Liberal?” Was anybody really prepared for this? In what felt like no time at all, the station had segwayed into a debate regarding the intentions of the film’s producers, and left two representatives to help the viewer decide whether or not this was harmless family entertainment, or liberal Hollywood brainwashing children. I turned off the television and could feel the quizzical expression on my face. “Don’t you want to know if the movie is safe to watch?” The blank screen seemed to ask. Clearly I had been living my entire life the wrong way, and it was now hilarious. Some basic questions fluttered about in my pedestrian mind. Why were The Muppets now international news? What had been done to create this controversy? And what on Earth was it doing in the business section? It wouldn’t be long now until they catch wind the song “Mahna Manha” was originally written for an Italian softcore porno, then that Jim Henson would be finished for good. The answer is that it turned your head, and maybe you even enjoyed it, but most of all it won your uninterrupted visual participation. Clearly, any station that didn’t air the Muppets communism story would be losing viewers by the minute, due to a lack of interest, while Disney quietly succumbed to bankruptcy due to its ill-selected screenplay. Any way you present this, the person who benefits the least from the whole ordeal is you. You’re the audience, lured by the idea that you’ll see the peremptory issues of global importance conveniently on your television. All of this, and the fact that it can be accomplished without
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ever having to visit the godforsaken lands in question, keeps the world watching from the safety of our homes and hotels. I mean, even The Muppets are out to get your kids nowadays. All of the big things that are happening in the world seem to be horrible, but practical stations will never dismiss the viewership potential of a local street crime. After all, someone must be held accountable for all of these apparently identical suspects robbing convenience stores across North America. No petty theft on Sesame Street though, it being a communist paradise and all. Everywhere you look, the visual information is creating an impression, either inadvertently or not. Think about the people you see on the news, but more importantly think about how you feel about them. We all instantly know the poor old woman who lost her home the moment we see her, as we instantly know the first grader who’s proud of her finger-painting, and the same goes for the instantly guilty murder suspect, all with only a few seconds on-screen each. All of these people are complex and lead lives just as intricate as yours, but when’s the last time you’ve thought that when watching them? They’re depthless and shallow characters to us, and open game for our judgement. Everyone is edited, censored, sliced, and then corrupted or glorified to the point where no real person is left to be seen. Something as simple as choosing whether to show courtroom footage or home videos of a person will affect the public’s opinion. All of those split second sound bites, those two to three questions answered in an instant, are the last remains of impromptu five minute interviews, or long impassioned speeches. That’s the support we get when we see “the whole story” on our TV. How could I truly understand the political nature of The Muppets when I’m only being exposed to information supporting a station’s thesis? If we want to truly see ourselves, why look into a funhouse mirror? The same goes for our world’s issues, scandals, and disasters. Right now, the news is about the story they can make with the knowledge they already have, instead of learning more when they don’t know enough. The news isn’t a bad place for information; it is the extent of information to be found that is a problem. People want to read a headline and understand an event, but most people capable of reading know that a headline isn’t enough, hence the actual article exists. But is the article much better? Nowadays, everyone needs the full story in 140 characters or less. People want more news and want to see it even faster, with it being streamed live into our homes, offices, and even into the palms of our hands. Riding the airwaves are episodes of personal tragedy and global instability, all readily available to be enjoyed and then discarded. Celebrity scandals, political exposés, violent editorials; we have to understand all of it from the start and have absolute conviction in seconds. Who would take the time to look at things from another perspective when they’re one click or page away from another pure and unadulterated international shenanigan? We’ve made ourselves impatient with the technological convenience of our world, and we’ve grown an appetite for catching public figures with their pants down. We’re a bad audience that created an even worse media environment for ourselves, and all the networks are doing is giving us exactly what we wanted. The news industry changed on us when we changed on it, so change it back. We’ve placed too many things in our way to get a good idea of anything from digital news media. Cometitive reporting moves too fast to let any real information from an event surface, but we certainly know the minute something happened. If we stop looking around for stories and start looking out for the truth, maybe the news will begin to help us find it. When it all comes down to it, you’re the one keeping those stations on the air. If you stop paying, reading, listening, they’ll be history. Why not stop watching reality on TV and start watching reality? I hear it’s better than everyone says. And don’t worry about those damn Muppets. Everybody knows the Smurfs were teaching children communist values long before that bastard frog.
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In A Grove 2013
Arts Journal
Grade 11/12 prose 3rd prize: Katie Moore, “A Lack of Reality” Frankly, I think it’s disgusting. The fact that we accept it, even welcome it into our society and daily lives…even more disgusting. We realize how horrible they are, yet we continue to watch because of the absurdity of it all. The exploitation that takes place because of their presence is phenomenal; one in particular seems to search out the most messed up young girls and mothers, with the intention of making them into a fascinating freak show for the world to see. There is no basis for it, no point, simply a collection of miserable old hags attempting to relive their ‘beauty days’ through their charming little devils. Other similar ones record the daily lives of not-so-notable people, with no claim to fame except their eccentricity and frequent bursts of attitude. Several more fail in capturing the fire of competition, instead focusing on the petty fights that erupt on the sidelines. Because our society condones these atrocities, many fall prey to the unfortunate after-effects from either being exposed to or involved in them. Tragically, there is an abundance of this ridiculous form of entertainment. It’s impossible to miss them. “Jersey Shore”, “Keeping up with the Kardashians”, “Toddlers in Tiaras” and many more brainless TV shows crowd the networks; news of them reaching our ears whether we watch them or not. The saddest part is that these ‘reality’ TV shows aren’t even close to reality. Calling them real is like calling “Splenda” sugar; it is a fake substitute that will never meet the standards set out by the actual entity. Although the people are genuine, the situations are often the opposite – a fact confirmed by J. Rupert Thompson, a director and producer (Today). The reactions from these crazy circumstances are what viewers get excited about, yet it is arguable that since the situations are so manipulated, the whole thing might as well be considered scripted. You also have to contemplate the fact that only a select amount of footage is shown in each show, with much left out. The chronology isn’t relevant to them; they just take the fragments they want and piece them together into the abominations we see on our screens. It is fact that the editors are the real storytellers, not the actual participants (Ray Richmond, Hollywood Reporter, Today). It’s almost like a game of broken telephone, with the editors taking on the role of that bratty kid who takes the sentence whispered and twists it into some outrageously altered phrase. What’s more is the people they are choosing for these programs are often not wholesome, normal individuals. They purposefully cast certain kinds of people to make their show more attention-grabbing, which on a side note, can lead to stereotyping (USA Today). Morally, the TV networks should not be allowing these shows to be aired, but they do anyway because they are so cheap to produce. Completely scripted dramas requiring talented actors are much more expensive than hiring eccentric people and placing them into rigged situations, which are then manipulated by an unseen hand. You may think it is harmless entertainment, but the audiences of these shows actually suffer due to the lack of reality. Because it is advertised as such, people believe it, and subsequently end-up altering their perspective of real life. A US survey revealed that 78% of first-time plastic surgery patients were influenced by reality TV (ABC News); people are subconsciously drifting towards it after watching beauty-focussed reality shows like “Extreme Makeover”. Even worse than that, these shows are telling us that aggression is okay. That gossiping and verbal abuse are the norm. That being mean earns respect. Why are we endorsing these shows that are teaching our society that all these wrongs are rights? Why are we wasting our time watching people live out unrealistic lives rather than living
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our own? Seriously, our society needs to learn to go outside more, spend our time creating our own lives, rather than living vicariously off of others. It’s pathetic, really, when people monitor these ‘stars’ so closely. They think that because they follow Snooki on Twitter, that they have some connection to her. There’s nothing there. They are only people that are placed in full view of the public eye, encouraged to display their wild sides. On that thought, take a moment to reflect on the people who are the ‘actors’ of reality TV. Where do you think they go after their time on air has run out? Where is there to go? Everyone knows your ‘life’ story, all that you’ve done, both good and bad, your views, your tics. Wouldn’t someone knowing you so intimately, when you didn’t know a single thing about them, freak you out? Who would want to hire someone who is known to have repeatedly incited cat-fights on national TV? You can’t help but wonder what really happens to these reality TV celebrities when they go off screen. Some may continue to enjoy celebrity status, while others completely disappear into the abyss that is failed stardom. Those who do not profit and even those who do are susceptible to depression; many contestants have had breakdowns or committed suicide after their airtime was over. Psychologists such as Nadine Kaslow (ABC News) agree it would be hard not to, especially if you had been humiliated for the entire world to see. Simon Foster took his own life after losing his wife, house, and job - all in the aftermath of his appearance on the English version of “Wife Swap”. Think of all those candidates who have tried out for shows like “Canadian Idol” and then been told by three different judges that they weren’t good enough, while people laughed from their living rooms. Think of how deeply this affects these individuals, and how it stays with them in their darkest hours. But that’s after their time on the shows. While they’re participants, they aren’t exactly living the glamorous lives we assume they are. Contestants must seal their silence with non-disclosure agreements promising they will not reveal what happens on the set at any point. Although there are extremely expensive consequences to breaking these contracts, some information still leaks out; many reality series use isolation, lack of sleep and alcohol to make the ‘real’ people more exciting. The contestants of “The Bachelor” in 2006 were made to wait in limos for an extended period of time and then given little food and endless alcohol (The New York Times). No wonder these people are acting so crazy and emotional! They are being pushed to their limits because the producers want the behavioral extremes on TV. Sadder still, the contestants are often stripped of their support systems (such as phones, computers, music, and any other means of escape) so they have nothing upon which to ground themselves. These people are lacking privacy to a disturbing extent, not only through their personal items, but through their private space as well. Diana Eng from “Project Runway” said “…they scared me so bad I jumped and screamed. They said that wasn’t good, so I had to pretend to wake up again.” (The New York Times) Not only does this provide an example of the awful living conditions, it further proves the lack of reality. It is through making the participants emotionally vulnerable that the puppeteers get the type of behavior they want, and they do whatever they can to get to that point. These unfortunate individuals aren’t even paid that well for all that they are put through. Most have to quit their jobs to be the puppets of these shows and receive very little compensation during or after. Of course their expenses are covered for their time on the show, but once they leave, they are given some small payment and told to carry on with life. Surely they do not realize the consequences when they agree to be a part of it, nor the lack of reality involved. To be honest, we’ve all probably watched one of these shows; it’s hard not to with their prominence on television these days. Some of us indulge in our guilty pleasure every Tuesday night watching “The Bachelor”. Some of us choose to watch them more sporadically. Some of us are completely opposed to the idea. Despite all its flaws, I admit I still occasionally watch reality TV. Whether it is to revel in the freakishness of it, or out of just plain boredom, I have watched it in the past. But notably, I have never left my TV feeling satisfied. Or educated. I almost always feel ashamed that I just wasted half an hour or more watching the Hollywood lives of people I don’t really know or care about. The people on these shows have got to make a living somehow, but I can think of a lot better ways to
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do it. With all the problems in our world right now they could be spending time saving the environment or doing humanitarian work. It’s kind of narcissistic to think that your life is worth being shown on TV, isn’t it? They have no concise story to tell or lesson to learn. They are just there for our entertainment. I pity those that choose to take part in these shows and those that give up precious time in their lives to watch them. It’s depressing, really, that this is what TV has come to. For the sake of our current and future generations, I hope the reality TV phenomenon quickly shuts down, giving way to good old quality television again.
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