Impressions 2020-21

Malvern Preparatory School

Malvern Preparatory School

Table of Contents

4 • Meet the Team 5 • Introduction 6 • The Beach by Luke Pajan 7 • Tucker by Daniel Simpson 8 • The Lake by Aidan Regan 10 • What’s in an Elephant by Kevin Miller 10 • Golf Course by Chris Krein 11 • Studio Artwork by Henry Streitwieser 12 • The Big Catch by Ennis Udo 13 • How I Love Oreos by Alex Gueriera 14 • Studio Artwork by Ben Franzone 16 • Nachos by Matthew Gray 17 • Chick-Fil-A Free Verse by Chase McCauley 18 • Broken or Bent by R. Becket 19 • Eyes Ahead by R. Becket 20 • Flower Photography by Gavin Sorce 20 • Studio Artwork by Gavin Wilson 21 • Digital Artwork by Julian Williams 22 • Music by Anonymous 4

23 • Burger Bliss by Cade Heppelmann 24 • Fishing by Jack Perrault 25 • A Puzzling Existence by Josh DeStefano 26 • The Bear by Josh DeStefano 28 • Heart Jewelry Box by Eric Yablonski 29 • Beach Photos by Colin Kennedy 30 • Orange Juice by Adams Shang 32 • Notre Dame by Aidan Regan 33 • Don’t Forget by John Neary 34 • The King of All by Ojas Sharma 35 • The Right Direction by Nick Wehmeyer 36 • Short Story by Patrick Buysse 38 • Short Story by Davio Badalamenti 40 • The Bridge by Josh DeStefano 41 • Abuser to the Abused by Dean DiFabio 42 • The Last Shot by Joe Walheim 44 • Hell Enters Duffy by Ben Franzone 46 • Decades by Francis Rogai 50 • The Bounty by Tim McClatchy 55 • Dedication: Memories by Ben Franzone Front Cover Art by Ben Franzone Back Cover Art by Ian Lebano

5

Meet the Team Leadership:

Ian Lebano Ben Franzone Noah Buscaglia

Editors:

Josh DeStefano Matt Hess Chris Krein Sean McCarthy Tim McClatchy Jack Riley Francis Rogai Julian Williams

Moderators:

Ms. Jaclyn Cantor Mrs. Susan Giordani 6

Introduction Dear Malvern Community, This year has been far from ordinary. We decided to control what we could and let our memories, the good and the bad, mean even more than before. Now, to bring some normalcy and tradition back to this crazy year, the Impressions Literary

Magazine Club proudly announces the publication of our 2020-21 issue. Intending to create something truly memorable, our club members and editors have chosen entries that reflect a wide range of emotions, from the sharp tones of social justice in the “Abuser to the Abused” to the jokes in the “Chick-Fil-A Free Verse” poem. We are excited to show Malvern how creative students can be, and we hope every member of the Malvern Community enjoys this magazine as much as we do.

Happy Reading!

The Impressions Team 7

The Beach Luke Pajan

Cool breeze, salty smell We drive into Avalon, ready to dwell We unpack our bags, we head to the shore Laying on the sand, about to restore Restore from all the stress, previous year Hoping all that before will just disappear I look to my friends, grabbing their boards Sprinting to the ocean, as if we just soared Paddling into the blue, prepared to cruise This is the life I willingly choose Trotting to shore, exhausted as ever No matter what, I will do this forever Hot shower and it’s time to reset Biking into the night, I will never forget

8

Tucker

Daniel Simpson

When he runs, he is so fast; he is a blur He barks at the air He cares for his family If he senses a threat he goes Nuts because he cares His favorite toy, a hedgehog When I throw his ball He swims like a fish After his blue squeaky ball He only goes down the steps of the pool Because when he was a pup, he fell in Tucker dog, cute as a puppy Even though he is older He likes to lie down in the sun Take in the sun on his warm fur His coat as soft as a blanket

9

The Lake Aidan Regan

I walked out of our house and into the cool evening breeze I walked along the gravel road and looked up at the crimson red and orange sunset

I arrived at our small dock, which was so small it was like a goldfish in the ocean

I sat down on our one Adirondack chair and looked around at the lush green scenery by on the dock

The glistening water reflecting the evening sunset onto the dock

I watched birds fly over the vast lake towards the mountains towering over us

I got up and watched the shiny fish quickly swimming around the dock scanning for anything to eat

I grabbed my fishing pole and worms, preparing the bait, hook, and lure I stood in the cold water, so cold that it might have been from Antarctica I cast my line, reeling it in slowly and deceptively so the fish think it’s just a worm As I waited, I looked at the scene around me I noticed how the trees look like they have been here forever, and how the bushes swayed with the wind I felt a teensy tug on the line, so I looked into murky 10

water and saw a tiny fish grab onto my hook

I slowly reeled it in and saw a glimpse of the fish The fish was a smallmouth bass and was light green with dark green stripes

The fish was so green that it could have blended right into a forest

The sun reflected on the hook and shined in my eye as I reeled him in

I pulled him out of the water, and he started squirming and shaking like he was struck by a lightning bolt

I examined him to estimate his size and he was about the length of a pencil

I pulled the hook out and tossed him back into the water I watched him swim away as if he were being chased by something

I did this a couple of times and then climbed back up onto the dock because it was getting very dark out

I took one last look at the marvelous lake in front of me I began to walk back up to our house with my fishing rod in one hand and the bait in the other

And I walked back up the gravel road to the one story house on Atateka Drive Background Photo by Chris Krein

11

What’s in an Elephant?

Studio Artwork Henry Streitwieser

Kevin Miller

Golf Course Chris Krein

12

13

The Big Catch Ennis Udo

A cool breeze hits my face on a warm spring day Whispering in my ear sending a shiver down my spine The sun, a blanket on my skin The birds together singing a tune Hearing the trickle of a stream in the distance We know we are close to our destination Backpacks heavy with rods in our hands We are eager to catch the prize we seek Casting our lines into an abyss Tension on my line, I start to reel in The fish throwing punches while I punch back Finally I win, triumphant with my catch

Background Photo by Chris Krein

14

How I Love Oreos Alex Gueriera

I walk into the supermarket With one thing on my mind Down the dessert aisle I spot chocolatey greatness I grasp a box of oreos Opening it so carefully A whole army of oreos The inch of vanilla cream

Slathered between the two chocolatey cookies I grab one of the Oreos Stuff it in my mouth Taste buds flipping out inside I feel amazing I take another and another Next thing I know I eat the entire box of oreos I don’t feel guilt at all Only pure joy What’s next?

15

Studio Artwork Ben Franzone

16

17

Nachos

Chick-Fil-A Free Verse

This food, this food that makes the world spin

Creator of the infamous chicken sandwich Everyone gives them an A People lining up outside for a taste of A-mazing Chicken sandwiches stand above all My stomach is ready for the adventure

Matthew Gray

This food, that puts chills on the tip of my skin It’s not something bad or something sleazy Not some mundane food like chicken linguine Laid my eyes on it, then my tongue and my teeth The cheesy chips and savory meat The spicy salsa like the flame in my heart For this food of mine that’s just a work of art They’re “nacho” average food, on your dinner plate From the beef that you cook, to the cheese that you grate For this coveted food, I just can’t wait That there are not infinite nachos, is its only bad trait So now I love nachos, more than the rest I love them so much, from the heart in my chest

18

Chase McCauley

The peanut oil dripping from the chicken onto my fingers The warmth of the pickle and bun sizzling in my mouth Chicken nuggets are breaded to perfection U.S. Potatoes become Hot tasty waffle fries filling my mouth with savory sensations Oreo pieces can appear floating to unexpected places Even in their lemony drinks The ice cream machine still working unlike the clowns at McDonald’s Ketchup packets that aren’t annoying Their special sauce brings me back every time.

19

Broken or Bent

Eyes Ahead

Broken or Bent?

A description, a word, Something to be heard.

Whether a cry for help, Or the statement “oh well.”

R. Becket

Which one have you meant?

Broken to pieces, Many in number like Reese’s.

Unrestorable, a book burnt by fire, Beyond recognition, Deplorable, a heart burnt by a liar.

This is where confusion be had, Often times confused by the sad.

Bent can be mangled, But can always be fixed, Sometimes overlooked, sometimes nixed.

But bent can be reformed, Shaped again new.

Some inspiration and a tiny bit of glue, Can create a revised point of view.

From the eye of the mind, A situation changed.

A beautiful thing, once rearranged.

More resilient at mind, More resilient at heart, Implanted deep, Buried like a dart.

R. Becket

Can peace be found in peace of mind?

Or is it found in actions kind?

Actions, small and subtle, Statements, debate and rebuttal.

How can one seek truth, Without peace at mind?

This poem is aimless, A meditation of sorts.

Poetry can be compared to sports.

While blowing off steam,

Different approaches be had.

Some seek a bubbling stream, Others seek to be bad.

All I know for sure, All have the cure,

The incorrect target discovered in pain, The path revised for renewed gain.

For heartache and sorrow, Look to tomorrow.

20

21

Flower Photography Gavin Sorce

Digital Artwork Julian Williams

Studio Artwork Gavin Wilson

22

23

Music

Burger Bliss

The soundwaves echo throughout my empty skull Turning it up, making me feel upside down.

Floating in the abyss of emotions; never dull Teleporting me from place to place, from mountains to town.

Like tusks of ivory sinking into prey, My jaw releases, and plunges into dough,

Anonymous

So simple yet so elegant, the pitch makes me forget The problems in my life, so foolish but so impactful It solves everything so quick when I put on the headset From in the city, to mountains filled with Swiss cattle Frank Sinatra, Louis Armstrong, Dean Martin The singers of the past, present and future.

Setting the stage for Jackson, a parkin Teaching them like a tutor Music changes the way we view things Rain, Injuries, Family, or snow Like wealth, bland or bling “ Music helps us grow!”

24

Cade Heppelmann

Layers upon layers of exotic tastes on a warm summer’s day, Can it be rivaled by any? No. I relish in the savor, the aroma, the sweetness, I sink further into the depths of the lettuce, ketchup, bacon, and cheese, It feels like tasting heaven, I’m in a state of completeness, The flavors start to form a harmonious symbiosis with each other and I pray it doesn’t cease, The juices are expelled from the porous meat and pickles, once infused, I always have and always will love a burger, especially consumed.

25

Fishing

Jack Perrault

Fishing. The wind blowing swiftly beside your face The boat’s engine roaring like an angry elephant Your stomach questing like you’re about to puke As the boat is rocking to a sweet melody Finally, the boat comes to a very sudden halt

You take a minute to take in the sweet salty air of the ocean As you reach over to grab the can of bait and a bucket of minnows

You feel an adrenaline rush going through your veins You feel the griminess of the bait as you put it on the hook Then you cast your pole gracefully into the glistening sea Next, you feel a sudden tug, and you are electrified You tug, you tug, you tug until you can’t anymore Finally, a big shiny fish pops up from underneath the water You are so excited so you scream as loud as you possibly can Then right before you have to put the fish back into the sea You give it the biggest, fattest smooch on the lips 26

A Puzzling Existence Josh DeStefano

I was born a puzzle And few pieces did I have They fit together easily And I never had a qualm But life moved on and so I grew And more delicate pieces did I

When away from them I strayed Every year went on faster And my puzzle kept expanding But never did I see the clock tick And the months never changed Time sang a gentle lullaby I, with it, took a nap Escorted to the grave But I was happy, I was gone And from the heavens, I finally

accrue

They bent, they chipped, I lost a

few

And some still that I never knew The puzzle kept on growing And the picture became unclear Both sides blank and scraped of

looked

At the puzzle, I’d gazed upon But on it never had I looked In that moment I realized I never saw the puzzle full The picture was so clear now No, how could this be Some parts fit together Oh so perfectly But other parts are jumbled

image

I could never find the box No reference photo did I have So I made it in my mind The picture foggy, incomplete The pieces jammed together I forced them on the table And I prayed they’d hold forever Some pieces never fit So I kept them by my side And upon the shores of life I found pieces at low tide But ocean, unforgiving It would give as well as take So sometimes pieces drifted off

messes

And I still can’t make them out I’d followed no instructions But still, I did it wrong I see no edge piece on this puzzle And I watch as it flies up above Past my face, it whizzes Into the burning sun

27

The Bear

Josh DeStefano As I wandered about one day And things were going well I got too close to a cave And into it I fell

“Why

“But it shall soon be dark,” I say, “and on the way, we’ll surely stray.”

“True though that may be,” said the bear

let uncertain futures decide your current way ?”

“Besides, the cave is so much darker, And I’ll have you home by nigh.”

“If we do not make it?”

“Then at least we will’ve tried.”

“Why should I leave the comfort Of this cave I’ve learned to know?

Responsibility and pressure Are gone as ebb and flow.

Its inhabitant quite gristly With hefty tufts of hair A great, muscular complexion It dawned on me, a bear The

bear turned and spoke Gently as he could “My friend, how did you get here?”

But I think he understood

It was courteous to ask But he observed my mighty tumble Interrupting my deliberation Was my stomach, oh did it rumble “Here, sir,” the bear offered Berries in his hand “Take these and be happy.”

What a peculiar demand “But the berries shall “But they are ripe

soon spoil ,” today .”

“I will be disappointed when they sour.”

“Why let uncertain futures decide your current way?”

“Let us commence I’ll take you home,

While light still shines We ought to roam.”

28

Why

Why eat berries if they’ll spoil?

Why find light when there is dark?

learn to love when hearts are broken ?

Why should we ever embark?

For life is a journey, so why not cut it short?

Why put in the effort to make a sound, When our voice can so easily drown?

I am broken, I am hurt, think I stumbled in this cave Or did I fling myself in When I didn’t know the way

You

I have uncertain futures, And tomorrow may not come But I live each day over again To the point that I am numb.”

The bear simply sat and listened As I broke down on the floor As the darkness overtook me

And

the berries rotted to the core

“I

wish I understood your pain ,” said , “I really truly do , But for today, maybe it’s enough To sit and comfort you.”

He

29

Heart Jewelry Box

Beach Photos

30

31

Eric Yablonski

Colin Kennedy

Orange Juice Adams Shang

Looking outside of the window, the rain was falling, and the sound of raindrops beating on the roof was very pleasant. Roads to the airport were crowded with cars, and people who were heading to their destinations were thinking in their hearts.

People coming and going; the crowded airport couldn’t conceal his sadness. He hugged his adoptive parents tightly; another expedition meant the end of a mystery. He released their hands, turned his head, and smiled knowingly... The corners of his eyes were wet with crystal-like tears.

He got on the plane, but the rain, outside of the cabin, was still falling. He looked out through the window after the plane took off, thousands of memories came to his mind…

12 years ago, in an amusement park

“Gao! Gao!” She had shouted at the crowd.

He stood there at a loss, he held a box of orange juice and raised his head, and tried to say, “Mom, Mom,” but that lively atmosphere overwhelmed his voice. Nobody could hear what he was saying, not even himself.

He tried to grab the trouser legs of other adults, but no one paid any attention to him. He wiped the tears with his hands, and cried so much that he couldn’t even speak; he was scared...

Just as he was panicking, a couple with a child came over, they squatted down to comfort him and tried their best to find his

32

mother.

Unfortunately, they didn’t find her.

This friendly couple adopted him one year later, but finding his mother was still in his mind. He desired to have a normal childhood just like others. He wanted and tried all his efforts on finding his mother and missed his own home.

Although he was too young to remember many things when he wandered away from his mother, he still remembered her love for him. She would always be by his side and hum a lullaby to coax him into sleep. She would always bring that second-handed camera to record his growth. She would always remember to put a box of orange juice in his backpack because she knew this is her son’s favorite drink...

When he thought about these, his eyes were moist again. All these years have passed, he has changed from that naive and ignorant boy to a calm and steady youth.

“Do you want orange juice, Sir? Sir?” The stewardess said politely.

“Sorry, yeah, that would be great. Thank you.” He responded back.

The plane landed, he didn’t remember what it looks like here, but he knew that there was his mother waiting in that terminal building.

He quickly ran to the arrival gate, yet he couldn’t recognize her over the crowd. But this time, in the crowd, he called out, “Mom! Mom!” A gray-haired old lady with a box of orange juice in her hand turned around and smiled knowingly...

Background Art by Ben Franzone

33

Notre Dame Aidan Regan

I sat down on our old leather couch, as my family was watching the game

I watched number 11 Notre Dame play number 18 LSU in the Citrus Bowl They played at Camping World Stadium, which is as big as a castle

Notre Dame had the ball on the 20, and ran it for 12 yards How fun would it be to play for Notre Dame in their golden helmets

Even on the TV screen, Notre Dame´s golden helmets shined as if they were made of gold

I always dreamt of going to Notre Dame, and playing for

Don’t Forget John Neary

Lots of people forget different things Some forget their car keys or where they parked Other people forget about their strings From the moment you are born, you are marked Just because you make big doesn’t mean That you can’t just forget about your past You are joined with others of the same gene Attempt to be successful and steadfast

their incredible football team

My Dad was a Notre Dame fan because his college did not have a football team but

Mom, Dylan, and Caroline liked Tennessee Vols’ football because my mom went there

My whole body was stiff as a board as the clock ticked down Notre Dame scored again to ensure their victory and I began to relax a little

Notre Dame ended up scoring 15 points in the 4th quarter and LSU scored 10 Notre Dame ended up beating LSU 21-17

But don’t discard past like other’s future You should always have connection to home Thread holding to the past, like a suture You should always look back, back to your home The past is forever, so embrace it The past is unchangeable, embrace it

Background Photo by Matt Hess

34

35

The King of All

The Right Direction

Upon a bed, a white skull lays for me,

As the breeze flows across your smooth skin, You can feel pellets of sweat drip like rain The ground as hard as a volcano’s inn And the soul acting like a rapid train.

Ojas Sharma

And gapes opaque goo; out a withered rose From clicking clocks before the Eden’s Tree Extends along depressed confessions’ woes.

On my floor, tearing thorns hook my skin dry.

Of red blood like huge, strangling hands of dread.

Is fruitless beg in mercy, to live by.

Awaits no orders, that skull who is head.

But I do dare transgress against the king, For I still care and stare the eyes of void.

Or I forget the tales and Hobbit’s ring, Yet I acknowledge I do not avoid.

The cage of thorns hurt more escaping death Than taking my forever, final breath.

36

Nick Wehmeyer

In the park, as I run by a calm few

The weather today shall be at a high Place made for all; even me, even you, Fatigue rises as my mouth becomes dry.

But rain towers down as it ruins all, My legs shake as if a towering tree Running back in the park, feeling a squall Arrived feeling like a piece of debris.

Through all of the motivation it’s true Runs in their purest form do welcome you.

37

Short Story Patrick Buysse

“Crack,” I heard as I jerked awake with fear. I glanced over to the clock that read 3:17 am. I assumed it was thunder and tried to go back to sleep. As I drifted off to sleep I heard “Bang, Bang, Bang,” coming from the front door. I began to stray away from the idea that it was the thunder that awoke me. I trembled with fear as I gathered the courage to get out of bed and inch towards the window. I pulled back the shade and saw a figure. I quickly ran back to bed and pulled the covers over my head. I ran every scenario through my head. I’ve always been more paranoid than the average kid, so I tried to dismiss the thought from my mind. As I began to forget I heard a loud snap, and soon after a long creak. I began to think my thoughts were becoming a reality. I ran to the door and cracked it open. I heard “bum, bum, bum, bum”; it must’ve been the figure I saw walking downstairs. I heard rustling in the kitchen and prayed he was only a robber. I continued to listen as he walked down the basement stairs. I thought his being in the basement would buy me some time, so I decided to call the police. As I reached for my phone, the power went out. The only light I had was a little night light that went with the power. It was pitch black with no 38

moon in the night sky.

I wondered what happened to the lights, but I remembered where the power box was: the basement. I began to grow worrisome with no idea what to do. “Bum, bum, bum, bum,” I heard again. He must’ve been on the ground floor. I heard drawers fly open. He could’ve taken whatever he wanted as long as he left, but I heard “bum, bum, bum, bum” again as he walked up the stairs. I fled under the bed, settling as the door crept open. I looked up and saw the silhouette of a giant and what must’ve been a knife. He shut my door and sat in silence. I waited for what felt like hours until it was silent. I was eager to know the time, but the power was still out. I opened my door and tiptoed down the hall into my parents’ room. I went to hug my mom, but no one was in the bed. I screamed for my parents and no one responded. I ran to my brother’s room and saw his figure, restoring hope. He was hunched over, sitting on the side of his bed with the door open.

I crept towards him, but something felt off. He seemed larger than normal, but I was too scared to put the pieces together. I looked over his shoulder and he was looking at a pocket watch; it read 3:24. The man who I thought was my brother slowly turned around, and I realized it wasn’t him. I couldn’t tell who it was, but all I could recognize was the silhouette of the knife.

Background Photos by Ben Franzone

39

Short Story Davio Badalamenti

No windows, one door, a chair, and a table. The train ride to my work is awfully bleak. As a worker for Superior Tech, I’m not allowed to know the location of the lab. I am picked up by a train that only has one stop.

I’m fidgeting in my seat the entire time. I get to be the first to try out a new piece of equipment that is going to change the world! I get to work and am greeted

the headsets, she told me that she is going to be with me throughout the whole experience and will be communicating throughout the evaluation.

She also told me

I waited for what seemed like hours, but was most likely only twenty-five minutes. Suddenly, the door slowly opens and a woman walks in. I can feel my body stiffen as she approaches the seat across from me.

The woman places a medium-sized, all-black suitcase on the table and asks me to state my company ID number.

Then, she opens the suitcase which reveals some sort of glasses and a headset. She hands them to me telling me to put them on. I can hear her talking through

I ever want to leave the experience to simply say “pineapple” and she would end it.

Before she begins the experience I ask what I would see once I’m in there. A smile spreads from ear to ear on her face, and she says that it’s a simulation where you experience your greatest fears. They feel real but they can’t hurt you. I go to ask a follow-up question and before I know it I’m not in the room anymore. I have no headset on and no glasses. I am in the same chair looking up to what seems to be the sky. I look down at my feet and feel my heart drop. I may be in the same chair that I was in when I was in the room, but the room is not there. Instead, I’m at the top of the Empire state building, teetering off the side, at any moment I could be like a bug on a windshield, but instead, it’s me on the sidewalk looking like a piece of modern graffiti. I scream at the top of my lungs, hoping someone will hear me, and then I remember the safe word. I yell pineapple over and over again, I feel like I sound like a broken record. All the sudden I am back in the white abyss. The woman is sitting across from me, and I am fine.

40

41

by a short lady with red hair who looks no older than thirty-five.

She tells me to follow her, which eventually leads to a room. The room is a white abyss; there are only a table and two chairs sitting across from one another.

She tells me to wait until the operator comes

in, then promptly opens the door and slowly shuts it behind her.

that if

The Bridge

Abuser to the Abused

Josh DeStefano

As I tangoed on death’s doorstep that night I heard the water splashing down below And looking back, oh how I lacked foresight I still can feel that musty, cold wind blow On a guard rail, I was unprotected From the villain I never could evade Enticing me to jump; be collected By death’s gentle hands, in the water wade And so I rose, now body limp and frail With rushing winds now faster than before Breaking the water’s tension and I sail Down the stream, have I truly won the war?

Dean DiFabio

I So

heard the door slam shut with such a bang

The

suffocating heat, it strangled me

cankerous their screams, like bells they rang!

These

ludicrous sinners are paying their fee

For their actions are not without consequences They costed them the chance to be set free For they must pay their boundless expenses Abusers of animals, they’re now the abused If only they had come to their senses The torturous tears of the offenders oozed Down the walls into a stream– the Dead Sea Saint Francis, of their actions, he disapproved!

He

leads me through, a

Heaven

invitee

His love of God’s creations is unmatched All from the grizzly to the queen bee The

grisly wrongdoers in cages they scratched

To zero avail, they begged for mercy The whip of a demon, it’s pain unmatched

My only nemesis defeated me But so too have I achieved victory

Forever will they feel the pudency Descending now, I exit the oven door Their hearts though endlessly icy

Background Photo by Ben Franzone

Falling now down to a deeper floor I wonder how the evil can be more

42

43

The Last Shot Joe Walheim

“Mom, do I really have to play in this basketball game?”

She looked at me and laughed. This was the only way I could get some exposure for college coaches. Even though I did not enjoy playing basketball, I had to perform well for my city and represent the east side. My father was a professional, so I grew up around the game, and he was always trying to groom me into being one of the all time greats. in high school, standard.

Even though I was only a sophomore

I was always held to a higher

We arrived at the gym. The place was packed.

The line to get in extended all the way to the street. Scouts were everywhere and for one reason– me. Although unmotivated, I was the best player on the team and led the district in scoring.

The pressure has always been on my shoulders, so it just felt like another game to me. My school was in the district championship against our biggest rivals.

It was East versus West. This was much more than a basketball game. It seemed since the dawn of time, the Eastside and the Westside have battled 44

back and forth for who runs the county.

Filled with

crime, murder, and betrayal, this “war” has split the county.

Every time East vs West came up on the schedule, something bad was bound to happen. Last year, when we played West at their homecourt, a

fist fight broke out in the stands between parents.

Tensions were always high when people from the Eastside and people from the Westside were in the same building as each other.

The game began and it was back and forth from the start. We could not break away from the other team, and if it felt like we were beginning to, they would crawl right back in. I was having the game of my life. Three pointers, slam dunks, shifty crossovers… the whole nine. West was winning 7271 with ten seconds left in the game. I had the ball and drove to the lane and got fouled. This was it, I could win us the game. I got to the line, did my two dribbles, and released the ball. The first one shot went in. 72-72. I started my routine again for the second shot. The gymnasium was dead silent until all of a sudden, “Pop! Pop! Pop!” People could hear those bullets being shot off from miles away. I layed there on the ground fighting for a breath, and the last thing I saw was the scoreboard adding a point.

73-72 East wins. Game over.

Background Art by Ben Franzone

45

Hell Enters Duffy

Levels of hell give them many chances

Ben Franzone

Cool colors begin that transfer to warm Satan’s down below choosing your status

Music is playing while the students work The cast is ready as they wait backstage Students admiring classmates’ artwork

Secretly stepping to see a life form Bodies hanging on the wall, as paintings Entering a room to find a dust storm

A student comes up and they smear my page They give me a smirk as they walk away My whole body instantly fills with rage

I stumble along some people waiting There bones are brittle, their flesh shriveled up The smell of paint has me nauseating

With my guide, da Vinci leading the way Below Duffy stage we were shocked to find People chained up in a great long hallway

A secret dark lair, that is all locked up More bodies, floating in a stream of paint Corpses on the ground start to pile up

Hidden art gallery below stage blind

The ending is near, but it is quite faint

People in shackles with paint everywhere I’ve came to conclude a muse was behind

This endless journey with goth and with gore Must end at once, for I am not a saint

The aroma of paint wet fills the air People are used as a human canvas To get out alive, they will need a prayer

The performers on stage begin their show And no one will know my journey below Background Photo by Noah Buscaglia

46

47

Decades Francis Rogai

Gâlvin ran throughout the dilapidated manor, the moldering journal clutched tight to his chest. Behind him, the abomination shrieked as it shambled ever closer. Pulling the door shut behind himself, the aged Frenchman wondered where the ritual had gone wrong. It had all seemed so simple just a few days earlier, the plan’s steeped deception orchestrated to perfection. It was this time that Gâlvin thought back to as he dragged furniture over the doorway, arranging his scant protection into place.

Gâlvin Martrom was, by trade, a farmer in the outskirts of the province of Elyse. Crop-growing was a struggle that far from the river, so he was a poor man. Dirty rags adorned his body for most of the day, and his sleek, mustachioed face was burdened by the hollows of hunger. Occasionally the man went trapping, but the few rabbits brought in were not enough to sustain

him. It was during one such endeavor that he encountered his neighbor- and best friend in the world-

Darien Tomas.

“Greetings,” said Darien one day as Gâlvin set his traps. “I have a means of making easy money upon which I would like to include you.” Gâlvin, mildly intrigued by the proposition, questioned as to the nature of the venture. “Ah,” responded Darien to the inquiry, “here it is in my pocket.” And with that, he produced a small, yellowed edition of the county paper. In the center of the page was an advertisement that proclaimed the following:

“Occultist For Hire! If you or a loved one are beset by the forces of darkness, call upon me by means of a letter to 18 Rue Lestat. I will combat them most arduously.”

48

Gâlvin stared his friend in the face, barely able to believe what he had read. “You’re taking advantage of people, Darien. Sooner or later, the truth will out and it will be you that the next fraud is after.” Smiling slyly, Darien walked away. “I received a response to it yesterday,” he called over his shoulder. “From the widow Mouen, who lives out in the countryside. 10,000 francs in advance, and 1,500 more once the job is done. Let me know by tomorrow.”

And so, it was with much reluctance that Gâlvin found himself on the road to the widow’s villa, sitting in Darien’s carriage the whole way there. Listening to the clinking and thudding of the objects in the back, he brought forth a question to his friend. “Darien, where did you buy these objects? Surely all of them can’t be needed for this job.” Amused, Darien gave a wry chuckle. “I made all of these myself. Those glass bottles there? Water and ink. That cauldron is my old cookpot to which I applied tar. Most of these things I found on my land; all except for that book there. I bought that from an old peddler just the other day.” Gâlvin looked at the book; it was about the size of a journal, with a battered and torn leather cover. A strange creature adorned the front, and each page was stained in a mysterious red liquid. “That,” he said dissemblingly, “will really sell the part. Good acquisition by you.” Darien opened his mouth and was about to thank Gâlvin, but then he saw it. “We’re here,” he said to his friend. “Prosperity is ours.”

As soon as the carriage pulled up to the step, the widow Mouen showed the two into her foyer. Two battered sofas sat around a cobwebbed end-table, and it was here that she received them. “I apologize for the mess”, proclaimed the widow as she pulled off her veil, “but I haven’t been here since my husband’s passing.” Darien cleared his throat, pulling

49

her letter from his pocket. problem,” he asked.

hair from her forehead.

“What seems to be the

The widow brushed a lock of brown

“A dark shape has been observed by the neighbors in the area around our family’s crypt. I’ve consulted augurs of many kinds, and they have foretold that it comes for his body. Protect him for me.” Gâlvin rose from his seat and pointed to the crypt through the window. “Where exactly has this shape been observed,” he asked. “The door on the north side,” replied Mouen. “Patches of dead grass mark its footsteps.

It comes at night, when the sun dips in the east.” Darien came to the widow, clearing his throat for the proclamation. “Fix us with rooming for the night and we can oblige, dear widow.” With that, Mouen nodded and disappeared to the upstairs. Gâlvin rose too, albeit with a disapproving glance at his friend.

The evening meal and nighttime came quickly after that, and all three moved for the outside. “I’ve left you two lanterns,” said the widow as she left the house. “The key to the mausoleum is by the door. I hope for my sake that you succeed.”

As the widow moved out of earshot, Darien retrieved his things from the cart. “I’ve got the book,” he said. “Grab a few of those bottles; sprinkle them by the door. Make it look good. As for me, I’ll read something out of this book.” Gâlvin moved to comply, looking back at his friend for support. Darien, however, was engrossed in the book. At the top of his lungs, he began reading from the book. The passage was in the archaic tongue, so Gâlvin understood little of what was said. He did, however, catch a few mispronunciations and thought he heard a phrase about a “dark creature.” Eventually, however, the sham job came to an end, and Gâlvin was glad that the job was finished.

50

And so it was that Darien moved toward the cart, resolving to retrieve their payment in the morning. But, as he moved the reins, he heard a rustling from on high. “What was that,” he asked Gâlvin. “I don’t know”, replied his friend.

“Probably a bat or some other crepuscular creature of night.

Hurry now.” But Darien didn’t hurry. Instead he sat mesmerized as the creature gained form and bulk, and then quickly moved into the light. And once it did, Darien wished that he had left the villa.

The monster had all of the proportions of a man, and all the essential features of a bat. Wings resembling some kind of leathery canopy jutted from its back, while it searched Darien’s soul with eyes little more than black beads. Pointed ears twitched atop its head as it searched for any sound from the pair.

Slowly, noiselessly, Darien turned to his longtime compatriot, the cart’s seat creaking ever soslightly as he did so. “Run,” he whispered, and suddenly the creature was upon him. Gálvin readily complied, sprinting as fast as possible to the dilapidated villa’s door. He looked back at his longtime friend just in time to see the creature’s long, brown fangs revealed in the moonlight.

The sound of splintering wood awoke Gâlvin from his reverie. Turning around, he witnessed the creature’s fur-laden arm break through the wooden door, clawing about in a vain attempt to find purchase. The Frenchman shrunk into a corner as the beast’s torso broke through the door. As the foul thing hissed at him, a cry for help arose in his throat. Regretful was his disposition as the beast broke through the door and completely enveloped the small enclosure.

And yet, a small part

Gâlvin wondered if it wouldn’t turn out alright in the end. of

51

The Bounty

started to pour a shot, and asked, rocks for this?”

Tim McClatchy

As the hot sun started to sink below the horizon, there was what looked to be a lone tramp riding from the West. The town of Ironsnag didn’t get too many visitors, and the ones it did weren’t there to sightsee. Those who live in Ironsnag are hard working folks who work on the rail lines that pass through or keep the town maintained.

The lone

saloon in the town was where all go after a long day working on the lines.

The place was as lively as

an enraged bull by the time the lone traveler got there.

The town was what looked to be a peaceful one, if a little run down - some of the boards on the floors of buildings torn or missing, some signs fading and hanging by a single chain. Not many paid attention to the disheveled stranger. It looked as if the man had not been in a town in weeks; his clothes torn. None could tell the color of his skin because of the dirt and sand caked onto his body.

The stranger walked right up to the bar to get a drink.

“Give me a barbed wire and some feed for Crowbait out there,” the deep and grisled voice escaped from the stranger’s mouth.

Bardog walked over to the whiskey on the bar, 52

“You got the

The man pulled out an old leather sack and threw out a coin for the bardog.

“Now, why did ya come to our little town? Not much for travelers here,” The bardog asked.

The stranger answered, “There’s a high bounty on a man named La Jinete Pálida; heard he was ‘round these parts.”

The bardog’s face sunk into a melancholy one: “He’s been ‘round here, but I wouldn’t go after ‘im,” said the bardog, “‘e’s been robbin’ the train ‘round ‘ere for about a few weeks.” The stranger tossed over another coin to the bardog, “Don’t know how long he will be ‘round here, moves after a few hits to try and lose a tail.”

The stranger finished the whiskey and told the bardog, “Thanks Pardner.”

The bardog responded, “Hey pardner, what’s your name? Wanna name to put on a tombstone for ya.”

The stranger chuckled to himself and told the bardog, “I forgot mine a long time ago.”

The stranger was walking out of the bar where b’hoy was starting a fight with a back-leg shouting, “Hey, you’ve been cheatin’ you yellow belly drunk!”

The back-leg didn’t take this talk kindly and started to reach for his barking-iron. The 53

bardog hollered crossed the empty bar now,

“Hey, if youse men gonna do this, do it out back, I don’t wanna clean the mess.”

The stranger continued to walk out towards his horse, not looking back to see the results but hearing only one bullet fired. The stranger went over to gig the Crowfeed. The stranger, while riding, decided to look once again at the bounty post to see what the criminal had done.

Wanted! Dead or Alive, La Jinete Pálida, for Murder, Robbery, Assualt, Horse theft, Kidnapping, and Ransoming a hostage. Reward for his capture $500 Dead, $700 Alive, so the people he has wronged can watch him swing. By order of Nevada Governor Henry G. Blasdel. In the middle of the poster was a portrait of what La Jinete Pálida most likely looked like. He looked to be about in his late 20’s, about six foot, with no discerning features, except for that he has two colt 45’s that were silver.

As he finished reading the poster, a sandstorm started to form in front of him. All the varmints around him started to find cover. The stranger made sure the horse’s fly mask was on, and once it was, he covered his face with an old bandana, covered with blood, sweat, sand, and dirt. The sandstorm 54

whipped the small debris across his face, blinding him from seeing far away.

When the storm passed,

the stranger was nearing a plateau surrounded by a plain.

The grass was a brownish green color that looked to be around knee-high, and the plateau was made out of rigid limestone, exposed due to the storms that pass through. The stranger could see with the light of the moon that there

was something off about the base of the plateau, and when he went to investigate, he found there was a crevice big enough for him to set camp.

The

stranger pulled out a stake and hammer, tying his

horse to the stake in the ground to prevent escape.

He set up a small fire from some dead grass and branches he found as well as kept on his horse.

When the fire started to burn, it filled the crevice with the smell and smoke of a burning juniper tree.

While the fire started to rage, the stranger went into the plain to set traps to catch some critters for breakfast the next morning.

The winds blew

across the tall grass, covering up the sounds of his steps.

After that was set, he went back to get

ready for a night of sleep because he had a feeling that tomorrow would be a busy day.

As he awoke to the rise of the sun, he 55

Memories: A Dedication to the Class of 2021 Ben Franzone on Behalf of the Impressions Team

went to sweep his camp and get back on the road.

He had been following the fugitive for many months and was determined to locate him. He continued to follow the plateaus until he came across some train tracks.

When he looked up the train tracks,

he could see a train in the distance that was stopped.

He knew who was there. He galloped over to the resting stop of the train to find La Jinete Pálida, holding the conductor and many passengers at gunpoint and demanding cash, shooting those he was done with. While still in a gallop, the stranger pulled out his rifle to shoot Pálida’s hand and make him drop a pistol; a bang was heard, but no drop, the shot barely missing.

The stranger yelled, “Pálida, your days as a highwayman are done! Drop the irons or the next goes right thru ya!”

La Jinete Pálida laughed, “Some gringo thinks he can out gun me? I’ve killed more men than you have years seen, old man.”

The stranger replied, “Then they must of been lousy shots - I can assure you, I ain’t.” In the span of a moment, both men took aim; however, only one shot and a thud was heard.

While your time at Malvern has come to an end The memories made will forever transcend The first day of school so shy and so new A distant impression however so true Years of hard work, of blood, sweat and tears, Has culminated to this, your final year From Flynn to Roper and Ostick of course So many legends have graced you with force Athletic success was second to none And concerts and shows never ceased to stun One chapter closes a new one begins Each of these students to try and to live Boys turned to men in the blink of an eye

The time that has passed will always stand by United together in truth and love Will spread their wings from the palm of a glove Friar brothers for years as they go To cross paths again one day they may know The work you have done will forever last The dreams that you hold will keep you steadfast May your future fill with joy and success We will miss you dear but wish you the best Congratulations on your graduation and may your hearts rest in the Lord always!

Go Friars!

56

57

Impressions Leadership Team

Ben Franzone, Ian Lebano, N

oah

Buscaglia

Our Sincerest Thanks...

Thank you to all the seniors who have been part of Impressions! We appreciate the years of devotion and hard work that all of you have given. Best of luck in your journeys ahead and may your futures be filled with happiness and joy!

Thank you to Mrs. Giordani and Ms. Cantor for their tireless dedication and leadership; we couldn’t have done it without you!

To all of those in the Malvern community who helped create this magazine and to those who have shared their talents with us – we are grateful!

God Bless!

58

Impressions 2021