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In A Grove 2019

Integrated Arts Journal

Author Nameâ€”Place / Name (Medium)

Natalia Gutierrez-Loria—The Sea (Watercolour, drawing gum) Cover: Leonie Dill—Noon (Watercolour) Photography: Simon Spivey

A Celebration of Writing and Art Featuring the winners of LCS Writes!—sponsored by the Grove Society

Poetry Section

Grades 9/10 1st Caroline Chen, “Not Another Sad Love Poem”................................. 4 2nd Ilana Mohamed, “Blazing Retribution”............................................. 9 3rd Rori Ash, “She”................................................................................ 41 Grades 11/12 1st Paige Thompson, “Ethereal Light”..................................................... 7 2nd Anna Rasmus, “The Lonely Giant”................................................... 74 2nd Umai Zhusupbekova, “Persona”....................................................... 16 3rd Nicholas Latimer, “I am your devil in disguise”................................ 19

Fiction Section

Grades 9/10 1st Nicole Liu, “The Candy Store”......................................................... 30 2nd Wesley Sun, “Project #8463”........................................................... 53 3rd Jack Freeman, “Ethos”...................................................................... 26 3rd Ella Zegarra Brown, “Chapter 1”...................................................... 67 Grades 11/12 1st Chloe Traviss, “Dancing with the Devil”.......................................... 45 2nd Anna Rasmus, “Hours in Seconds”.................................................. 49

Non-Fiction Section

Grades 9/10 1st Gavin Plunkett, “What is Love?”...................................................... 11 2nd Ana Jervis, “Inner Contestants”......................................................... 35 3rd Grace Bender, “Rain”....................................................................... 25 3rd Maxwell Lu, “Time, Timeful, Timeless”............................................. 50 Grades 11/12 1st Claire Campbell, “The Lesser Known ‘Me Too’ Movement”.............. 14 2nd Liam Davidson, “Curing Humanity”................................................. 59 3rd Mitch Stedman, “The Curse of my Blonde Hair”.............................. 71

Spoken Word Section

Grades 9/10 1st Harper McGowan and Ella Zegarra Brown, “Image”........................ 42 2nd Jimena Carrasco, “Insecure”............................................................. 63 Grades 11/12 1st Chloe Traviss, “Nothing will be the same without you”.................... 20 1st Priah Ghoto, “the purpose”.............................................................. 23

Not Another Sad Love Poem Hi I miss u -- to an extent my pride

I was a vase with a thousand broken

can’t stop me anymore

pieces put together only by glue made

So this one is for u.

out of my pathetic resilience,

I think about you when I am sober

a word i learnt from my shrink.

with loneliness

You fixed me as you heated my world

I think about you even more when

I melted

I am stuffed in a room with human beings The only time I don’t think about you is when my dog plays with me You turned me into the wide eyed girl

One piece clings on another again You showed me I don’t deserve to be broken Good as new

in a cheesy high school movie

Only I wasn’t the same anymore

where I stare at the sunset until the

I got scared

last purple hue fades away and dream

When you said how special I am

of true love You made me laugh, a lot, with my lungs, my stomach, the kind of laugh that requires my whole body to shake But you made me smile too, from my facial muscles, from my heart. I was broken I was shattered by all the mean things

under the starry night I wished I was Van Gogh so I couldn’t hear any of that I never felt I was enough for anyone How can I be your special someone

beyond imagination that my parents

I couldn’t believe my luck

have said to each other

To not have to be extra funny or less

And all the nice things you can think

melancholic to entertain

of with so little imagination they

I needed it so bad, to feel enough

didn’t say to each other

It was your most generous gift to me

Why couldn’t I say it back --

I went to a psychic

What was I afraid of?

I didn’t ask about the future nor the

people laughing, pointing at my back

past

or the heaviness of my first shot at

I only asked about you.

love When I pushed you away, I pushed away a part of myself as well But I was so drowned in the triumphant euphoria of finally capable of being alone Without realizing it I needed it to love myself without you

-- I love you too Sometimes we are only one feet apart Those painful moments I tried to get a grip You are so out of my reach now Will you come back to me? Please.

first I needed to love the version of me before I met you To love you properly It took me a long time and a lot of other things But I got here I’m happy On this raining April day in this retirement town middle of nowhere I’m happy All alone And I am sure I’m missing a piece I think I am ready

Caroline Chen—1st Place, 9/10 Poetry

Rhea Simmonsâ€”Untitled (Grisaille on panel)

Ethereal Light Creativity is born through the mitts of suppression While freedom accommodates the exercise of expression The balance is crucial and patience is necessary Yet I find my perception more leisurely than ever Yet I cannot dismiss the darkness within these days Strangled in life’s grip The clarity of complication as ethereal light Melting my mind as it burns too bright

Paige Thompson—1st Place, 11/12 Poetry

Joe Huang—Untitled (Digital Photograph)

Fatima Shahbazâ€”Copy of Red Maple by A.Y. Jackson (Oil paint)

Blazing Retribution The fire warmed me Saved me from the cold Then a switch and All of a sudden a scorching pain So intense it reached deep into my brain Mask on so tight I could not scream out Not a sound could escape me not a single shout Instead from the outside I was happy content Rather than being broken by evil intent No one saw the darkness in my eyes The way the sparkling light had died Burned to ashes along with my body But nobody Will ever know For why would they care when the pain swallows me Left me in ruins, ashes, thatâ€™s what the fire did to me I got too close A red hot poker pressed against my heart But when the fire finally did depart I was left cold and desolate Why is this my destiny To never find love I only see To never feel warm only scorching heat or extreme cold To always long for a love of warmth and gold Is this my fate To only feel resentment and hate I wonder as I look into the cold unforgiving sky Is this some punishment is that why Should I be content To just rest and realize it was never meant To be

Ilana Mohamedâ€”2nd Place, 9/10 Poetry

Amy Qianâ€”Untitled (Graphite)

What is Love? When I hear the question “What is Love,” I immediately think of the Haddaway song and imagine a 1993 dance club full of teens dancing awkwardly. I see love as something that is perceived differently by everyone but, I think that there are also some commonalities experienced in love throughout everyone. For some of us, we have a significant other who we love. They make you feel nice, warm, and comfortable. They are someone who you can trust and can talk to. Someone you kiss and curl up on the couch with to watch Netflix. It’s the endless passion you have for one another and loving every good and bad thing about them. They lift you up and make you a better person. These kinds of relationships bring many adventures and amazing memories which impact you forever. Many of us though, don’t have this kind of love in our lives at the moment. Some people think this means that nobody loves them but to me, this is false. Love is everywhere, even in places most don’t notice. It comes at times you’d least expect it. Love is someone smiling to you on the street and by holding the door open for someone. It’s the late night conversations with your friends and being in a group where there isn’t a phone in sight. Love is the excited dog that runs up to you in the park wanting to play fetch, or just the calm moments where you lay on the grass and look up at the stars. It’s the holiday traditions with your family or checking in with someone you haven’t talked to in a while. Love is taking the initiative to be there and talk to someone going through a tough time. I experience love through the people I’m surrounded with and the friendships I build. I see it when I make jokes with friends or talk about something that’s bothering them. I see it in the late night drives to and from hockey with my family, and in the dressing room shenanigans with my team. I see love when doing something fun with my house - building memories we will remember forever. I see it when teachers stop their crazy schedule to have a conversation or when random people show up out of the blue to help with a big task early in the morning, even on their days off. Things all the way down to the small

inspirational quotes I find written on the boards the around the school are a testament to what love really is. These are constant reminders that people care and that Iâ€™m loved and this helps me get through tough times. Almost every aspect of life is sprinkled with love and you just have to look a little harder to find it. Love is a two way street and showing love is as important as being shown you matter. In the end, everyone experiences love, whether they realize it or not.

Gavin Plunkettâ€”1st Place, 9/10 Non-Fiction

Keira Hartleyâ€”Self Portrait (Graphite)

The Lesser Known “Me Too” Movement The rates of death by suicide in teens and young adults has been climbing. And you might be a reason why. In this age of increasingly complex social norms, it can be hard to find your way, so we’ve resorted to a form of pseudo empathy to try and fit in. I find it challenging to understand the distinction myself, but I’ll do my best to explain it here. Basically, empathy, in its purest form is described as “the ability to understand and share the feelings of another,” but how it’s being implemented now, is in the lesser known Me Too movement. In this situation, “me too” can be synonymous with “big mood,” or “I feel that.” Although three seemingly harmless phrases, they are proving to be incredibly destructive.

In recent pop-culture “news,” some younger celebrities have been criticized for branding themselves using mental illness as a ploy to be relatable. Teens such as Billie Eilish and Emma Chamberlain have used their poor mental health in their social media content in an effort to relate to their audiences. Emma, having over 7 million subscribers on YouTube, most of whom being young, impressionable viewers, has created a culture of this aforementioned pseudo empathy. While these influencers may suffer from legitimate mental health issues, the way in which they’re expressing them is the issue. This is not to say that being open about, or sharing your mental health is unhealthy, but the way in which they’re marketing themselves off of it is the problem. This environment of relating to mental illness has made suicidal remarks commonplace. Comments such as “I would rather die than do _______,” or the abbreviation KMS for Kill My Self have been replacing previous, socially accepted sayings. The issue is then snowballed as everyone, almost as if in some pre-agreed unison replies “oh my god me too.” And the hypocritical aspect of this is that I do that all the

time. Without a second thought. I could be having the best day of my life and if someone says “Ugh I want to die,” I’ll immediately make some sort of remark in agreement and solidarity. And I am, by no means, alone in that. The common appearance of these exclamations of suicidal or depressive thought is creating a the-boy-who-cried-wolf effect in our society. How is it that a friend or peer support is supposed to distinguish a legitimate cry for help from a common social phrase. Additionally, if you’re suffering from mental illness and are searching for help in saying these things and a whole room of your peers replies “big mood,” that can immediately discredit your feelings, even though everyone who replied may actually be totally fine. Not that life is all unicorns and rainbows, but when we face challenges I urge you to choose your words selectively. To not immediately reach for selfdeprecating or potentially hurtful terminology because unintentionally or not, the words you say have meaning. It’s a big statement to say that you might have contributed to the decline of someone’s mental health but as scary as that is, it’s true. The passive comments and unnecessary remarks can spark harmful ideas or make people feel as if their suicidal thoughts are normal. And they aren’t. If you or someone you know needs help please reach out to a trusted adult or call 1.800.273.8255 or 911. And please remember that you are never alone.

Claire Campbell—1st Place, Grade 11/12 Non-Fiction

Persona I’m sick to the end and I don’t know

I stopped his talk wondering why

where all this pain came from.

should I care of some scandalous

Maybe, with the wind whistling from

poet.

the North or alcohol that withers my

The dark man looks at me,

brain.

His eyes are filled up with despisal.

My head is dingle dangling.

As if I’m son of the bitch,

It ran out of strength to stay on my

Who killed a man with no regrets.

neck upright. And I see the dark man who is blacker than black. He sits on my bed. And like a priest at the wake mumbles over my head. ‘Bout a life of wretched barfly and crook,

Drowning my soul in sorrow and dread.

“Ah, my mistake!” He rasps, bending over. “Drunk with slumber, what else does this little world need? Hmm, maybe there is “the one” who will secretly come, Over forty with fat thighs, And you’ll read your dead rotten poetry?

“Listen, there is a story of a man who

I’m quite fond of you, poets! Amusing

lived his life among swindles and

people.

crimes.

You are always the story I know by

This man has been fond of precarious

heart.

gambles,

Ha, how funny, long-haired dork who

But he was the best, illustrious kind.

grew up and turned to a poet.

Elegant, even poet.

With a slight but memorable lyre.

With the slight but memorable lyre.

One of those who with cunning will

always remain innocent.

And with gestures twisted in lies.”

His gestures twisted in lies. While gripped with cold, he’s able to stay unassuming and smile. Truly an art and the most sublime in the society.”

I’m mad, possessed and sick of the dark man. Threw the cane aiming his face. He left and no one by my side I’m standing alone and looking to the broken mirror.

Umai Zhusupbekova—2nd Place, Grade 11/12 Poetry

Ellie Wangâ€”Self Portrait (Graphite)

Ivonne Zonanaâ€”Untitled (India ink, brush and pen)

I am your devil in disguise A world which flips upside down in

I left you, grieving. That is how you

the blink of an eye

saw it

A utopian gift, waiting for you and I

I was the adversary who never left

Seen the second our paths cross, but

your thought

why?

But you were so horribly wrong, for I

For the sake of time, we shall not

was caught

question fate

Myself, your savoir, was penetrated by

Although we are young, and bound to

the truth

hesitate

Gifted with vision to protect your

For naivety, our only instinct which

youth

keeps us safe

By being your devil I would see you

Together we will stay, grace to the

pull through

tyrant

I can only hope one day you realize

Only singing love to our ears, like an

Who it was behind the mask of such

evil siren

horrid disguise

Time will carry, until we give in

For that man is still he, not the character you despise

You were fed poison, as you swallowed what you thought was a

As time lengthens, I can only question

cure

the taste of the poison

You lived in the free world, safe from

The sweet remedy which left your

exposure

heart frozen

Only to be shook awake from your

What seemed to be the cure to all hell,

savior

was already broken

Unexpectedly of course, he would

But when that bottle is flipped, and

become your devil

your eyes shut closed for one short

Flowing from the rivers of hell, casting

moment

you with a spell

Only the lucky ones, who kept one eye

How could he? Who is he? No one

open, receive the token

would tell

The gift which protects himself from a one way trip to delusion

Nicholas Latimerâ€”3rd Place, Grade 11/12 Poetry

nothing will be the same without you an identity that no longer belongs to a

didn’t care to live

colourless body that once had a life

or to die

unnoticed by most until tragically

chose death over life

now

didn’t even live half of his life

reality has come, feeling almost surreal not knowing what he was thinking; how did he feel like a disappointment to his family maybe tired and weak unwanted and lonely to the extent of lost hope trying to understand the truth

but i’ll never know the real reason for why

carried pain as heavy as bricks silently screaming for help on the last day of his life he spent it alone his last goodbye; a text sent off of his phone wrote a note to his mother trying to explain his reason for why while displeased at the lord waving his middle finger at the sky

what to do next pain building up within within him was potential i just wish he understood what an incredible person he was an ‘old soul’ as people would say having difficulty fitting in with wisdom to see through situations so many opportunities right in front of him and even more for him to discover to discover his death was at such a young age; only fifteen

Listen to a recording of this Spoken Word poem

Chloe Traviss—1st Place, Grade 11/12 Spoken Word

Justy Linâ€”Self Portrait (Graphite)

Viky Hrinovaâ€”Untitled (India ink, brush and pen)

the purpose at one point the only words being repeated in my brain for days on loop were the same ones I tried to protect my body with but a little girl had to learn that it takes more than a couple words to pause everything. years have passed now and the two people who would give up the entire world for me are confused by why their little girl doesn’t like hugs. the years of talking about it felt like ripping my skin apart to keep myself together hoping that at one point I could get to the layer that you didn’t destroy with hands that felt like needles it felt like I spent my whole life learning to swim and for the first time ever the only thing I knew how to do was not move and I know I know I know this body this so-called temple this body of mine doesn’t belong to you it never did even if that night you tried to convince what’s mine is yours it never was I’m still trying to accept that not everyone’s touch will make me feel the way you did that I won’t be left wanting to crawl myself out of my body and start again but then there’s days I can’t help but think about how everyday feels like drowning and barely making it out breathing at the end of the night but maybe there was a purpose I’m still trying to figure it out

Listen to a recording of this Spoken Word poem

Priah Ghoto—1st Place, Grade 11/12 Spoken Word

Kate Bemroseâ€”Untitled (Linoblock print on paper)

Rain My heart is pounding, my hands shaking like a kettle as it comes to a boil. My head spinning, multiple thoughts going through my head all at the same time, none of them pleasant. I’m scared out of my wits. It’s raining, the bench I am curled up on is getting wetter and colder by the second, my bare legs are starting to freeze to the bench, my hands so cold they could hardly make a fist. People continuously walk by and much to my dismay, most are smoking. I turn my head away, cover my nose and mouth, not wanting to breathe in the toxic fumes. This doesn’t work, the smell of cigarette smoke surrounds me, burning my nostrils then starts travelling to my lungs. I think to myself, “Why do people choose to smoke? They could at least keep it in their own homes.” I wash that thought away, there are more important issues on my mind right now. Puddles start forming on the rough, gum-stained pavement that the bench was sitting on. With my phone in hand, I call my rescuers, no answer. I start panicking, what if I end up like these people who call this place, the streets, home? With my shaking hands, I grab my phone again, I fumble and it falls into a newly formed puddle on the ground. I pick it up once more, determined to dial in the number without any more blunders. I dial the number slowly, making sure I get it right, it’s ringing. They pick up! They are halfway to me. I start crying of pure joy, ten minutes to go!

Grace Bender—3rd Place, Grade 9/10 Non-Fiction

Ethos I was strapped into my seat, knees weak, arms heavy I could feel the pressure in the compact ship starting to lessen already as zero gravity began to set in. I looked around at my thousand other companions praying, crying, exchanging sad and hopeful looks. For me, everything was different. Ever since I was young, I needed to remain calm in almost every situation as it was my job to take care of my family. My family… I was probably the only person on this entire ship that wasn’t wishing I was with them right now. My father was a raging alcoholic and my mother was even worse. If she wasn’t getting her fix, she would be screaming at me to make dinner, do chores or clean the mess she made. But all of that didn’t matter, because I would never see or talk to them again. To be honest, most people would consider me lucky to have lived in an area of the world that wasn’t flooded or desert. Well, I can’t really say most people anymore because now in 2100 the world was left with only 500 million people

and this number is still getting smaller. Most died from the disastrous floods that covered more than 90% of the world’s land mass. Others may have perished just from heat as the temperature rarely went below 40 degrees, and some people died from malnutrition as it was nearly impossible to grow anything in these conditions. Living in Ohio, I was kept away from most of these natural disasters but that didn’t stop my parents from making sure our lives were awful. This is why when I saw the opportunity to leave Earth I did all I could to make sure I was a top candidate For the Maztec space program. Their idea was to send a thousand intelligent and fit people to another planet in search for better life. I was perfect. I have a 140 IQ, I’m 6’2 and 200 pounds of sheer muscle while also only being 17 so I will be alive for a long time while on the planet. So that’s how I got here, 500 meters underground in a huge 10 000 ton spaceship ready to explore space and beyond. The ship started to rumble and I had to resist the urge to throw up. Just like that, we were up in the air, going over 100 thousand miles per hour. The ship’s motors were built to go at extremely fast speeds, well over the speed of sound. Beside me, lay a girl shaking, holding on to her restraints as if her life depended on it. I told her that we would all be okay and that once we started to go into light speed, everything would be calmer.”

“Hey” I said “at least we made it off the planet, I mean people down below are probably so jealous of us right now. She laughed at that and seemed to settle down a bit. “Yeah I’m sure they would be. I’m Mia by the way, and this is my little brother Toby. “ “I’m John” I responded hesitantly, as I am sometimes a bit nervous when meeting new people. And there you have it. Finally after months of training I had finally made a friend and in the most unlikely event. By now, The ship had calmed down and all you could hear was the quiet purr of the motor. By now we had to be going lightspeed as all I could see outside was a blur of white. On the ship I was assigned to cleaning the captain’s quarters so I headed over to complete my shift. Mia and Toby came with me as they really didn’t have anything else to do. As we walked through the small, cramped corridors of the ship I noticed a room with sign that said “KEEP OUT: CAPTAIN”S QUARTERS.” Through the slit of the open door, I could make out two figures talking, one small with long hair and the other a more tall muscular build with a military style haircut. Mia and Toby stopped with me as well so we could listen in, on what they were saying. “ I heard that the planet we are going to is barely liveable, they have meteor showers almost every month,” one of them explained. “Yeah and the richer vessels are travelling to a planet which is like the old earth, but bigger and even more beautiful,” the other man complained. I was shocked. I could feel my stomach drop and all the hope I had before to start a new life was now gone. All the admirals, captains and government officials had lied to us back on Earth, as we were supposed to be going to a habitable planet much like Earth in the old days. Finally after what seemed like an eternity of silence Toby looked at me and said, “We can’t let them get away with this! We have to do something!” He was right. I couldn’t let the rest of my life be spent somewhere similar to the horrendous planet I grew up on. I came up with a plan. We would infiltrate the captains quarters and change the route back to earth or if we could, to the

dreamy planet the captains were talking about. So we waited. After the captains had finished talking and were preparing to leave the room, I ran and caught the door just before it closed without drawing any attention to ourselves right away. I let Toby and Mia in the room shortly after. The room was dim and had all sorts of old fashioned controls set up around it, making the place look like some spaceship from the 2040s. We were on them before they even knew we were there. I pounced on the bigger one and hit him with my mop that I had earlier planned to use for cleaning. Toby and Mia hit the small one with a broom which knocked the him out right away. They were both on the ground now, unconscious, but alive. I worked on tying up the officers, while Toby worked on figuring out the old control set in the room. Both officers, woke up pretty quickly and they were not to happy about their situation. I told them that I would let them go as soon as they told us what was going on. “You really want to know?” the bigger one said, “I think you will be a bit disappointed with what I’m about to say. It only took him about five minutes to explain the horrors and the truths about our current situation. Maztec is really a government based organization that was created to move people off Earth. Since the organisation gets its budget from rich investors, the rich, got to travel to amazing planets, while the poor and unfortunate, had to travel to planets that are almost impossible to live on. The reason, the organization even decided to pick young fit people was so they would at least have a chance, at surviving on a unlivable hostile planet. But the one thing that stood out in my mind, was the destination of the wealthy ship. Ethos. “Toby, try to find the planet Ethos on the computer system,” I asked Sure enough, in less than five minutes he had the coordinates of a planet named Ethos which must have been the destination for wealthy people. The planet looked perfect. About twice the size of earth with freshwater, breathable air and likely loads of wildlife and vegetation. Instead of one sun, the planet was surrounded by two suns and 4 moons. On the computer screen directly above us, there was an option which asked us whether we wanted to change destinations. As if we had all just read that simultaneously, we looked at each other and smiled. “Are you down for an adventure?” I asked with a sense of excitement, and surely a look of uneasiness. “I mean, our whole life has been filled with series of adventures, so why not finish it off with this final one?” replied Mia. And just like that, we were on a journey across the galaxy leading to unknown places with foreign people and a whole new set of experiences I was dying to begin.

Jack Freeman—3rd Place, Grade 9/10 Fiction

Rowan Harris-Stoertzâ€”Untitled (Linoblock print on paper)

The Candy Store There was a candy store on the sixteenth street of the Big Apple that was rumoured to be one of mysterious forces and supernatural bearings. Only the bravest dared to walk in as this was not a normal candy store - no, not at all. People went in the entrance one person and came out the exit a completely different person. Eddie didn’t believe all the rumours. What could be so special about a piece of candy - it was either sweet, sour, or if you were feeling a little adventurous spicy. Just to prove everyone wrong he took an afternoon off to visit the store. He was just closing in on the sixteenth street when he immediately picked up on the distinct natural aroma of fresh oranges - his favourite. It came with a hint of syrupy fragrant that only confectioneries possessed and instantly he knew this was the infamous store. Nearing the shack where the smell was coming from, Eddie pulled open the

door - surprised when it swung open with such effortless movement. There was a sign in the front - the big blocky font forming the words, TRY OUR CANDY, IT’S FREE! Since it was free, Eddie had no reservations. He first stopped at a large section of hard, sugar- coated gummies lined up in all the colours of the rainbow. Having a hard time choosing, Eddie decided on a swirl in the shape of a beer bottle, the bottom a yellow champagne gold that melted into a translucent white. He bit down into it slowly, savouring the tangy sweetness and powdery texture at first. His forehead crinkled when the pungent aftertaste of the alcohol flavoured gummy hit his tongue. The sticky residue clung to his teeth, reminding him of blurry hangover mornings and clingy friendships. And almost naturally, a memory enveloped him. His university graduation - the last day he would ever see some of the cherished people he would always remember but also some people he hoped to never see again. His two best brothers, his lifelong soulmates, the people who he had chugged beer and knocked back shots with. Now, they were people he wouldn’t smile at a passing glance. They had a fight that at that time had seemed so extraordinarily

big and wrong. And he had been too entitled to walk up to them and admit his wrongdoings. And too arrogant to accept their apologies when they came and apologized. Eddie thought he was the best, the smartest, the fastest. He wouldn’t bow down to anyone but now he realized he had bowed down to his hate, jealousy, and stupid, stubborn pride. Shaking the memory off, Eddie walked to another counter. Hoping to find something more delicious than the last one, he stopped at the chocolate counter. He grabbed a couple of the rich nutty butterfingers that melted smoothly on his tongue. The creamy sensation left a toasty warmth from the tips of his hair to the ends of his feet. It reminded him of that night in the cabin with Leila, they were both young and stupid yet crazy in love with each other. They had went on a gruelling hike in the freezing cold and were locked in by a vicious blizzard. Leila was scared that night as the wind howled louder and louder. But Eddie promised he would protect her. So when the wind blew the door in and the wooden beams apart, he had instinctively thrown his body onto her. They had gotten out safely of course, with Eddie only suffering a sprained ankle, even when he was prepared to die for her. The thick texture of the chocolate suddenly became too much - it was too rich, too overwhelming, and left an acid tang on his tongue. What had happened to their relationship? One stormy, unsettling night, he had caught Leila with another man - her exboyfriend. He refused to listen to any of her explanations, protests or pleas. His envy and jealousy had prompted him to leave without even a second thought. Now years later at their reunion, Leila’s ex-boyfriend had come up and apologized profusely to Eddie, that night it was him who had manipulated her into getting drunk. The instant regret curled up Eddie’s insides and made him feel light-hearted and nauseous. He was unhappy and miserable because deep inside he knew his heart had never stopped beating for Leila.

Eddie wiped a tear from his eye before it could come out. God, how awful would it be if the store owner saw him cry at a piece of candy. Out of the corner of his eye, something caught his attention. Gum-balls. Smooth, bouncy spheres in every colour and flavour imaginable. The bright colours and weird patterns blinded him and naturally, his hand reached for the most ordinary looking white before it lingered - as if encouraging him to try something new. Before he could change his mind, he picked up the pink and gold swirled one. He remembered the days where everything was an adventure. Every day he faced the world head on in a fearless, crass, and daring manner. Now, his life was a schedule, a routine. The same thing on repeat every day for an infinite and endless pattern. His teeth bit the gum-ball and it cracked immediately. The tart pop of pineapple and honeyed tinge of raspberries exploded in his mouth, similar to the exhilarating taste of fresh air and pounding blood immediately brought him back to his mid-twenties. He had signed himself and Leila up for bungee jumping out of a whim one night when he was watching the Amazing Race. They were both terrified of heights. But back then, everything was about doing the most idiotic dangerous things life had to offer. If he didn’t have the guts to jump off a mountain, how could he find the courage to do what was next? That was so much scarier. Next thing he knew he was falling at a speed faster than he thought humanly possible. All the blood rushed to his head and the fierce wind whipped his cheeks leaving burning red marks behind. And he screamed, oh he screamed, until his lungs could only make a croak. But he felt like he was on the top of the world. Like he had reached true, complete freedom and power - at that moment, he could do anything. He had climbed back up, dropped down to one knee and screamed at the top of his lungs so the whole valley could hear. “Leila, WILL YOU MARRY ME?” His heart slowed from a heavy pounding to a soothing beat as Eddie came back to reality. New thing he knew he was in front of another counter painted dazzling lemon yellow selling jars of citrusy, fizzy shells. Curious, he popped one into his mouth. The sour, slightly sweet, but still

unmistakably bitter taste of limes enveloped him. The smooth caramelized layer seemed to pop in his mouth, leaving a burning tingle behind and piquing a memory that brought the same flavour to his mouth. Being a stockbroker had once been his motivation - his dream - his life, yet now it was something that brought bile to his mouth. Eddie had sold his soul to climb the corporate ladder, following someone around, slumming next to the charging bull for two days straight because he had nowhere else to go. He was penniless and insignificant but he felt important, useful even when not half a person knew his name and who he was. He found joy in the smaller simpler things in life. Now, he had become who he wanted to be but instead of feeling accomplished, he felt empty. Millions of people knew his name, hundreds of companies depended on him, but he was useless, a failure, he had lost his purpose in the day to day schedule of greed and fraud. What had happened to him? When had money become more important than even his own morals? The voices in his head every night whispered worthless, failure, miserable, to him repeatedly again and again. Until he couldn’t sleep because the words haunted him even to his dreams. The door shut behind him. And Eddie walked out disoriented and confused and found himself right in the middle of busy New York rush hour traffic. What had just happened? “Careful, young man.” An old lady sitting on the bench beside him warned, reaching out her walking stick to steady him. “It’s okay to take a rest sometimes and forget your surroundings. But just remember - you gotta keep moving.” Eddie looked at her and an unexpected, yet genuine smile broke out on his face. “Thanks.” The lady winked at him knowingly, “No problem at all - sometimes - people just need a little reminder.”

Nicole Liu—1st Place, Grade 9/10 Fiction

Will Hicksâ€”Curiosity (Acrylic on canvas)

Inner Contestants My keeper: the man who holds me back from all the vulnerability that life has to offer. I cannot run from him, nor would I want to. He is my protector from all that aches, from all that makes me feel pain. He also shields me from everything that vulnerability has to offer: meeting people, eating meals in front of others. My keeper doesn’t care whether I have friends or not. He cares about hurting myself trying to make those friends. He is Me. I cannot leave him if I ever tried. I cannot protect myself with friends and family. Not even the FBI. He is not a man, not truly at least, but rather the representation of the darkness that will forever live inside me. He will forever be sucking the light into the dark, leaving none for personal happiness. All the light life has to offer will never fully reach out to me. On a glorious summer’s day, where the sky has never been brighter. It’s a captivating day to most, no matter how hard I try to take the day in for all its beauty, a dark blanket that obscures the brilliant blue sky, the rich golden sun, the leafiest deep green trees, all with a dusky tinge of black. I don’t mind the dark much anymore. It has been a while without the light. I struggle to remember how bright the world used to be. He only affects everything I do daily: my friendships, my heart, my emotions, my routines, eating and who I let hug or touch me in the slightest ways. I walk through every day with an image. Getting hurt is the worst thing that could happen to me. Letting someone else hurt me would ruin all the confidence he has built up for me. He is my sharpened charcoal, in a mind wanting to be colored pencils. The sparse control I get to have over myself. He likes to tell me not to trust, that having trust is a fool’s game. I am more clever than playing a fool’s game, I would like to think, so I don’t trust, and I definitely would never play a stupid game of human relationships. He drowns me in my own emotions, something inescapable. Feeling like punches of guilt flying left, right and center. Getting slapped with the sad, hard reality of never

being good enough, knowing this world is bigger than me because my only world is him. Then the isolation kicks in. I really have nobody but him. Drowning in water is escapable, breaking surface or to drown and be forever gone. Itâ€™s too easy. He knows only imbeciles would do this. I am smarter than that. I am smarter than hurting myself. I cannot escape him. He is my never-ending game of cause and consequence. Thinking over and over: if you make yourself vulnerable, you get hurt. I have always been fighting. This is the fight that I will never win. He understands me and becomes me. I canâ€™t just kick him out, but a break from him is often needed. So I give it a try. I scream, cry, yell just wanting him to leave. Scrambling to the surface of the emotional waters. The things I have never noticed have appeared

to me: friends that laugh, a man who I know is the best thing that could happen to me, the passionate sun, the beautiful colors that appear inside me. He got lazy, but the tortoise always wins the race in the end, even if the hare outruns him. He returns to shadow over my shoulder, to give his best judgments. Because you can never escape yourself. He will eternally be me forever. Forever drowning.

Ana Jervisâ€”2nd Place, Grade 9/10 Non-Fiction

Lizzy Hoodâ€”Untitled (Grisaille on panel)

Chelsea Yueâ€”Desolation (Acrylic paint)

Carol Souzaâ€”Serene (Acrylic on canvas)

She There’s this somebody. A “she” to be specific. She has had her moments of strength and moments of vulnerability. She’s cried for joy and harmed for sadness. She’s killed for madness and not spoken from the restraint of fear. She’s gone through so much, which you haven’t seen. When the light goes out, she falls asleep. Only to wake up to the same question every morning. Who is she? She’s been through so much and yet hasn’t discovered her passion. Sometimes, she feels lost. Not knowing where she belongs and what she’s supposed to do. Her scared eyes looking around for guidance...I know the feeling. I’m not the only “she” who has struggles. When I think of a woman who has fought through rejection and has stayed strong even through times of vulnerability, I think of my biological mother. She’s gone through so much which no one has ever seen. Suffering the loss of my father and wrestling to take care of my sisters. Giving up a child must’ve been hard and I’ve learned to respect her decision. Dear mom, I might not know you, but I love you.

Rori Ash—3rd Place, Grade 9/10 Poetry

Image Are you happy with how you look? We obsess over what people think

broken on the inside

The constant stress of trying to be

We let the number on the scale define

more interesting…. we become

our existence

anorexic

We watch the number go down down

We try to fit in

down as we eat less and less

what are we thinking?

Who cares about the feelings on the

We are influenced to be smoking and

inside, it’s only the looks that matter

drinking.

The first impression, the scholarship,

We are influenced to create an image that represents ourselves But the party girl is not the one who

The one who is always smiling but is

the price tag, the profile It’s not unhealthy, no, it’s perfect, I need to be perfect

will grow up to raise children,

We create a war within ourselves

We look in the mirror and stand in

The only way to win is to open our

silence, we are only but one civilian,

eyes

One person, one face, one account on

But we are too scared to see the truth

social media, one effect on the 7.53

We are blinded by what others are

billion.

doing

The mirror does not reflect a Covergirl model, we point out a flaw

We can’t see that we are destroying ourselves

and that’s all we see,

“Don’t judge a book by its cover”

We get angry and hurt ourselves,

But that’s all we know

we hide our faces with makeup and filters, but body image affects both you and me. We don’t know how to make our own decisions Because we’ve had other’s judging looks make our decisions for us our entire lives We hide behind the person we are forced to be

Listen to a recording of this Spoken Word poem

Harper McGowan and Ella Zegarra Brown—1st Place, Grade 9/10 Spoken Word

Chelsea Yueâ€”Self Portrait (Graphite)

Danya Gonnellaâ€”clown (Grisaille and acrylic on canvas)

Dancing with the Devil I once met a dark heartless, conniving person while I was lost and wandering. I was lured into his trap almost instantly. He was devious, manipulative, and controlling. He knew how to play with one’s mind as if thoughts were only a game and compassion was nothing but a toy. And he wasn’t merely average at what he did, he was skilled. It was as if there were resentful bees buzzing all around you; constantly stinging you with their poison while being surrounded by the darkness of the night sky; not capable of sight, therefore having no ability to do anything about it. But in my case, I could never wrap my head around what I was being blinded by. I don’t know if it was the rush I felt with him or if I was simply just a fool in love, but I could never build up the courage to leave the twisted life I had with him. My head was always filled with concern, but his voice for some reason always comforted me. My confidence was always low, so his compliments always sank deep into my heart. I was quite literally dancing with the devil himself and had no way to escape the terrorizing loop. It all started when I was feeling trapped in the loneliness of my own mind. I was curious about the things life had to offer. I was feeling low at this time and wanted to know what it would feel like to be high up in the beautiful white clouds above all. I had nothing to lose and everything to gain. So I set out on the search for something new. And that is when I met him. As soon as I saw him I knew we could be something. The way he first looked at me with his crystal blue eyes and a daring grin on his face, I knew we were bound to happen. We talked and laughed, and exchanged numbers by the end of it. Time went on and things between us finally started to get serious. We said our I love you’s and everything went on from there. We were two people who claimed to be in love and meant so much to one another. Until late one night, I received a call. As soon as I heard his voice my body went stiff, my palms began to sweat, I felt as if I couldn’t breathe, and I wasn’t able to move a single muscle. I was terrified. He was balling his eyes out as if his life was ending. I told him everything was going to be okay and reassured him about us. And as soon as I did so, he calmed down. Everything was okay after that... until it happened again... and again... and again. I was confused with

the thoughts about why I couldn’t make him happy. What was I doing wrong? He always told me it was him and not me, that I made him the happiest he could ever be, but I never believed it. I could never shake the non-stop thoughts of our deep talks and the things he would tell me; “I’m hurt”, “I’m broken”, “I’m never happy”, “I’m sorry I messed up”, “You don’t deserve a horrible person like me.” He would repeat these phrases over and over again as if he were a broken record on repeat. I always felt obligated to comfort him, to be there for him, and to be nothing but good to him. But he continuously made the same mistakes. His apologies occurred every day, along with the constant feeling of guilt I had, thinking I was always the problem because I could never help him to the perfect extent. I spent each day I had with him like it was our last because I always feared the twisted things that could happen once I would leave his side. Finally, one day I was sitting in a car looking out the window at the beautiful

light blue sky. I rolled down my window and saw the white, fluffy clouds slowly moving, and felt the warm summer breeze brushing across my skin as it was blowing by. At that moment, I was calm. Calmer than I’ve ever been. I was alone, quiet, and for once, content. I had no worries or cares about what was going on around me because my admiration for the world and universe was overpowering all of my other thoughts and feelings. I cherished that moment for the entire day, then it really started to sink into my mind by the end of that night. I thought about how free and peaceful I felt, and then, I broke. No, I shattered. My heart, soul, and mind shattered into more than a million pieces that seemed almost impossible to fix. I realized how strong I once was, and how weak he had made me. I became fragile and destructive at the same time. I was sick and tired of the knives digging into my back, leaving me suffering, harming my delicate skin that should have been left soft and untouched; the way it once was before. I couldn’t handle the fights that came with unbearable pain, the nights that came with tears and worry, the pressure and fears of his capabilities, and the ongoing mental exhaustion from him never letting me peacefully sleep. The time I had been spending with him drained me both physically and mentally.

I was addicted to his love like an addict is to nicotine; both toxic and almost impossible to quit. Realizing at this moment that sometimes what you are afraid of doing is the exact thing that will set you free. And I was afraid to lose him. I was afraid of life with no love, toxic or not; afraid of having nobody but myself, afraid of the silence of my own mind, being stuck dealing with myself every second of every day. I couldn’t bear the thought of being trapped in my own mind alone. I had to learn to love myself before I could truly love anyone else. I couldn’t cope with his issues on top of trying to deal with my own. I knew that if I wasn’t able to handle myself, then how was I ever supposed to handle him? So I decided to end it once and for all. I had to find myself on my own, rather than always searching for new, toxic love to use as a distraction from the reality of my own problems. I had to leave my old, damaged self behind, in order to allow myself to grow and move on. After all, everything is temporary and I needed to be much more patient with time. I’ve danced with the devil. I’ve battled with demons. And I’ve been through hell. But I’ve mastered that dance. I’ve won most battles. And I’ve survived through the burns and scars that came with it all.

Chloe Traviss—1st Place, Grade 11/12 Fiction

Justy Linâ€”Untitled (Pen and ink)

Hours in Seconds It’s 6:00 a.m. I sit down on the rustic old piano bench. I lay my hands across the black and white keys my fingers flow from left to right, black to white. The high pitch notes begin to scream in my ears, tearing at my heart. As it gets louder and louder I take my hands off the keys clasping them over my small ears. The screaming hasn’t stopped yet the keys are not moving. I tear my eyes around the room and see the repulsive hands crawling from the top of the piano. I stumble and fall off the old bench. I look up as the walls begin to close in around me, my eyes blending into the darkness. I scramble under the piano hugging my knees to my chest, my teeth are clenched so hard the rustic taste of blood covers my tongue. I smell the dust floating through the room tingling my nose. I feel the salty sweat trickling down my forehead dripping onto my grey dress. The screaming hasn’t stopped, yet the keys are not moving. The blackness consumes my vision. All I can taste is blood. I’m drowning in sweat. The screaming is killing me. I have to stop the screams. I have to stop the screams. I HAVE TO STOP THE SCREAMS. My eyes tear open. I’m sitting on the rustic old piano bench. I’m shaking uncontrollably. I glance left and see the blurred glass filled to the rim with water and my two uneaten white pills starring back at me. I drop each pill onto my tongue letting them dissolve then with a gulp of the cloudy warm water, swallow them down my sore throat. My heart beat immediately slows. I again lay my frail hands on the black and white keys and begin to play. I glance at the time; it reads 6:05 a.m.

Anna Rasmus—2nd Place, Grade 11/12 Fiction

Time, Timeful, Timeless If you say that the things we lose always have a way of coming back to us in the end, then I would say that most of them won’t be the way that we expected. For me, or, for all of us, the thing that we lose the most is time. Some people might say that we have plenty of time to use, but from what I have experienced, it’s not always that way. If I want to write something about time, there will always be a “Je ne sais quoi” in my head. The reason why is that I don’t even know how much time will each person has. From my counting, I have already been through over 5,500 days, which is over 132,000 hours. It’s a long time if we think about it now, but when I’m right inside those moments, I felt like my time passing by like a petit puddle of water dropped into the ocean, it’s gone, it will never come back, and I have nowhere to find it, cause there isn’t any sound, isn’t any visual of time. So, where does our time gone to? You see, when the birds flew away, there’s someday that they will come back again; when it’s not Spring anymore, there’s

someday that Winter will end; when the blossoms have withered away, there’s someday that the flowers will revive. But, what’s going on with our time? Just right in time when I write this short story, the time is passing by so quickly. Literally, time is always passing by, it’s just you didn’t notice. When you wash your hands, time passing through the water; When you eat your lunch, time passing through your plate; When you’re sitting there, silently, doing nothing, time passing through your tired eyes and your vacant mind. When there’s an assignment that is nearly due, that’s the time when I felt that it’s going too fast. I just want to slow it down, let the time passing through slowly. I wanted to use my hands to cover up the runaway time, but the time just passing through your hands, once, twice, and again. When I’m going to sleep on the bed, the time’s just passing so fast, over my body, and reminding me about what I haven’t done during the day. I don’t have an idea about what could I do to stop the time, or simply just slow it down. Maybe, the time will just always pass by like this. Maybe, the only thing that I could do is just make things happen inside a small amount of time. And maybe, that could be the only way. But seriously, tell me, can the time we lost come back to us in the end?

Maxwell Lu—3rd Place, Grade 9/10 Non-Fiction

Anna Haarsâ€”Untitled (Linoblock print on paper)

Felix Cheungâ€”Chemistry (Acrylic on canvas)

Project #8463 To be honest, I’ve never been very close to my dad. He passed away during mid-July, 3001. I was about 5-6 years old when he was around. All I knew was that my dad was a genius scientist. To me, he was like the Nikola Tesla of the millennia but with a completely different field of research. My dad’s research was about the mechanics of time. My mom told me how our house walls were full of clocks in the past. Grandfather clocks, watches, you name it. During most of his life, he was working on some sort of machine. He said that it could change mankind as we know it. Nobody ever took him seriously, calling him a broke hillbilly or a blood sucking mosquito with no use to the world. It turned out that his machine was a catastrophe and he died from his own creation. No one knew where his body went and the police could not figure out the case. No clues, no evidence and nothing to be found. The weird part was that not only did my dad disappear, Colon did as well. Apparently, Colon used to be a great pal to my dad. Colon was his roommate in university and a friend that my dad trusted in. During their spare time, they would both make inventions and help each other out. Colon had a bright mind as well. Fusion energy and teleportation was one of his greatest inventions. I remember mom telling me how Colon and dad got into a fight. Mom said that they were having a swell time drinking beer and having great laughs, and then all of a sudden things got quiet. Colon and dad disappeared that night without a trace to be found… My mom is a loving, caring and just about everything a great mom can be. It was just me and her living in this shack of a house with 2 single beds, a kitchen, bathroom and a tiny living room. We lived here in Tarus for quite some time. Tarus is the capital of Japan with about 11 million habitants. Imagine a birthday cake with an infinite amount of candles, shining illuminating brightly and one that will never cease to die out. The lights just blur out the night stars, just like a Harley Davidson with its black smoke coming out of its exhaust ready to hit down Route 36. I wish I was alive when people were driving wheeled vehicles and not flying around aimlessly in the sky. I wish I could witness the 3000’s. They say it was the good old days. Overall, I always felt like something was missing in my life. Why did my dad

pass away? What was the machine? Where is it now? Does my mom know what happened? So many questions but no answers… If someone would ask me what I did today I would respond with “Absolutely nothing”. You see all I do is go to school but I stay at home with the comfort of having a projector. I barely go out. I am a couch potato they say. My mom would just watch her daily television show called the Riley’s. Today was going to be a different day. My mom said that we are visiting our grandparents in Jarens ville. Jarens ville is around half hour from here. We could fly using our jetpacks but we have to pay air fare. It’s ridiculous so we will probably take the Bullet train. My mom told me to wait for her, she just left to go get groceries. This felt so odd to me because for the first time I was home alone. The day went by as usual, video call my buddies, did homework, went into the

VR realm and played video games for hours with nothing out of the ordinary. I got into my room just laying there bored on my bed sinking into the mattress. I was looking for my hoodie which was in the dark creepy closet that my dad used to use. It gave me an eerie feeling indescribable like white chalk scratching on a blackboard. I reached out my arm blindly feeling anything remotely to cotton. I couldn’t feel a thing. I decided to walk in there to check it myself. As I slightly opened the door creaking like a frog, I saw nothing except for a metal hatchet. I’ve pondered deeply because we never had a basement that I knew of. I turned the hatchet with all of my force. I could feel the sweat oozing into my hands making my grip quite uneasy. My knees were getting shakier and shakier like a strong breeze blowing into a palm tree. “What could it possibly be in here?” I finally opened the hatch with my arms feeling sore. All I could see was a ladder leading to the dark abyss. I started climbing down the ladder counting step along the way to see how far down I have gotten to.

“37.” “38.” “39” THONK! “I reached to the bottom.” I took out my phone and used the flashlight mode on it. I started looking all around in all directions like an owl. I saw broken metal parts and puddles of fuel. I saw computer monitors, flickering LED lights and brick walls that looked unsturdy stacked one another like a Jenga Tower. At the corner of my eye, I then noticed something peculiar. At the very left corner by the office table I saw a hoodie on an Office Chair. It was grey. Looked like a size M and then I saw red splashed all over. I quickly realized that it was my hoodie and the red stuff was not anything I have seen before. It was blood. Human blood stains on my hoodie. My eyes suddenly started to pop out. I was not liking what I was seeing. At the right side of the room all I could see was some blueprints all scattered on the floor and then a white tarp covering some sort of contraption. I looked at the blueprints, It read “Project #8463”. “Project #8463… interesting.” I then realised how 8463 was a number on our phone dial pad in our kitchen that was highlighted. “I remember, the letters M,T,E,I were bolded in black marker. “8364…” “Wait a second, M,E,T,I can be arranged to TIME” “Interesting...TIME” “This must be related to what was under the white tarp” I took a big gulp and took grip of the white tarp. I yanked it with all of my force not daring to look what was lying underneath. I saw a big glass tube with a golden frame supporting it. The glass was cracked all around with spider webs and a rusty control panel on the side. As I looked more carefully, I saw a pair of black glasses. I then took out my wallet and looked at my family portrait. I then glanced at the image of my dad and compared to the shattered glasses.

“Those are dad’s glasses!” All of a sudden, I heard a heavy knock upstairs and I knew who it was. It was mom coming home! I quickly tried to find a way out of here. I saw a blueprint sitting on the control panel, it read “Step into the machine and flick the 7 switches starting with red, yellow, green, blue, purple, brown, and black.” I flicked them and suddenly the machine started to boot back up. On the second line it reads “Now chose a year, month and day you would like to go to”. I thought immediately of 3001, July the 16th because that was when my dad passed away. I wanted to know the truth what was going on and why mom was hiding this from me. I then read the last line.

“WARNING IF YOU CARE TO USE MACHINE USE WITH CAUTION!!! PRESS THE GREEN BUTTON.” I reached for the button and then at the corner of my eye I saw my mom. “ALAN, WHAT IS GOING ON AND WHY ARE YOU HERE?” I then realized that maybe mom was the killer. “YOU KILLED DAD DIDN’T YOU!” “NO ALAN WHY WOULD I EVER LIE TO YOU?” “WHY DIDN’T YOU TELL ME BEFORE? ARE YOU EVEN MY MOM?” “WAIT ALAN NO!” I reached for the green button and pressed as hard as I can. The machine said “WARNING, WARNING T-minus 10 seconds.” “WAIT ALAN!” “10, 9, 8, 7,” “ALAN!” “6, 5, 4, 3, 2,” “ALAAAN!!!” “1.” I passed out and everything became blank.

“WELCOME TO YEAR 3001, JULY THE 16TH.” said the intercom I woke up rubbing my eyelids. All I could make of was two people just chatting about the blueprints. One man had black glasses and a grey hoodie and the other person had a very dark trench coat. I then realized that the person with the trench coat was holding a butterfly knife. The trench coat person stabbed the other man in the heart and he laid there lifeless. Blood oozing like a rapid river flowing into a lake of death. The person took the hoodie off of the man and put it on the office chair. The trench coat person pushed the man into the time machine. I ducked down and went under the desk. I heard the trench coat person said: “Oh Henry, your invention will belong to me!” THUMP! The time machine disappeared with the man. All of a sudden, mysterious person noticed me. He pointed a flashlight into my face and the person said, “Alan, so great to see you.”

Wesley Sun—2nd Place, Grade 9/10 Fiction

Paige Thompsonâ€”Ethereal Light (Acrylic paint and collage on canvas)

Curing Humanity One of the greatest moral issues facing our world today is a gross negligence and intolerance surrounding race. Many people today either have a conscious or unconscious bias towards others based solely on the color of their skin. Ultimately, racism in our world is the belief that one race or culture possesses superiority over others. Obviously, this is not an ideal perception for such a critical population of society, and so I believe that abolishing this prejudice is of the utmost importance. Throughout history, many have tried to solve this persisting issue, and yet it still exists. Martin Luther King Jr., Rosa Parks, and many other famous activists have spent their entire lives working to end racism, but they have all been going about it wrong. The true issue here is that, like it or not, most racism is unconscious and cannot be controlled. When we see the color of oneâ€™s skin, we make tiny assumptions in our brains about that person. The only possible way I can see of solving this is to not ever see the skin of another. Clearly, we cannot simply clothe ourselves all the time, nor can we cease to look at one another. The only solution here to have no skin to be seen in the first place. Currently, there is a common practice, particularly in the middle east, known as circumcision. Circumcision is a surgery that is performed on newborn boys in which the foreskin around the head of the penis is removed. The surgery that I propose is very similar, although instead of removing this small bit of skin, all of a newborn infantâ€™s skin is peeled away. This way, all humans will look exactly alike, and, more importantly, nobody will ever again be judged by their pigmentation. Without skin, racism will die out entirely, as there will be absolutely no way to tell an individualâ€™s heritage. It honestly baffles me that throughout all of history, this has never been proposed, as there is no downside or drawback to the solution. Obviously, skin is an important part of the human body. It is, after all, the largest organ we have. Evolution gave us this barrier to protect our innards from the harsh world around us. Truth be told, however, we as a species have outgrown the need for this protection. We can develop products and materials at a rate and quality not ever seen by other skin-bearing creatures. One of

these materials in particular can be effectively utilized to keep our more tender parts safe and together without the use of horrid, injustice-inducing skin. Plastic wrap, more commonly referred to as â€œSaran Wrapâ€?, is a cheap and easy to produce material often used to seal food and keep it fresh. In the culinary world, it is an industry standard, and it does its job well. Raw meat is generally preserved by being salted and wrapped in this material, and human flesh functions in the same way. In order to keep fresh the raw flesh of our children, we will immediately salt their bloody and untreated figures before wrapping their limbs in a generous layer of plastic wrap. This will ensure that our children are safe, as well as protect them from the horrible judgement that is racism. This method of raw-curing infants also bears several different health-based advantages. According to many culinary specialists, this preservative process can help meat to stay edible for up to 60 months. If simply salting a slab of already dead meat can extend its life for up to five years, imagine what it could do for the average lifespan of a live human! By putting this into

practice, it is likely that we will see an average increase of human lifespans of approximately 7 years. This is not the only healthy benefit, however. Squamous Cell Carcinoma, one of the most common forms of skin cancer, affects nearly 367,000,000 people around the globe each year. Of these cases, over 289,000,000, or 78%, prove fatal, making it one of the leading causes of death in our modern age. My proposed surgery will eradicate entirely this abominable disease. Without skin cells being exposed to the ultraviolet radiation of the sun, nobody will be physically capable of contracting this cancer, and thus many people will be spared the heartache of watching their loved ones wither away in a hospital, kept alive by naught but the series of plastic tubing and machinery surrounding their bed. In essence, this surgery will preemptively be saving the lives of millions of people. The more than $185,000,000,000 saved each year from no longer having to treat this cancer can now be redirected and serve as the budget for the operation, allowing all people, be it of a country developing or otherwise, the right to this necessary modification of the human form. Many people will be swift to point out the separate issues that arise from this increase in natural human longevity. Our world struggles already with an overpopulation crisis, and yet these doubters overlook a major part of my

alleged plan. The reason that overpopulation poses such a threat is because our earth has only so many resources, and these supplies are being spread thin in a per capita sense. The only way to support the new influx of bodies would be to acquire a new supply of nutrients to keep them all fed and healthy. Luckily, the prospected enucleation provides also just that. By removing the skin of our infants, we are also generating a source of food to sustain those that the procedure saves. The average newborn child weighs approximately 8 pounds, 40% of which is comprised of skin. This works out to an average of 3.2 pounds of skin per child. Leaving behind a generous 0.2 pounds of skin that is either unusable or lost in the abscission, this leaves society with a hearty 3 pounds of raw meat fresh for consumption per infant born. Considering that roughly 800,000 babies are born globally each day, this means that each day will yield 2,400,000 pounds of fresh nutrient-packed flesh. With over 2.4 million pounds of food being produced daily, we will more than be able to nourish the increasing number of people. Once this new, unbiased society of pure and justly equivalence is formed, we will finally live in a true utopia. Free we shall once and for all be from the great shackles of bigotry, and gone will be the days of having our politicians constantly and mercilessly begged for equality; of social media being used as a way to spread unavoidable messages of fairness for all while we try to communicate with friends; the long and boring discussions on how to prevent discrimination in the workplace; of being expected to have the courage to speak out against these injustices; of having to put in any true effort to stop the apartheid spreading across the planet. All of these incessant and unremitting efforts have proven to yield little to no results, and have now become but a burden to us as we claw in vain to end the stigma. It is time to take true action against racism, and end once and for all any prejudice based upon skin tone. I hope that this proposition will be considered by our world leaders, as I present it with the hope that they see the problem for what it is, and realize that what we are doing currently is not enough to end racism. By taking physical action, we can improve our society in many ways, and someday live in a skin-free world where all can be accepted for who they are on the inside.

Liam Davidsonâ€”2nd Place, Grade 11/12 Non-Fiction

Emily Schnurrâ€”Untitled (Digital photograph)

Insecure Wake up in the morning Smile on your face “It’s going to be a good day” You say Opening doors Hugging, and maybe hugging some more Saying hi to every person that passes through the halls Always good, always nice “Living my best life” That’s what you say, right? Don’t seem to care about what others think Staying positive and kind “How are you?” people ask “I’m great, everyday is a good day” You say That’s what I say, right? And that’s what you hear But you don’t know what’s in my head You don’t know what’s going on inside my brain All the things that I feel Conversations with myself that even I fear Positive, kind? Yeah, I may be that But I’ll admit I’m insecure I don’t show it but it’s true Afraid of what everyone thinks of me Don’t know what to do And don’t know how to act

Never felt this way before And I know it’s all my fault I feel guilty, yes I do But I can’t say I’m not happy ‘Cause I am, but there’s something that’s been bothering me And that’s how mean people can be sometimes Be yourself, be yourself But how if society is pressuring me to be someone else Can’t be like this anymore I’m about to explode All the things that I want to say But can’t ‘cause I’ll be judged Yeah, I’ll be judge

In this world people judge We are judged about how we look How we dress, how we talk We are judged about how we act How we think, and even how we walk It shouldn’t be this way And I know that people say

Listen to a recording

“I don’t care about what others think”

of this Spoken Word

But believe me that’s not true

poem

Because I say that to myself Every single day and I still care I shouldn’t, but I do ‘Cause I’ll admit I’m insecure

Jimena Carrasco—2nd Place, Grade 9/10 Spoken Word

Lauren Krupnikovâ€”Copy of Pink House by Lawren Harris (Oil paint)

Donata Cheungâ€”Self Portrait (Graphite)

Chapter 1 It’s 6:30 a.m. and I wake up to my empty and messy house. There are clothes laying in piles all over my dark room. I’m not sure what’s dirty or what’s clean. My plate with last night’s dinner is still sitting on my desk. I’ve been having to take care of myself for 4 years now after my mother, father, and brother died in a car crash when I was 10 years old. I’m used to being alone was because it was always Mom, Dad, Sam and then me, the outcast daughter who never fit in with my family. I didn’t look like them, or anyone else where I lived. My whole family had red hair but my hair is black like a raven’s feathers. My parents would say that I got it from my great-great-grandma Brenda who had the same hair as me. There isn’t a single family photo before ours with someone with hair other than red. The weird thing is that Brenda isn’t in a single photo. It’s almost like she was never there. Because of the feeling that I didn’t fit in, I never went with my family anywhere because I felt like I wasn’t wanted. I constantly felt like a burden. They would leave the house and never tell me where they were going. They wouldn’t make enough food for the four of us. Only the three of them. I was never included. One time, they went to a museum without telling me and they never came home. I didn’t know they had died on the side of the road that night. I had no idea they had even left the house. I went to bed that night thinking everything was fine, another cold night in a silent house. Nobody called me that night to tell about the accident or look into the fact that this family had a daughter. Nobody knew they had a daughter. I found out about the crash from the newspaper. I didn’t even cry. I wasn’t heartbroken. They all broke my heart years before that with the way they neglected and forgot about me. I was immune to pain. No extended family invited me to live with them after they died. They send me the occasional cheque along with the money my parents left for me in their will which pays for my monthly expenses. I live alone in this mansion that I inherited from my parents on 22nd Street, Francisco, North Carolina. Everybody is destined to meet someone they feel so connected to at least once in their life, right? That one person they feel they can’t live without. I have never felt that connection with anyone because of how neglected I always felt with my family. I felt like they didn’t love me and if they didn’t love me, how can anyone else love me? Isn’t your family supposed to love you more than anyone else? Ever since my family died, I have isolated myself from everyone because I am scared to be hurt again.

I have the ability to see red lines that show people’s connection with others. I’ve never met anyone else with this ability, but then again, how would I know? It’s a little strange to go around asking people if they can see red lines connecting people. My family was all connected to each other. Except for me. My red line was cut off when I was a baby and it has never grown back. Ever since then, I’ve felt like I have a huge emptiness in me. Like something’s missing. I’m not sure how I developed this ability but I have had it for as long as I can remember. It used to be a huge distraction where all I could see was red but now it’s just normal. It’s sort of how you can learn a lot about someone from their shoes. I know a bit of their story but not all of it. The first time I remember noticing this clearly was the time I was at the playground and saw a mother and her daughter laughing together. They had a thick, glowing, red cord joining them. I looked over and saw a couple sitting on the bench. Their cord was thin and faded and looked like it was about to snap. Then it did. The girl got up and walked out of his life and probably never came back. All of a sudden I hear a loud beeping. I roll over and read the time, 7:15. I’ve slept through my alarm again. This marks my very first day of high school and once again I’m facing a new challenge on my own. I’m hoping to make at least one friend but I know deep down that isn’t going to happen. I haven’t had a true friend since my parents died. The one friend I ever had was Penny. We did everything together yet we didn’t have a cord that connected us to each other. Her cord was connected to her other friend, Michael. After the crash, I isolated myself from her and she switched schools. Along with Michael. I crawl out of bed and do my normal routine. Eyes half closed, I brush my teeth, brush my hair, wash my face and before I know it, I’m out of the house walking to the hell-hole that is high school. I walk in and immediately feel out of place. I don’t belong here. I feel like a fish out of water. The halls smell already smell like body odour and there is the loud hum of people’s voices overlapping each other. All I can see are the red cords connecting people and new ones sprouting. I look down and mine is still disconnected, as it will be forever. Suddenly, I feel a weird buzz in my chest. It feels like my heart has just jumped out of my chest. I look up and standing in front of me is a boy. He isn’t just any boy like all the other ones I’ve seen today. The difference is, his cord is disconnected. Just. Like. Mine.

Ella Zegarra Brown—3rd Place, Grade 9/10 Fiction

Maggie Sharpeâ€”Untitled (Digital Photograph)

Alisa Luâ€”Dreams (Watercolour and mixed media)

The Curse of my Blonde Hair A fuzzy, blonde, baby duck is how my sister described me when I was born. I was so fair that I appeared bald in pictures with my feathery, white strands of hair permanently standing on end. While I believed I looked like I had been electrocuted, the general consensus of my family was that my hair was just perfect. I, on the other hand, could not disagree more: from the very beginning I thought of my hair as nothing more than a curse. The truth is, my hair is something of an anomaly. With blonde hair only blessing a mere 2% of the world’s population, I guess I should’ve been thankful that I hit the jackpot, but instead, I was constantly complaining. Why me? The answer: pure genetics. My dad is an innocent party since his side of the family is dominated by swarthy, dark locks that have been known to unexpectedly turn a little salt and pepper. My mom is the culprit. Both she and her sisters inherited their fair hair from my British grandad, and while the jury’s out on how blonde the ladies are to date, they’re sticking to their story that they are ‘natural’ blondes. So, what determines a true, ‘natural’ blonde? Apparently, this phenomenon is as rare as a leopard in the wild. An important fact that I have come to understand in my seventeen years, is that even if you were only blonde for five minutes at birth, you will always consider yourself a natural blonde. So even if my hair turns jet black overnight, I will never escape my blonde heritage. Another fact that I have come to realize is that I‘m the only person who doesn’t want to be blonde. Over the years of sitting through my regular trims, I’m usually surrounded by ladies suffocating in layers of foil on their head, in their pursuit for golden hair. “Aren’t you a lucky young man!” they say enviously. Apparently, I’m saving myself a small fortune in touch-ups, but little do they know I’ve always wished for dark hair. I keep this info to myself though and just smile politely because if they knew the truth, I’m sure it would cause a small riot. I guess if nothing else, at least I can say I am a ‘natural’ blonde. Looking back, blonde or not, my hair has always been a challenge. Especially in the morning. One day after a dramatic comb out, my mom announced she was

done fighting with me over brushing my hair and drove to Canadian Tire to buy a pair of clippers. The good news for me was that getting my hair buzzed off was not painful and the daily maintenance was minimal. I was a happy five-yearold! The bad news was that I looked like I was either enlisting in the army or going through a serious life-saving treatment. After a year of people giving my parents teary-eyed smiles of sympathy, my dad threw the clippers in the back of the hall closet and dragged me to a professional barber. Like it or not, I was graduating to an actual real hairstyle. I ended up with an elderly barber named Aldo. He had a neatly groomed, white beard with matching hair and a thick accent. He mumbled when he spoke, so we literally had no communication at all. This was a major red flag. He moved at the pace of a snail as he clipped away on my unruly locks but eventually, I had a real haircut. My shiny, blond hair was swooped carefully to the side and

trimmed neatly over my ears. My parents were finally happy but the problem was I was six years old and I looked like a 40-year-old man working in a bank. Needless to say, this was a short-lived friendship between Aldo and I, and after a year I decided it was time to move on. I knew exactly what I wanted to do with my hair. Unfortunately, mistakes are an essential part of learning in life and I was about to discover this the hard way. The hair disaster that ensued over the next five years was all my fault. I, like every other Canadian kid was about to embark on the most important phase of my life, I was going to play hockey. As any hockey players starting out, I was determined to accomplish two goals. One, make it to the National Hockey League, and two, have great ‘flow’ in the process. Flow, of course, refers to the worst kind mullet you can imagine. It’s not the business in the front and party in the back from the eighties; it’s just a party all over. What’s even worse is when your hair grows like grass in an abandoned field. When this is your flow, you know you’re headed for trouble! The main issue was that this creation wasn’t going to happen overnight. Patience was needed and this proved to be the biggest challenge of all.

Unfortunately, my mediocre attempt at sick flow was not to be. I discovered this after I saw a team picture of our hockey crew at a tournament in Detroit. My blonde hair was the least of my problems! There was no question that this disaster was going to come back to haunt me. In that moment I realized I needed to run to a barber and figure out my hair situation once and for all. Over the past five years I have come to accept my hair. Not only did I finally figure out how to style it, but I also learned that things could be much worse. I did some investigating and discovered that my blonde hair isn’t the only thing I inherited from my mom’s side of the family: I have also been blessed with the gift of male pattern baldness. While there is no guarantee of this tragic condition striking me, I must admit it has given me a whole new perspective on the dilemma of my hair. My blonde hair is looking much better these days mainly because I eventually may not have to worry about having any hair at all. My hair curse lives on.

Mitch Stedman—3rd Place, Grade 11/12 Non-Fiction

The Lonely Giant I sit near the river, down the hill

jump when it feels weak.

Where flowers bloom before my eyes,

I stop to say hello to the lonely giant.

I see fish swim, and frogs jump. There is a big red tractor with a trunk full of rocks

Where the river shows, I go. A broken barn where a child was born, and has died.

One day I will strip of my clothes,

A creature that has scurried,

The breeze will blow my hair,

now disappeared.

My neat body will feel free.

A shield that has tortured

No one will see me.

Now rescues.

And I will join the frogs for a bath

Slowly,

The flowers buzzing with yellow

The willow bares secrets hidden beside

stripes,

its trunk.

The fish that hide unseen in the

The bridge rebuilt with fresh oak.

shadows,

The giant has a wife with a stomach

The willow trees arguing with the wind,

full of daises.

Brown cows strolling through the pasture. After I bathe, I will call to the cows Free of my fears, And we will walk, To the tree that sheds mouthfuls of sugary sweetness.

And I join the frogs for a bath. I sit near the river, down the hill Where flowers bloom before my eyes, I see fish swim, and frogs jump. There is a big red tractor with a trunk full of rocks. I sit near the river, up the hill Where tulips of every color sit pretty in

I will share with the worms.

the sun.

I will share with the cows.

I see rainbow trout scurry with

We follow the river, to the broken bridge, there I walk where it feels stable, and

tadpoles following in their wake, And there, Sits a big red tractor with a trunk full of rocks.

Anna Rasmusâ€”2nd Place, Grade 11/12 Poetry

Rhea Simmonsâ€”Wildflower (Acrylic on canvas)

The Arts at

Author Nameâ€”Place / Name (Medium) 4391 County Rd 29, Lakefield, ON K0L 2H0 lcs.on.ca