Perspectives - 2023 MHS Literary Magazine

perspectives Vol. 10

2023

MASSAPONAX HIGH SCHOOL LITERARY ARTS MAGAZINE

Eager to be free of struggles and sadness, we are often quick to curse the darkness that disrupts our light.

But it is only because of the night that we learn to love the day, and only through times of sorrow can we understand the significance of happiness and hope.

As we come to appreciate the goodness of the world, we also learn to make our own.

To seek warmth in the bleak.

To find kindness in the cruelest crowds.

To maintain light in the darkest days.

These are our perspectives.

PERSPECTIVES 2023 Massaponax High School 8201 Patriot Highway Fredericksburg, Virginia, 22407

TABLE OF CONTENTS

PROSE

The Light That Hides Us - Eleni Bridges . . . . . . . 2 I Am Not Crazy - Christopher Cole . . . . . . . . . . . 3 Innocence - Jonathon Mattson . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 7 Anxiety - Cheyenne Flagg . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 12 Girl in the Glass - Aislyn Clark . . . . . . . . . . . . . 16 Lust - Brandon Pearson . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 21 Prey - Frederick Bautista . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 21 Old Commute Again - Ailish Connell . . . . . . . . . 31 Bob - Alonzo Bowler . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 40 Acceptance - Thiana Alexandra . . . . . . . . . . . . 44

ARTWORK Hannah Novick . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . Covers Jennifer Martinez . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 2, 42 Daniel Hughes . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 3 Veronica Rosa . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 5 Leah Simpson . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 6 Raymond Roane . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 7 Olivia Kukahiko . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 9, 10, 30 Sophie Fossum . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 13, 15 Angela Nguyen . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 17 Amira Aziz . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 19, 45 Kyla Thompson . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 20 Liberty Young . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 23 Emily Siess . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 24 Ava Wonpat . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 25 Allen Vega . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 26, 46 Ana Acosta . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 29 Faye Chiang . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 33 Shannon Sanchez . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 37 Kyla Hall . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 38 Olivia Warren . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 39 Aaron Scheible . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 41

POETRY

Janes and Johns Left Behind - Alani Jordan . . . . 4 Echoes - Alani Jordan . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 4 Link by Link - Jamie Sherman . . . . . . . . . . . . 6 The Lies of My Color - Knoelle Pipes . . . . . . . . 8 Looking - Malik Hayes . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 11 I'll Rebuild You a Perfect Image - Maria Terra . . 11 Sick - Shannon Sanchez . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 14 Lo(ve)(neliness) - Kairi Chandler . . . . . . . . . . . . 18 Beautiful Heart - Madison Cinco . . . . . . . . . . . . 18 Spider Lilies Mean Death - Shania Fink . . . . . . . 22 Moon Song - Eleni Bridges . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 24 Overcast - Lily Kobuchi . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 25 Atlas - Maria Terra . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 27 Peaceful Afternoon - Grant Khamkheuang . . . . 28 What it Had - Shannon Sanchez . . . . . . . . . . . . . 29 Remember When - Rebekah Fraser . . . . . . . . . . 32 Beginning of Fall - Angelena Le . . . . . . . . . . 34 Autumn - Meliana Banko . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 34 Warmth - Desiraye Bowling . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 35 Winter's End - Ny'Ema Brown . . . . . . . . . . 36 January - Ava Cinco . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 36 Rain - Jada Monroe . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 38 Spring - Kali Bateman . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 39 Dancing in the Clouds - Melanie Wilhoite . . . . . 42 White Doves Whisper - Shay Samuel . . . . . . . . 43

PHOTOGRAPHY

Ty Robbins . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 34

STAFF

Editors-in-Chief: Eleni Bridges and Ailish Connell Adviser: Megan Marshall

1

The Light That Hides Us Eleni Bridges

What’s revealed by the light gives you a sense of comfort before it’s taken away; but what lurks in the shadows is what you should really be afraid of. Bedroom closets that creak open, the man-like shadow in the corner and unknown monsters writhing under the bed. These irrational fears all have one universal thing in common: your sense of fear extinguishes when light touches them.

You think light reveals all there is to know about something.

The ominous shadow disappears once your phone’s flashlight caresses it. The man standing in the corner of your bedroom by the door becomes just a coat when you shakily say, “Hey Alexa, turn on the light.” A pair of eyes under the bed becomes a refraction of moonlight that slipped through your curtain on the water bottle you discarded there a week ago. Darkness is such a tease.

Light is like a filter. It has the incredible ability to block your eyes from reality. You may think this to be the contrary; however, you know you heard your closet creak. What else would have caused such ruckus? The stuffed animals you locked away in there years ago? Or how about the overflowing amount of shoes you’ve got stocked up in there, hm?

Light tells you what you want to believe to keep you at bay, to keep your sense of safety within your bedroom. Why is it that you think you’re safe in your bed? Leg off the side or not, that “water bottle” can still reach you. It can still see you when you smother your head under your blush pink duvet.

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Art: Jennifer Martinez

You grab your phone from your nightstand and yank it off its charger to turn on your flashlight. You slowly droop your head upside down toward your floor as you lift your comforter to reveal that those menacing eyes were just the same old singleuse plastic bottle. As you discard it for safe measure, you notice that same shadow in the corner of your room.

It’s the dull, opaque man standing by your door, awaiting your approach. He is darkness himself. He swallows your fears and puts your wits on edge. But you know he’s not really there, right? You know it’s some sort of coincidental illusion?

It’s up to you to decide your reality. Have you gone mad, or are you just accepting the truth of what loiters inside your bedroom? Only, it is just your bedroom? Or are we also in the kitchen? When you hesitantly turn off the light switch and sprint to your room, looking behind you to see if you are truly alone, or if someone is pursuing you? You always find your answer in the former, but you never let your guard down. What does this prove?

Grab your night light. Yes, the same butterfly night light that was in your childhood bedroom so long ago. The one you never wanted to get rid of because your mother bought it for you in your youth. Plug it in, keep it on.

Or, if you decide to chuck it after all this time, we’ll be waiting for you. In the corner, behind the closet door, under the bed.

We’re always here, whether your light hides us or not.

I Am Not Crazy

Christopher Cole

Allow me to preface this: I am not well.

I HATE my new house. I hate that the stairs creak, I hate that the fences are broken, I hate that the walls are thin, but most of all I hate our neighbors. They are so loud that there have even been times I have contemplated calling the police. Every day I return from work I hear blood-curdling screams. There have been times when I look in the windows and I see a quick shadow, but it disappears before I can make out what it is.

When I return from work they sometimes quiet down, but usually they don’t; and EVERY SINGLE NIGHT from exactly 3-4 a.m. the screams are louder. Sometimes

Art: Daniel Hughes

it sounds like they are right outside my door, or my window, and my room is on the SECOND FLOOR. Most of the time it feels like I am the only one who can even hear them. I ask my mom, but she calls me crazy; my siblings, what's even the point? But my dad - he is the only other person who claims he can hear the screams. I can't say if I believe him or not, though because he has been senile for a long time now.

I feel like I am going crazy, but I know I am not. It is just that no one believes me. I KNOW that I am not crazy, so I decided that I was going in that house and there was nothing anyone could do to stop me.

It was around 11:00 p.m. when I made this horrible choice. I didn't realize how much I would come to regret it.

When I snuck in, it felt as if it were 15 degrees cooler than outside. I looked around but saw no one, which was odd seeing as I had just heard the screaming before I had entered. I looked everywhere but not a single soul: no humans, no rats, not even a roach.

As I wandered around the house, I suddenly felt someone or something watching me. I whipped my head around so fast it almost gave me a headache; but again, NOTHING. I SWEAR I was losing my mind. But I needed to keep my cool.

I went upstairs and found a bed and I layed down, but as soon as my head hit the pillow and I looked up...THERE WAS SOMETHING LOOKING BACK DOWN AT ME. I didn't know what to do. I froze up. My fight or flight didn't work. I was scared, confused but also somewhat relieved because I finally knew I wasn't crazy. I knew my mom was wrong, siblings and EVeRyON3 EVERYBODY THEY W3R3 WR0NG NOT ME I WAS NOT CRAZY. I'M NOT I'M NOT I'M NOT I'M NOT. Then I woke up. I was in the house still but on the couch now. I was relieved, but I still had a feeling that what I had just experienced was no normal dream. I believe whatever I had seen in my dream was what had caused that.

I AM NOT cRaZy.

3

Janes and Johns Left Behind Alani Jordan

The only thing worse than dying and fading tomorrow Is dying and fading today at the hands of another Left behind by the man who took my breath In that moment, I am burdened to metamorphose I emerge from my body’s cocoon a Jane Doe without a ballad Longing to revert to my physical form and live a life stolen A lonesome corpse abandoned in the secluded forest The lucky ones are taken home by Mother Nature The most ill-omened souls are left at her doorstep without a note Pleading to he who reaps for their time to be delayed Behind his dark hood rests a stoic face, his apathy apparent by his unmoved stance Their fates have been sealed by an audacious man playing executioner The only thing worse than falling victim to death’s ghastly hand Is having your breath stolen by a copycat reaper before your time Poached in an instant without a chance to say goodbye To the souls left to mourn the one that didn’t come home

Echoes Alani Jordan

They all echo feelings you never confirmed Encourage me, push me in, drown me They hold me against the mirror, but I do not see what they say I want to believe, I want it to be true, I want you They sing your song, but it’s off key They speak of your feelings for me I cannot trust their optimism, for I feel they are just hopes But each night I let their expectation consume me For a moment each day, I let myself believe their echoes

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Art:Veronica Rosa

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Link by Link Jamie Sherman

Stop me in my tracks and keep me here forever Hold me close tonight, help make me feel better Anything goes, no holds barred in this fight Come on, challenge me, we both know who’ll win tonight King’s gone, checkmate, turns out you won my heart Love’s a game and as you know, we both play a vital part Every second of every hour, I long for your embrace Shackles keep me bound to you, forever and always

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Art: Leah Simpson

Innocence Jonathon Mattson

I don't exist.

You're going to say, "What? Of course you do!" But I don't.

I am rarely summoned, and when I am it's never for long and it's never completely - and never by my purpose. Fear comes when one is supposed to be afraid. When I am called, it's always a lie or a half truth.

"Your honor, I didn't do it," they whine.

I roll my eyes and think to myself, "Only because you were busy doing something else horrible."

Even those who are supposed to be shining beacons of me are really rotten to the core. Children are the worst: they lie, steal and hurt and it's because they don't know any better. I am taught to everyone from their youngest age and they still never fully grasp the concept. They still lie, cheat and hurt; they just justify it better to themselves.

"I will pay them back for it."

"I deserve it."

"They had it coming."

"They owe me one."

"It's not my fault they didn't read the fine print."

"I didn't mean to hurt you."

Art: Raymond Roane

7

The Lies of My Color Knoelle Pipes

My color is my enemy In a world that diminishes those who strive for change My color is my enemy In a society that wishes to step out of the norms My color is my enemy Born into a place that is diverse and unique My color is my enemy No matter what people say, they see a color They don’t see my face My family told me black is beauty But to the world it’s disgust I’m just a stereotype “You’re supposed to talk funny” I’m just a stereotype “You’re supposed to be from the hood” I’m just a stereotype “You don’t have a dad” I’m just a stereotype “You’re supposed to like chicken and watermelon” I’m just a stereotype Some people don’t expand with colors Some people hold an ideal of a person versus their life Yet people treated me differently because of my skintone I’m light skin Not black A lightskin girl

Because of the shades of my life They used me as the token black friend My friends made fun of my curly, cute hair The shades of my life Boys talked about my curvy sides and hips The shades of my life Every time I acted out, I was acting like an angry black girl The shades of my dark and colored life Even with people who have the same struggles as me People who have shades like me Who have a beauty as well “You’re a whitewashed girl!”

They make me less than them All because my shade is different That’s my breaking point In society, some see me as a stereotype, Some see the real me I am in a shade of my own A class where I excel and grow It’s called being me I am a proud black girl living in this world Stereotypes are the lies of my color For I am a living truth Where in truth, black is a beauty to behold to the world Every shade is a beauty to behold There are lies of my color My truth lies in my color

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Art: Olivia Kukahiko

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Art: Olivia Kukahiko

10

Looking Malik Hayes

Looking for the one thing for me It lost me a long time ago Seeing where it could even be The name, I wish I would have known The tunes in my ear won't leave Too sad, my memory is low Name, what was it, I do believe?

The lyrics always are with me The tip of my tongue, my pet peeve It always fills my heart with glee For the thing I need in my heart I can listen when I drink tea It is truly a piece of art Looking for it, can’t be apart

I'll Rebuild You a Perfect Image Maria Terra

Glossy and feverless Your heart catches on a splinter Shifting and effortless You do not let it hinder Your progress, it will take An eternity to rebuild To rebuild you to your finest point Is a promise I won't break And in saddened state, distilled I'll achieve your promise, cracking at the joints With hammer, and nail With lightning and metal I'll make it look effortless as I will never fail I'll reshape every inch until you settle I'll reclaim all the loyalty I'll reclaim it, tooth and bone I'll reclaim it for my goals You will be reborn, soon you will see The sinking water cannot ever make me be alone As I cover your growing holes

The sea, I'll fight it With the last of my breath Your image, a perfect reminder as I sit By the ocean bed It will choke out your body As I stand and wait To rebuild you in every way I'll find again your body I'll stand there and challenge fate With hammer, nail, and metal, I'll crumble at the sight of your body’s decay

11

Anxiety

Cheyenne Flagg A person I love to visit is Delilah Watson; or as some people call her, Lilah. I come and see Lilah all the time and I think we are pretty close. I mean, I know all of her deepest fears and protect her from them by letting her think about the worst case scenarios so she won't mess up. I protect her. I keep her safe.

But one day I heard her talking to a therapist.

This therapist was trying to get rid of me. Can you believe this? I have done nothing but protect her. I’m her guardian angel and she wants me to leave her? I mean, we've had so many good times together.

The first time I visited Delilah was when she was in third grade doing her first ever multiplication test. She was so scared of failing, so I made sure she wouldn’t by making her overthink every little detail. I made sure her heart was racing, so much so that she thought it would beat out of her chest. I made sure her hands were so sweaty she could barely keep her pencil from slipping out of her hands. I made sure all she could think about was failing. I sent her down a rabbit hole until she got to the point where she thought she would never get a job if she failed this test.

A few days after the test she got an eighty-four percent, and I would be lying if I said I wasn’t a little bummed I didn’t get a thank you.

Another time I came to see Lilah was on her first day of middle school. She was going to a school where she didn’t know anyone. She was so scared she would do something to make people laugh at her. So I made sure no one would even get to know her enough to make fun of her.

I made sure she was too scared to even have a conversation with someone.

To make sure Lilah wouldn’t talk to anyone, of course I had to make her heart race and her palms sweaty again, but I also wanted to try something else to make sure she wouldn’t start a conversation. I made her feel like an earthquake was happening inside of her. I made her hands

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shake so much she almost forgot how scared she was to talk to people. I even made sure she was too scared to talk to her teachers in case they would make fun of her, too.

The day ended successfully and Delilah didn’t have a conversation with a single person. When she got home she seemed almost sad, but I’m sure it was just that she was exhausted after that long day.

Another time I visited my good friend was when she had to present in front of her whole English class. English was always her best subject; she loved to read and write. What she didn’t love was public speaking. In fact, public speaking terrified her. So I did what any good friend would do and I saved her from it. While other people were presenting, I started by putting thoughts of her messing up or forgetting what to say in her head. Then, of course, I made her hands and breath shaky. I made her heart race faster than she thought possible. She got so nervous tears started to well up in her eyes.

This is when I should have stopped, but I had to make sure she wouldn’t present. I was just helping out. I took it too far and she couldn’t catch her breath. She started to get light headed and she couldn’t bend her fingers. Delilah’s English teacher Mr.Wilson finally noticed and walked her out into the hallway. At this point I couldn’t undo what I had already done. She went to the nurse and calmed down enough to go back to class.

That is how Delilah ended up in therapy trying to get rid of me. I didn’t mean for it to go that far. I only messed up that one time. I wish she would give me a second chance. I thought we were closer than that. We went through so much together. I thought we were best friends, but apparently I’m not valuable enough to her to stick around.

But I will not give up, and I will prove to her I am helpful and that she needs me.

Painting by Edgar Degas /colored pencil interpretation by Sophie Fossum

13

Sick

Shannon Sanchez Wool quenches its thirst Slurping away my comfort Heart beating and feeding and treating my mind With things I would never remember Wool is magma Wool is ice Enjoying me with the parasites Within me Life found, life lost Is how the world revolves But not with me, no I take medicine Parasites fight They hunger and claw Wool just sitting there A necessary evil Furious now The creatures devour But I don't let them, no I take medicine.

And swept away with the soldiers within me The wool atop of me The parasites die And I am whole But they'll be back I know it to be a fact 'Cause that's how the world revolves And I’ll take medicine

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Art: Sophie Fossum

15

Girl in the Glass Aislyn Clark

I stood facing the girl in the glass who was holding herself the same way as I. Her back was straightened, the fingers on her left hand grazed her collarbone, and her right hand laid on her stomach.

I lifted my left arm into the air and she repeated.

The girl was my practical reflection. She was a taller woman like me, her blonde hair forming nicely around her almond shaped head. She had the same sad, long eyelashes, a light droop of her eyes, the gentle downturn of her rosy lips, and the slight furrow of her brows.

Although we looked like twins, she was much more fragile. Her apparent sorrow and sickly demeanor stood out like a sore thumb. She was very pale, her eyes swollen from nights of crying and her cheeks hollow from starvation. She wore a black t-shirt that hung from her bony shoulders to her lousy hips. The v-neck in the shirt exposed her cleavage and collarbone, which looked as if someone had taken her bones, laid the thinnest layer of clay over the bone and muscle, and pressed it to her body.

Her sickness radiated a weird sense of beauty, which caused both of us to shiver.

“Do we have the same scars?” I asked her. She shrugged. So, to check, I tilted my head to the right and so did she. The fleshy and inflamed red bumps wandered up her neck and hid behind her ear. I turned my left arm, looking for and then seeing the fleshy scar that ran up her own left forearm.

My scars looked fresh on her weak body. A jolt of guilt rang throughout mine. I felt myself begin to shake, giving me that uneasy feeling again. I slowly retreated from the glass and so did she.

“What are you?” I asked the girl.

She mimicked my words.

We bit our bottom lip, beginning to tremble. My heart began to pound against my chest, my brain began to feel all fuzzy and rushed, and my mouth began to dry out. We gasped for a breath, pressing ourselves against the white doors behind us.

“Who are you?” we cried. Startled by our synchronization, we looked at each other in shock.

“Why are you doing this?” we screamed back. A quick beeping echoed throughout the room I stood in.

She moved forward, toward the glass, and I felt

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myself move too. I met her brown eyes and she met mine. We lifted our hands and touched the glass barrier between us.

“What do you want?” we asked each other. “I want you to stop!” we screamed in retaliation.

We started to sob, and I just...I couldn’t do it anymore.

I looked away from the glass and shut my eyes tightly, sliding down the door. I hiccuped and sobbed louder than I ever have before.

I sat there for a while, unwatched by anyone but the girl in the glass. I hugged my knees, pulling myself closer and further away from her.

I don’t know how long we'd been here before I lifted my head and opened my eyes, resting them on a crack in the wall. Sniffling, I slowly let myself go before crawling over across the wide white room toward the crack. I used my shaky hands to try and claw out the piece of the wooden wall. It didn’t give but so much, so I pushed my fingers into the wall. The wood pushed back against my hands, pulling up parts of my skin. I screamed in pain, but persisted. I put both of my feet on either side of the crack, tightened my grip, and pulled.

I pulled and pulled, leaving a trail of blood in the wall. But finally, the wood gave in and broke off.

The backlash sent me tumbling backward. I let out a sob as I got on all fours and pulled myself to the piece of the blood-stained white wood that laid on the floor in front of me.

Once I had it in my hands, I stood up. Crying and breathing irrationally, I wandered over to the glass where the girl still sat against the door.

It was like someone pressed pause on a TV; she gave zero movement. I wiped my nose, drew back the wood, and smashed it against the glass.

All the glass did was emit a small crack.

I drew back the wood again and hit the glass with much more strength.

The crack widened.

“GET UP,” I yelled at her, but she still didn’t move. I drew it back further and began bashing the wood against the mirror.

It wasn’t breaking.

I dropped the wood and kicked at the glass with all my strength, sending a great numbing pain riveting up my leg. I fell back, screaming in pain.

My bloody and slippery hands pressed against

something sharp. I opened my eyes to see glass all around me. Behind the glass stood a black stone.

I screamed louder and louder in the white room, which seemed to scream back at me. I closed my eyes and grabbed my ears to shut out the noise.

My white door opened behind me. Arms wrapped around my body and lifted me onto a bed. I screamed and tried to kick against the arms, but they buckled me to the bed with tight leather straps. I felt a sharp pain in my shoulder and a relief rushed over me.

My tears came to a stop as I opened my eyes, face to face with a plump, homely woman standing over me.

“Oh, you poor thing…” she muttered, brushing pieces of my hair away from my face. They moved me out of the room on the rolling bed and into a green room. In this green room, they stuck a needle into my arm that connected to a plastic bag on a metal pole. People scurried around me, putting things into my body that felt like they shouldn't be there.

Someone put a burning lotion on my neck and my arm, another one took a warm rag and dabbed at my face with it. They cleaned my hands, stuck things in my leg, and then left me with that homely woman.

She sat on the edge of the white bed in the green room, then rested her hand on my shoulder. I couldn't feel her hand.

“You did great, sweetie. We’ll go for round two tomorrow once you’re healed,” she said to me before standing up and walking out of the room.

My eyebrows furrowed as I turned my head to stare at the door she walked out of.

I sat in silence, wondering what to do.

I lifted my head. They had only strapped down my hands and my feet, so I could still move with some limitation.

I looked around the room, before my eyes rested on the glass in front of me.

There she was again. Blonde, pretty, sad, sick.

I screamed.

Art: Angela Nguyen

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Lo(ve)(neliness) Kairi Chandler

“You’re loved.”

The person through the screen tells me The one who doesn’t know me How I look, How I talk, Or how I act “You’re loved.”

The text on my phone reads I stare at it, wondering just how…

How am I loved?

The brightness of my phone shining on my empty, expressionless face “You’re loved.”

The voice lies to me If I was loved, I wouldn’t feel the way I do I wouldn’t feel so unsupported and hurt Love can be faked and can fool its receiver “You’re lonely.”

I tell myself before bed.

Holding my own body the way I wish someone would hold me My heart has never felt like such a heavy burden

Beautiful Heart Madison Cinco

Chordae tendineae Papillary muscles Heart strings, precordia Circulatory system Beautiful heart, soul tie Strings put back together Slowly healing a heart One that he didn’t hurt Vulnerability Weakness, an open door Unguarded, defenseless Vulnerability Chordae tendineae Papillary muscles

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Art: Amira Aziz

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Art: Kyla Thompson/Inspired by vintage comic art

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Lust

Brandon Pearson I am desire. Yes, it's true. You all hate me, you all are disgusted by me, you all think only of the cardinal sin to be hated. Though I only bring your children into this world, which you lusted for oh so long.

But I'm so much more. I'm the hope that you feel when you get in second place, that push you feel when you're about to lose. But again, I’m oh so much more, indeed. I'm a broken promise that keeps you begging when you were wronged. I'm the determination to try again. My sister Hope takes all the fame and my brother Hate often stalks me, keeping me chained like a dog about to be put down; though my time never comes, so I’m supposed to rot in the shadows and starve with noone to free me.

I’m hurt and saddened that you shun me when all should be calm, and all should be free. So I live in the shadows, in the night when everyone sleeps. I am only spoken to by little children with too much pride. Shunned by my peers who even have acquainted with me. I only get a single piece of dry, old, stale meat, and only when everybody sleeps.

Prey

Frederick Bautista I watched her every day you know, following her wherever she went. She didn’t even acknowledge how I stared at how she walked. As she swooshed her hair, the fragrance of her smell, I swayed toward her. Walking in her shadow, basking in her sweet perfume. Once she even noticed me. I couldn’t have been happier for myself.

I walked toward her today and what did I find? She is…attracted to someone else? I race toward her in fury. For all I’ve done she betrays my very soul! Shrieks and shouts occur as I bring what I have hidden. Silence falls around. I think to myself, "If I may not have my way, no one shall have her any day."

With all my anger combusting, I release what I’ve been lusting for.

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Spider Lilies Mean Death Shania Fink

The rain pours as I walk in sorrow I let the rain drip on my head Carrying the necklace you once let me borrow I turn my head and see a field of red Spider lilies, beautiful flowers I relive the memories that are now dead I remember we used to look at them for hours Now I look at them alone Tears begin to fill my eyes as my emotions come crashing down like towers I turn away and start to head home I look at the necklace I held in my hand As the memories in my head still roam I clench my fist around the necklace as I try to understand Why you left me alone on this miserable land

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Art: Liberty Young

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Moon Song Eleni Bridges

A much needed restEven though the day was long, The moon still rises

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Pencil art by Emily Siess/Photographer unknown

Overcast Lily Kobuchi

I've always heard the sun and the moon are so different, yet they are still lovers But I never hear about the clouds and the sky, so close I guess they do not belong together The sun and the moon are 93 million miles away, yet their love is described with such bliss But the clouds and the sky share the same space, never talked about with such confidence The thing about the sun and the moon is that they always show up, every day But the clouds only sometimes visit the sky They carry on elsewhere The clouds could never compare to the moon because what the clouds bring is provisional Temporary company Gray skies Love that is conditional The clouds have taught time and time again, never settle for conditional And learn from the rain how to let go

Art: Ava Wonpat

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Atlas

Maria Terra I wonder what it’s like To be a moth To have no mouth No room to talk To fly only when dark And sounded nights allow So I can flutter on Deep within the sky I wonder what it’s like To be a moth To have no eyes To see and once thought To excrete and demand To pardon and fly away Until I can carry on All on another day I wonder what it’s like To be a moth With massive wings And misshapen molds Forced to crawl around Avoid all the stares Because unless you’re important Not a soul would even care I wonder what it’s like To not be a moth To have a voice To be able to see straight To be able to fly To be able to soar all day I wonder what it’s like To not be a moth

Art: Allen Vega

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Peaceful Afternoon Grant Khamkheuang

While I kick back on my couch, A bright blue coat with a yellow patch covers the sky Crocodiles and snakes don’t pollute my grass Crickets and cicadas don’t ruin my naps Warm, breezy air keeps me wheeze free The smiley patch looks down on me with thumbs up Tree leaves shine a healthy green amidst the sunlight Branches waving to all chirping birds, buzzing bees, busy squirrels, marching ants, and flying dandelions The tranquility is a silence only I can partake in while looking out the window “So, can you tell me what happened in 1453?”

I look back to the front of the room The classroom lights flicker, students yawn The teacher stands, a static picture Fluorescent lights highlight our unamused faces I look back out the window, the blue coat no longer there It opts for gray garments

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Art: Ana Acosta

What It Had Shannon Sanchez

A squirrel claws the frost To search for what it has lost It doesn't find it

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Art: Olivia Kukahiko

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Old Commute Again Ailish Connell

These days I wait for the train. If I miss it, I stand with my back against the station wall and look at the birds who don’t know better milling on the tracks. Today, with you on my mind, with your groceries, I sit on the end of a bench with the oversized paper bag in my lap, even though a couple is already occupying the other end.

It’s light now, but barely. By the time I reach your door, a cold, wet dark will have taken the city, and I’ll exhaust myself walking back home through it.

There’s a commotion of noise and birds as the train pulls in, just barely stopping in time, always seeming like it will miss us, just keep going. The couple stands and waits for the doors to open, holding hands even though they are not speaking, and I follow them into the warm car like a kid.

My mom thinks I’m screening your calls. Oh, she would be angry if she saw me now. But I heard about your idiot surgeon from Marcy. When you called me, I know I sounded confused, but that is only what I do to hide. Of course, let me go to the pharmacy for you, let me get your pills, let me buy you soup, I wanted to say, when all I said was, oh… sure, okay, no, it’s no problem.

Your prescription rattles somewhere in the big brown bag as the train shakes out over the bridge.

I’m swaying in my seat, not as stable as I’d like, but I make myself sit up straight, careful not to lean into the suited man beside me. I catch glimpses of sunset, when the standing people shift just so. When I get home, I will write down the name of your medicine before I collapse, and look it up tomorrow morning.

A woman down the car sneezes and is blessed, a baby starts crying but gives up quickly. I hope it’s not all too much. The medicine, I got that like you asked, but also the cans of minestrone, the box of muffins from the bakery section, a little bundle of organic bananas. I hope they will say the things I never can when you see me in the street. I hope they won’t make things worse; but right now, I don’t think much could.

The tracks are turning into the city. I take comfort in the few stops I have left, in the people around me who are all staring at the same floor, at the same fading light beyond the windows, overthinking, overanalyzing their own little lives.

I watch the sky turn orange and pick at my gloves.

I don’t know why I keep them if they itch.

The train crowd is thinning. People are accepting the night, fine to go home and get comfortable, settle into it again. My sister hates you. She’s always been able to do the things I can’t. What I hate is the way I will just leave the bag outside your door. Maybe I will knock and turn away quickly, but probably I will call when I am halfway down the street. I might even lie, say I rang the bell, say oh, sorry you didn’t hear, maybe I didn’t press hard enough?

The train comes to another reluctant stop - the last one, as far as I’m concerned. When I stand, the groceries all shift a little in the bag, and my knees give a quiet pop. It’s dark now, but not totally; never totally in the city. I shuffle out, shiver a bit, get knocked in the shoulder by someone I didn’t see. I am bringing you food and medicine. That is all I can give you.

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Remember When Rebekah Fraser

Remember when I was 3, I started ballet, I remember when I didn’t care how I looked on stage or who was better than me Now I care how I look And care who’s better than me Remember when I was 5, I started kindergarten, I remember when I made one friend, one good, close friend And he moved away at the end of the year Now I’m lonely Remember when I was 8, I finally made a new friend, I remember when I would give him my American snacks he’d never tried He would give me his Indian snacks I’d never tried We don’t talk anymore Remember when I was 10, I found out I had scoliosis, I remember when people started calling me names Laughing that I had to go to a doctor because I was broken Now it doesn’t define me Remember when I was 12, I finally had a group of friends, I remember when I was not a stranger to people anymore I was actually liked by people and not ignored We don’t go to school together anymore Remember when I was 14, I started high school, None of my middle school friends go here I remember when I became an outcast again I sat alone at lunch for a while Now I’m 16, Less than two years before I leave home I’ll start driving soon, Maybe I’ll get a job I’ve learned a lot But sometimes, I need to quit looking forward, And realize, That even though there's a sea of good and bad way behind me, That it is okay to look back.

It is okay to remember when.

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Art: Faye Chiang

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Beginning of Fall Angelena Le

Seasonal picnics, Pumpkin flavored drinks in shops Fall leaves arrive home

Autumn Meliana Banko

In the warmth we sit In the dark, brisk fall night Laughing and cheering

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Warmth

Desiraye Bowling Leaves change colors Orange yellow red I rake them up and then I Play with them.

Jump in them, kick the leaves Whoosh-the leaves dance in the air Sometimes hot, sometimes cold Short sleeves when it's hot Sweaters when it's cold When it's fall, the temperature goes back and forth Fall is the time for thanksgiving A time to get together People travel, people eat You see family you haven't seen In a while- it makes you feel happy and warm

Photo: Ty Robbins

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Winter's End Ny'Ema Brown

The birds and frogs sing and croak together I have been waiting for the new spring sounds I wish I could stay in here forever Smells of tulips and pansies all around The sounds and smells give off the peace and grace Some people say they really like the fall Why wouldn’t one want to stay in this place?

With the chestnut and palm trees standing tall As I step in the green grass so gentle Where seedlings sprout and the animals call Everything here is so instrumental Nothing feels better than in the spring walls We give winter all of our last goodbyes When it leaves there will be stressful cry

January Ava Cinco

It is the new year The ball has dropped We are all here Fresh starts unlocked It is twelve a.m.

We’re filled with cheer Peers have hope in them Everyone's near We’re all tired I hop in the car We’re inspired

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Art: Shannon Sanchez

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Rain

Jada Monroe Rain falls and winds blow As tiny crystals fall down Jumping in puddles

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Art: Kyla Hall/photograph by Roberta Sorge

Spring

Kali Bateman The birds chirp as the sun rises The flowers bloom and the bees buzz The trees with leaves, best disguises Dandelions-exploded fuzz The smell of pollen in the air Not too warm, but the perfect breeze Lights on fireflies start to flare Oranges growing, perfect squeeze Early mornings and brightest skies Late night as the sun is at set Wings flap on its side - butterflies The roars of breeze and seas have met The slight wind, causing chimes to cling I love many things - mostly Spring

Art: Olivia Warren/photograph by Garreth Paul

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Bob

Alonzo Bowler It's any old day for the world. The sun came up and everyone is preparing for the day.

This is not any old day for Bob. After his first week on planet Earth, it is finally his first day of school.

Bob is so excited, but also nervous about how people will react now that an alien is in their class.

He wonders if people will be excited for a new different student or will make fun of him for how different he is.

Bob is an alien from planet Mars. NASA would like to run tests on Bob and see how this new species they discovered will adapt and survive on planet Earth. He has been placed in a home kind of like an exchange student and he will be treated as such for two months. He will eat what humans eat, he will wear what humans wear, he will learn his new language and he will attend an all-human public school. NASA has to do this to see if they can merge species from Mars and Earth.

When Bob arrives at school, he is greeted with staring from every kid and teacher, even the administrators in the school. Bob expected this, so he tries to ignore most of it. He knows that if a human had come to his planet and strolled down the hall, he would be a little shook, too. He started his day by finding the principal to bring him around to his classes. The school had already announced that they have a new student and that everyone should treat him as if he is no different than the rest.

When he arrives at his first class, he is met with gasps in shock and more stares. Again, Bob expected this and attempts to move on. As the day goes on, it gets easier and he gets more and more comfortable and used to the looks and the stares.

It is finally the last block and he enters his classroom with the principal. He takes his seat and begins the last class of the day. This class is like any other, except someone decides to talk to him.

A tall kid approaches Bob and asks him why he is at this school, telling him he does not belong here.

Of course, Bob is not shocked by this comment, although it does make him a bit more paranoid for the rest of the day.

When Bob gets home, the family he is staying with is curious about how his day went, but Bob

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is not in the mood to share. Bob does not talk to his family for the rest of the night. He knew that starting would be tough, but did not realize how hard it would be simply because he is just a little different from everyone else.

It is now Tuesday. Bob is trying to go into school with an open mind, hoping his peers will be more accepting because it's his second day. Little does he know, it will only get worse.

Teachers start to swarm and crowd “What happened?” yells a teacher. Nobody knows what happened, but Bob is lying on the floor, unconscious. The ambulance arrives and rushes him off to the hospital.

When Bob's family gets to the hospital, they wait for Bob to regain consciousness. When Bob wakes up, he is bombarded with questions, the most popular one being, "What happened?" But Bob continues with the same answer: "I fell down the stairs," knowing that is not the true story.

The next two days Bob spends in the hospital with two bruised ribs and a slight fracture to his left wrist. When he returns home, he knows what he has to do at school the next day.

Bob tries to tell his exchange parents he will be okay at school, but despite his argument they are still very nervous.

DING DING DING. Bob knows this sound means school has started and today he will have to be very brave. Today is the day Bob confronts his bully about what really happened at the stairwell. Most people would be nervous to confront a bully, but Bob is more excited than nervous. He knows it has to be done, and if not him, then who? If not now, then when?

Third block arrives and it is time. Bob approaches the tall student and asks him if they can talk. The student immediately begins to raise his fist. Bob then says: “I forgive you.”

The bully lowers his hand and Bob begins to tell him that he understands why the bully had given him such a hard time. Then he tells him that he knows he is different and not human and does not belong on Earth. Bob explained to him that although they are not all human, they all have feelings and they all matter.

Another month goes by and Bob has made lots of friends. It seems he has become one of the most liked in the school. Unfortunately, it's about time for Bob to go back to Mars. Bob really enjoyed his time on Earth, and promises his new friends that he will visit all the time.

Bob wonders if his human friends can visit Mars at some time so they can see how different it is in many ways, but also how alike both planets are.

Bob hopes that he taught at least one person when

he was on Earth what it means to be kind and accept people no matter what they look like, what they talk like or even where they are from. He wants the people on Earth to realize that they are more similar than most people think. He believes, after staying on Earth, that NASA should consider merging the aliens on Mars to the people on Earth.

He believes that they can start a new world where everyone can love everyone, because these two species can and should coexist as one.

Art: Aaron Scheible

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Dancing in the Clouds Melanie Wilhoite

A part of me has died It’s now in the clouds She gave me life - now she’s gone In the sky with her soulmate Because now he is gone, too My hero, too, is gone He used to read me stories Now he watches me write mine As he flies with the birds in the sky so blue She left me weak Then he left, too Now there’s nothing left of me Both halves of me in the sky They’re dancing in the clouds And sometimes, when my face is warm from the sun shining down I can feel him smiling at me, and singing like he used to do And when a red cardinal lands on our porch’s ledge and begins to chirp I tell her, “I love you, too” I’m glad she no longer hurts Perhaps one day, I won’t either One day, we all will fly together And soar through the clouds Dancing in the sky The sun never to go down

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White Doves Whisper Shay Samuel

Peace, freedom, and love Many different meanings come from a white dove Well my white dove whispers to me About how nice heaven is And how it feels to be free He tell me some stories He lives in my dreams He talks about glory I’m happy for him in every which way But I still can't get over it, still to this day My angel in light My star in my dreams I love you, big cousin For Nunu I dream

Art: Jennifer Martinez

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Acceptance Thiana Alexandre

You are left broken, but you refuse to believe that. It is so hard for me to make an appearance when you don’t think you need me. I am the light at the end of that dark tunnel. You can't quite see me, but I'm here by your side; and as you grow and change, we will get closer and closer.

It was the middle of winter when I first found you. You were alone, but you were constantly fighting with depression and anxiety. I felt for you, but I only arrive when you call on me.

You had yet to call on me.

I saw this coming, and all of me wished I could've said something. Your relationship with him was never healthy. You were blinded by love. I wish I could've prevented this, but that's not my job. It won't be easy, but I am here to help you move on, to help you find love within yourself, to help you find you.

For the longest time, you had the same routine. Wake up, two eggs on avocado toast, work, watch your favorite Christmas movie, sleep, REPEAT. Every day was the same.

Everything in your life was always at a constant; you hated change.

I was the biggest change. I didn’t allow you to bathe in your sadness. My attempt was to teach you how to ride the waves. You rarely cried anymore, but you still had bad days.

That's okay.

Everyone falls. It wasn't noticeable, but I saw your progress. I felt your progress.

You accepted that he was gone, but you still missed him on birthdays and holidays, which caused you to drown in your bad habits again and wash me away. You hate inconsistency.

I am not linear, and you hated how I came in and out of your life. I did what I could for you, but you weren't ready. I feel as though I failed you, but I can’t force something you don’t truly want. It makes me sad knowing that no matter what I do, the enemy will always be in your other ear trying to tear you down.

I will be here when you are ready.

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Art: Amira Aziz/photograph by Cho Gi-Seok

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Colophon This year's literary magazine, Perspectives, was produced by Editors-in-Chief Eleni Bridges and Ailish Connell using Adobe InDesign and Photoshop CS6. Display text is in the font Franklin Gothic Demi Condensed and body text is in High Tower Text.

This magazine has been published digitally only and is available at no cost. Any physical copies have been printed by individuals.

Selection Policy All Massaponax students were permitted to submit entries for consideration for publication. All work completed in Miss Marshall's Creative Writing I and II classes or displayed at the annual MHS Art Show were automatically considered for publication.

Each piece was reviewed by the Perspectives staff and evaluated on its individual merit.

Students may submit their work for next year's publication in-person to room 130 or through the MHS Publications email: mhs-publications@spotsylvania.k12.va.us.

The purpose of this magazine is to showcase students' thoughts and perspectives through both writing and art. As with any publication, the views expressed by the writers and artists are not necessarily the views of Massaponax High School, the editorial staff, adviser or Spotsylvania County Schools.

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Art: Allen Vega

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