ASW Lit mag by okoaswarsaw

OkO

American School of Warsaw Literary and Arts Magazine 2019

Table of Contents ART & PHOTOGRAPHY: Zuzanna Kaczmarek (Charcoal)………………………… page 3 Hai Yen Bui (Photograph)……………………………... page 4 Sophia Wypyski (Photograph)………………………… page 5 Sophia Wypyski (Photograph)………………………….. page 10 Vera Jagielski (Photograph)……………………………...page 16 Suhani Gupta (Photograph)…………………………….. page 20 Hai Yen Bui (Photograph………………………………... page 23 Eleanor Thayn (Dry Pastel)……………………………... page 24 Carolina Barsakov (Photograph)………………………... page 26 Suhani Gupta (Photograph)…………………………….. page 28 Hai Yen Bui (Photograph)………………………………. page 29

WRITING: jane……………………………….... page 3 March Madness Super - Fan ……..... page 4 Nature Retaliates…………………….. page 5-9 The Events Following a Midlife Crisis….... page 10-15 File 87………………………………….... page 16-19 The Things I Carry……………………...... page 20-22 2am………………………………....... page 23 Will-o’-wisps…………………………...... page 24-25 Jappeloup, the Exceptional Horse……..... page 26-27 Sick………………………………….... page 28 Blunders and Magic………………….. page 29

ART GALLERY: Page 31 - 46 Suhani Gupta………………………………... 3 Photographs Barbara Richter……………………………... 2 Photographs Sophia Wypyski……………………………... 6 Photographs Hai Yen Bui………………………………...... 5 Photographs Carolina Barsakov………………………….... 6 Photographs Stephen Miele………………………...... 1 Artwork Eleanor Thayn…………………………... 1 Artwork

OkO Staff: Zosia Aerts Zofia CioĹ&#x201A;ek Fiona Haze Vera Jagielski Jemma Jones Michaela Liddle Lia Lipinski Jake Lupu Lily MacDonald Ola Nguyen Maya Sirotin Natalia Sosna Kiah Spraker Advisor: Mrs. Ranado

A big thank you to everybody who submitted both writing, art and photographs! Thank you as well to the staff, found above for gathering these pieces and creating a magazine. This is the first issue of the ASW OkO Literary Magazine, hope you enjoy.

(Artwork Credits: Zuzanna Kaczmarek)

jane that there may be one with personage much like my own but with such sweet contrast should be but a dream. but as of yet I find myself in dearest, wishful thoughts that I may but find my other half in soft, honeyed loss. they shall know my vices, too for I am only imperfection I will share my sadness, coo but never ask that fated question. to you, who someday I shall confide, I present to you my sinful pride in my most ill-composed affection. -anonymous

(Photo Credits: Hai Yen Bui)

March Madness Super-Fan By Kiah Sparker Tracking your team from beginning to end Sixty-eight teams going to the big dance Cheering in hope for your team to attend One chance is all that we need to advance. Underdog players match up against stars Spin-moves to swishes, then monster throw-downs Each game a battle, leave not without scars Wins are celebrated by your hometowns. Yes! We are in the championship game It’s time for tip-off with nerves running high Dreams within reach and a title to claim Half court shot made, it’s done, we win, don’t cry. The trophy is yours, enjoy the glory

How fun was this Cinderella story

(Photo Credits: Sophia Wypyski)

Nature Retaliates By Florence MouillĂŠ The young man on the beach suddenly woke up, sweating and panting. Sitting up and wiping the sweat off his forehead, he squinted against the blinding sun into the dark, unwelcoming sea. Frowning in confusion, he stood up in a single, swift movement, revealing his tall, lean frame. On one side stood the hostile ocean and on the other a dense forest, a green hell of intertwining branches and leaves creating an impenetrable barrier of vegetation. He looked down and noticed that his bare legs were riddled with cuts and scars from the rocky beach. The man started breathing heavily, taking in the heavy, humid tropical air. Sweating profusely, he whipped his head from one way to the other, his blond hair plastered to his forehead and a look of utter desperation present in his eyes. On another beach nearby, another man lay on the sand, slowly waking up to the aromatic scent of the ocean. He took a deep breath of the ocean air and opened his green eyes, leaving the oblivion of sleep. Sitting up, the man took a handful of sand and sifted it through his fingers, feeling its loose and grainy texture. He shifted his gaze to the calm ocean reflecting the blue hue of the clear sky and the gently rolling waves on the shore. Despite the circumstances, a smile bloomed on the manâ&#x20AC;&#x2122;s face and the sun shone into his green eyes. The frail man bent down and started digging a hole in the sand. In what was seemingly an attempt to calm down, the blond man took deep breaths. Eying the slippery rocks frothing with the violent slap of waves and separating the end of the 5

beach to the unknown lands beyond, he adeptly made his way to the top and peered at the ocean, seeing a fuzzy pink plastic sheet floating towards the island. He slowly shook his head. Even on an abandoned island were traces of civilization. The young man suddenly shot his face to the side, as if he had seen something. His blue eyes lit up with hope as he gracefully made his way down the other side of the rocks and ran towards a dark form hunched in the sand. “Hello?” he shouted. The form straightened up and looked towards him, revealing another person on the island. Upon hearing a human shout, the green-eyed man rose from his knees and identified the owner of the voice, who was running towards him, arms flailing in the air like a fan. “It appears we’ve been stranded here.” His voice was raspy from lack of water. The other man’s eyes widened, “Were you also on the boat? All I can remember was that I was swimming one moment and the next I was struggling to break to the surface of the water. A strong tide was pulling me down and I passed out, waking up here. I’m Ceres, by the way.” “Rowan. Nice to meet you. I was a mechanic on the cruise boat and was on the back deck, fixing something with the engine when the boat suddenly started violently swaying. I was knocked off board and woke up here.” Rowan got straight to the point, “I don’t know where we are but it’s really humid and if we plan on making it a couple days, we need water, so I’m building a solar still.” Unfamiliar with the term but too embarrassed to admit it, Ceres observed the other man’s actions. Rowan placed a large, hollow seashell at the bottom of the hole, which was full of salt water from the nearby ocean, and covered the hole using the plastic remnants of a pink inflatable toy. “Wow you were lucky that the tide brought that back in.” Rowan didn’t respond, choosing to focus on the task at hand. After securing the plastic sheet with a few rocks placed on each corner, the intelligent man explained his contraption, “The heat will hopefully evaporate the salt water and the plastic sheet will catch the condensation, which will drip into the shell and collect fresh water. It might take a while though, so we should assess our surroundings.” Ceres agreed and led the way towards the wall of trees at the end of the beach, Rowan close behind him. As they approached the trees, they noticed an incessant buzzing noise that grew louder. “It’s the bugs,” remarked Rowan. “Which bugs?” “On the trees.” He reached out and brushed his hand against the bark, revealing a plethora of teeming insects. Ceres observed Rowan gently brushing the creatures off his hand and recoiled in disgust, taking a step away from the tree. “Are you sure we really want to go in there?” he asked. “What other choice do we have? It’s so humid here, we’re going to get dehydrated soon if we don’t take refuge from the sun and find some water. My solar still isn’t going to support both of us,” said Rowan with a frown before parting the branches before him and marching into the forest. They had been walking up a hill for what seemed like hours, through the tall, green trees, when Rowan fell to his knees. Sweating like a pig and panting heavily he called for 6

Ceres who, with his fit and lean frame, was a few hundred meters ahead. “If we plan on making it farther we need water and something to eat.” Pointing upwards to the trees, Rowan said, “There has to be some fruit up there.” Ceres immediately got to work, wrapping his arms and legs around the trunk and quickly making his way up the tree. “Watch out!” he yelled as a coconut dropped to the ground in front of Rowan, shattering and loosing its sweet contents. “Ceres, stop! The coconuts are breaking!” “Well I can’t climb down with them!” “Just wait a second, let me find a solution,” said Rowan as he ripped off several long vines from a tree. He tied them together and attached a large leaf at the bottom to act as a carrier basket. He threw the mechanism up to Ceres, who tied it to the tree and positioned a coconut on the large leaf, letting it back down slowly to Rowan. By the time they were done the two men were enjoying ripe coconuts on the forest floor. When Ceres remarked that the humidity was getting more bearable, Rowan stilled. “There’s a storm coming,” he said. “No way, look at those clear skies! The sea is calm and there’s no wind.” “It’s the calm before the storm. Storms thrive off of moist air. They suck the humid air upwards, leaving behind dry, warm air and lower pressure. We have to leave now.” “We have to return to the beach and collect your solar still, though. It’s the only thing we have,” pleaded Ceres. Rowan didn’t have time to say otherwise, as the other man launched himself back towards the beach. While running through the forest, the weather started changing very suddenly. The bugs stilled and quieted. Dark clouds covered the blue skies and rain started pouring down. The wind was howling and whipping through the forest. Branches and leaves became dangerous projectiles. With the sun hidden behind the clouds and the chaotic shaking of the trees, Ceres and Rowan could barely see anything and were blindly stumbling through the forest. Back at the beach, the ocean was rising and coming dangerously close to reaching the forest, where it would start flooding. The solar still was destroyed and the pink plastic sheet was floating away. Without thinking, Ceres jumped into the rising tide and swam towards the plastic sheet. “Ceres come back! It’s not worth it!” shouted Rowan. Nonetheless, the young man continued recklessly swimming against the crashing waves. He would not return without the sheet. It was his only connection to civilization. Without it, he would truly be alone in nature and Ceres would never admit it, but he was scared. Finally, he latched onto the material and the strong tide pushed him back to shore. Rowan shook his head in disapproval at the brash act. “We need to find shelter somewhere,” he shouted over the wind. “There’s bound to be a cave on this mountainous terrain.” Turning back to the forest, they started blindly clambering towards the base of the tallest mountain. On their way there, they encountered wild pigs running away from the sea, their light flesh standing out in stark contrast to the dark forest. The vegetation was so thick, rendering it hard to navigate. Ceres was convinced trees were intentionally moving their spindly limbs to block his path. Suddenly, Rowan shouted a warning as a long branch 7

fell in front of Ceres. It would’ve killed him if it weren’t for Rowan who pushed him away. The branch hit him in the leg and he crumpled to the forest ground, grabbing his leg. His vision was becoming hazy with the pain. “We don’t have time to stop, Rowan, we have to keep going! We’re almost there, I can see a cave in the distance!” Ceres didn’t give himself the time to process what had just happened and propped the injured man’s arms around his shoulder, hobbling to the nearby cave. Although the cave offered shelter from the strong winds, the wide mouth didn’t do much for the rain that continued flowing in. “Let’s use the plastic sheet as a tarp to cover the entrance,” suggested Rowan, who was resting against the cave walls, inspecting his injured leg. Ceres quickly got the job done, tucking the pink material into nooks in the cave until it provided more or less protection from the rain. They sat in silence for a while, until Ceres whispered, “Thank you. You saved my life today.” “No need to thank me,” shrugged Rowan. “I’m know you would’ve done the same for me.” Ceres wasn’t sure he would have, though. The men were slipping in and out of sleep, the overwhelming events of the day knocking them out, when suddenly, several loud screeches sounded throughout. A colony of bats emerged from the dark depths of the cave, swarming the entrance and batting their wings in the two men’s faces. The tarp above the entrance prevented the creatures from escaping into the storm, leaving Ceres and Rowan to frantically swatting at the winged animals. It was a while before they calmed down and settled at the roof of the cave, but they didn’t dare go back from where they emerged. “I wondered what scared them,” whispered Rowan. “Let’s just hope that the storm passes quickly so we don’t have to find out.” They were trapped in the cave for three days, collecting rainwater with the tarp and living off of coconuts that Ceres went to collect when the rain was calmer. On the first night, as Rowan sipped rainwater from a square of plastic, he held up the material and looked at in with a mixture of awe and disgust. The plastic sheet that was polluting the Earth was the sole reason they survived in the wild. Rowan knew that the coconuts weren’t feeding them enough calories and cautioned Ceres to rest as to not burn their few calories and die of starvation. “I wish we could go down to the beach and fish,” sighed Ceres, whose once full face was already showing signs of hunger with sunken cheeks and hollow eyes. However, when the night was darkest and the wind howled their names, the two men huddled together at the entrance of the cave and peered into the shadows on the other side of the room. None of them wanted to admit it, but they were still apprehensive about whatever scared the bats away. “It doesn’t seem like we’ll ever get off this island,” lamented Ceres with despair. “What did I do to be punished by the world? Is facing this storm the consequence of my actions?” “I think that it’s a message from nature. It’s cautioning us to remain humble and protect our home. The second we get back, I’m taking this piece of trash and responsibly disposing of it,” responded Rowan, indicating the tarp.

When they woke up on the fourth day, the winds had died down and the rain stopped. Ceres shook Rowan awake and removed the makeshift door. Clear skies and warm rays of sunshine welcomed them. Sighing with relief, the two men sat on the edge of the cave and admired the view. “What are we gonna do now?” asked Rowan. “Why are you asking me? Maybe we’ll wait for a boat or plane. Or die here,” said Ceres with a shrug. A low sound echoed from the horizon, sending bats flying out of the cave and colourful streaks of birds shooting out of the trees. “Huh? What was that?” Rowan’ eyes widened, “A ship horn! Quickly you have to get their attention!” “How? We don’t have any fire, we don’t have any smoke, we don’t have any way of signaling. It’s hopeless.” said Ceres faintly. “You have to climb to the top of the mountain! I’ll wait for you here. You’re our only hope. Take the plastic and wave it once you get to the top. Just watch out. If you climb too high, the uneven land weakened by the incessant rainfall will collapse beneath you, creating a landslide, but if you don’t climb far enough the ship won’t notice you!” Ceres grabbed the tarp and scrambled up the mountain. Tree branches littered the forest floor, creating obstacles in his path. The ground was still wet from all the rain and Ceres’ feet were sinking into the mud, as if it were trying to consume him. Nonetheless, he persevered and made his way up. Once he was as close as possible to the summit without being in any danger, he spotted the boat. It was a long red cargo boat peacefully making its way to whatever destination it was headed. Ceres waved his lifeline in the air like a flag, but soon lost hope. Nobody was going to see him through the tree coverage, so Ceres continued climbing up farther and farther, scrambling up the increasingly steep slope until he reached the bald top of the mountain. On one side was the forest and his friend Rowan, one the other was a steep drop onto rocks and the boat, moving away from him with every passing second. Again, he frantically waved, trying to catch the boat crew’s attention when another low horn sounded. Was it a signal that they had seen him and were coming? Ceres’ heart raced faster when the boat made a sharp turn towards the island. Tears of relief streaked down Ceres’ face as he let his arms drop, when suddenly, the ground beneath him shook. He quickly shuffled back to get off the edge of the cliff. The soil destabilised, sending the patch of land beneath his feet sliding down. Ceres fell with the ground and tried desperately to claw his way up, but the soil was too slippery. Falling to his death, Ceres reflected on Rowan’s warning. He had went too far, he realised. Pushed beyond his limits. Ceres landed headfirst onto the rocks and lay there limply before the ocean waves claimed his body and carried him away along with the bright pink sheet of plastic. Rowan waited hours in the cave for his friend to return. He never did.

(Photo Credits: Sophia Wypyski)

The Events Following a Midlife Crisis By Mathilda Lowegren In 2028 the ground turned black. It had been a hot fall season, even the trees had their leaves left on their branches with no intention of falling off. I had just enrolled in the navy reserve from the army and left my life behind along with my future. The sky had been full of ladybugs, no one knew where they came from but due to the current political climate everyone just assumed they were so many because of climate change. Maybe it was the odd sight of those ladybugs which had made me decide that the army wasn’t for me; it always made me think about how it would feel to kill another man. I cannot help thinking about his mother sitting at home by the kitchen table with telephone in hand and pasta boiling on the stove, anxiously tapping her fingernails on the surface of the table wondering about her son. Could I really take him from her if I had to? One might wonder; why did I enroll in the army in the first place? To be honest, I didn’t know either. It could have been a mid-life crisis since I was soon to have a child and even though I hate to admit it I was probably trying to escape reality. It had been a hot summer followed by a very hot fall. The sky was full of bugs and cicadas were still out at night. It had occurred to me that there was an unusual amount of ladybugs. There were nights I’d wake up to find at least 12 crowding on the lamp post. I

never found out why this was, but one night it suddenly turned cold- the weather that was to be expected of late autumn which for some reason decided to show up late. That morning, Finland woke up to a ground that had turned black- covered with small insect corpses. That’s the day I decided to switch to the navy reserve and now, I find myself on a boat filled with sweaty men and bland food. We just set off yesterday but I’m already feeling slightly frustrated with my surroundings. Although we are supposed to keep it discreet since we are on a sort-off spy mission no matter how ironic that sounds coming from me, people were drunkenly dancing and singing on the dock like there’s no tomorrow. Basically, we’re out on Barents sea to locate the Russian military base that has been rumored to be located in Dikson (Диксон), a city on the coast of Russia in the Krasnoyarsk Krai region. We had gotten the assignment to stop on the coast off the island of the Tazovsky District and take smaller boats from there to get closer to take pictures and notes without drawing too much attention. Any time now we’ll reach the island and almost the whole crew are screaming their hearts out to Beatles “A Hard Day’s Night”. Listening to their still quite high voices (to think of it, maybe some of them haven’t even gone through their voice changes yet) I’m going down to the kitchen to get a glass of water or I’m gonna go insane As I stand there, drinking my glass of water I look out the clouded window. I can see the island. It’s quite small and there must be a very small population considering the lack of light reaching my eye. Standing there I come to think of the first time Astrid, which will be the mother of my child- met my parents. She had met them once, I figured my father would like her looking like she did since he had never really been one to look for a good personality in a woman. Yet he had married my mother looking like she did, being quite plain with a small nose, small mouth and small ears; everything about her was simply small. But she had made up for my father’s lack of responsiveness during childhood. She had put me at the center of her world while my father was out with his friends at the local bar. Considering this it was quite ironic how I had gone with Astrid, being quite distant with beautiful and dramatic features if what Freud said was right. I remember us discussing Astrid’s studies and the new house my parents were moving to the following month over a nice cup of tea. In fact my father burned that house down a few years later along with my mother sitting inside, perhaps making me a new christmas sweater. The neighbors say he went mad, and I guess I don’t really have a better explanation. As I’m thinking this I hear the sound of the horn coming from the deck- I suppose it’s time to get ready for arrival. The salty air hits my face and a light breeze gently caresses the faces of sweaty men carrying inflatable boats down the dock. I stand there watching them, since I’m older than them they have some sort of respect for me and are most likely not going to tell me to stop standing around. Patting the sweaty teenager on the shoulder he turns his face full of hormonal acne and rosacea towards me and gives a sour look as I step into the boat he’d just spent seven minutes inflating. With my camera and notebook I wait for my superior to give us the sign for departure. With the word of my superior we take off into the silent night with the slight humming of the motors as we maneuver our way from the island towards the peak of 11

Dikson. A slight panic hit me as I realise that I didn’t bring my map nor my compass with me as I feel around in my pockets. Damn it! I was too caught up reminiscing about the past. Most likely I’ll be fine since I’ll probably be able to see the light of houses on the coast of the land and I’m quite sure I can hear the slight humming of another boat which means I must be on the right way. After about nine minutes of just going straight ahead I suddenly see an eruption in the water about 50 meters from me. The sound send my ears ringing as I almost fall overboard. Could the Russian authorities have noticed us? Or was it a mine? Was that the only one? Could I be close to one? I quickly turn my boat in the opposite direction and stop the motor. If I had a knife I could cut through the silence that now surrounded my boat as it covered the water as a thick coat. I can’t manage to see anything in the water as I direct the flashlight attached to the boat into the water. As I feel my heart beating I gingerly pick up the oars and gently place them in the water. At this point I feel my mind drift off as I let my instincts take over, though I’m not entirely sure I’m going the right way. Doing this I imagine a tiny man sitting inside my heart, hitting his drum as hard as he can- as far as I know he might have a performance soon. After maybe 23 minutes of rowing, I stop. If there was any danger, it’s definitely gone now. I should be by the island soon, though I can’t see much in this darkness. There shouldn’t be any danger in turning on the motor now since I’ve gotten this far. I turn on the motor, and increase the speed to 15 knots. But after about 11 minutes I still haven’t reached land, a panic hit me and I feel the once thin layer of sweat drip down my brow. Out of sheer panic I increase the speed and turn slightly right to see if that gets me anywhere and thank god; out of the corner of my eye I see a dark shape emerging from the fog. Just as I start looking for the dock a sudden force pushes me into the air. A loud ring fills my ears as I close my eyes. The world is ripped apart as I fall through space. The ringing in my ear only becomes louder and louder. For a few seconds time stops. The right side of my body disintegrates into a thousand pieces. For half a second my head stops ringing and my mind drifts off into the unknown. When I wake up my ears are still ringing and with each breath my head takes a jab at my right eye. As I open my eyes everything is so incredibly white it makes my head hurt, I’d never seen such a pure white- in a way there’s a beauty to such purity. As my eyes are adjusting to the bright light I try to sit up but a pang of pain shoots through my right arm, my back hits the ground with a thud and I groan in agony only to realise that I can’t hear my own voice. Perhaps it might be the ringing filling my head but it was like I had become mute. As I lean onto my left arm to sit up I scream out only to be met with the sole ringing. It was like listening to the note after someone hangs up on you when you want to say more. I’ll be alright, I hit a mine but I’m alive. If I find the men they’ll help me. I’ll get my hearing back I just need to make it to the dock. With my upper body weight leaning on my left arm I look around the area for any sign of the boat we came here with but it was nowhere to be found. It must be on the other side of the island. As I try to stand up my legs must be intact but they were shaking like asp leaves on a windy spring day. I grab a hold of a close by tree for support- it was a pine, a big one at that as it towered above me, looking down at me as if I was seven times smaller. Standing there, I regain my balance and try to calm down my 12

breathing. The sky was quite light now, if I were to make a guess I’d say about 05:00 in the morning. The ship won’t leave until noon so I should be fine with time making my way around the island even considering my current state because of the size of the island. As the ship was nowhere to be seen, I’d have to walk by foot which will greatly increase the amount of time it’ll take. But of what I remember from before- looking out the window- It couldn’t have been very big. With a groan I take a step forward to test my balance, as bambi on ice I take another step forward. To think of it, I had never been so conscious of my body before, walking was never something I thought about- yet here I am, focusing on every step as if I was solving a math problem. As I made my way around the island my walk became steadier and my breath more even. After about 1 hour I stop to think, according to my estimation I should’ve made my way around the island already. Leaning against a tree I try to think back to my memory of the island just a few hours ago. The cool air suddenly turns cold as it dawns upon me that I’ve seen this tree before. The pine seems to grow taller as I look up its branches. Once more a panic hits me as I stand there looking at the tree, I slowly shuffle down the trunk as the little man pounds irregularly on his drum, or perhaps the beat is too complex for me to understand. The boat might have left the island but where is the dock? I hadn’t seen it anywhere- should I go around once more to make sure? As I make my way around the island again I find myself frequently thinking about my mother, I don’t believe in the afterlife but I’d like to think that if there was one she’d be watching over me right now. Going through this with someone else felt more safe than going through this alone. When looking up from the ground having been deep in thought I realise that I’m back at the the same pinewithout seeing any dock. I suppose this must be another island then, I must’ve turned the wrong way as I was turning back. If only I hadn’t forgotten my map and compass. You’d suppose that we learned how to tell north from south by looking at the stars in the navy but since all this new technology has been introduced they concluded there was no need for such skills. But oh how I regret it now. However, if I’m on this other island means that they’ll eventually notice that I’m gone and will hopefully come look for me. Considering the fact that my inflatable boat must’ve exploded in the explosion and the water being ice cold I won’t be able to make it back on my own. I suppose I’ll simply have to stay here until they get me but that however, could that up to a week. Just to make sure I go around looking for remains of the boat but I can’t seem to find anything. As far as I know I could be staying here over the night so I need to find shelter. Going through the woods I can’t help but admire the beauty of this small island, the pine trees cast their mighty shadows over the moss covered ground. The beauty of my surroundings almost make me forget about the little time I have left before night. Seeing a large branch lying on the ground I lean it to a tree as I smaller branches on the side covered with pine needles. I quickly gather some moss and layer it on the ground under the tiny tent to generate heat as I believe it’ll be a cold night. There won’t be any point in trying to make a fire as all the wood are moist from earlier rainfall. I don’t know for how long I’ll stay here, so I better make use of my time. I don’t have much experience scavenging for food though, as young my father used to take me out to the forest to teach me about the different plants. 13

Seeing a few bushes of lingonberry I grab some to examine- I’m pretty sure this is lingonberry but I guess I can never be too sure, it might be better to wait with these until I don’t have any other options. As I’m walking around the island it doesn’t seem to offer much for food. The only things I can see are trees and moss. While thinking about how I’ll make it through this for a week I sit on the moss covered ground. If I don’t find any resources I won’t make it more than two days. I’ll certainly make it through the night but the second one is questionable. I come to think of Astrid, 4 months pregnant, sitting by the small kitchen table and studying for her upcoming exams. I can’t help but to feel a surge of melancholy thinking of her face, contorted in concentration- It reminds me of the nights we sat reading when we didn’t feel compelled to do anything else. Oh how I wish I had stayed with her to make things easier, but if anything, I wish I never met her. A few hours later as I’m looking for potential food options, I see what seems to be a cave- the way it’s shaped gave off a calming impression. It’s hard for me to describe but its presence made me feel secure. I could use this as shelter as it would definitely be waterproof and the vines covering the entrance I suppose could serve as some sort of protective layer. As I enter I’m met with a deep darkness, I hold the vines aside to see the walls of the cave more clearly. The cave was cold but not wet, I can easily make something out of this. As I think this I notice the feeling of being watched. Looking around in the cave I couldn’t see anything until I lock eyes with two eyes looking back at me from the dark. “You came back” a voice says, a familiar voice. Under these circumstances I should be scared, but the calming and warm voice makes me relax. “Hello?” I say as I try to figure out why the voice sounds familiar. The two eyes approach me as they grow into a full creature, a small one- with small nose, small mouth and small ears; everything about this creature was small. “Mom?” I say as she embraces me, her bones giving off a loud crack as she lifts her arms around my shoulders. Why is she alive? Why is she here? Didn’t dad kill her? I seem to have been thinking this aloud because she answers “I never died, I came here for you, to save you.” Somehow, this makes sense to me but while I slowly nod my head my mind is working hard to grasp what’s happening. “The night’s is coming, I can make you a fire.” as she says this she sits down on her knees and take about two stones and two logs. Her small hands were small and soft, never having to work a single day of her life. “Please dear, can you go grab some wood from outside?” I walk outside the cave an stand there for a while, I look back inside to make sure I’m not seeing things. But as I look as see my mother; her tiny body bent over the the two logs, trying to get a spark from the two stones. After five minutes I come back to her with a fire with the shadows dancing on the wall as she is sitting in the corner of the cave. I put the firewood on the floor as examine her tiny figure; she hasn’t changed a bit, but where has she been? “Mom?” I start with, “Where have you been?” I didn’t mean for it to sound aggressive but somehow she seems taken aback. “Please dear, I just spent about six minutes making a fire for you. Just let me rest for a minute.” She wouldn’t wake up after half an hour so I figured I’d sleep too. But looking at her I felt something wasn’t right, she was supposed to be dead; is she dead? Had she come to take me back with her to the infernos? During the following nights I could feel her small hand creeping up my shoulder, it was light but I felt it press me through ground. Some 14

nights, I was scared I’d wake up under the surface, But I never did, but I knew she wanted me there. After two weeks cooped up in that cave, I couldn’t take it. She hadn’t answered any of my questions concerning why she was here- why she was alive. As far as I knew, she might not even be my mother. Then who is she? She’s been spending the last two weeks slowly pressing me down to the infernos, is she my punishment for leaving my child behind? Seeing a ladybug land on her shoulder I had grabbed the sharp stone she had used to start the fire that day. Turned away from me, a beautiful but frightful, intense red splashed onto the walls from her back. She didn’t make a sound nor wince as she awkwardly stayed in the same position, hunched over the fire. I stayed like that for a while; just watching her, still holding the stone in my hand. She couldn’t have been dead just yet since the wound wasn’t deep enough for it to be fatal. Most likely she’d die of blood loss by dawn. As I saw her sit there, accepting her death I too- shoved the blade through my stomach. There was no pain as I laid beside my mother, taking her hand in mine.

(Photo Credits: Vera Jagielski)

File 87 By Nina Barratt Last Edited: 28.03.2019 Location: Hashima Island: Abandoned mining island in Japan. 15 kilometers off the coast of Nagasaki. Bought by Mitsubishi Motors in 1890. Used as mining island during WWII. Evacuated in 1974. No reported vegetation until 1995. Time: 08-14.04.1982 Objective: Understanding how human nature will make people act in an environment secluded from society, yet with a lingering reminder of civilization. Will they lose all sense of modern civilization? Will they take part in the life of the abandoned city? Will they develop their own society? Overview: On the eighth day of April, a ship was staged to capsize on it’s way to Nagasaki. Subjects thought they were the sole surviving boat passengers, they swam to Hashima Island as expected. For seven days, they lived off scattered coconuts and fish they managed

to scavenge out from behind the concrete wall surrounding the island. By the sixth day, only two of them were discovered by Japanese scientists, and only two of them made it safely off Hashima Island and to Nagasaki. Subjects: There were two Czech-Canadian teenage siblings, a Korean convict, and a wealthy German doctor. Subjects did not stay together throughout the six days, they had familiarised themselves with each other on the boat ride prior. The convict, Jii Park adopted his younger brother’s identity, telling them he was a sous-chef in a restaurant in Seoul, adopted his younger brother’s identity. The teenagers, Carrie and Carl, were described by friends as “polar opposites”. Their mother, Czech, described Carl as “smart, but socially awkward”. Carrie, on the other hand, was always the life of the party, ready to take every hallucinogenic substance known to man. She made connections easily, often described as a “people person”. The German doctor was middle-aged, Caucasian, wealthy and successful in his field. He had studied in Freiburg and worked in Hannover as the lead cardiovascular surgeon. He was reported by colleagues to “saw patients as broken systems in need of a mechanic”, able to separate the flawed body from the mind and soul of the person. What made him good was the ability to get the root of every problem almost momentarily, and instantly see how to make it right. Result: The doctor could not handle seeing scattered pieces of past lives without being able to do anything about them. He lost his perception of what was real and gave into a dystopian concept. Convinced only one person could leave the island alive, he did everything to kill off any threat that was posed to him. On the second day, Carrie fell off a railless, frail old balcony and landed in the doctor’s care. He offered her a stash of opium left behind by the Japanese miners, found under the rubble of an eroded building. Carrie took it, seemingly unaware of the lethal dose. Carrie was tall and strong, heavily built, and yet the doctor gave her enough to completely wipe out her awareness of the surroundings. No longer feeling the pain of her broken leg, she stumbled around the rubble of the eroded buildings, singing and yelling. Approaching dangerously close to the edge of the brick wall surrounding the town, Carl yelled for her to be careful, himself not aware that she was under the influence. But Carrie didn’t hear him. She climbed the wall, chuckling to herself and giggling something in Czech, and then to Carl’s horror, she carelessly stepped beyond the edge and plummeted down, with a joyous, childish, “woohoo” which turned into a shriek of pure panic and terror, as she crashed into the rocking waves of the Japanese waters, like Icarus who had flown too close to sun. *** Park was searching the island for any scraps of food. After the six days on the island, he was accepted as the survivor most affected by the experience. Even Carl, who had lost his twin sister did not suffer as much as Park. From what we can tell from Carl’s testimony and tests run on Park right after he was rescued and brought back to Nagasaki, he had consumed far fewer protein and fat from the coconuts and fish than Carl. He has not spoken 17

a word out loud since his return, save for deafening screams when dreaming. It is still unknown what exactly had happened to him that left such an effect. *** In the days on the island, the doctor had made an abandoned medical clinic his home. He spent his days drawing on the walls, examining the faded lungs on the x-rayed sheets left behind, wanting to be a mechanic to fix the forty-year-old problems in a broken system. When Carl, on the fourth day, twisted his ankle and also found himself in the doctor’s care, and he too was offered opium, but “a gut feeling” stopped him from smoking the substance. At that moment, he had discovered the doctor’s scheme. He now understood what had caused his sister’s untimely unintentional demise, and seeing the burning rage in Carl’s eyes the doctor locked himself in his lair until his death. That same day, a sea storm blew the foundations of the clinic to dust, and the seventh floor of the building he was secluded in collapsed, instantly killing him. The loud crash lured Carl to the site, where he discovered the doctor’s body. When asked how he felt at that moment at a press conference, he replied, “I didn’t know how to feel. Of course I hated him, he killed my sister, my best friend. I don’t know if being happy he’s dead makes me even more of a monster than he was, but it’s the truth. However, a small part of me wished that he had suffered more, so he could feel the pain that Carrie had felt, that I still feel and will always feel. I wanted him to hurt, not die, not escape the punishment he deserved.” Three days after the doctor’s death on the sixth day, filled with despair and desperation, Carl turned to the opium stash, lighting the very same pipe his twin had used. He later described that he couldn’t take it anymore. He couldn’t cope with the loss of his sister, the malnutrition, the loneliness, the desperation. In the back of his mind, intoxication was a way for him to escape the world, “join Carrie wherever she was now”. More than anything, he wanted to get off the island, one way or another. Fortunately, the opium he smoked was enough for him to forget his troubles, but not enough to kill him. Just as his sister had done, he wandered around the island, grinning like a child with ice cream. He walked farther from the edge than he ever had, making it deep into the hueless concrete jungle, where he stumbled upon the placed scientists surveying the grounds of the island. They had been there the entire seven days without the knowledge of the subjects. Carl recounted that the Japanese scientists seemed just as shocked as he was, though he remained convinced it was just a figment of his hallucinating imagination until hours later when his splitting headache following the intoxication felt tolerable with the possibility he could finally be going home. The scientists spoke English. Carl explained to the group of surveyors how he, Carrie, Park, and the doctor had gotten to the island and how two of them were dead. They searched for Park until nightfall. They found him by the sea wall, looking down at waves uncontrollably colliding into the concrete wall with a defining outcry. One of the Korean-speaking scientists explained to Park who they are, what they’re doing there. 18

Unfortunately, the earliest they could get to the mainland was the next day. It seemed to Carl that even the good news wasn’t enough to lift Park’s spirits. He looked completely defeated, from the outside in. “His ribs projected out, his cheeks sucked in, his hair thin and sparse. In his eyes, you could see the despair of a terrified and helpless soul,” described Carl. Carl reported seeing him meticulously turn over every piece of rubble, hoping to find something--anything to finally get him to Japan. Over the seven days spent on the island, the few consumed calories caused Park to lose more weight then he had during his seven years in prison. He was constantly hungry, constantly exhausted, constantly in pain. The next day, Carl, Park, and two scientists boarded a small rescue boat. It took them two hours to get to the coast of Nagasaki, where Carl’s family and Park’s close friend from Japan were waiting. Park stepped off the boat and looked at his friend, with neither recognition nor relief. With an empty, inscrutable expression, he stumbled away into the city. Seeing his mother and seven-year-old sister, Clara, made Carl started sobbing uncontrollably. His mother embraced him protectively and they cried as one. Clara stood to the side, looking into the distance, convinced her older sister was coming. She would come--Clara thought--smiling and laughing, late as ever. Clara stayed there for 4 hours, waiting for Carrie to arrive. After-experiment note (2019): My name is Dr. Leslie Cunningham. I designed this experiment in my youth, to learn more about how human nature influences people to act a certain way when stranded on with strangers. I hand-picked the subjects with my professor at the time, Dr. Martin Lindes. I had no idea, nobody but Dr. Martin had any idea, of the German doctor’s, Max Lindes’ condition. In his youth, he was diagnosed with schizotypal personality disorder, meaning he was unable to understand what was real and what was just his own fantasy. His family was very wealthy and covered up all traces of the diagnosis for it to not interfere with his education of the highest-rank and a successful career. Dr. Martin Lindes committed suicide shortly after his brother’s death and crimes on the island were revealed. I never meant for anyone to get hurt, I was young and foolish. My own unceasing guilt is punishment enough. Please, God, forgive me.

(Photo Credits: Suhani Gupta)

The Things I Carry By Zofia CioĹ&#x201A;ek I carry with me Many things Thereâ&#x20AC;&#x2122;s truly too many to list So I opted to look in my tote bag And see in what it could assist. And in it I found my wallet Old and tattered,

Full of memories and pins Both discount cards and various city metro cards And here’s where the story begins. So I looked in a little deeper Found my phone, tissues and keys And my headphones; a truly prised possession, So I could block out the world if I please. Next I reached in and found two hairbands, Each one stretched to the furthest extent, As I use things up to their fullest Wasting my money - that I resent. So I looked what else I carried Found a notebook, a sketchbook, some pens, As when I’m bored I tend to scribble or doodle A habit which my German teacher can’t stand. But as I looked through the paint - warped pages Scanning through drawings and scrawls and all else I realised that it was there I had hid my feelings Outside - calm, inside a mess. Because I carry with me expectations I’m the family’s little kid after all And if the elder child excelled in a subject I feel I’m not expected to fall, Well, behind --And my studies, aspirations, my dreams Tend to be compared to my gorgeous older sister Even if meant no harm that’s what it seems. And so I carry with me old receipts Ancient bus tickets bearing now little use Since I rip them up into tiny pieces Because stress is what it seems to reduce And I carry with me painkillers Ones which manage to block out all kinds of pain That which I feel when the pressure drops Or the one which keeps pounding in my brain. But for that I use a different pill As with me I carry a book Which helps me keep my thoughts at bay And away from the pain I can look I tend to carry with me sticky notes To write down all that’s on my mind As I’m pragmatic and hate forgetting 21

Things that cannot be left behind. And with me I carry my pride Not the best trait, believe me, I know, But I know we can’t all be perfect So this is what I know I should show With me I carry an ego As most people tend to do And although that’s not always the best thing Sometimes it does turn out to do good. Since although I hate many things about me Always unsatisfied with myself and my work Deep down I feel I know my true value Which I think everyone should. I also carry ambition I often shoot myself in the foot But from time to time it is helpful And I end up with a new lesson learned. And although I carry with me the strong dislike, Of soppiness, sentimentality and such I carry with me the dream of being remembered Of being someone worth remembering of. Because with me I carry hope And acceptance and gratitude, sometimes woe And although I’m frayed apart at the edges, It’s what hurts me that allows me to grow.

(Photo Credits: Hai Yen Bui)

2am By anonymous Itâ&#x20AC;&#x2122;s just the loneliness I guess Which adds to the sensation of nothingless, Exhaled and absorbed by the frigid lifeless frame Lying in a bed surrounded by darkness. There's a trace through, something to blameOnly hours before, Left on the floor, Is the beforemath of a mind flaunted to the loss of creativity. Something sane, shining and filled with motivity. But all light was blockedLeft at 2am in the darkness to rot.

(Art Credits: Eleanor Thayn)

Will-o’-wisps By Jake Lupu They say the world was once a will-o’-wisp. Once a dream was conceived by those in other worlds, a wisp would form. Misty swirls would encompass the fragile light that was the dream, trapping it in a shell. People used to think of them as carriers, protectors even; a dream swaddled by the vapour thought to be on its way to greatness. So people kept fantasising, and will-o’-wisps kept appearing. No-one thought of them as harmful- after all, it was an old wives’ tale that the wisps were magic. And everyone knows that magic is good, even if not real. Except the wisps were magic. And they weren’t good. They’d trap dreams inside their porous substance, lock them in a cage without a key. The dreams’ cries were stifled, and the noise came out as a gleeful sound instead of a cry for help. The frigid, sickly taste of the wisps went unnoticed, too, for who would risk biting into a case full of dreams? They say the world was once a will-o’-wisp. A vision, trapped by a pretty exterior. The dream living long past its creators’ lifetime, like many others, remained dormant, unmoving. It would have continued doing so for many lifetimes more, had it not stirred at finding itself under a sun’s ray. After the first failed attempts in transporting dreams through the sky to a spot where light is a foreign concept, the wisps had developed a thick enough layer of foggy armour to withstand the beams of light. And this wisp, too, had adapted in

time, making countless trips ferrying dreams to their death without a hitch. Until the wisp flew too close to the ground, finding itself inside a child’s net. It escaped, eventually, using the pointy swirls to cut through the ropes with a crack, forming a large enough hole for the body of it to pass through. Except the hole wasn’t big enough, the wisp too agitated to properly squeeze itself through, and the mists thinned. And the dream stirred. They say the world was once a will-o’-wisp. And perhaps they are right. For there are countless dreams that remain untouched and die- that part is true. But there are also ones whose corners are skimmed by the reaching fingers of visionaries, not only watched from the distance.

(Photo Credits: Carolina Barsakov)

Jappeloup, the Exceptional Horse By Fiona Haze Donâ&#x20AC;&#x2122;t disregard the tiny horse. The thundering of hooves splits the silence of the crowd as the slim, black Selle Francais gelding gallops toward the last obstacle; his last hurdle. His muscles roll rhythmically under his gleaming coat as he approaches the jump, but suddenly, he tenses up. Shooting his body over the poles, his hind legs spring off of the ground whilst balancing the rider on his back. For a second time seems to stop as the crowd inhales. It looks like the wind has caught the five hundred kilogram horse between its fingers: he is gliding without any intention of setting his hooves on the ground anytime soon. Time repeats as the sound of a smattering, controlled gallop breaks out on the Olympic horse jumping course once again. It takes a moment for the spectators to understand what has just happened. Jappeloup and his rider, Pierre Durand, just won the 1988 Seoul Olympics. Why was the crowd shocked you might ask? With the meager height of one meter and fifty eight centimeters, Jappeloup was considered minute compared to the average professional jumping horse. Because of this, nobody believed in him-- trusted that he could actually leap over the obstacles without knocking a pole down, trusted in his capacity to win, trusted that he â&#x20AC;&#x2039;actually â&#x20AC;&#x2039;was an exception. They were wrong.

At the beginning of it all, Jappeloup was a horse which had too many faults to count: he was stubborn, impetuous, and way too small to ever become a great showjumper. Disregarding his size though, he had a remarkable jumping ability. This, Pierre Durand noticed. Like his horse, Pierre Durand too was the exception: he had deserted the idea of triumphing in a legal career to work with his true passion, show jumping. Nobody believed in him though -- trusted that he could leap over the obstacles without knocking a pole down, trusted in his own capacity to win, trusted that he actually was an exception. So when his father gambled away all their money on the young and unpromising horse, many laughed. But, again, they were wrong.

Don’t disregard the tiny horse. See it as the exception to the rule, and notice that you too can be different. Afterall, Jappeloup didn’t win an Olympic medal because of nothing.

(Photo Credits: Hai Yen Bui)

Sick By anonymous I'm sick of your lies and your manipulation and how you have me hooked. You reeled me in with compliments and love, ranking me high on your list, telling me how you were nothing without me. You clipped away the useless, cutting the others off and I blindly followed, hypnotized by your promises. You were magical. I admired you. What the hell was I thinking? You told me everything and I defended you and laughed and cried with you until I could feel myself molding into you. Only when I peeked your palms from my eyes and your shackles from my wrists did I realise that I would have rather been someone you dropped than someone you carried. What am I supposed to do with you? You swear you're not lying but I can't trust anything coming from those pursed, deceptive lips any longer after I know everything else has been a lie. Not now. Not after everything. I used to think I didn't deserve you and your friendship. That I was so below you. I can be happy without your hand plastered onto the small of my back, without your fingers tugging at my heartstrings, without your words speaking for mine. I am above your childish games. I know that for certain. But I'm still here, even if my presence is worthless to you now. I'm still silent. I still laugh and cry with you. I'm still allowing you to cling to me with long coarse fingers. Your words still cut me like a knife. You still dig into my flesh, draining everything I have with a simple snap. I can't not love you. I need you. You told me that after we left you wouldn't speak to me again and so here I am, painfully withstanding the dark, suffocating tunnel you call friendship so that I can finally get through and be free. I can't wait to say goodbye to 28

you. I hate you. I despise what you've done to me. But cheers to the next two years of us, in which I'll stay faithfully quiet by your side, counting down the seconds until I can wash you from my memories.

(Photo Credits: Carolina Barshakov)

Blunders in Magic By Kiah Spraker A wizard was waving his wand Oops, he conjured a pond He slipped and fell in And said with a grin â&#x20AC;&#x153;A swimming suit I have not donned!â&#x20AC;?

Art GalleryÂ

(Photo Credits: Suhani Gupta)

(Photo: Barbara Richter)

(Art Credits: Eleanor Thayn)

(Photo Credits: Hai Yen Bui)

(Photo Credits: Carolina Barshakov)

Photo Credits: Carolina Barshakov

(Photo Credits: Carolina Barshakov)

(Art Credits: Stephen Miele)

(Photo Credits: Sophia Wypyski)

Photo Credits: Hai Yen Bui

(Photo Credits: Sophia Wypyski)

(Photo Credits: Hai Yen Bui)