The Academy of Notre Dame de Namur
Literary Magazine 2015-2016
Literary Magazine Staff 20152016 Editors: Anne Marie Crinnion Rheanna Congdon Members: Peggy Burke Evelyn Chen Julia Goldschmidt Merry Gu Gretchen Heisler Argirel Lion Regan Moran A Note From the Editor: Thank you to all the wonderful students who have submitted all types of pieces. I hope the entire ND community has felt the freedom of expression we hope to provide. That being said, I encourage you to read this magazine with pride. Recognize that all of you can contribute something creative to our community, and experiment with different types of expression. To those who did not submit anything this year, keep an open mind for next year. Who knows, perhaps something will spark your interest this summer that you will want to share in next year’s edition. I can’t describe how much joy I have experienced from compiling all of these works. I am proud to share with you our Literary Magazine, Inspire . Happy writing, photographing, drawing, and reading, Anne Marie Crinnion
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Table of Contents Gaby Bradbury ‘19……………………………………………………………………………………...3 Erin Boyle ‘16…………………………………………………………………………………………....4 Jennifer Lepore ‘18……………………………………………………………………………………...5 Evelyn Chen ‘18………………………………………………………………………………………...6 Caroline Booraem ‘16…………………………………………………………………………………..7 Abby Breen ‘16………………………………………………………………………………………….8 Regan Moran ‘17………………………………………………………………………………………..9 Vicky Brooks ‘16………………………………………………………………………………………10 Gaby Bradbury ‘19…………………………………………………………………………………….12 Julia Walton ‘17……………………………………………………………………………………......13 Caroline Booraem ‘16…………………………………………………………………………………14 Nina Ciocca ‘19…………………………………………………………………………………….….15 Anne Marie Crinnion ‘16…………………………………………………………………………...….16 Jayda Hepburn ‘19……………………………………………………………………………...……..17 Mrs. Cornell…………..………………………………………………………………………………..18 Anna Kuyat ‘17………………………………………………………………………………………...19 Evelyn Chen ‘18……………………………………………………………………………………….20 Creative Writing Period 2……………………………………………………………………………..21 Merry Gu ‘17…………………………………………………………………………………………...23 Anne Marie Crinnion ‘16……………………………………………………..………………………..24 Gaby Bradbury ‘19……………………………………………………………………………..……...25 Erin Boyle ‘16…………………………………………………………………………………………..26 Regan Moran ‘17………………………………………………………………………………………27 Audrey Hart ‘16………………………………………………………………………………………..28 Living Poets Society…………………….……………………………………………………..……...29 Taylor Ford ‘19…………………………………………………………………………………….…..30 Julia Goldschmidt ‘17……………………………………………………………………………….…31 Gaby Bradbury ‘19………………………………………………………………………...…………..33 Jess Czachor ‘16……………………………………………………………………………………...34 Plaseh Dennis ‘16………………………………………………………………………...…………...37 Evelyn Chen ‘18……………………………………………………………………………………….38 Ava Bowie ‘18……………………………………………………………….………………………....39 Merry Gu ‘17…………………………………………………………………………………………...40 Anna Kuyat ‘17……………………………………………………………….………………………..41 Lauryn Elia ‘18……………………………………………………………….………………………...43
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Gaby Bradbury
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Erin Boyle
“Dad, please don’t freak out, but I got in an accident,” I begged as my trembling hands held the cell phone to my cold ear that morning. The sun was just rising and there was a gray fog floating in the air that signaled nothing good was coming out of that day. As expected, he freaked out and began to question me about what happened. I answered all his questions quickly saying, “Yes, I’m okay. No, I hit the back of the car in front of me. No, the other driver isn’t injured. Yes, the car is still in one piece.” But then, he asked me why. My heart sank to my stomach, and there was a moment of silence that felt like it lasted a year. My mouth quickly spit out some sort of gibberish that resembled, “I just didn’t react quick enough,” but the voice inside my head told the truth, “Because of a spider.” A simple spider caused hundreds of dollars of damage to my car. The spider was not hurting me, touching me, or even affecting me, but I just so happened to turn my head to look at it the same split second the car in front of me slammed on the brakes. I had never been so upset with myself than I was that morning because, quite frankly, I had never experienced such failure. I studied for the learner’s permit test like it was a midterm exam, took a 30 hour course on driving, aced the driving test, and always kept my phone in the backseat and my eyes on the road. From this failure, however, I learned one of the most important lessons life can teach. I learned that there will always be spiders in life. Spiders are such small creatures, yet have the capability to incite so much fear and emotion in people. Why can they do this? Why do people, including myself, get so scared by a little spider? It makes no logical sense considering the majority of spiders we encounter are not dangerous to human lives. Spiders may not directly affect what is going on in a room, but steal the attention away from what is occurring. Spiders force people to become scared or even to run away. Spiders distract us from what is really important and make us focus so much on a minor detail that does not matter in the big picture. Simply by existing, spiders have the power to incite such powerful fear and emotion in a person. From my accident, I learned that we all have spiders in our life. There will always be something we are afraid of or try our best to avoid. We do not know if it will harm us or help us, but we know we do not want to deal with it. Whether it is a dreadful English paper, tax season, or even the college admission process, there will always be something in our lives that will not hurt us, but can drive us crazy. These things, so similar to spiders, can get in our heads. They can so easily take away our focus from what is important. There will always be spiders that appear to be petrifying, but I have learned that life is just a test of how we deal with them. That morning, I let one little spider distract my driving. This experience taught me to never let that happen again. Now, no matter what the spider may be in the future, I have learned to stand unwavering.
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Jennifer Lepore Raindrops Pitter patter on the pavement, Free my ears of enslavement, From the noise and clatter of the world. Drops fell from the sky as the wind whirled. Pitter patter on the glass. Crystal drops on bright green grass. Clouds part to reveal a clear blue sky, The ground then begins to dry. Pitter patter on the ground, The raindrops fell all around. The clouds keep the storm at bay, Until then, the sun is here to stay.
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Evelyn Chen
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Caroline Booraem Standing at the bottom of a 250 foot rock face, I look up. My dad and our guide, Brian, are already at the top. I’m alone at the bottom, with 25 stories of vertical rock with only small cracks and ledges above me. All I have are the tips of my fingers and toes to propel myself vertically and a single rope for protection if I fall. As I start to climb, I have doubts. My muscles are tired from two previous climbs, and this one looks even more challenging. While this presents a physical challenge, I must also overcome a mental challenge as I piece together the three dimensional puzzle of hand and footholds between me and the top. Although there were moments when I wasn’t sure I’d find the next move, I finally make it up and over the edge. I savor the view over the forest below and the ocean beyond, and a great feeling of accomplishment comes over me, enhanced by knowing how hard it was to get here.
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Abby Breen
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Regan Moran I have little time left to live what with the future coming so fast There isn’t much time to move, what with all the life I have to live There is so much to plan Systemize, categorize, and classify Practicality will always trump youth Left with little hope for all possibilities seem endless and yet like most I am stuck in a box of test scores and financial dependency and external factors that have no impact on my happiness Sensibility will get you much farther than feelings and intuition Think end goal and work backwards.
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Vicky Brooks Long Time Coming The girls are sitting around in Robyn’s pink and flowery bedroom, laughing, giggling, and gossiping like normal middle school girls. It’s 12 AM and One Direction is blasting on the speakers, with girls stuffing their faces with buttery, salty popcorn. Four girls were anticipating this sleepover since school began. Thanksgiving Break was a much needed vacation so the girls could get together and spend time with each other. Miranda was the quirky, unique 11 year old girl who always would bite on her nails anxiously and play around with her macaroni shell necklace that she proudly made in preschool. Reading Seventeen Magazine in the pink beanbag is the host of the slumber party, Robyn. She doesn't have much of a mind of her own and tends to follow the crowd, or whoever bosses her around so she can feel popular. Sarah is playing with her hair and just listening to the conversations without engaging in them. She is the quiet, soft spoken girl who is always the butt of the jokes but always laughs along. Sarah is pretty close with all of the other girls and have been friends with them since the younger years of daycare. The last girl of the friendly slumber party is Susie. Susie is the one who tends to control and tries to be the boss of the group, and of course who Robyn is always kissing up to. It was the summer of June last year at Camp MeadowLake. The girls loved pranking one another and that was just how they got a laugh out of each other. Sarah was the most gullible out of the group so for this prank, she was the target. Sarah hated anything from insects all the way to the dark. So while Sarah was sleeping in her bunk, Miranda, Susie, and Robyn spread fake spider webs throughout her room and shut all of the lights off even her Hello Kitty night light. Into her sleep, Sarah hears “Sarah, help me! There’s someone in my room!” Frightened, she jumps out of bed, landing her face in dusty spider webs getting into her mouth and eyes. The lights are completely off and with the spider webs over her face, Sarah is blind for what is happening. As she swings her feet over to jump from her top bunk, there’s a crunch and a scream. The girls had spread pine cones all over floor and the pain was just unbearable. With bloody feet, faux spider webs over her face, and being in the dark to top it off. As she was walking out her room to see what was going on, she feels a rush of ice cold water from a bucket that was poured on her. She looks across and sees Miranda, Susie, and, Robyn hysterically laughing and smiling. Sarah started to chuckle and the girls ran up to her and gave her a hug. All of the girls including Sarah, knew that it was just one of their normal pranks, but this was a prank to remember. After dancing all around Robyn’s bedroom, the girls took a little break. They walked downstairs to the kitchen to get a drink of water and they were deciding on what to do next. “Let’s prank call the neighbors,” whispered Miranda Snapping back, Susie says, “No, that's stupid, let’s play a game.” “Yeah, that’s stupid. Let’s play a game,” said Robyn annoyingly. 10
The girls stare at each other for about five seconds and that’s when Sarah says,”Let’s play TruthorDare, or how about HidenSeek?” The girls all gasp and cheer happily and decide to play HidenSeek. The girls gather in the living room and stand in a circle. Deciding who wants to go first, Susie takes charge. Susie says that in order to play, one person is going to be the seeker and everyone else is going to be the hiders. There is a certain amount of time before the seeker can find everyone and the game isn't over until everyone is found. “And how about we play it in the dark,” Susie adds in, “And I change my mind. I want Sarah to be the seeker.” Sarah reluctantly agrees and the game begins. The girls run and hide and find their places. Sarah had an expected feeling that a prank was going to come soon, but she was hoping and wishing that it wasn't going to happen another time. “Come on, Sarah! We’re ready!” yelled Miranda. “Okay, ready or not, here I come!” Sarah said loudly. As Sarah is walking around, searching for the girls in the dark she has her hands out for protection, resembling a Frankenstein position. Giggling and light footsteps are heard scurrying across the floor. Sarah’s heart beats quicker and quicker by the second. She finds her way through the kitchen, gliding her hands across the counter. Walking up the steps, and hearing laughing in the closet, she finds Robyn first. Robyn screams. Going into the bathroom, she hears subtle, quiet fingernail biting, and there she finds Miranda and they both scream. Laughing and screaming is filling the whole house and now she has to find Susie. Susie hiding under her bed, moving to get comfortable. Quiet footsteps get closer and closer to Susie’s hiding place, and Sarah yells, “I found you!” and screams from little girls fill the room. Stumbling to turn the light switch on, there stands Sarah with a knife in her hand, covered in blood.
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Gaby Bradbury
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Julia Walton Emily Dickinson
I killed a fly on Christmas Eve— it died beneath my sweater sleeve. In the morning I had to leave a single black smear on the wall. I opened up things wrapped in blue and brothers opened up things, too, but in the air not one fly flew through family room, kitchen, or hall. A fly, of course, won’t stop for Death, and so, at once, I stopped its breath. To Christmas cheer I was quite deaf, if I cared for the season at all. I removed myself back to my room— the weight of that nobody loomed— I said, I am nobody, too, and wiped that black smear off the wall.
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Caroline Booraem
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Nina Ciocca
A Boy’s Best Memory As I begin my morning commute to my fourth grade classroom like each fall daybreak, Russell sniffs the gravel beneath my feet picking up the smell of some rodent roaming before him. The foreday brings a musky mood to the gray sky giving the clouds a misconception to their color. I continue to hear the repetitive paw acoustics against the path of our morning adventure. Just as the luminous sun was fully out of bed we reached the cracked chestnut colored school house in which I dread. Russell gave me a tilt of his head in condolence as I said goodbye and climbed the concrete steps. As I endured the bore of Ms. Rickles voice I watched the clock like a hawk watching its prey. The pound of the 3pm bell snapped me out of my daydream, I raced to the courtyard in search of my walking companion. Russell was at the foot of the mature red maple tree, I dash to my partner in crime yet could not reach him in the crowded yard as everything went black. BEEP BEEP BEEP BEEP! The sound of my small black alarm clock woke me up, the stench of stale canine hair still remained in my bedroom, but not Russell.
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Anne Marie Crinnion
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Jayda Hepburn The Anarchists’ Lover In the midst of tear gas and the crossfire I remember seeing you caught With blood on your face, screaming out of resentment and rage At those who restrained you a lifetime too long When the smoke cleared, I saw you better, And you came towards me with steps so light, Like an angel out of the tumult Of a most divine fight Healing wounds and forming new ones, we held tight And I fought for you as you did me We learned to love and liberate each other So we could let our children live free Sometimes we were fighting I stopped and prayed to whomever could see "Of all the angels you can take, Please leave mine with me." When I awoke to the sound of gunfire pounding, And shattering glass late at night, The echoed screams of the tortured and broken And with a bang, I was blinded by light. Blurring colors, gasped out words, By the bullet of their guns, let me leave this earth Take my head, my bloody hands And let me cross over into other lands I will remember your smile, Your piercing eyes, Your booming voice, your battle cry, Your sleepy breaths in those little hours as they harmonized with mine Place a penny over each eye, dearest And put me in the earth numb and blue So that I may recount my sins to the devil And wait a thousand years for you
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Mrs. Cornell
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Anna Kuyat St. Jerome He sits outside the dark, strange cathedral. The inky undertones highlight this golden, bronze painted man and symbolize a melancholy and depressed tone. His aged face seems to be sorrowful and overcrowded with pain. It stares off into the distance, looking for a happy ending. Alone and afraid, he is only accompanied by a lion lying on his stomach, roaring at him. His mouth slightly open, he weeps in pain for someone, anyone. He freezes sitting on a cold rock as the wind blows frosty and powerful. His body shivers from his dull, bald head to his bare, naked feet. He prays and prays because that is what he was taught to do, he says, Please God, come help, my life is askew.
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Evelyn Chen
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Creative Writing Period 2 That Girl Walking down the hall, faces turn to see look at that girl trying to be someone who she is not. She tries to be the queen never true to herself. Nobody sees, nobody notices. Eventually only being by herself will she And so she sits to empty her thoughts, wishing to be only herself. High School crowded hallways sweaty palms and nervous eyes staring ahead wondering why why is it so hard? feeling tight inside the world is too small here but in the bright summer outside, there is nothing to fear Blindness I wish I noticed the world around me more how the trees mark the seasons change or when all my marshmallows sink funny When I see new things I can’t help but try Try to follow my dreams I just need to open my eyes 21
The Change I noticed him one day and my life changed. I saw changes in him whether it was his haircut, or maybe it was his clothes they seemed different or maybe it was him all together different something changed the wind, the sky, you’re so shy Talk. Say something. Let me know what is going on. I need to know what happened. Who? I saw you standing behind me. You were just watching, noticing things. I seemed to be the only one to see you I turn in my mind but I really stay frozen not knowing what to do more confused than ever. you captivate me in some way. I’ll keep my eye out for you again.
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Merry Gu
Christina
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Anne Marie Crinnion
Just Excuse Her Already
Orderly progression of logic defines the subject whose predictability I relish. Math is full of rules: geometry theorems few ever really learn, addition facts people use their physical digits to solve, and trigonometric relationships with mnemonics that many find harder to remember than their actual content. Yet one elementary rule tends to stick with people long past their high school calculus class. Maybe it’s a punch at Nike’s “no excuses” slogan. Whatever the reason, the American math student has always felt the need to excuse that oh so dear Aunt Sally. It’s a catchy way to recall the order of operations: PEMDAS. Please Excuse My Dear Aunt Sally. More than just through mantras, however, math is remembered through optimism, through the hope of receiving more. For in excusing my dear Aunt Sally, there seems to be a hierarchical order for the entirety of the operations. The realization that multiplication and division are treated equally and performed simply in the order that they appear in the problem often shocks students. It’s natural to want to multiply first; our culture emphasizes that more is better. The same is true for addition and subtraction; the natural instinct is to add before subtracting, for increases are associated with happiness. The beauty of math is that it’s emotionally neutral. Adding and subtracting occur on the same operational level, yet math is oriented and taught towards the positive. That’s why trigonometry frustrates so many students: the unit circle on which all radian operations and subsequent trigonometric functions are based is oriented counterclockwise. It’s a progression that initially seems backwards. With the idea of time as a constantly increasing phenomenon calibrated to the movement of clocks, clockwise is thought of as the positive, increasing direction. Thus, orientating towards the reverse in trig is something I often help my students with. Among the younger students I tutor, I have yet to come across someone who tells me that division is easier than multiplication. Perhaps if division and subtraction were emphasized in elementary school over their counterparts, subtle changes would arise in our culture. Would the overall mindset change towards a more egalitarian society? The emphasis on division could result in increased charity; the general view may shift towards a thought that dividing one’s acquisitions is more important than multiplying one’s wealth.
It’s possible we need to start to think that People Everywhere Direct Message Sir Arthur: PEDMSA. Rather than confusing students with my own idea of social change, however, I revert back to the trusted PEMDAS. Every time I tutor, I feel so grateful that figuring out the order of mathematical operations is facilitated by the imperfection of my aunt. Sally is proof that there is room for pardon in the world; imperfections can lead to irrefutable lessons. If a student commits the grave error of doing multiplication before exponentiation, my excusatory mantra saves the day, or at least, the problem. My dear aunt becomes an acronym; reduced, like one should do with all fractions, but never irrelevant. Aunt Sally truly gives order to the operations, yet she will always be remembered as arithmetic’s quintessential scapegoat.
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Gaby Bradbury
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Erin Boyle
She catches everyone’s attention. If anybody wants to know whether they should be happy or sad, all they have to do is look up at her for a second and they know. She can sum up the last hour of running, stressing, yelling, and sweating with just a few illuminated numbers. She records and proudly displays how many times my incredible teammates have worked their hardest to put the ball in the net. She also keeps track of how many times the other team managed to do the same. From my perspective, however, she tells me how many mistakes I have made, and allows everyone else to see as well. I have always been a perfectionist. By the fourth grade, I began packing my own lunch and cleaning the family room just because I believed nobody else could do it the right way. Now, I stay up all night on my computer until every word in an essay due the next day is right or until I remember every last word of my notes for the big test. Being a field hockey goalie, however, perfection is much harder. My teammates sprint up and down the field for all sixty minutes every game. Meanwhile, I watch from the end of the field, waiting for the ball so I can take a few quick steps and knock it out of the goal’s path. If I react too slow in those crucial seconds the ball is flying at me, the ball rolls into the goal, and I stand there, motionless and helpless, feeling defeated. When this happens, she makes no delay in showing all the coaches, players, newspaper reporters, and fans the effect of my mistake. She reads “Guest: 1,” but might as well read “Attention: Erin Boyle has made a mistake.” She does not show the other five saves I had or what the score would be if I had not jumped to save the last ball, only the fact that I did not step quick enough in that one split second. Even on the days I block every shot, she does not tell me that. She will only show to everyone that I simply managed to not make a mistake. She and I do not get along, but I have learned to accept it. The perfectionist in me hates her for publicly displaying all the things I do wrong. The player in me hates the score she shows when we lose to our rival. However, she has taught me so much about myself, and I appreciate her for that. She has showed me that I will not always be praised for everything I do right. She has taught me how important every second and every action is. Most importantly, she has forced me to face my fear and realize that I will make mistakes and have to own up to them.
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Regan Moran
Ambition doesn't sleep It stills and holds its breath in silent anticipation. Confidence doesn't leave. If it’s gone it was never truly there. Small chances with futile results leave everlasting marks of ungreatness on all those who put in the effort to try to reach success. There is no point in the pursuit for justice; it is constantly evaded by those who seem to only ask and receive what they want. Life is a never tiring battle of the trying people failing, and people who seem to glide Aspiration doesn’t slip away or leave after a goal isn’t met. Ambition doesn’t rest, but it does dream. Ambition doesn’t care about the how on the long journey It cares about the destination
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Audrey Hart
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Living Poets Society Leaving the home you’ve always known is sometimes hard Sometimes necessary, sometimes voluntary and cherished memories flee Leaving can be great and can lead to new opportunities One door closes, another opens Crowded subway stations become empty tracks Moving to a new time, a new place A new place to know
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Taylor Ford
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Julia Goldschmidt Scarpe Nostre I don’t know why I did it. I mean, I just saw him lying there. I guess it’s because I don’t really have any shoes of my own. Well, I do have shoes, but not nice ones like those. Anyway, he had no use for them anymore so I decided I’d take them so they wouldn’t go to waste. It’s funny. Usually that kind of stuff gives me the creeps, all the blood and everything. Didn’t bother me, though. I just quickly grabbed the shoes and tried not to look at his face. The poor man. Shot. Right in the street. Didn’t look like anyone was going to come and get him, either. I wondered how long he’d be out there. So I go home to my apartment. Nothing special about it. None too fancy. The pipes are exposed in the wall of the living room, for goodness sake. I had just taken my hat off when there was a knock at the door. “Who on earth could that be?” I said out loud, which probably incited the second, more forceful, knock. It wasn’t exactly a pretty time of night and I wasn’t expecting visitors. I decided to open the door even though it was against my principles. Upon opening the door I found a short, sleazylooking guy in a suit and hat. I’m nobody to judge, but he looked pretty tacky to me, with his slicked back hair and all. Despite this guy having gone through the effort of knocking on my door. I was shocked when he actually spoke. Maybe it was the voice. He had the voice of that one uncle everyone has mixed with a kid trying to sound older than he is. That’s the only way I can describe it. “Did you happen to pass by the body on 67th?” “No,” I said coolly, “Haven’t been out tonight.” I decided to lie in case this guy was with the cops and I didn’t feel like being a witness or something. “Then why do you have your coat on?” He glanced down at my feet. “And your shoes?” I looked down. I hadn’t taken the shoes off. Come to think of it, this guy probably saw me go into my apartment. I was starting to get uneasy. I still had my wits about me but this guy was not giving me a good feeling. “Look, whaddya want?” He pulled himself up to his full height as if he were trying to seem bigger than me. He was a short guy, as I said, but stocky. Still, I didn’t want to get on his bad side. “Don’t lie,” he said. “I know you saw that dead guy on 67th because you took his shoes and you’re still wearing them.” I kind of just stood there and squirmed in my shoes. He took my silence as permission to go on. “We don’t want no trouble. Just give us the shoes and ‘bam!’ we’ll be gone.” I was still trying to figure out what this solitary man meant by ‘us’ when I heard two gunshots from the street. Living in this part of town, you don’t bat an eye when you hear that sort of thing, but this guy must’ve jumped three feet in the air. I’m not kidding. Before I could tell this creepy guy to just go away, he took off in a sprint down the hall, downstairs and out of the building, like someone was shooting at him . “Hey, what’s the big idea?” I shouted to the empty hallway. I’ll admit this is when I became more than a little anxious. I tried to go back inside and pretend like nothing happened, but I ended up pacing the room. Well, I couldn’t just stay there, so I decided to take a walk around the block. Just a walk. Completely unrelated to the previous events of the evening. I knew I was lying to myself. I shoulda known it would be dangerous. I’d just heard gunshots outside my window not an hour ago! That’s when I first heard the footsteps, the crisp clop of nice shoes hitting the pavement, a lot like the sound my own (should I even use that word? I’d only had the things for a couple of hours) shoes were making under my feet. I walked a little faster. My heart started pounding. That’s what people say before they get stabbed or something. The footsteps behind me got louder and faster. Were they multiplying? Yes, there were definitely a few people back there now. I nearly broke into a run. But then I decided that was stupid. I sucked it up and abruptly turned around. And I was shocked by what I saw. Really. Stunned.
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Five guys stood in front of me, all dressed like my visitor at my apartment. Same suits, same hair, same hatsand all wearing shoes just like mine. I was searching the faces of these gents for my visitor from earlier, but no cigar. Just as I was ready to truly make a run for itas none of those faces were remotely close to friendlya figure emerged from a side street. It was a familiar face. He was wearing no shoes, his feet filthy and bloody from the city streets. I was disgusted. “Evenin’,” he said. I nodded in reply, keeping my eye on his hand which had drifted to his pants pocket. “You know what we want.” I instinctively glanced down at my shoes and he nodded. I finally knew what he meant by ‘we.’ “You have one more chance. Give us the shoes and there won’t be a problem.” At this point I was mad. Not even mad. I was enraged . The emotion came from a place deep in my stomach and rose to my throat. “No, I’m not giving you these shoes! I found them! They’re my shoes! What do you even want with them?” I was screaming by this point. I hadn’t even finished talking when every guy facing me drew a revolver and pointed it at me. Instead of being scared for my life, this only made me angrier. “You’re gonna shoot me? Over shoes? You guys must be insane. Do it! Shoot me over shoes!” I was hysterical. I was inconsolable. I was dead. My familiar friend’s indifference was thinly veiled by his mock pity. “You did this to yourself, buddy.” One shot. I couldn’t see whose gun, but I could tell from the way it hit me that it was his. I found myself lying in the street, face covered in blood. As the corners of my vision started clouding over, I could tell the gang put away their guns and calmly started walking away, silent but for the sound of their shoes on the pavement. But before my shooter left, he reached down and took the shoes off my feet.
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Gaby Bradbury
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Jess Czachor “TRAVELING SALESMAN” Theo Torres (Alberto Rosende) Annie Folst (Elizabeth Olsen) FADE IN: EXT. A QUAINT NEIGHBORHOOD SUNDAY MORNING Charming houses line the suburban streets for miles. Each house is completely unique but just as lovely as the two next to it. The same thin stony pathway leads from the street to each doorstep and is accompanied by a row of deep green grass billowing in the mild summer wind on either side. Occasionally, a child will run down the streets or an adult will take a stroll with his/her dog. INT. INSIDE A SMALL BOXY CAR PARKED ON THE STREET Theo Torres, a young man in his low twenties, sits in his weathered yet dazzling orange car and turns down the radio. He glances around to make sure no one is staring at him. He takes a deep, nervous breath and lowers his car’s visor and looks deep in the mirror before starting to talk. THEO Hello sir or ma’am! Are your vacuum needs fully met? Can I interest you in... (PAUSE) He glances down to his script and looks back up to the mirror. THEO Hello sir or ma’am! (FORCED SMILE) Are your vacuum needs entirely met? Can I interest you in this year’s new model The Super Vac 4000 or how about a six month supply of vacuum bags? (SIGHS) He looks into the mirror and tries to smile. His smile is so strained that his cheeks quickly become sore. He shakes his head and lightly massages his cheeks. Theo tries to smile again but still has a labored and hollow smile. Theo glances back into the mirror and adjusts his glasses so they aren’t crooked but once he moves again, his glasses are out of whack again. He quickly runs his fingers through his hair in order to fix any stray hairs. He reaches into his glove compartment, pulls out a mint, and pops it into his mouth.
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THEO I can do this. I can do this. He reaches into his back row and pulls out his thin leather briefcase. Theo doesn’t keep anything in there but he was told to carry it already to look more professional. With his briefcase in hand, he opens his car door and steps outside. Theo stands up and fixes his cheap black suit with one hand. In the other hand, he tightly grips his briefcase while looking around, trying to figure out which house to go to first. He is drawn to a small brick house with a deep blue roof directly across from his car. Theo crosses the road and begins to mutter the script to himself. THEO I can do this. I can do this. He stands up straight and starts to walk up the stony path leading to the blue roof house. THEO I can do this. I can do this. Theo rings the doorbell and plasters his smile to his face. DOG INSIDE THE HOUSE BARK! bark. BARKBARKBARK!!!! THEO I CANNOT DO THIS. His stomach drops all the way to his thrift store dress shoes and he turns to run away from the house. Annie Folst, a young woman in her early twenties, opens the door with an iced tea in hand. Long light brown hair frames her face with flyaway hairs in every direction. She wears a pair of dark blue glasses, very similar in color to her roof, which perfectly compliments her piercing light blue eyes. She’s wearing light grey sweatpants and an oversized tshirt with a cardigan and yawns before opening the door. ANNIE Hello? Theo turns back around and is entranced by the young woman standing in the doorway. Everything about her screams chaos but he is captured by her serenity. Theo
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Hello, sir! I mean ma’am! (NERVOUS LAUGH) Are your needs entirely met? Vacuum needs that is, of course. (PAUSES TO MAKE EYE CONTACT WITH ANNIE BUT BREAKS IT BEFORE IT’S AWKWARDLY TOO LONG) Can I interest you in this year’s… (VOICE CRACKS AND ANOTHER AWKWARD PAUSE) Um… The Super… (SPEAKING VERY QUICKLY AND HIS HANDS BEGIN TO TWITCH) The Super Vacuu..No..The Super Vac! That’s it! (REGAINS COMPOSURE) Can I interest you in The Super Vac 4000 or how about a six month supply of…of…of… (TRIES TO REMEMBER) I’M SORRY! HAVE A GOOD DAY, MA’AM! Theo’s face turns bright red and he turns to run back to his car but he trips over his own feet and falls onto the stony path with a “SNAP.”
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Plaseh Dennis Hear Our Cry
Born with crowns upon our heads
Our strength and magic spreads Brother, do not cut your fade From deep roots and black skin You were made We are blessed with the stress Of questioning who will be next?
Wondering if it will ever end The neverending slaughter of our kin However hard that they may try This rich dark skin will never die
With grace we will fight Heads held high; radiating light They may spew hatred and pass us by But our beauty and talent still will rise
Dr. King truly said it best Never will there be a content rest with no underlying causes and only effects So We Can’t Breathe and continue to proclaim Hands Up Don’t Shoot , please Say Her Name Maybe there will be an answer With the reasons and the why But until then our BLACK LIVES MATTER You will always hear our cry
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Evelyn Chen
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Ava Bowie Ode to a Grecian Urn There was a tree. The tree was everlasting. This tree sat on a hill in Greece overlooking Athens. The tree could see near and far off the many events and rituals occurring. The tree sat year after year watching people come and go. In the Spring the tree was at its happiest. This particular tree was a great hangout for young couples in love. One summer day, two lovers came and sat under the tree’s shade. The young couple had a special love. It was unlike any love the tree had seen before. It was the type of relationship you knew would last forever. The young man pulled out his pipe and played the most beautiful melody. A melody that was like no other. The tune was so heavenly and unique. Each time the young man played the pipe, it was a new sound, completely different than the previous, but equally as beautiful. With each song the woman fell more and more in love with him. The tree loved watching these two lovers sit under his shade each day, watching their love grow deeper. Spring slowly faded to Summer, and the couple was still madly in love with each other. This gave the tree great joy and made him know the importance of true love. In the Summer came a group of fishermen sitting around a campfire talking about the young maidens they wished to pursue. Each night was the same routine, come home with a basket full of fish, cook the fish for dinner, and discuss the ladies they hoped would pay an iota of attention to them. The tree had heard many people talk about their crushes to no avail. Rarely did the tree see anyone act upon these crushes and truly go after the woman of their dreams. One day, the fishermen got up at 7:30am, as they did every morning, but later that afternoon, the tree saw people running towards camp at a rapid pace. Curious, the tree continued to watch until the runners came closer. The tree realized it was the fishermen coming back from work early, but soon noticed that they were chasing a group of fair maidens. The tree was proud of the fishermen. Although the women were clearly uninterested in the men, the tree was proud that they acted on their emotions and tried to do something rather than sitting around talking about it, as the tree had seen people doing for years. Summer faded to Fall and the fisherman left. Fall gradually got colder and turned to Winter. The tree was growing depressed because he knew the winter brought sadness and sin. The tree witnessed a sacrifice of a heifer on the hill below him. Seeing a mass of people gathering to celebrate the religious ritual, the tree was curious about where everyone came from and what their towns were like now, without all of the people there. All of the people left their towns abandoned and desolate. After the sacrifice the weather grew warmer and it was starting to turn back to Spring. The tree was anxiously waiting for the arrival of Spring, so that he would have more people to look after. The tree on the hill grew more and more thankful that he had visitors every day and people to keep him company. Each day was a new experience for the tree and he would not have it any other way. The tree loved the many years of watching people grow in love or each other, and looked forward to staying on the hill in Greece for many years to come. 39
Merry Gu Helen
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Anna Kuyat Charleston I was speechless. Thoughts and unsorted ideas jumbled around in my mind, like puzzle pieces waiting to be solved, but how was I supposed to sort these pieces. although this was not a problem that affected my life, in particular, it still felt that this puzzle, no matter who’s puzzle, should be solved. It was just an ordinary day, I was basking in the glory of the always praised summer. My days had consisted of running, reading, eating and sleeping. Writing on my laptop lead to a horrifying story, and as this finally processed through my mind, I felt depressed, angry, ambushed, but most of all confused. My brain blanked, all the thoughts bouncing off the walls of my mind slowed down and then, all at once just stopped. There was a shooting, another hate crime. It was a sign, I wasn’t sure what sign it was or who it was from, but I was able to read it clearly, and it pleaded, “Please help.” Then finally I marveled my mind through this madness. I wished more than anything to be shocked by this, but sadly I was not. How could I have been? When events similar to this occur so often. Trayvon Martin to Michael Brown, and now Charleston. A wave of thoughts knocked me over as I remembered these past events. my eyes filled with tears like a pool of water and streamed down my cheek as if someone had dived in. Their families wedged themselves into my heart as I thought about what they went through; goosebumps travel up and down my arms and legs as I think about these poor families. Sympathy is Severely not enough for the pain these families went through and are still going through. Hearing hate crimes over and over again on the news, made me ponder why these events happen. Why are people judged and looked down upon for looking different? 41
Why do some races believe that they have purity over others? I’m not sure if these questions will ever be answered. things have not changed much... slavery ended in 1865 and discrimination, a decade later yet people are still being taught to hate and being brainwashed into believing a color of one’s skin isolates them. Equality has never fully been fulfilled, not only are people treated unfair, but they are being murdered. they are being murdered. for what? I ask myself over and over again until I cannot even think of it anymore I grieve, and grieve that society is slowly rotting until, one day, there will be nothing left but a core, and that one day when people decide they are ready, it will be too late. I am terrified that nothing will ever be changed because to make a change we must act. As a Christian, I was taught to forgive and understand, but this is unforgivable and impossible to understand I pray everyday for the victims and I try so hard to pray for the criminals because I know their minds have not been taught the way they should have, because what some people cannot comprehend is that people may be different on the outside, but inside we all want the same thing, to be loved and accepted the way we are.
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Lauryn Elia
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