StayGold Volume 1, Issue 1 (Spring '23)

Charles F. Patton Middle School

Spring - Volume I - Issue I

Copyright ©2023 Patton Art & Literary Magazine Staff

Copyright © of each work belongs to the representaive artist or writer

All rights reserved. All works are copyright of their respective creators as indicated herein and are reproduced here with permission.

STAYGOLD is a public forum for student expression produced by the students of Charles F. Patton Middle School.

Published and printed in the United States of America.

cover art Jinny Zhao

TABLE OF

6-7 Lulu Zhao Tired

8-9 Gabriella Wisner Society,Look in the Mirror

10-11 Marissa Lesperance The Color Within

12 Reagan Costello Wolf

13 Andrew Fan The Noise

14-15 Chanumi Fonseka Shoes

16 Maggie Feenan Wyoming

17 Carolina Sawyer TheAutumn Days

18 Rylee Schritter Portrait

19 Emily Field Burying the OldYear

20-21 Aayan Khan Deep Water

22-23 Mae Cooper Bee

24-28 Saya Patel The Woods

29 Alena Rodriguez We Are Clouds

Olivia Fan 30-31

Cedar Waxwing

Ruby Louick 32-33 Vision

Nathanial Gushurst 34 They

45 Avni Dhagalkar The Journey

46 Prisha Hallur Where I’m From

Carly DelCampo 36-37 Body

Jacqueline Wong 38-39 Skull and Pitcher

Nina Messa 40-41 Rainbow After the Storm

Liv Thomas 42-43 Change,Fight Climate Change

Sadie Anders 44 Fair Grounds

47 Ellie Tilley Fishbowl

48 Clara Stancik The Last Goodbye

49 Quinlan Henderson Just a Girl

51 Luke Zhao Lost

52-53 Ava Migdal Culture Shock

54-55 Zachary Grazela The Mystery of theAbandoned School

Lily Daniels 56-57 Sunrise Before the Games

Daluchi Ikeme 58-59 Are Frogs in Danger?

Lucas Shank 60-61 Flying Hawks Got 50 Stars

Madeline Miller 62-64 The Test

Jillian Cooper 66-67 Mushroom in the Woods

Mia Nie 68-70 Pandora’s Box

Kush Aggarwal 71-72 The Lakehouse Murders

Grace Du 74 Portrait

LuLu Zhao

Society, Look in the Mirror

In society, women are seen not as humans but as objects. We must dress to impress and may only be respected if society accepts. They used to say the perfect girl should be flat and behave in a way acceptable to the lord, agree with whatever their husband said and stay stiff as a board. Now, they say we don’t fit the standards if we don’t have blue eyes and blonde hair, So, see, the perfect girl does not exist and these standards are unfair. When a female is told to man up it is seen as a word of advice, But they’ll tell a male they cry like a girl, it is an insult and they won’t even think twice. Even if we show a bit of skin we are looking for attention. Our movements are very fragile and can easily be broken. If we are nice to a guy if only for one day, oh we like him and we want to get our way. We are encouraging young children that if they don’t like their bodies, they should get enhancements But we women are perfect, down to our feet and up to our hair. We are like puppets, orchestrated and controlled by hands Always modified to fit what society demands. Why is it that women are seen like dolls only created to satisfy and obey?

I’m not saying this doesn’t apply to guys but yes, it’s mostly women treated this way. Let’s have peace and unity, For all, and give equal opportunity. Men and women are all the same.

Please stop playing this discrimination game.

enhancements everywhere,

Gabriella Wisner

Marissa Lesperance

Reagan Costello

The Noise

As far as I can remember, every morning I’d hear these strange noises. It wasn’t until I was eight or so that I realized I heard everything that I would hear that day. I’m not sure how I got this power, or why, or even how it worked. Time wouldn’t pass, but I would hear everything. Everything. Nothing was safe from me.

Naturally, I abused this. Pop quizzes were no longer surprises. Breakups were expected. And as an extra benefit, I got filthy rich off of sports bets.

I am now sixteen years old.

And this morning I heard nothing.

Chanumi Fonseka

Maggie Feenan

The Autumn Days

The leaves faded to an orange-brown as the drafted breeze shifted the oak trees The silky air brushed against my pink cheeks while my warm blonde hair rushed in the wind

The autumn days have come

Standing on the sturdy rock, I saw the forest below Looking down I didn’t feel low I inhaled the cold wind and let it tickle my throat, Exhaling it out of my nose

The autumn days have come

The midnight stars glimmered in the navy sky Having a fight over which one shinned more The icy frost covered the ground Under freezing the evenings are bound

The autumn days have gone

Rylee Schritter

Burning the Old Year

Regret burning through the rising flames

Leaving nothing but ashes, Ashes filled with memories

All memories

Both, full of once in a lifetime moments, warm smiles And sorrowful acts, meant to leave behind

Missing the old times, the fun times

The hard times, the rough times

But eventually flames fade every day

With just a clear sway, the smoke drifts away

Remembering all those glowing adventures once lived

Reliving all those flashing events once seen

Reburning all those crazy stories once told

Retelling all those thrilling moments once felt

But it all comes to a crack, to a stop

Because eventually fire turns into smoke And smoke rises into the air

Talking all moments

all stories

all adventures and all memories, but leaving just enough embers, along the way.

Aayan Khan

Deep Water (an excerpt)

As I fly down the beaten-down roads on my century-old moped, I realize I need money fast. I am famished, and I need some way to buy some food. I am so intently focused on my hunger that I don’t even notice the boy in front of my bike.

“Aah!” he screams.

“Sorry, I didn’t see you there.”

“How could you not?! I was wearing bright red...oh,” he says, realizing his mistake.

“Yeah, this entire city is red,” I note. “I’m sorry for hitting you with my bike. How about I take you to dinner to make up for it?”

“That would be pretty nice. Where should I meet you?”

“Meet me at Fire Palace at 7 P.M..”

“Ok. See you there.”

As I take my savings out of my motorcycle, I wonder how I’m going to earn enough money even to buy bread tomorrow. Things have been hard since my family died. I probably blew all my cash by promising him dinner, but it’s already done. I changed into the only dress I could get my hands on –– my mother’s. I’m tall for my age, so it fits. I enter the restaurant, excited, and start to reserve a table for two when I notice he’s already there, sitting down. I walk over and pull out the other chair. I feel my heart beat faster as I notice his sharp suit, fiery eyes, perfect face, and immensely cheerful grin.

“Hey there. How’s it going?”

“Good. Sorry, I hit you with that motorcycle in the morning.”

“It’s fine. I just wasn’t being careful.”

“What were you doing, anyway?”

“I was jogging to the boat station. To meet with my team.”

“Team? For what?”

“You haven’t heard of the EFA? The Element Fighting Arena?”

“No.”

“Well, it’s an arena where people ages 16 to 25 can compete in fighting matches for the grand pot of five hundred thousand wei.”

“That’s a lot of money. Can you tell me how to sign up?”

“Umm, you’d need a team of four people from each of the element groups and five hundred wei as an entrance fee. You probably couldn’t make a team because there are only two days left before the tournament, but you could come and watch us.”

“I’ll pass. Any chance I could join your team?”

“Sorry, that couldn’t happen unless one of our team members left, and I highly doubt they will.” He pauses. “I never did catch your name; what is it?”

“Sylvie. Sylvie Resete.”

“My name is Joshua,” he says with a smile.

“Let’s order some of those spicy noodles that this place is famous for.”

“I second that,” I say with a wide smile. As we devour our scrumptious noodles, we talk more about the EFA and have a great time.

“That was great. Waiter! The bill!”

“Oh no, you don’t have to pay for me. I’ll pay.”

“No, I insist.”

“I will pay for the bill.”

“At least let me pay for half.”

“Okay. Fine.” I say, fakely grudgingly, while grinning. After we pay the waiter, he says he has to go.

“I would stay longer, but my teammate Emily wanted to talk to me about something. Maybe I’ll catch you sometime later?”

“Maybe,” I say with a smirk.

As he walks away, I stow my moped in a nearby alleyway and change. I notice it’s nighttime and sigh quietly, knowing it’s going to be another rough night, stuck in my faded clothes.

Mae Cooper

Saya Patel

The Woods

In another realm there is a country known as Tevan. In Tevan there is a forest known as the Darkened Woods. Inside the Darkened Woods there is a house on a hill without a name. The house has stood on a hill for over a millennia and no one has ever been able to enter it. Why? No one knows.

The villagers of Tisolla rushed onto the streets to see the cause of all this commotion. It was a carriage. A classy one at that. Tisolla never got any visitors, except for a hunter or perhaps a traveling performing troupe. The villagers remarked to each other about who was inside and why they were here.

“I heard the King is having a competition of sorts, perhaps they are going to it.” Remarked the village gossip.

“A merchant, definitely.”

“A noble gone rogue.”

The coach stopped and the driver stepped off his perch to open the door. Four finely dressed young men stepped out and took in the crowd. The villagers noticed their well-kept hair and expensive traveling clothes. They all knew they were nobles.

“Well, it sure is lovely to be out of the carriage.” One spoke. He was tall with ebony colored hair.

The woman who was the village leader stepped in front of the herd of people and greeted them, “Welcome to our village. I must say we are quite surprised you are here, rarely do we get any visitors. What business do you have here?”

As the woman spoke the crowd began to disperse, but they still strained their hearing to listen in. This time a platinum-blonde haired one spoke, “We are traveling to The Event down south, but were in need of a break. Honestly, my acquaintances here,” he gestures to the three surrounding him, “are a little hard to be around for this long.”

The woman gives a low chuckle at his informal nature, but then inquires, “And who are your acquaintance and yourself?”

“We are the Four Lords of Lurce, of course.” He said, tilting his head.

The woman’s dull green eyes widened in shock. Lurce was a prominent city up north and was notorious for its brutal leaders, the Lords. The city always had four leaders, regardless of gender. They were all descendants of the first Lord of Lurce and all inherited his brutality. The leaders were vicious. The town leader found it hard to believe due to these men’s attitudes, but she didn’t want to be wrong and dead.

“If you don’t mind me asking, but d-do you have any proof?”

The third one, hair the color of blood, stepped forward and scoffed, “Are you doubting us?” He fingered a dagger at his waist.

“Really, Thomas? You’re going to give the poor woman a heart attack.” The dark haired man scolded, “Here’s your proof.” He showed the woman a golden badge signifying who they were and she nodded. The man spoke again, “I’m no introductions are necessary, but formalities are key. I’m Lord Dorian of Lurce. This lovely red-head is Lord Thomas of Lurce.” He then gestures to this platinum-blonde man, “He is Lord Drayce of Lurce.” He gestured to the one man who hadn’t spoken at all, who had golden hair, “This is Lord Jackson of Lurce.”

The woman bowed in greeting, her rusty brown hair falling into her eyes, and introduced herself, “I am Maria Magrove, leader of Tisolla. How can I be of assistance?”

“How about some food?” Lord Drayce asked.

The village leader led them to The Serpent’s Tavern.

The men had eaten and went with the woman to her office. She perched in her worn chair and they sat in the opposite chairs.

“You said you were going to The Event and decided to rest. May I ask why you decided to go through the Darkened Woods?”

The quiet Lord Jackson finally spoke up from his lounging position, smirking as he said, “To get to the Order of Assassin’s lair .”

Maria Magrove’s eyebrows rose, but Lord Dorian sighs wearily, “Must you?”

“I am bound by law to answer a stupid question with a sarcastic comment.”

A low chuckle came from Lord Drayce as he spoke, “I apologize for his sardonic attitude. We were traveling to The Event, when we received news. The Grand Advisor detected something peculiar in this area. It was meant to be a warning for us to be wary in our travels, but why not root out this problem? Perhaps you could tell us if you know anything about this?”

The village leader assessed the situation before she spoke hesitantly, “ I might know of this problem. Our village is just out of the Darkened Woods, but if you travel about a quarter mile in the woods, you’ll come across a hill with a large estate resting atop.”

“Why would that be the cause?” The white-haired one queried.

“Because no one can enter the property,” was the only response, The haughty red head blinked in confusion before adorning a imperious mask, “What on Earth do you mean?”

“I mean as soon as you try to touch the gate you’re blasted backwards by some force.”

The cruelly sarcastic Lord spoke again, “Hmmm, that is peculiar.”

Lord Drayce simply said, “Can you arrange for a guide to take us there?”

“Of course.”

The men left for an inn and only terrorized the villagers a little.

In the morning, an old man with bottle green eyes was there to lead the Lords to the house. The ancient guide was quiet for the majority of the walk and listened instead. The Lords didn’t act Lordly (perhaps it was ruse?), but the haughty one and sarcastic one bickered, while the more calm Lord Drayce just whistled, irritating the both of them. Lord Dorian just looked like he wanted to slap them all, but was too tired to do so. The old man remembered what it was like to be in his twenties and prime.

The guide finally spoke, “We are getting close. Let me warn you, as soon as your foot touches the hill a wave of dread hits you, so powerful it makes the grown run.”

“I highly doubt it will bother us.” Lord Thomas sneered.

The escort simply nodded and continued, “I have come here many times, I’ve always been ensnared by the enigma of this place. I wondered if the Fae had come from the far south to this house or perhaps it is witches. Nevertheless, I haven’t found any sign of them.”

Lord Drayce spoke, “Have you ever seen someone here?”

The man shook his head, “No, but about a year ago a young village girl claimed to have seen a figure weeping in the window.”

“Could we speak to that girl?” One of the Lords asked.

The man uttered softly, “No, unfortunately she died a day after telling us.”

An eerie quiet fell upon the group. They soon approached the house. It looked like a normal merchant’s country home.

The nobles stepped onto the hill and gave a shiver of fear, but continued onwards. There was a climbable metal fence wrapped around the house.

“Well? Do any of you want to have the honors?” Lord Jackson asked with a condescending tone.

“I will.” Lord Thomas volunteered.

The man warned him again of the danger, but the arrogant man just sneered.

He grabbed a metal bar off the fence.

He flew backwards.

It took him a few seconds to recover before he stood up, his face red with anger.

“Your face matches your hair.” Lord Jackson observes.

The Lord just regarded him scornfully before demanding, “What sorcery is this? If any of the magic users have done this without clearance, then they are an enemy of the crown!”

“We don’t know,” their guide whispered.

The Four Lord of Lurce stood in a straight line as they stared at the house. Their thoughts were usually quite different, but this time they all wondered the same thing.

Who was behind this and why?

Was it the Assassin’s hideout?

A crime lord’s retreat?

A Fae headquarters?

A warlock home?

They didn’t know, but hated being humiliated like this and hated not knowing anything.

They were ruthless and would do anything to prove that they were.

There was a reason Lurce meant cruel in the old-tongue.

Inside the house, a young woman stared out the window at the group of young menShe hadn’t seen them before, only the old man. She noticed their outfits that looked like they were from a renaissance fair. The young woman wondered when she would finally leave this forsaken place.

She would do anything to get out.

And to figure out why she was here.

Part 1:

We Are Clouds an excerpt

The night I saw the butterflies, Solil had left the Earth. I could nearly see her heart loosen in its place and soar from her chest. It was then that all the magic in the universe began to fade, and, as though to make up for it, nature sent these creatures of pigmented parchment. Lush, ink accented wings dove through the brussel of the forest behind our home as twilight dawned, and the delicate sound of gliding souls beckoned me to dance among them. They did not flutter away for they knew my heart was held solely on a shattering crystal pedestal. I stood there for hours, even after they had departed. Doing so in a way that suggested they knew they had fulfilled their duty. By the time they had left, understanding my sister was gone was not the sole thing that terrorized my aching conscience, but where she had gone to. What better place did she have to be? We were Gloris and Solil, inseparable like the pendulum to the ticking hour hand, each keeping the other in sync. Mother told me I was forbidden to see Solil, but what did it matter now? She was unrecognizable without her smirk, so I took the liberty of slipping a hazelnut creamed chocolate beneath her cold fingertips and kissed her pale cheeks.

“What will we be if there is nothing left of you? I made up but a quarter of who we were, I will disappear with your ashes,” I whispered.

I had written it beforehand in hopes that words I had so thoroughly contemplated would reach her. Later I thought it silly, but self consciousness was fleeting in the wake of my own humility as I stood before a life cut short.

Before I had entered her room, I was certain I would remain there for the rest of my life, just as how it was meant to be. Her and I, together. But this thought was revoked by the thickness of the still air once I had walked in. It was quiet, yet this overwhelming sense of yearning seemed to echo through the silent oxygen and slipped its way down my throat. I feared I would die myself as I choked on the ghosts of breaths that lingered. Feeling like a glass before tipping, like the sound of voices through a wall, like the clanging of aged chimes.

I left her there.

Cedar Waxwing

A snowflake falls from the cloudless blue sky landing gracefully on a branch of a coniferous tree. It covers the branch like a blanket of melancholy. The snowflakes are scattered across the sky like pearls scattered in the ocean. A high pitched whistling can be heard far away in the forest, the sound gets closer and closer.

Suddenly a bird lands on the branch like a ballerina landing from a leap, sending a powder shower of snow into the air. It’s a medium sized bird, maybe about 6 to 7 inches. It has tail feathers the color of a bright yellow sunset, a patch of scarlet red staining a small section of its wing feathers, a pastel yellow abdomen, and a mask the color of charcoal with a white border surrounding it. Most of its feathers are a mix of an ash gray and a shiny brown.

This is a Cedar waxwing. It plucks a madrone berry with its short and wide beak, its diet consists mainly of berries and fruit year round. These fruits include dogwood, serviceberry, cedar, juniper, hawthorn, and winterberry. However, during mating season it consumes mostly insects. A small cone called the eastern redcedar is its favored nourishment, this is why its name is Cedar waxwing!

They prefer areas at the edge of a forest, where berries and water can be easily found. They like to bathe and drink from shallow streams. Cedar waxwings are mainly found in flocks when it’s not breeding season. They feed together, and when berry supply is low in an area they fly together to find a new location.

Cedar waxwings are unique singers. Its high-pitched whistling can be heard through the trees of a forest like a dolphin’s chirp from the deep seas, the whistling be heard farther and further away, until it disappears completely.

Ruby Louick

Vision

Women appeared suddenly in my vision. I felt like I was going blind, I had never seen these demented people, they were crazed, stumbling around my wood floors in my room. I shut my eyes, presuming I would stop seeing, but they were still there, staring at me. They made eye contact with my pupils, I physically couldn’t look away. They looked as if they had departed from the grave. The floors creak under their feet, the skin being as gray as the rainy ocean. The paint of my window was crumbling off, the ripped drapes blowing in the wind.

My window was open, the cold air running into my room like the time on the clock. I couldn’t bring myself to get up. I was stuck in the indent in my bed that my weight made in the foam. I was frozen, I couldn’t move a muscle. I felt something pushing me down further as if a sixty pound dumbbell was on my chest. Not only I couldn’t move, but I lost my breath from the pushing down to my body. I was helpless, struggling to get up. I tried moving my pointer finger slowly. Then my pinky, then thumb.

My eyes opened to my room, no beings, no rips in the drapes, the paint on the window fresh, and I was stunned. My mouth was open in shock. That was the worst sleep paralysis I’ve ever had, ever. In my 13 years of living, I had only had a few sleep paralysis hallucinations. They were just regular, where I couldn’t move, but the scenes were not horrifying. It was just my room, I just couldn’t move. Nothing, and I mean nothing like this. I flopped down on my bed and picked up my phone. The bright light flashed upon my face. 2:03 am, my phone read. I turned over and went to sleep.

When I woke up, I saw that it was dark outside already. It was summer, and it was never dark at this hour. After all, it was only around 2:00 pm. I crept downstairs to find my mom cooking dinner. “It’s only two..” I said, unsure. “Honey, you must be mistaken. It’s five,” she said, confused. I looked at the tiny screen on our shiny black oven. 5:06 pm, it read; I could’ve sworn it was 2:00. “I’m making broccoli and mashed potatoes,” she said with a smile. “Okay, see you later mom,” I said. Has the time changed? I gazed at my phone

when I reached my room. 5:09 it read, how? I was freaked out, I hadn’t experienced any of this before. I needed to take a break from reality.

The knob on the shower turned with a high-pitched squeak. I sat on the scratchy mat, waiting for the water to become as hot as the sun, as I liked it. I stepped in steadily so I wouldn’t slip. The water immediately rushed down my face. Swirling into the folds of my eyes, making my vision go blurry. My hair was flattened and wet, frizzy because of my huge tangles that I was too tired to brush out. I rested my head on my knees and felt the hotness drip down my back. “Dinner!” my mom screamed. I stepped out, frigid from the air outlasting my body. I got my unpigmented towel, put on my clothes, and advanced downstairs to my mother.

I shoved the food into my jaw, I was starving. The whole time me and my mom hadn’t said a word. I stomped up to my room, unsure about my mom not talking to me. I went into my doorway when I heard a snap. Beads hit the floor and bounced into the divots in the wood. My phone chain had broken apart and the beads had flooded all over the place. But I couldn’t find my phone anywhere. I recognized the exact beads on my floor, but my phone was nowhere to be found. I ignored it and closed the door behind me. I leaped into my warm bed and closed my eyes.

I woke up in a daze. I was seeing paranormal people again. Except this time it felt more real, as if I was in normal reality. I looked around trying to close my eyes, but they wouldn’t shut. Two of them were on the ground, lying flat. They were lifeless, dead. Although it seemed all of them were, some couldn’t move anymore. It seemed that I woke up, but they were still there, creeping around my room. This time my room was even worse. The floorboards were falling apart, the tapestry had rips, and my dresser mirror was black as the night sky. Suddenly everything went still. My room went back to normal, but they were still there. I stepped out of bed, I could move? I didn’t want to approach them. I jumped back in bed, they were making eye contact with me. The sun shone through my stained glass window, reflecting beautifully on the hard ground. It was real. This was in real life.

Nathanial Gushurst

They are good at everything I am not

They write, draw, paint, sing, make Perfectly I cannot

They say “try your best” But they are the best I am not

They are many I am one

Yet, many see them And many are not they

So why should I compare Many to one

Why should anyone Compare any to one

^*BODY*^

You play with me like I’m your doll.

But I’m not having fun

Please stop, this isn’t show and tell!

I don’t want to wear a dress

Please don’t tell

You say the cruelest words

They scar like a wound in salt

Harsh words if you don’t get a picture with me

They break my heart

Cause i’m over here working my head off

Why is it so hard to see?

Jacqueline Wong

Rainbow After the Storm

The silence

It’s odd it’s eerie

The wind starts to run around the block

Suddenly, the warning is Blaring and Blaring and Blaring in my ear

I’m in shock, and it knocks

Me off my feet

I get frightened and start running

The Storm’s darkening And darkening

And Darkening clouds Are gaining

The storm

unleashes And wakes up from a long slumber

The gust

The Scream

The shout

I try to scream

But the storm roars louder

As it’s ragged fists are Punching and Punching and Punching my house

The wind

Its shining blade

Bursting open a cloud

It bleeds giant raindrops

Which are knocking and knocking and Knocking at the door

I do not let them in They knock even harder And even louder Than before

When will it ever end?

Silence

Eerie silence

Not as eerie as before the storm

I open the storm door and I Tromp and Tromp and Tromp outside

Standing in the gooey mud Gooier than ever, The weather had passed

Things are different

The roads are not roads, they are

The trees are not trees, they are The field of grass is not a field

But hey, Everything is okay

Life will throw you Stumps with Life will show you flooded roads

Life will present you with fields

Life will give you raging storms

But hey, you are okay, everything

are rivers are stumps with ragged stubs of grass it is a swamp with ragged stubs roads fields turned into swamps storms everything will be okay

Because underneath, Are the newly paved roads

The newborn trees

The golden fields

And the storm is just clustered clouds, feeling sad We all need support, and if we follow this plan, We will all get through All together

Small clouds make big ones Stars and clusters make galaxies

You are not the only one Multiple humans make colonies All together

We make one big thing

Together

Then look up high in the clearing sky Are a rainbow and its colorful hue

It whispers you are safe, it’s all going to be okay

The storm is done, we move on as one

Rainbow after the storm is what they say It is not a myth, it is true

Change, Fighting Climate Change

Change can be good or bad

Happy or same

Or sometimes just in the middle Things can get heated

Goals not meeted

And everything turns to a burdened weight

A scary occurrence

But sometimes change cannot weight

Put into place

Or put into action

It won’t always be an easy or smooth transaction

But we need it fast

And we need it to last

So just remember change can be good or bad

Happy or sad

So let's make the good kind of change

This poem and painting are all about climate change. This watercolor artwork symbolizes climate change directly, it shows the effect it is having on the planet. As oceans rise, and more trash gets taken into the ocean, what was once sealife, turns into sea trash. The vivacious life of the ocean gets bagged into the cynical side of humanity. The poem acts as a motivation to make a difference when fighting climate change. Both the painting and the poem create a window into a world that could be our future. So let’s keep fighting and shed light upon this global battle of warming.

Sadie Anders

The Journey

Onward we travel, with each step we take, Through valleys low and mountains high we create A path uncharted, a journey unknown, With each new route, our courage has grown.

We’ve crossed rivers wide and deserts vast, Our determination holding steadfast. And though the road ahead may be unclear, We’ll keep moving forward without any fear.

Where I’m From

I am from the cherry blossom tree in my front yard Spilling her pink and white blooms, beautiful and pure To me, it represents a time of renewal, but is fleeting

I am from my tiny collection of snow globes That I have collected over the years Waiting to overflow the ledge of my bookshelf

I am from the incense stick that I light To pray and offer food to God before I eat It has a woody smell, with hints of jasmine

I am from our festival, Diwali We light every candle we have And pray to God for good luck and prosperity And light fireworks, bursts of color everywhere

I am from my family’s grand piano Its black and white keys waiting to be pressed An instrument that can be both beautiful and powerful Sometimes at the same time

I am from my stack of books A never ending tower Of mystery, action, and adventure When I flip through the pages An aroma of sandalwood and cedar Meet my nose

I am from all those moments Stored in a safe place next to Hundreds and thousands of other Cherished memories that I could never bear to lose

Clara Stancik

Every day the boys played two-hand-touch during recess, meaning that to get someone out, all you had to do was tag them with two hands. Typically, I would sit next to my favorite recess teacher, Mrs. C, and watch. I distinctly remember the cool breeze passing my face as I longed to join in. “Go, you should play,” Mrs. C said with a smile even though I had never actually mentioned playing. Sure, I did make small comments on their sloppy plays or passes, but I had never really shown any interest in joining in, or at least not at school. I kept it to myself as I did with many other thoughts.

Playing with other kids instead of sitting quietly next to a teacher, seemed like a truly simple fix to my depressing recesses. It just did not seem like a simple task to me at the time. There was no problem with me playing football, besides the fact that I would be the only girl. I expected to have some judgy girls talk about it later or something, but I would not mind. Most girls effortlessly accepted the boys’ rude behavior toward girls, but I did not. Some of the boys did not believe that girls could even be good at sports. In fact, multiple times I had told on them and gotten them in deep trouble for saying similar things to my face. For this reason, they did not enjoy my company very much. Despite all of this, I got up and jogged into the game.

It was a turnover so I had a great opportunity to jump in. “Can I join this team Jacob,” I asked, trying to hold back my eager smile. “Uhh- sure,” he said, acting as though I had asked him to leap across the moon. I talked to Jacob because I had always thought of him as one of the more accepting boys, and I was glad he had shown some kindness. Matt hiked the ball to Josh, the quarterback. I ran forward,

Every day the boys played two-hand-touch during recess, meaning that to get someone out, all you had to do was tag them with two hands. Typically, I would sit next to my favorite recess teacher, Mrs. C, and watch. I distinctly remember the cool breeze passing my face as I longed to join in. “Go, you should play,” Mrs. C said with a smile even though I had never actually mentioned playing. Sure, I did make small comments on their sloppy plays or passes, but I had never really shown any interest in joining in, or at least not at school. I kept it to myself as I did with many other thoughts.

Playing with other kids instead of sitting quietly next to a teacher, seemed like a truly simple fix to my depressing recesses. It just did not seem like a simple task to me at the time. There was no problem with me playing football, besides the fact that I would be the only girl. I expected to have some judgy girls talk about it later or something, but I would not mind. Most girls effortlessly accepted the boys’ rude behavior toward girls, but I did not. Some of the boys did not believe that girls could even be good at sports. In fact, multiple times I had told on them and gotten them in deep trouble for saying similar things to my face. For this reason, they did not enjoy my company very much. Despite all of this, I got up and jogged into the game.

It was a turnover so I had a great opportunity to jump in. “Can I join this team Jacob,” I asked, trying to hold back my eager smile. “Uhh- sure,” he said, acting as though I had asked him to leap across the moon. I talked to Jacob because I had always thought of him as one of the more accepting boys, and I was glad he had shown some kindness. Matt hiked the ball to Josh, the quarterback. I ran forward, easily speeding past many others. I was wide open. “Josh,” I called, “Over here I’m open!!” He frowned at me and passed the ball to his friend, Ben, who was being defended by another kid. The ball was almost intercepted. I was right here, I had thought slightly frustrated.

Again the ball was hiked and I was wide open directly in front of the made-up endzone. “Don’t pass it to her,” shouted Jack. “Yeah she is just a girl she will fumble it!” shouted another person I could not see. Tears swelled in my eyes as more people joined in the riot. It felt a lot worse than most pains I had endured previously. After the play was over I got ready yet again. Even though I was upset I still shot forward and ran. This time Jack was covering me. I was shuffling away when he yelled at me, “HEY! You should not be on the blacktop playing football! This sport is only meant for boys! You don’t belong here,” with that he shoved me to the ground furiously. I could see the anger in his eyes. I did not understand. What had I done to make him so upset? The recess teacher blew the whistle and gave him a lecture. I walked over and watched the rest of the game from under the shade of a tree.

It was only then in 5th grade that I realized, yes women have won the right to vote and won so many other rights, but injustices still exist. Violence has never been the solution. It never will be. Though, there is a part of me that wishes I had beaten Jack straight to the ground. I know I did what was right when the next day during recess, I walked outside with my head held high and jogged back onto the blacktop.

Ava Migdal

The Mystery of the Abandoned School

Jamie is a twelve year-old kid at Westwood Middle School. Every morning Jamie would greet the ones in his life that he cared for, careful not to break apart from his loved ones. Although Jamie considered them to be loved ones, Jamie’s little sister, Amy, did occasionally annoy him. Jamie’s best friend Mike would sometimes talk on and on about “brave stories” or things that Mike got as presents that Jamie never got but wanted. Even his parents would make Jamie do hard chores. The one person that Jamie never got upset or annoyed by was Jamie’s grandfather. The stories that Jamie was told as a kid by his grandfather allowed Jamie’s imagination to run wild. Jamie’s excitement would skyrocket whenever he heard that he was going to his grandfather’s house. The old, forgotten, and abandoned school might have been creepy, but its secrets held many stories. The hands on Jamie’s grandfather’s watch would spin just as his grandfather was going back in time to tell the story. Jamie always wondered what happened to that school, but his grandfather just never told him, even though the school was that of his own as a child. However, Jamie spent the entire evening crying when his mother told him that his grandfather had passed away.

“Come on Jamie,” Mike yelled in a hurry. “We’re gonna miss the bus!”

Jamie had forgotten his lunch box, so his teacher let him back inside to retrieve it.

“Coming,” Jamie yelled back. “Oh yeah, we almost missed them. They were about to take off without us.”

Mike sighed, “That concludes another day of school. Do you want to play online with me after school?”

Jamie agreed right before it was his stop to get off at. The two friends waved goodbye to each other and Jamie exited the bus.

As Jamie entered his house, he heard Amy cry, “Mom, I want different and new toys to play with. These ones are too boring!”

Jamie was used to his eight year-old sister saying things like that. He was about to walk away when he heard his mother say, “I have some old toys from my childhood in the attic. Jamie, will you go get them for your sister?”

Jamie squealed, “But I was just about to play online with

Mike!”

Jamie looked at his sister’s quivering lip, sighed, and headed up to the attic. It was a dark and creepy place, but Jamie found the box of toys, and dropped them down the ladder. He was about to exit the attic, when a small box was spotted in the corner of his eye. He stepped closer to get a better look, and found a “Do Not Touch” sign on the box. Jamie’s curiosity led him to open the box, and see its contents. He found his grandfather’s old pocket watch, and picked it up. The dark abyss of nothing then consumed Jamie, as he blacked out.

Jamie woke up in what seemed to be a school. It was very dark, and infested with cobwebs. He then realized that it was the abandoned school, a few blocks from his current school, that his grandfather went to. Jamie heard soft, but yet biting whispers in his ear. There was something soothing about the voices that Jamie found comfortable, but he couldn’t understand what. It was like the voices were calling to him, to explore more of the school. Jamie wanted to obey, but when he turned around, he saw a dark and shadowy figure lurking in the doorway. Jamie screamed so loud that he fainted.

Jamie sprung up from his bed with a shocked expression on his face. He realized that he was in his room, and that it was all a bad dream. He walked down stairs wanting to tell his Father about his lifelike experience last night, but as he did, he saw the pocket watch underneath the ladder where he had dropped it. He gasped. He had to talk to Mike about it, so he grabbed the watch, hurried through his morning routine, got ready for school, and jumped on the bus. Amy pleaded, “Can I please sit with you on the bus today?”

“Sorry Amy,” Jamie said back. “I was saving this seat for Mike”

“Okay fine, I guess I’ll sit here then,” Amy whined.

When Mike got on the bus, he sat next to Jamie. Mike questioned Jamie about him not playing wih him online the day before, so Jamie gave him the answer. Jamie told Mike about what happened to him, for he didn’t believe that it was a dream any longer.

“Whoah,” whispered Mike. “We should investigate that school tonight when no one’s watching.

“I don’t know,” Jamie said doubtfully. “What if we get caught.” Mike then countered, “We won’t. Besides, you said that those weird voices were calling to you!”

Jamie agreed, “Fine. But I won’t like it! Don’t tell anyone! No one needs to

Lily Daniels

Are Frogs in Danger?

Between one-hundred and fifty and two hundred animals and plants fall off the face of the earth due to extinction. Many have during the billions of years our planet has existed. The ones that exist today, no matter how unique, have managed to carve in a niche after centuries upon centuries of genetic adjustments. What is this niche for frogs, and is it showing any signs of being lost any time soon?

Shortcomings:

Frogs are known for having a very powerful tongue as well as a long jump, even sporting impressive camouflage as well as incredible agility underwater and suction cups, but even their most powerful strengths aren’t enough to counteract many of the weaknesses that have made their population and relevance drop rapidly. One thing they can contest for, however, is the most predators. While this is not an accomplishment to be proud of, they certainly are close to holding that record, being predated on by small mammals, otters, birds (commonly herons), lizards, snakes, at times bats, and water shrews. They are anything but defenseless, having a jump with a distance relative to their size rivaled by nearly none.

The frog’s fight for survival as prey is still an uphill battle, even with their leaps considered. It only functions well for short bursts, obsolete against any opponent pursuing the frog away from a body of water persistent enough to move a few feet.

However, predators are the least of a frog’s worries. Their skin is thin and easily infiltrated by diseases. Though their semi-aquatic capabilities are impressive, their reliance on water is still apparent, lethally drying them if they aren’t constantly around moist environments.

This nullifies the promise of operating well on both water and land, binding them to damp settings despite their adaptations being intended for both terrestrial and aquatic ability. Many frog populations have dropped to a tremendously noticeable amount, and it’s not hard to see why.

Successful frogs:

There are many variants of frogs. Some successful, & some abortive. While many are doomed to suffer from weaknesses, others have mitigated this and fended for themselves. Simply having thick skin does the trick for bullfrogs, keeping them more protected from parasites and predators. The most substantial contrast between a normal frog and these ones are being the hunted and being the hunter, as a fully matured American bullfrog will voraciously feed on many animals that most frogs are on equal footing with or in fear of, such as birds, other frogs, newts, bats, snakes, etc. The cane toad, however, has all of these capabilities with the ability to nearly guarantee that no ani-

mal who knows what’s good for them will come close, utilizing poison with the ability to kill a cat and make a dog sick. Taking the game of poison to a different level, poison dart frogs contain enough to rain death on an entire herd of elephants. These adaptations have brought them far, but it clearly isn’t serving them well enough to keep the group of animals out of extinction.

Comparison:

Many may have noticed the similarity between frogs and chameleons. Some of their most well-known traits that they share are an extremely malleable tongue employed for hunting. However, many chameleons are of much less concern. Frogs possess similarly impressive camouflage, both commonly being green. So shouldn’t chameleons struggle with similar problems?

Chameleons have it much easier due to their adaptation to life in the trees. Many frogs live in a habitat of the water’s surface where the unexpected should be expected. Predators take advantage of the little protection ponds provide from below and above, and vulnerable animals such as frogs are their favorite targets. This lifestyle likely isn’t going to change any time soon. Many amphibians will perish in any habitat without a generous amount of moisture, such as a desert or suburban area. Their demanding standards for a proper ecosystem confine them to specific areas, lowering their overall success.

Dwelling in trees, similar to chameleons, as some frogs have done before, only leads to destroying the purpose of their jump, one of their most useful traits, as well as meaning they will have to venture back to their regular habitat to hydrate, simply from a more dangerous altitude. Seemingly identical animals can be very different in retrospect, and these two are no exception.

Conclusion:

The most blatant “advantage” that frogs have over water-locked animals is their versatility gained from integrating themselves with life on land, which detriments the group of animals as a whole, pitting them against foes from land and water alike. Their abilities are lackluster in comparison to the challenges a frog faces in their lifetime. This danger is only all the more alarming when weaknesses such as viruses are considered. There is good news, however.

Multiple groups have realized the situation of these animals and seeked out to help them. It is a tough battle for the conservationists, but artificiality is definitely treating them much better than nature is. The fact that frogs suffer from enough problems to the point where we have realized and must pitch in is one of the many examples as to why the viability of these creatures are going South. To conclude, they are in danger, but with the help of a species as dominant and powerful as ours, they will likely stay with us for quite some time.

Lucas Shank

Jillian Cooper

The Test

The chime of the tin bell rings just in time to prevent Asha from running her head through a wall with boredom. History, it was always the same to her. We went to war, the colonies were created, don’t challenge the government. But Asha never saw the point, why take away the people’s power if that was what caused problems to start with? Years ago, after a world war so large it had wiped out nearly half of the population, followed by natural disasters caused by years of unaddressed climate issues, a new leader by the name of Evelyn Coleman proposed a solution. To keep the peace, 5 different colonies were created with just enough resources to get by. This would force them to need government support, and supposedly prevent uprising. But the government still needed resources, so each colony had a job.

There were two made for food creation, an agricultural and a cattle based. The largest one was the factory colony, where most everything from clothes to electronics were created. The poorest are the miners, who sacrifice their health and lives to recover materials we need to operate. There were the wealthy, but not rich enough to be government officials, who took the easier service based professions. Then there was Asha’s own engineering district, the smallest of them all. Because so few people were skilled in this career when the world was divided, the engineers were left with more hours of work then there was time to do it. They were either learning, like herself, or working all day. By the time she got out of her thoughts, she was out of the school and awaiting the sun’s gentle glow. Only to find the small courtyard shrouded in the darkness of a transport. Perplexed yet intrigued, she stepped closer. Curiosity had always been despised in Quinta, as if the government had some secret and were desperate to hide it. Yet Asha found herself mesmerized by the sleek, black metal and couldn’t stop herself from reaching out a curious hand to touch it. But instead of feeling the cool, polished metal, her touch was met with a calloused hand pulling her inside the now open door. She was about to scream when a familiar voice spoke. “Calm yourself, we are not your enemy.” A refined, female voice said.

She knew that voice as well as her own. As it was the president’s. The president of the whole continent had caught her stupidly examining her transport.

Asha was sure she was going to die. In the few heartbeats she had to be dragged into the metal box she unconsciously ran through all the things she could have, should have said to her parents. To her brother. To her friends. But then she was inside, with nowhere to go, with the president in front of her. She was too stunned to speak. Too stunned to notice the eight others looking as confused as she. And too stunned to notice that in the few seconds she stood there, they had started rolling away from the only home she had ever known.

Evelyn Coleman gave what looked like a reassuring smile, and said, “Relax, Asha Laurier. We are not here to punish you.” With that she motioned for her to be seated, and Asha obeyed.

The president began,“I am president Coleman, as most of you know. And we are in desperate need of your help. I’m sure you all know your history well, but I’ll have you know that not all of it is true. The knowledge you have been fed about the world around us lying in ruins is a lie.” She paused for what seemed like dramatic effect, and received some gasps from her fellow passengers.

“In fact,” she began again, “most of the continent south of ours remains intact after the war. However, our own research personnel are not equipped with the skills each of you have from your various colonies. We have selected two of you from each colony, except Engineering. This is because their lack of population has only produced one of you fit to complete this task. But that is besides the point. We need you, the best and brightest of Quinta, to aid our research.”

A stubby boy with overalls and black curls, most likely from the cattle colonie, found his voice first, “What?” was all he said.

This was all happening so quickly, too quickly. As if on cue an explosion rattled the vehicle, sending Asha flying through a freshly broken window and onto the gravel. She winced as she looked upon her knees, splattered in blood.

“Ambush! Get the president to safety!” Someone shouted as gunfire erupted. Oh gosh they had weapons. Scared for her life Asha ran behind a charred part of what remained of their transport only to find the curly haired boy already there.

The boy was curled in a ball, hands over his head. She saw what looked like a tear drift down his cheek.

Noticing her he shouted, “I’m Russel!” over the skirmish, “If I die I want someone to know.” was all he said in explanation for why he told this stranger his name.

“Asha!” Was all she said in reply.

It took her a few moments to realize, but a lengthy blonde boy was the only one left without cover. Russel seemed to notice at that moment as well, as his eyes went wide with terror.

“Carter! Over here!” He cried. This must be the second boy from the cattle colony. But in order to get to their small piece of cover, Carter would have to cross the battlefield unprotected. He didn’t seem to realize this, as he began to run.

Bullets flew, but nothing was as loud as the sound of her heart hammering in her chest. He was going to die. Before Asha could get her thoughts together, Russel ran to his friend as a shot fired in his direction. The bullet was meant for Carter. But it was met with Russel. In a heap he collapsed, crumpling to the ground on which he had saved his friend, pushing him out of the way and shielding Carter with his body.

All gunfire stopped. People shouted, Carter screamed, but she didn’t hear. She couldn’t hear anything until the president spoke again.

“Stage one complete. Lesson learned, helping others can come with a price.” She said calmly.

Asha’s face swelled with heat and she didn’t even know he was crying until the warm salty tears landed in her mouth.

“This was a test.” She mumbled, seeming to be the first one to catch on, “You were testing us. The explosion, the attack, the gunfire. All of it. And Russell served as the lesson.”

Smiling an expression that reminded Asha of a proud teacher when their students aced a test, the president said, “Very good Ms. Laurier, unfortunately, Russel did not have the skills you all do. And for that, he unfortunately has to pay the price for that.” She then steered her gaze from Asha to the whole group

“You all have been tracked, and tested since birth, as all of our citizens are. And only you eight have had the skills we are looking for for our exploration mission. You will be taken to the capital city of New Malia, where you will undergo a series of tests similar to this one to see which of you are fit to continue to the southern continent. Should you fail, as many of you will, you may meet a fate similar to that of Russel’s. This is not optional. Do I make myself clear?” She finished. This was too much. It was all too much. How could this be happening? In the midst of her jumbled thoughts, only one of them was clear; Everything was a test, and not all of them would pass.

Pandora’s Box an excerpt

“YOU HAVE BETRAYED THE GODS!” Zeus thundered (haha, pun intended), “ YOU HAVE COMMITTED TREACHERY WHEN YOU STOLE MY HEAVENLY FIRE AND GAVE IT TO THOSE PUNY MORTALS!!”

The whole room fell silent in shock. I tried to defend myself, “My lord, I mean no disrespect, I just wanted humans to actually be able to live their short lives! They were dying–”

“ENOUGH, I DON’T WANT TO HEAR YOUR SORRY EXCUSE! THOSE HUMANS SHALL NEVER BE ANYWHERE NEAR THE LEVEL OF THE GODS!” Zeus interrupted, “YOU WILL BE PUNISHED! THE HUMANS WILL BE PUNISHED! THE WORLD WILL BE PUNISHED!” With that final command, I was teleported to a remote side of a mountain, chained to stone forever. That was the beginning of a great life. five out of five would recommend.

Little did I know just how much Zeus was meaning to punish the humans. A few months into my banishment, I sensed a disturbance coming from the top of Mount Olympus. In my half-sleep, half-dead state, I used my forethought to spy on the Olympians. Cold sweat immediately broke out when I saw what was happening. A young woman with porcelain skin and lush, golden hair that framed her elegant face, was lying on the ground. All of the Gods were kneeling around her, whispering blessings into her soul. One gifted her beauty, another gifted kindness, but most of all, someone gave her the gift of curiosity. Finally, they all rose and waited for the magic to kick in.

When Pandora awoke, she sat up groggily, crystal blue eyes staring up at the Gods, “Who–who am I?”

Zeus stepped forward and spoke like a true king of the Gods, “You are Pandora, the All-Gifted. You are to be the wife of Epimetheus. He is a kind, young fellow.” He then handed Pandora an intricately carved, mahogany box with a golden latch. “Here is your dowry that you shall bring when you arrive at Epimetheus’ home.”

The second the box was in Pandora’s hands, Athena, Zeus’ daughter, and the goddess of wisdom, interjected, “Remember, you must never open the box. You must never think of opening the box, understand?” Pandora nodded, but tilted her head and furrowed her eyebrows in

“YOU HAVE BETRAYED THE GODS!” Zeus thundered (haha, pun intended), “ YOU HAVE COMMITTED TREACHERY WHEN YOU STOLE MY HEAVENLY FIRE AND GAVE IT TO THOSE PUNY MORTALS!!”

The whole room fell silent in shock. I tried to defend myself, “My lord, I mean no disrespect, I just wanted humans to actually be able to live their short lives! They were dying–”

“ENOUGH, I DON’T WANT TO HEAR YOUR SORRY EXCUSE! THOSE HUMANS SHALL NEVER BE ANYWHERE NEAR THE LEVEL OF THE GODS!” Zeus interrupted, “YOU WILL BE PUNISHED! THE HUMANS WILL BE PUNISHED! THE WORLD WILL BE PUNISHED!”

With that final command, I was teleported to a remote side of a mountain, chained to stone forever. That was the beginning of a great life. five out of five would recommend. Little did I know just how much Zeus was meaning to punish the humans. A few months into my banishment, I sensed a disturbance coming from the top of Mount Olympus. In my half-sleep, half-dead state, I used my forethought to spy on the Olympians. Cold sweat immediately broke out when I saw what was happening. A young woman with porcelain skin and lush, golden hair that framed her elegant face, was lying on the ground. All of the Gods were kneeling around her, whispering blessings into her soul. One gifted her beauty, another gifted kindness, but most of all, someone gave her the gift of curiosity. Finally, they all rose and waited for the magic to kick in.

When Pandora awoke, she sat up groggily, crystal blue eyes staring up at the Gods, “Who–who am I?”

Zeus stepped forward and spoke like a true king of the Gods, “You are Pandora, the All-Gifted. You are to be the wife of Epimetheus. He is a kind, young fellow.” He then handed Pandora an intricately carved, mahogany box with a golden latch. “Here is your dowry that you shall bring when you arrive at Epimetheus’ home.” The second the box was in Pandora’s hands, Athena, Zeus’ daughter, and the goddess of wisdom, interjected, “Remember, you must never open the box. You must never think of opening the box, understand?” Pandora nodded, but tilted her head and furrowed her eyebrows in thought. Zeus shot his daughter a look, but said nothing to contradict.

That same afternoon, Pandora was brought into Herme’s chariot and was on her way to a certain somebody’s house, just a bit further down from Mount Olympus. The moment Epimetheus walked out the door, his gaze zeroed in on Pandora with interest. I rolled my eyes, of course my slow-witted brother would fall for the gods’ trick. I could only hope that he remembers what I had warned him so long ago: Never trust the gods or their gifts.

Luckily, even Epimetheus the snail had some sense of remembrance. I checked back on the newlywed couple a couple of days later and I could not see the box anywhere. I could only assume that Epimetheus was able to convince Pandora to

hide it.

Back on my lonely mountain, I let out a breath of relief, knowing that at least Epimetheus could enjoy his life for years and years to come. I close my eyes and drift off into a fitful sleep.

The Lakehouse Murders

Kush Aggarwal

As my stomach churns and my head spins, as I toy and fidget, a single thought rattles around my mind: “How do I prove to this guy that it wasn’t me?” (Well obviously not a single thought; I do have thoughts, but most of them aren’t relevant right now.) My mind starts to lecture me, just as it has done yesterday, the day before, and every day since I learned to speak.

“Stop dude, he already thinks you did it. How do you think it looks to a cop when you are sitting and thinking in silence while he asks for information? Spoiler alert, in his eyes you are formulating a lie. Refocus, try to remember the whole thing. Or like just say words.”

“Just give me a minute to think. I’m trying to remember.”, I mutter to the cop. My mind races again. “What do I do? Wait, slow down, just remember what happened. If you’re innocent, you can’t get caught. You did nothing wrong. Okay so you were havin’ a good time with the family, right? And then that guy showed up and got into the house through your window. He was sneaking around, and then he struck. He first took your wife right? Well actually first he took out the lights. So he took your wife, then the kids. The kids were in the living room, and your wife was with them, so where were you? Oh yeah, the bathroom. So you heard screaming, and like a normal person, stayed in the bathroom. He saw the bathroom lights on and started to scrape the door with his knife. Obviously, you stayed inside and called the cops. After the cops came, he ran away, right?”

“Sir, you haven’t spoken for about five minutes. Can you tell me anything about this man you say broke in? What did he look like?” I think. I try to remember what he looked like. I remember him running away from the house and never looking back. I remember his footsteps.

“But wait, if I was in the bathroom, how do I know that he came in through a window and what he did? Unless...no it couldn’t be. I wasn’t in the bathroom, was I? No, I was taking out the trash, when you told me to break in! You said it would be funny! So I went through the window and they all got scared so they threw a kitchen knife at me. And I was angry so I... No. I didn’t.”

I pause, but then I remember something.

“Where is the knife then, the kitchen knife?” I look around. I check my pockets, and then I realize it is the thing I have been toying and fidgeting with the whole time. It was me. I panic. How do I cover up

that it was me? This was all your fault. My wretched brain made me do it! Oh god! What do I do? I suddenly find my hands rising above my head, and in them, the knife.

“Wait, stop!”, the cop yells. But I can’t. The movement of my hands has become completely involuntary. My hands rise until they can rise no more. Then, my hands jerk downward. It is not a free fall, but instead a forced one. My final thoughts are of regret, shame, and hunger; my skewed priorities are apparent. The last thing I see is the cop watching in utter horror as my hands fall. His eyes show shock I can only imagine in my worst nightmares. My hands are now at my head. I feel a hot liquid smearing on my scalp. Then, I feel a wave of relief. The cop’s shaky voice lets out an uncertain call towards the mirror. “Uhhhh, guys! Call the medics! And the coroner!”

Ms. Alexa Gutter Staff Advisor

Soon after I was able to write, I started writing poetry! I minored in Creative Writing in college, and continue to be inspired by poets of both the past and the present. I was the poet laureate of Bucks County, Pennsylvania in 2013, and my poetry has recently appeared in TheRiverHeronReview , Glassworks Magazine , and LiteraryMama . My first book will be published in January 2024.

Yellow Moon

The house is quiet tonight. I step outside in search of the honey colored moon I read about, but there’s no fat gold coin in the sky, only clouds in thick layers, an eerie glow.

The whole world is dripping wet. My neighbor’s peonies bow their heads low, trickling rainwater on the slick pathway. Next door, light shines through window fog. Someone is awake, moving in the kitchen.

Water runs in the gutters of this house where my mother once lived. Tonight I’m sure that if I move quickly, at just the right moment, I might reach out and grasp her hand.

Mr. Brian Kelley Staff Advisor

My comics have appeared in the literary magazine Hobart , on the website Graphic Medicine, and the comics anthologies, On What Matters and Echo (where my art is featured on the cover). Recently, my work has been shown at the DaVinci Art Alliance in Philadelphia and the Main Line Art Center in Haverford.

About StayGold

Teachers are often looking for places to publish student work. Finding spaces open to middle school students is challenging. So, we decided to create our own space for students to express and share their creativity.

People want to create. Make stuff. Write. If you write, draw, paint, craft, dance, compose, sculpt...anything creative, we are your people and this space is for you.

We are looking to open our next submission period during the Fall of 2024 and we sincerely hope our students consider submitting art and writing!

Special Thanks

Many folks supported this initial effort to launch a middle school art and literary magazine--especially the teachers who encouraged our students to submit. Additionally, Kristin Light and Honey Beth Kropp supported our efforts in additional ways.

Also, Katie DelDotto, our colleague at Unionville High School, helped us gather small group of student editors willing to help us turn this idea into a reality.

The following Unionville High School students volunteered their time reading, suggesting edits and corresponding with the middle school students who submitted thir beautiful work: Amy Goodman, Ariana Rockefeller, Cassie Davis, Eleanor Day, Emily Wu, Ian Gushurst, Jennifer Ding, Juliana Dong, Mia Sypherd, Muna Ikeme, and Suhan Neema.

Finally, special thanks for the advice and guidance from Ben Smith, a teacher at Conestoga High School and a staff advisor for their student-run magazine The Folio.

Grace Du