heart of the city
marjory stoneman
douglas high school
Marjory Stoneman Douglas High School 5901 Pine Island Road Parkland, Florida 33076
Phone: 754-322-2250
Fax: 754-322-2280
www.browardschools.com/stonemandouglas litmagmsd@gmail.com
Student enrollment: 3219 School staff: 236
new york
heart of the city
Seeping views, sudden plays, flashing lights, and everlasting days. Experience the Cityscapes. Ignite the travel joys, enjoy those bubbly sparks of energy. Visit the attractions and make memories, the best of the best to look back on. Relive everlasting strong emotional moments in the melody of the arts. Into the heart of the city , we soar and savor through culture, community, and creativity, making the best of your time. Wherever the journey may start, get ready to explore the Heart of the City and see how it shines.
The shining sun springs down upon you. Bright beaches overtake your vision, splashing waves inching closer and sand pushing back as the water recedes. You feel the crunching underneath your feet, stepping closer to the bold ripples of the satisfying ocean. The grainy sensation lingers steps from shore onto the hot concrete sidewalk. Catching your eye, the neon lights drive you toward a gleeful adventure, witnessing the joy and euphoria of Miami. The cheerful nature envelops you warmly, with a mix of heavenly smells drawn into your nose eliciting pure bliss. From the amazing aroma of Latin to Caribbean deliciousness, Miami has it all. If you’re not already drawn in by the delectable tastes, you couldn't possibly ignore the colorful, captivating art pieces stretched throughout the exhilarating streets of Miami.
New York City, the showstopper of them all, keeping everyone tightly enthralled. With endless evenings of thrilling performances, intense sensations overtake the audience. Their spirits are heavy with determination, resolute with success. Where fruitful dreams progress, time flying by so quickly, life never stops in the ever-engrossed city. The passionate persons who dedicate the most in their relationships, work, and even notes. Their fierce mindset can never be hindered, prevailing under any condition. Reach for the highest and the most desired things, for they’ll be rewarded with heartfelt meaning. Intensity so profound, its beams of radiance never concealed. Feel it through the powerful pangs of art in everything new, New York City’s finest works are seen in all you view.
Seattle, a timeless city filled with high praise. Entertainment runs through the streets, arts enticing and attracting, recognizing the beauty in all of the surroundings. Living through the standard, it outperforms without conflict, effortless tasks engulfed with nostalgia. Reflect on the endless through the art district in time, until the talent is erased only with a sliver of a sign. Its memory goes on with visuals embedded, the crafts keepsake will never be shredded. The opera extravagant to your beautiful ears, ensemble scaled to its aptness means. Echoing the tune filled with Seattle charm, recognizing its welcome arms. Reminisce the moments of the past before the journey concludes and turns frightfully sore. Once it ends you’ll always yearn for more.
That poignant moment hearing the melodious sounds, evoking the spirit of Nashville wholly. Sentimental lyrics touching hearts to the extreme, uncovering secrets buried in the deep. Resonating in minutes the barriers unlock, extending a hand to profound souls uniquely burning through the rough. Overcoming, the darkness fades, ensuring the best of future days. The shine retains its light over the cities, still bright and beaming down, enthusiasts gather to hear the sacred sounds. Dynamic and diverse, the emotions converge with the great connections of time, relaying a different message with a new name and rhyme. The symbolic Hall of Fame awaits, new additions yet to come, identities unknown but souls ridden with pangs hurt and love. The sensation lives on with no signs of relief. Bear in mind the history as you adventure for its habits are not far gone. The solace you seek may be in an entirely different song.
Choose freely, live freely, and learn freely. Take those risks in any way and manner, try everything to your highest power, and make the changes you’ll never forget. In the Heart of the City, anything is possible. Start an eventful new journey with fascinating instances yet to be uncovered. Enter the city, embrace its heart, and open your imagination to the innovative arts.
Busy streets we know so well, Where entertainment lives, and culture swells, A city of dreams in which you can hear the bells, Calling the inspired to pursue their determined yells. In Broadway’s decorated halls, they shout The new and the old intersect radiating their glows, Glorious minds inspiring steady growth.
new york
Sophia Rodriguez, 10
digital art
ode to
makeup
In the color space, where palettes flourish, An artist's studio, a whirl of colors. An expression of grace on a simple canvas A beautiful embrace, a passion for cosmetics.
The touch of a primer, a fluid prelude, A blank canvas that isn't muted. Whispering in the foundation, a perfect start, A beating heart, a piece of art.
Shadows are concealed, secrets are revealed, A beautiful story, but one not recounted. Rose-colored blushes blossom with flushed cheeks. An ethereal silence in the glam garden.
Eyes bright with the movement of shadows, An amorphous symphony of hues.
Cat's-eye looks, flicks of eyeliner, In a mystical labyrinth, a seductive mystery.
Choosing between gentle pinks and bold reds A rainbow of options, without a doubt. Gloss or matte, a satisfying feel, An infinite treasure, a voyage of self.
Sculpting grace, bending lines, A chisel's touch, a sculptor's trace. Highlighter's gleam, a celestial kiss, A celestial canvas, a cosmic bliss.
Cosmetic alchemy, potions and powders, Transforming faces into radiant wonders. A love affair with pigments and brush, A symphony of colors, a glamorous hush.
In every stroke, a self-love hymn, An ode to confidence, found within. For makeup is more than mere disguise, It's a celebration, under sunlit skies.
So let your makeup convey a message
In brushes, paints, remedies, and elegance.
battling
the dark
A faint whisper, a creeping chill, A sudden dread, against my will. The shadows dance, a twisted show, Where hidden monsters start to grow.
A tiny shake, throughout my hand, A fear I don't fully comprehend. The world shrinks down, a narrow space, Where worries leave their silent trace.
The "what ifs" buzz, an uneasy swarm, Protecting me from any storm, But holding tight, and keeping close, To imagined dangers, and their ghosts.
A darkened room, creaking stairs, Imagination's complex trap.
A racing heart, a breathless sigh, As fears like phantoms, flutter by.
But even darkness finds its end, And fears, like shadows, can go beyond. A gentle light, a friendly face, Can chase the darkness from its place.
A deep, slow breath, a calming thought, The strength within, that I have caught. For fears are whispers, weak and small, And I am stronger than them all.
Olivia Padowitz, 10 free verse poem
Kyra Bernstein, 12 digital art
WALKING AUTUMN
i am from
I am from rich spices. From Turmeric and Garam Masala.
I am from the authentic, fresh fruits dangling in my backyard. Flourishing, blooming, sticky sap dripping down the stem.
I am from uniquely picked Dhaniya and Basil, The moisture from stems whom long for growth absorbing my pruned fingers. I’m from sacred prayers and constant tardiness to the temple. From the beloved mother who raised me beside my rightful grandmother. I’m from the earnest perseveres and intellectual minds.
From “Do your best and leave the rest” and “If at first you don’t succeed try, try again.”
I’m from gentle thumbs pressing a tilak on my forehead, Its red, blazing color imprinting my skin.
I’m from blissful San Diego, California and belong in the Jha family.
From mouth-watering, heavily seasoned butter chicken, Made with my Nani’s perfected recipe.
From the moments I felt completely lost in my thoughts,
To the times I wasted not giggling in laughter with my mother. Concealed in moving boxes in a rented storage closet Stacked carefully are the hidden memories, Ones I chose to no longer retain, An uncared father lost in picture frames.
From the branching mango trees swaying with the peaceful breeze, The sweet fruit snapping before I am ripe.
Ria Sethi, 11 free verse poem
THE GIRL AND THE SHEEP
Sharon Li marker on paper
the reader the writer and
The Writer wrote and the Reader read until one looked up and said “Pen to page, the ink my blood, dear Reader, I am never done.”
To which the Reader replied, “Books clasped tight, tales untold, daring heroes in myths so old. Poetry to purge the wearied soul, tormented narratives of want and woe. Laughing limericks, lullabies breathed low… oh how I know!—What we do is filled with strife, but my Writer, words give us life.”
Then the Writer, hand still curled around pen, leaned back, pensive, and said—
“Since time was young, we’ve played our parts. So dutifully have I, poured words to page, with fingers now forever stained. The rustle of papers, crumbled and torn, ceaseless typing, pencils shaven and worn. This is the life I’ve come to know, and alas—it’s one I cannot let go.”
In silence again, the Writer wrote, while the reader read, but their thoughts ran astray, so they pulled away.
“Reader, why does my pen never waver?” “And why, Writer, does my search never cease?”
“Why are we never content?”
They both asked but both knew, why the Writer’s pen drew while the Reader’s eyes flew across the page, perpetually entranced, by how their dreams danced and their words were advanced. So without hesitation, they both proclaimed, “Like this we shall remain!”
DON'T BE SO KOI
Natalia Dzielnicka, 10 watercolor on paper
“Write, write, write.”
“Read, read, read.”
“Write, read, write, read, It is all we ever need.
To last eternity.”
“Words give us life,” they said, face to face, across this yawning space only words can lace. Reader to Writer, and Writer to Reader.
And though neither asked, they spoke at last.
“For if you, my Writer, stopped writing…”
“And if you, my Reader stopped reading…”
“We’d be alone.”
Alana Karam, 12 two voices poem
an argument for this generation
There is nothing more agitating to the modern adolescent than being belittled by an older generation. The constant remarks from parents, teachers, and nosy observers about how unmotivated we are wears us down. When I was younger, it was easy to brush off their sour remarks as a result of jealousy from not being raised on our current luxuries. However, as I’ve grown older, I’ve had to face a dejecting truth: we are getting lazier.
With the societal changes of our present era, recent generations have adapted new behaviors to better fit their environment. The emerging young adults today have withdrawn themselves from the previous generation’s hustle-culture, buy why? If the former pathway of getting a career, then a spouse, then a home, then children worked for the past half a century, why change it? This sentiment reverberates off the elderly walls of school boards, retirement homes, and chambers of Congress. The straightforward answer is that the world isn’t the same as it was, therefore the past pathways of success won’t work. Our world today lacks any sense of stability, with everything from technology, to medicine, to our own perceptions of reality rapidly changing. The impressionable minds of the youth are struggling to cope with the consequences of these fast-paced changes, so we cling onto whatever parts of the modern world we can integrate into our lives. Whatever parts we can control.
Alongside technological whiplash, today’s young adults must tackle issues unique to our times. The declining economy, hellish job market, and the global loss of hope, have sent our newest generation of workers into a downward spiral. To handle the gutwrenching moment when your four-year degree cannot help you obtain a job, young adults have turned to numbing their brains. Whether this literal mind-numbing behavior is expressed through excessive screen time, social reclusion, or general apathy, it all gets labeled the same: laziness.
As with any societal problem, the blame game is in full swing with this issue. I mean, somebody’s got to do something, somehow, sometime about this issue. Right? Instead of addressing the real root cause of this seemingly ‘lazy’ behavior, everyone just flicks their sharp-nailed pointer finger around in their circle of blindness. It’s apparent that nobody actually wants to do the work required to solve this generation’s problem. But everyone wants to feel like they did something to help. So, whether it’s your homeroom teacher turning red over the sight of a phone in the classroom or licensed medical professionals going on national television to lecture parents about the dangers of smartphones, it all accomplishes the same thing: nothing.
So, if none of the adults or experts have it correct, then what do we do? Abandon our last minuscule drop of hope and fully succumb to the darkness of escapism? Probably not. What we need is a new approach. If the tearing down, belittling, and shaming has failed to produce well-adjusted young adults, then let’s change our ways. We need to completely alter our current perception, and remove the negative filter in our minds that blurs the distinction between helpless and hopeless. We need to empower the young adults of today. Instill them with the faith that, yes, we can overcome these difficult modern obstacles. Reintroduce them to the methods of coping that we used before scrolling, but without being condescending. Make the hopeless feel encouraged. Help your students and children understand there can be an optimistic future waiting for them, but only if they act on it. Aid them in challenging their mentally damaged thought processes and breaking the cycle of demoralization. The future prosperity of the world depends on our ability to stop participating in the blame game and the dismissive labeling. Instead introduce a new concept to the young adults of today: self-efficacy.
Matea Cohen, 12 argumentative essay
SPRING IS HERE
Connie Chao, 10 acrylic on canvas
expression of art ode to
The presence of you would not be neglected, the expression of you is a wide array, from painting and film to music to sculpture, The world benefits from human expression.
You evoke emotions that touch the soul We find ourselves reflecting deep in thought And finding a way to process what we see That is what truly makes you masterful.
Seeing the way, it can move people moves me, The expression of emotions and storytelling is conveyed so naturally, listening to a song can strike me with such emotions, Whether its happy neutral or sad, the understanding of thought makes me so glad.
The intricacies of a sculpture chiseled and rough, make it seem as if the person was alive, whether they're pondering or posing, the piece of stone looks like a bystander among us.
Oh, music how you can be such a revelation of emotion, having the ability to bring a person in motion, telling the listener about their life whether big or small, or encapsulating a season summer or fall,
Music is truly an intricate sensation. Film is an art that’s more than just entertainment, rather a physical reflection of humanity, whether it's friendship and action, or the showings of a human’s emotional reaction, this artistic piece is a way to reflect you and me.
Book and forms of literature are an early form of film the way they encapsulate emotions personify words and immerse the reader can truly make you dive into a story deeper
Oh, the expression of art, how I love you so much, a wide array that can be expressed from the mind, that can make me experience emotions all the time.
Tahji Garcia, 12 free verse poem
nashville
Ranges of notes stand out of uniformity, Revealing intimate emotions hidden deep Music City, its iconic name. The row’s heart so bittersweet Sentiments torn through, the eyes begin to weep Starting with the symphonies of the endless wake, Undergo the astounding attitudes, betrayals, and heartbreaks
my eyes
You won’t see me coming
I’ll come right out of the blue I will hold your mistakes against you
If you try to go against me
I’ll destroy everything you love too
Because once you took it all from me
I’ll take you by surprise
I bet you don’t remember
The night where every part of me died
If you look in my eyes, you’ll see
This isn’t who I used to be
You think I’m proud of who I am?
I didn’t choose to become this
I won’t stand down
I’ll choose to have the power
Each time I’ll grow louder
I will not have this forever
Better now than never
No, I won’t be fair
As if I care
Watch me win or watch me lose
All I want is to not see you
You hurt me at some point in my life
Yet, I’m the one with the dark eyes
They won’t be hearing my point of view
Because they’re telling my story through you
My voice is only a dark laugh
I’ve yelled
I’ve screamed
All you hear is the wrong side of me
You’re the truth they listen to
Because you survived and your the hero
But if I had my story
I wish for my moment of glory
You and I, we’re people
One’s good, one’s evil
They’re so quick to point fingers
There are words from both sides that linger
So go ahead, have your moment in the sun
Tell them how you saved everyone
Say how I nearly escaped
But no, you caught me
Truth is, I didn’t want to see the light of another day
Now, the story begins
Once there was a person who lived to smile
They’d grow up one day to walk down the aisle
But there’s someone who’s lurking beneath the shadows
Someone who’ll hear your about your life, making evil more known than ever–
No, that’s not how the story goes My voice has the right to have its own My truth
Once there was a young kid, living their life the best they could They don’t have much but appreciate what they do The best part, they have their loved ones They were happy once
But that all disappeared when something changed and it was all taken away
No, it can’t be this way
I’ll go far and work very hard to have what I deserved in the first place I’ll play the hero and by tomorrow they’ll know my name
Zainub Siddiqi, 12 rhymed poem
LADY OF MERCY Grace Brill, 11 digital art
from woman to nothing
I am nothing but an expiration date. Rotting in a jar of emptiness as bait, surrounded by tightening tin walls of insecurity. Waiting to be unscrewed before my maturity.
I am nothing but ripe, yearnful to be picked as his type from the vibrant batch, immediately before my prime can hatch.
I am nothing but garbage, heaped into a pile of discarded carnage which only seek to satisfy the needs of others for we could not even cherish our mothers.
I have nothing else to desire if I am not in my prime prior to capture the male’s taunting gaze. But I am no longer useful in their temporary phase.
Their mischievous eyes dance, from women to nothing in a trance. Desperate for an old can tossed in late with an awful expiration date.
Ria Sethi, 11 rhymed poem
THE MANDARIN
Sharon Li, 11 oil on canvas DESIGN BY Grace Brill
is me
Sometimes I feel as though I’m demolishing my core, from inside to out.
Where my bones reek of grotesque illness and my lungs pinch out the remaining oxygen that is left to conceal me.
I am trapped in this delusional, deep darkness where the bones in my ribcage are portrayed as dull cell bars from inside to out.
I’m slowly rotting in this place I used to comfort myself in, but what I now call Hell.
The echoes of terror scream throughout my disfigured pieces, which I find quite hard to distinguish from my own agony.
Crimson invades my senses, drowning me into this deep hole of nothingness.
I wish to no longer live in this Hell, but I have no chance of escaping what I have become.
Ria Sethi, 11
free verse poem
NOIA Ivy Chen, 9
Caitlyn Acosta, 11 photography
the guilty
sorrow of
As time continues to spin, Worry begins to grow.
goodbye
For the oldest will never seem to be left alone, But alone they must leave without looking back. With no choice but to leave home, They must look into their sibling’s tearing eyes as they say the word goodbye.
Endless anxiety attached to that last goodbye, For it’s not that they’ll never again see each other’s presence spin, But it’s the end of an era as their souls mature and grow. An era where together they were never alone, But now must live separate lives without a partner in crime who has their back. As the oldest the hardest thing is being the first to leave a sibling filled home.
Guilt consumes the eldest’s new home, A new college dorm in replace of what was left with “goodbye,” But as they stand in their new room their head begins to spin, For they no longer get to see their sibling grow, And most of all must leave them all alone. Maybe I should just go back.
However, a future awaits, and the past must face their back, Because opportunities must sometimes be searched away from home, Even if that means saying goodbye, To the people who stopped the mayhem of thought’s constant spin, To the people who helped them grow, To the people who made sure they would never be alone.
But now they could never be that person to make their sibling not so alone. For they are the one causing the loneliness by turning their back, For they are the one choosing to leave home. How could a younger sibling see past that chosen goodbye? Because to a kid all they see is their driver leaving their car to uncontrollably spin, Leaving the kid no option but to get behind the wheel and grow.
Maybe it’s the experience of the first few years they would grow, Before their younger sibling was born to help them from the void of being alone, That causes the guilt to keep coming back, Because they knew what it was like to play hide and seek in an empty home. To the eldest it’s like granting that well known emptiness with the last goodbye. Gifting their sibling with a newfound mind with wheels that never cease to spin.
Sympathy always seems to lie with the youngest who must hear goodbye and continue to grow, But it’s never considered how much the eldest’s head spins and wishes to turn back, To a home where it didn’t feel so alone.
Angelina Johnson, 10 sestina
will death do us
part?
Love is a feeling that never leaves you. The love in all hearts will always pursue, through day or night, it permanently stays. If every mind rusts, it never decays.
My love, my dear, my bright ray of sunshine, some threads are twisted, but ours intertwine. I will take our tied threads and lock them up, but they may break like a delicate cup.
One day our bodies will start opposing. No matter the protests, death will arrive. You can hold me, or I will hold you close, our love will stay tied while decomposing. One hand warm, one cold, love survives through cries. I’ll love you, even if you’re with the crows.
Olivia Davie, 10
sonnet
LOOK AT ME
Sofia Lara, 11 gouache on canvas
LOCKED OUT
Skye Baseman, 10 photography
wait for the right
date
Maybe one day When we have both gotten to play
The two of us can talk While taking a walk
We can both dance As if in a trance
We can both sing Even if it's not our thing
I know one day When all our problems have gone away
The two of us will talk As we both walk
We will both dance In a lovestruck trance
We will both sing As if we were kings
But for now I’ll wait Until we have our first date
Emily Cichowicz, 10 couplet
busy busy
Linda’s alarm went off at 6:30 AM, the same time every day. She didn’t need it anymore—her body had become trained to wake up immediately. A quick shower, a rushed breakfast, and then straight into the workday.
busyAt the office, the day never slowed down. Emails flooded her inbox, meetings piled up, and the work seemed endless. Every time she crossed something off her list, two more things appeared. It was a constant game and she was always behind.
By 3:00 PM, she was drained. Her eyes burned from staring at screens, her shoulders were in pain from hours hunched over, and the pressure of it all felt like it was pressing in on her chest.
She glanced at the clock. Only two more hours until the end of the day, but it felt forever.
Linda used to love her work, but now it felt like a weight she couldn’t escape. She longed for a break, for even just a few moments to breathe, to remember what it was like to feel light.
But for now, she closed her laptop and pushed through the rest of the day, wondering if tomorrow would be any better.
REFLECTION
Grace Brill, 11 digital art
Ria Sethi, 11 flash fiction
miami
All day energy flies, Tall palm trees with vibrant lights
Relaxing under the sunny skies. Art deco and Mediterranean revives It’s natural beauty renowned and unique
Within its heart, the paradise peaks. Miami, your melting pot will always be alive Visit and enjoy a test drive.
moments
Sunlight on a rusty shelf, catching the sparkle of a forgotten toy.
A small spider's careful thread, stretched across a window, a delicate bridge. The quiet hum of the fridge, a constant, simple song in the kitchen.
A bluebird's sudden, bright flash, a splash of color against the gray sky.
Warm bread cooling on a plate, the scent of cinnamon and home.
A single leaf, falling down, a silent dance in the autumn air.
The sound of a turning page, a story waiting to be discovered.
A whispered secret, shared between partners, a moment held close in the heart.
Olivia Padowitz, 10 free verse poem
GARDEN OF DREAMS
Connie Chao, 10 acrylic on canvas
the beach
Waves crash onto the sand
The blue sky has not a single cloud
Seagulls send out a cry
Wind blows from heaven above
Ocean water is so clear
May the sun reflect on the surface below
And the day take away all your worries
For that laughter of children playing
Building sandcastles on the shore
Leave you with memories never forgotten
The north star shining with all it’s might
Shall open you to a life of love and happiness
Smell the salty sea breeze mixing with coconut sunscreen
See the glistening water meet with the endless horizon
The vibrant colors of beach umbrellas, towels and swimsuits create a beautiful scene Of relaxation and enjoyment, where I could stay forever.
Olivia Padowitz, 10 free verse poem
Ahana Tippanagoudar
story
Old times
Whispering dust
The voices of comfort
The voices of old traditions
Still here
Nguyen, 12 cinquain
Vinh
SPRING MAIDEN
Connie Chao, 10 acrylic on canvas
aquatic
aspiration
My favorite place on planet Earth Is placed underneath the infinite skies
A never-ending strip of peace I find freedom as the waves find me
The delicate sand squashes under my steps
As I head to the sea for eternity
It dissolves my troubles under its rosé skies
My soul yearns for everlasting serenity
Which the presence of the ocean brings as my prize
A world of opportunity rests above the surface
But this fails to compare to the seas’ ultimate purpose
Underneath unveils an entire ecosystem with a plethora of life
Reminding me of the astonishing possibilities That can be held in complete uncertainty
As the ocean has proven before me
Perhaps I can also look at my existence in this manner
Just an array of unknowns waiting to unveil their opportunities
Amy O'Hara 10 free verse poem
THROUGH SPACE
Sophia Rodriguez, 10 digital art
white mice
Our story begins in a quiet, sparsely forested meadow. In this meadow resides a colony of little white mice. Mice are very social creatures, who work together to survive. Winter is on its way; the trees have adopted brilliant hues of red, orange and yellow. The soft crunch of dead leaves under the mice’s feet fills the meadow with a gentle ambiance. They are gathering food for the coming winter, to minimize the time spent in the frigid temperatures. Everyone does their fair share. Everyone but one little mouse, by the name of Jeremy. He is slowly creating his own stash of food. Curious as to his actions, a mouse named Marty asks,
“Jeremy, what are you doing? The food pile is over there!”
Marty points to a small house where other mice are flowing in and out, in and out, food in their hands.
“I’ve decided that this winter, I don’t need the colony. I’m going to show everyone that I’m the strongest mouse in the whole meadow by surviving the winter without any help.” Jeremy has a heroic tone of voice as he gazes at the gray autumn sky with a prideful look.
warm by huddling together like a pack of sardines. Jeremy treks to his house, passing the many vacated abodes, their residents safely inside the main hall, cozy and warm. Jeremy reaches his house and steps inside, gets a fire going, and plops into his armchair.
“I’ll show them,” he whispers, “I’ll be completely fine.”
Prideful as ever, Jeremy
“I’ve decided that this winter, I don’t need the colony. I’m going to show everyone that I’m the strongest mouse in the whole meadow by surviving the winter without any help."
slips off into a quiet slumber, his success firmly within his grasp.
“Why in the meadow would you do that? Working together is how we mice survive the winter,” Marty says, a stern look on his face. “Without the colony, you might not survive.”
“Oh, don’t be silly, Marty,” Jeremy remarks. “I’ll be quite fine.”
“We’ll see, but when you are freezing with naught the warmth of your fellow mice, please reconsider coming to the main hall to warm up with us.” Marty trots off to aid the other mice with their duties.
“Marty has no faith in my strength; I’ll show him, I’ll show everyone that I’m the strongest mouse in the meadow!” Jeremy announces, to no one in particular.
Winter rolls around, and Jeremy watches his colony file into the main hall, staying
One month later, Jeremy is out of firewood and is rationing what little food he has left. His house is cold. He is cold. Deathly cold.
“I d-don't need t-them,” Jeremy shivers. “I w-will make it through t-this.”
His mind is shrouded with doubt, remembering what Marty told him not two months ago. He was seriously considering making his way to the main hall and warming up with his friends and colony. But he couldn’t. They would see that he is weak, incapable of surviving by himself. His pride would not allow it. But still, he began daydreaming of the warm hall, his friends chatting lively, with all the food they could need. After debating with himself for several minutes, Jeremy comes to a decision.
“I need to get warm, I need to survive, even
at the expense of my pride.”
So, Jeremy trudges out of his house, passing the still homes as he makes his way to the main hall. Reluctantly, he knocks on the door. Marty answers.
“So, I see you've thought about what I said?” He inquires.
“Yes, and I’d like to come inside. I shouldn’t have tried to go it alone; I should have stayed with the colony. I wanted to show that I was the strongest mouse in this meadow, that my pride and strength was unmatched. I was a fool. I am weak.” Jeremy squeaks in a low voice.
“You are not weak, Jeremy,” Marty insists, “You made a decision that was silly, but you realized that, and you changed your mind. Knowing and admitting you’re wrong is the
strongest thing someone can do, and I’m proud that you came to that conclusion yourself. Now, let’s get you inside and warmed up; you look dreadful.”
Marty leads Jeremy inside the hall, alive with chatter and the warmth of a hundred bodies. Jeremy feels the cold melt away as he joins Marty in the mid-winter revelry. It was here that Jeremy realized that he didn’t need to be alone to be strong. He could be strong with his colony; he could be strong with his friends.
Nathan Borisoff, 10 fable
THE LEMON Sharon Li, 11 oil on canvas
lover's lament
Standing out here tonight among the fireflies I can’t help but think of you dearest lady of life. Who with wonderful imagination and gentle hands of the greatest smith, brought about the inhabitants of this weary world. Who’s jovial laugh and carefree smiles brings all the winds to dance around you in twisting wonder. Who never ceases in your bountiful giving heart to ease the pains that may arise by our own fault. Lady of whom I have had the greatest pleasure of being acquainted with and find myself drawn to like a bug to a flower. Great lady Arcadia of whom I find myself beset by the spirits of love.
I know it better than to let these feelings in but the heart so little bends to the logic of the mind, even killing love at the worst of times. This want, lust, desire I pray is not as drastic as that but now every time I see you my tongue is tied in endless rhythm. All I wish in my heart is to know you wholly in the mind, to be able to hold each other with the warmth you give being a greater substitute to the sun, to have your love not born from benevolence but from intimacy. The worst part of it is that I know no other soul compares to the way you make me swoon to putty and freeze my heart a thousand times over. It feels unfair because even for a love struck fool I know in the end all you would say is “not like that” with that sweet smile of yours. After all I am but a mortal, a being of your making, born never to touch the heights your feet so casually walk upon. Still, can’t a mortal dream and fancy himself able to draw even a shattered reflection of the kinds of feelings in him from you?
*Sigh*.
I think it's about time I should rest now.
Joshua Carpenter, 12 monologue
seattle
Around the coffeehouse, classic of the city Unforgettable mountains and the morning breeze Waterfront views and emerald greens pretty Beauty that can only be remembered with ease. Nature reels, tranquil on the evergreens With calming serenity,the city now sees The strum of a single chord and delightful appease.
through theeyes of others
She walked with announcing chaos in every step, tripping and dancing, curly hair bouncing in every step. A dog, a golden retriever, walked by her side with a blue leash on. Shewore a brown large hoodie, which might have been from the taller girl who was right next to her.
Tiny scars scattered mixing with her freckles constellated around and maybe continued down her arms, but it was unseen under her long-sleeved clothing. Dark brown hair that was messy in every way manageable. Each step closer to their destination or maybe nowhere in particular.
The two girls looked every bit different but seemed very close together. The smaller girl's name could be Hadley.
The taller girl's name could be something Laskian like, Asteria. She was different, not exactly put
together but more than Hadley.
Her braided hair was messy, meadowy green eyes clouded with anxious thoughts of the future and who was against her or with her. Despite Asteria being so close to Hadley she looked to be missing someone, someone who was with her, A Sibling? A Twin?
The two were cuddled close together almost like a blob that would not part into two. They were in a war together explaining the taller, many scars and hardened look of no sleep. Under eyes darkened from fortnights of no sleep. Every so often the taller person would look around like she could no longer feel safe despite the area being safe from thieves. No one wanted to hurt anyone.
The two may have come from a long travel. No one has ever seen the two before. They were not native. During nights, when they found
they could not sleep well, Hadley would zone out and think about their life. She’d hear her heart beating, and she’d trace the tendons of her opposite finger. Watching and waiting for something to happen. Wondering if the blood in her veins is pumping into her heart, to the rest of her system, like magic. Staring at her hands, the creases and thumbprints.
She imagined, quite vividly, the sight of everything rushing forward. Everything rushing outward of everything she’s ever imagined, bursting into colors transforming into something wild.
Creating visions of animals invisible to the ordinary mind. Straight into the bone, and changing under her fingertips. Everything swirling in mixed, and muted colors, eventually leaving her alone with just Asteria next to her in bed.
Asteria would watch as Hadley imagined something she could not see but considering how close they
were together. Hadley would talk to her. Watching how Asteria would follow her every word watching Hadley’s hands as they moved around and grabbed anything in her vision.
A bed of paper and a pen drawing awful presentations of the characters Hadley would create. Something beyond them was terrifying. On these nights they would curl up against each other so the terrifying thoughts would just fly away. Everything Asteria would say was with confidence.
She was one of the strongest people next to her sister, Hadley. In Hadley’s mind, when she thought about the future, it would be a house in the woods, growing older and with Asteria by her side staying like that. Asteria, most of the time, was kept busy by her sister. While Hadley would take care of her many animals she pleaded to keep. Taking up hours of Asteria’s time just saying “please,
please please. You won’t have to do anything, I'll do all the work.” Hadley’s face made a puff and shine for her eyes once Asteria said yes.
"The two may have come from a long travel. No one has ever seen the two before. They were not native."
Tricking her into doing most of the work, even if she should be the one to do it. Asteria was a skeptic, she’s ready when it was time to go. She promised herself not to repeat the past. She was merely up to mischief. Hadley knew Asteria often had a twist to her words.
Keeping a calm mind, bending the rules to be hers. A song to her lips. Watching and waiting for the ball to drop. Soon on Hadley’s birthday Asteria got her a kitty.
A tiny little Silver Mau. Asteria, despite everything, would do everything to keep Hadley happy.
Asteria didn't get much as a child, her sister and her getting up to mischief in their old village. They didn't have much education, besides they learned many useful skills like stealing food so they could get food. They were scrappy kids, they were survivors. That was when Asteria met Hadley. As a young teen, traveler. Making their way to make their lives much better than what it was and here they were now, happy together. Going nowhere and everywhere at once, walking past the sight of seeing.
Kyra Bernstein, 12 short story
armed man afterlife of the
The wounded, withering man wastes away in the bloodied open battlefield, emboldened by endless encouraged violence.
As degrees drop, and the man lays a prop, and the menacing march moves along.
His flesh begrudgingly slugs off his face, with hollowed, hostile cheeks, he silently speaks upon his spite.
Beneath tattered, torn armor, open bones lay exposed on the solemnly spoken man, and his soul speeds towards serenity.
Matea Cohen, 12 free verse poem
Grace Brill, 11 pen on paper
glow
The city is drenched in red—neon signs, taillights, windows glowing like flames in the dark. It bleeds into the streets, staining the night with something unnatural.
The crowd moves around me, but I don’t. The air hums, the lights flicker, pulsing like a slow heartbeat. The red is everywhere, thick, inescapable.
(Their voice lowers, with a note of tension).
There’s something about tonight. The way the city seems to hold its breath but never lets go. The shadows stretch just a little too far. The glow presses in, watching, waiting—like I’ve stepped into something I was never meant to see.
Skye Baseman, 10 monologue
no choice
I come from the plains, grazing for suspense. I come from the plains, chasing for subsidence. Never once hurting a soul, grazing for our future
Every day, taking souls, chasing for our future.
Moving around, running, migrating, the endless chase, all for the future.
Moving around, day in day out, the endless hunt, all for the future.
From the beginning we were taught to fear. Forever, never relaxed for imminent doom.
From the beginning we were taught to be afraid. Forever, never relaxed for a chance of life.
Built of skin, fur, muscle, and bone. Everyone loves us.
Built of skin, fur, muscle, and bone. Everyone judges us We have no choice, this is the way we came.
Jonathan Kokulyansky, 10 two voices poem
APPROACHING
Skye Baseman, 10 photography
Wait a lovely day it was, the sun was shining, the birds singing their lovely little tune, and the clouds above offered a perfect mix of shade and light. No other day could have been more fortuitous for the little activities of outdoor adventure that surely flooded children's minds. At least that is what the strange man walking down the street thought. How he wished he could sit outside and let it all soak into his old bones indeed, but as always there was a job to be done.
a job
No matter how unpleasant the time or manner it was in.
Opening up his long coat he peered into the ledger of where the location of his next job was to be. For most others it seemed like an endless line of marked off places one right after the other, but well infinity was impossible by most means even if the paper of the ledger book was thinner than a razor blade. 21st street. The first unmarked sentence in the ledger read 2957. Having a glance around the man checked he was in the right place, which the street sign and surrounding houses confirmed. He always hated being in the wrong place, always made it harder to get on when he always had so much on his mind and things to do.
Closing the ledger he walked up to the house, passing by what must have been a neighbo tending to their own front yard, not paying any heed to him. Not even as he opened the door
unceremoniously into the house, it was part of his job after all. Stepping into the house he was greeted to the scent of mildew and the sounds of wet squelching under his feet. What a horrible little place, best to get this over with he thought to himself.
Unperturbed by piled up bags of trash he walked with purpose inside of the house musing to himself of other matters. Opening a creaking door down a hallway he was met with a bedroom, one with an old stained bed sat in the middle where a man and woman slept soundly within.
Their skin was glinting with profuse perspiration as the usual smells of the body hit his nose.
That makes a lot more sense he thought to himself removing a glove revealing a pale white hand. Always the same with these people, at least for them he’s undoubtedly helping.
Stepping over to the bed he gently unfurled the bed sheets, revealing a mixture of tiny bottles and skittering bugs left over as well between the two’s unconscious bodies. Sometimes he couldn’t get over what his job made him have to do, but who else would do it? With his ungloved hand he clasped around the woman's hands, making her wake up. As with everyone else she gave him a far away look, willingly following his order to wait in the hallway for him.
Once she was out of the room he went over to the man and did much the same. All that was left for him was to cover back up what stayed as if he had never been here in the first place. Once that was done all he had to do was cross off the address and . . . it said there were to be three who needed to be guided?
Turning about trying to sense where a third person could be, he felt drawn to the closet in th room. It was a small and innocuous presence but it was there so it probably was them. Placing his hand on the doorknob it clicked softly before he pulled it open. Sitting in the corner of this closet with haggard walls was a pitiful little thing curled up. Its eyes wearily looking up at the man as long tears stained their face.
It was gaunt and gangly and teetered on the edge of forever closed eyes.
He couldn’t help but sigh through his nose looking down at them. These ones were always the worst. But a job was a job, and he couldn’t look past it. That wouldn’t be fair to others. Kneeling down to the little girl's sight, her sullen features stayed grim and heavy as he tried to smile.
Maybe she knew what he had to do.
“Can I eat?” she asked with barely a whisper in her throat. “I waited patiently and didn’t make a sound.” The man closed his eyes, stealing himself. He just had to get this over quickly, that was always the advice he had been given. That is always what he had tried to do.
“Yes, you can eat. In fact you’ll be able to eat to your little heart's content” he told the child with a mothers warmth. Her eyes lit up into two shining stars hearing this, from within spreading slightly a vibrant youth back on to her face if it had ever been there at all. It’ll be better for her anyways he tried reminding himself bracing the next actions to take. “All you have to do is follow me out of the room.”
He held out his pale hand to her making her jump back reflexively. The hopeful shimmer dwindled somewhat as she peered over to his open hand as the man counted the agonizing seconds for what was about to happen. No matter what he did, he knew not to rush things with people in his job, doing so would only lead them to resentment and stagnation. But did he really want to do this though? Was he really willing to put up with this? He had done so before. So, so many times before. It was his duty though he tried to tell himself. Well he may have let a few slip away out of his grasp every now and then but that was with full knowledge he didn’t
need to interfere any more than turning a blind eye. A simple mistake anyone could make every now and then.
That was easy, explainable. For this child he could make no such effort, she didn’t seem like she would leave this place, she didn’t even look like she could walk. All it would be is prolonging what he had to do which was much crueler than the job he had to perform now. That was what he kept telling himself once, twice, ten, a hundred, a thousand times as the girl with growing confidence leaned herself over to take his hand. All the man could do was close his eyes, unwilling to watch.
“You know what, I forgot something” he suddenly said, pulling his hand away from her. He took out his glove and put it back on before repositioning it right in front of her. He gave her a big smile as she looked at him confused. “Can’t have germs being passed around. Now how about we get you that food.”
She grasped his hand and in one motion he picked her up so that their faces could meet while he stood tall. Carrying the child past the bed and out of the house he knew of a place he could drop her off. It was a house down the street that he knew wouldn’t mind her. Placing her down in front of the door he told her to wait there
before ringing the doorbell. The door slowly opened as from inside he could hear the surprise and worry exalted from the people inside. Quickly they ushered in the child, coddling her, and paying no heed to the man who had been standing right next to her.
Even the child looked back to him but her eyes kept searching, looking past him which only served to make him smile.
Taking the walk back to the house it really did seem that the weather was more than lovely for any activity conceivable. Taking out his ledger he began to scratch out the number three with a two, before completely crossing out the address as he walked back to it. There was certainly going to be hell to pay when someone finds out about this he thought to himself tucking it back into his black coat. Stopping in the middle of his walk he couldn’t help but stare at a wooden bench basked in the light of the sun. Well if he was already going to be in trouble, why not enjoy the day at least a little. So Death sat down and for a little while watched the world tick by.
Joshua Carpenter, 12 flash fiction
MEMORIES
Jake Lechner, 10 photography
stone remnants of
A sun setting on the horizon, Light spewing on ruins of rock, Bareen, desolate and bland, Sun-bleached stone, cracked and tan, Once were the colors of a peacock, But now forever lost inside the sand,
A river splitting between the sides, The bridge no longer exists connecting the two, Old passageway of what used to be a lantern lit lane, Flowering blossoms falling and wilting away, Weeds invaded through cracks and now outgrew, This overgrown path has gone astray.
What used to be a great and beautiful city, Has become a wasteland for pure history, Graffitied and laid to be beaten by the elements, The buildings slowly being turned into sediment,
What was here will be forgotten, a pure sudden mystery, For these ruins are now so desolate and indefinite.
Kalli Wheeler, 11 rhymed poem
ria sethi featured writer
Known for her bad memory, junior Ria Sethi began writing to ensure she would never forget the important memories from her childhood. She vividly and poetically documented every experience she could, transforming her diary into a collection of poems and stories featuring those closest to her. Presently, Sethi draws inspiration from all that surrounds her and feels a constant desire to write.
Writing encourages Sethi to think creatively about everything she knows and has experienced. She particularly enjoys writing in more sophisticated ways—ways that challenge the simplicity of others’ writing. However, while her work was originally meant for her, and served as a way for her to use her voice to overcome struggles, she now intends for her work to be read by others as well. The increased confidence writing has lent her transformed her motivations: she now writes in part for others who are struggling with their identity and in part for writers who need to be encouraged. One of Sethi’s most established qualities as a writer is her unconventional approach to conventional topics.
“My strongest writing skill is the ability of timeliness and quickness I have to
Photo by Natalia Dzielnicka
Artwork by Connie Chao
connie chao featured artist
Most people rely on their voice to convey their emotions to others; however, sophomore Connie Chao has taken an approach to expressing herself that feels infinitely more authentic: art. To her, art signifies freedom. All she needs is paint and a brush, and she is able to transform the dullness of a canvas into an image full of life, color, and love that represents something far greater than herself. Chao is deeply inspired by nature, and her work often incorporates a unique blend of natural scenes and symbolic elements of Chinese culture. By painting the environment, she desires to bring about a greater sense of environmental awareness. To be surrounded by Earth’s beauty is a privilege, and Chao captures this beauty in her work in order to push others to appreciate nature as much as she does.
Art has been a healing outlet for Chao since she was 5, beginning with merely following a Bob Ross tutorial and painting with her mother. Now though, she uses her work to help heal others as well. Through exhibitions Chao works to raise money for children’s hospitals so that they can continue to allow others to see the beauty in life as they did for her. She has had exhibitions at Florida Atlantic University, Boca Library and Eugene Arts and Frames—her dad’s gallery shop. Nevertheless, Chao intends to continue expanding her exhibitions and raising money.
“In my art, I aim to capture the inspiring harmony of nature, reminding viewers of life’s preciousness and potential,” Chao said. “Where each brushstroke comes alive and paints not just a scene, but of hope for millions in need.”
In her work, Chao excels at composition and conveying moods. Before she even begins to put a brush to a canvas she can see the layers of an image in her head. Once painting, she notices whether or not the elements of her work are coming together to evoke a certain emotion and pays close attention to color in order to make scenery feel comfortable. Still, Chao is working on portraying human figures and better integrating them into her nature-based works, an improvement there is plenty of time for as she is positive that art will remain a lifelong passion for her.
Andie Korenge, 11 feature profile
skye baseman
After witnessing a beautiful sunset amidst her first trip to New Jersey, sophomore Skye Baseman gained perspective on how expressive and creative photography could be. Looking through the lens of a camera allows her to see beauty in every place and capture the moments that will one day be memories, fueling her nostalgia. Every picture Baseman takes provides her an opportunity to see seemingly unimportant things in a new light.
“I love how photography helps me appreciate small, beautiful details,” Baseman said. “It changes the way I see the world and encourages me to explore new places.”
Baseman began doing photography three years ago, but only started doing it more consistently last year. Her work largely stands out due to her use of light. Over her years of practice, Baseman has learned to manipulate lighting to portray mood and highlight her subjects. Instead of always aiming for the perfect shot, she is fond of experimenting with blur and unusual angles to take more personal and expressive shots. Her favored photography styles are landscapes, which allow her to explore natural light while capturing the environment, and event photography, which allows her to document meaningful moments candidly.
Baseman’s friends are even a source of inspiration for her work, making the everyday moments she enjoys photographing infinitely more fun to capture. Their support, as well as that of her parents, has helped her grow as an artist. As Baseman continues to further her abilities and pursue photography beyond high school, she intends to continue refining her editing and developing a more consistent style.
Andie Korenge, 11 feature profile
Artifex is published using Adobe InDesign CC 2025, and Adobe Photoshop CC 2025. Artifex was printed by Landy Marketing. Three hundred-and-fifty copies were printed and distributed to the student body for free. The cover is printed on 100-pound coated cover paper. The interior pages are printed on 60-pound offset stock paper. All 76 pages are printed in full color. Copy is set in size 10 for poetry and size 8 prose Montserrat Regular. Piece title and type bylines are set in a 10-point Montserrat Extra Bold. Name bylines are set in 10-point Montserrat Semi-Bold font. Design bylines are set in 10-point Montserrat Extra Bold and Montserrat Light font. Headlines sizes range from 45-point to 60-point Ideas font and 36-42 point Montserrat Light font. Folios are set in 18-point Montserrat Extra Bold. Pull Quotes are in 16-point Montserrat Medium font.
Artifex is a member of the Columbia Scholastic Press Association, the Florida Scholastic Press Association, and the National Scholastic Press Association. The 2024 Artifex was an NSPA Pacemaker winner, All-American, and a CSPA Silver Crown winner. It was rated All-Floida by FSPA, First Class, with three marks of distinction for reader services, writing, photography/artwork/graphics, and design.
Acolophon editorial policy
rtifex is Marjory Stoneman Douglas High School’s Literary-Art magazine. The main purpose of Artifex is to provide student writers, artists, and photographers with the opportunity to publish their creative work.
Any student in grades 9-12 may submit writing, art, or photography for consideration. Submissions are considered blindly, without author or artist names. Editors read all submissions and sort them into “yes,” “no,” and “maybe” folders. “Yes” selected writing submissions are “paired” with art submissions based on thematic connection. Efforts are made to ensure that pieces from a diverse group of students are included, not just many submissions from a few. The type of art and writing included each year is entirely dependent on the submissions by the student body.
The staff reserves the right to edit grammatical errors and spelling mistakes without the author’s permission. The staff does not edit artwork but will choose elements from the artwork to use as embellishments to the spread design. The staff reserves the right to work with authors, artists, and photographers to rename pieces for the magazine. Authors, artists, and photographers retain the copyright of all printed submissions but grant Artifex the right to publish them initially and use them in the future for any promotional purposes.
The ideas and opinions expressed in Artifex are not necessarily those of Marjory Stoneman Douglas High School or Broward County Public Schools but instead reflect each writer’s and artist’s expression, as the magazine serves as a forum for student artistic expression.
We are so grateful for all the submissions to Artifex this year and look forward to continuing to publish your works in the years to come.
If we did not select your piece for the magazine this year, please do not be discouraged from submitting again for the 2025-2026 school year. Upon taking all submissions into consideration, we had chosen those which fit most closely with our theme. This further narrowed our choices down after the consideration of the number of pages we may publish.
Next year, we hope to see both old and new artists contributing to our publication. If you are interested in seeing your work published in Artifex, submit your pieces to the Google Forms sent out by litmagmsd@gmail.com.
Artifex’s goal will always be to allow students to express themselves in the best way they know, whether through art, photography, or writing. We urge our student body to keep creating, inspiring, and following your passions no matter how difficult. Until next year.
Aspecial thanks to the Lawrence A. Sanders Foundation Inc. for patronizing the arts for the past 17 years and allowing Artifex to showcase the excellent talent and artistic ability of the Marjory Stoneman Douglas High School’s student body. We are also thankful for our advisor, Melissa Falkowski’s guidance throughout the design process of our magazine. We especially want to give props to all our staff as they have contributed to and furthered the creation of this year’s magazine. We thank you so much for your involvement throughout development. Your work is recognized and appreciated.
And to the students who submitted their work to be considered, thank you. It can be incredibly daunting to turn in work that one is proud of to be judged and sorted. Your vulnerability is what makes this magazine whole. Even if your piece was not selected, you should be proud. Many thanks, once again.
staff special thanks editor’s note
Editor-In-Chief & Design Editor: Grace Brill
Content Editor: Kioni Clarke
Staff: Ahana Tippanagoudar, Victoria Damaso, Andie Korenge, Lia Schwartz
Adviser: Melissa Falkowski
