
The Cottager Pitman High School Literary Magazine Volume V, 2024 1
Pitman, NJ 08071
Editorial Board
Staff
Ella Everwine
Aly Geyer
Megan Mazzola
Devin Rovetto
Editor-in-Chief
Rebecca Mazzola
Advisors
Mrs. Collum
A fresh and plump plant
Colored with sunshine on it’s rind
And a taste that stings your cheeks
AlysonGeyer
Grade11
“forgiveness”
I’m trying to forgive my friend
It’s hard sometimes to Leave the past behind And block out their words. I think and I think About the people That seemingly care But I take one more look And see what was never really there.
BeccaMazzola Grade11When you stop and think, “Wouldn’t it be nice to love and not hate?”
Every action has a consequence Which could affect one’s confidence. Whether good or bad, Happy or sad.
Let us stop the hate, Why don’t we lock it in a crate?
Hide it far far away, Leave it there for another day. When a heart is hard like a stone, I must say I do not condone. Now let us break the silence, Let us stop the violence. For why can’t we all smile, Maybe we would be happy for a while. For love is great, It will overcome the hate.
HudsonRue
Grade11
“flowers”
Cymbidium hybrid and dendrobium hybrid
How your color light up the room
And your petals reach up to the sky at full bloom
Everyone stares at your beauty
And they admire you from afar
Your beauty and body
Has been studied by the greats
And yet, they still don’t know
How one flower
Can be so ethereal
BeccaMazzola
Grade11
Living
I hear a lot more than I speak. It’s not something that upsets me, I prefer it this way. But I only hear more. I don’t listen as much.
Listening is typically a good thing. I listen to passion-filled rants, melodies that range from tapping on the table to overwhelmingly catchy beats, the dramatic rise of background music during a really good part of a show. I listen to the very tippy top of a ferris wheel, to the taste of my favorite food, to how pretty my favorite color is.
There are things I shouldn’t listen to, of course. A lot of them. Most people have learned to not listen, to ignore. But if there’s the good and the bad in listening, there’s a fortunate and unfortunate to people. There will always be, I’ve learned. If there were only two humans on this Earth, there would be a disagreement. If there were one, there would be a disagreement.
People could try to fix it. They can’t succeed. Make it a little more tolerable, sure, but there’s no fixing to this flaw. It’s in our nature. Even if the impossibility of world peace found its way into our world, the thought of its result doesn’t excite me. It just makes me wonder how dangerous it could become. All humans, uniting for one cause… What could that cause be?
I listen a lot more than I speak. I hear a lot more than I listen. Sometimes, I prefer it this way.
VincentMcCrady Grade10Past love, my love
When he was younger
He would take pictures of her
To kiss when she’s gone.
OliviaWeng
Grade10

OliviaWeng
Grade10
White was currently residing in an apartment, struggling to power the TV on with his ghostly fingers. If only he could get a grip on the remote. “Aren’t I made of electricity or something?” The pale male asked himself, almost looking down at his own hand before startling at a sudden entrance.
Bustling into the room like a tumbleweed was Jay, the bubbly ginger that White—the adult version of a troubled teenager—had known for longer than he often wished. There was nothing wrong with her, but there was nothing wrong with her and White’s favorite pastime is picking out things wrong with people. Mainly because White doesn’t have much else to do, as he is a ghost. A shadow of sorts. Whatever fate has turned him into after “his unfortunance”, which is just what he likes to call his passing, real word or not. Point is, there is nothing FUN to do. Besides observing people, or making fun of them, or disagreeing with them even if he could care less.
Jay, trotting into the living room, gave White a shout, “Hey, Danny—” that is not his name, “I hope you don’t mind my intrusion, I forgot my keys here.”
White considered she meant someone else, but knowing Jay, she was just messing with him.
“Jay, you can’t drive.” He pointed out after processing what the ginger actually said. “They’re still my keys~!” She answered, with more alacrity than ever necessary. At least what White expected. “They are after today, at least!” Jay added.
“Well, counterargument: this isn’t my house.” White also pointed out, ignoring the growing questions he had regarding the entire situation. He held a furtive gaze on Jay, as if he expected her to spontaneously combust, or as if he expected himself to spontaneously combust because of her.
“Oh!—” Jay grinned, her tooth gap practically aiming itself at White as she turned to look at him. She held up the loud pair of keys, which were attached to an Army Rangers keychain that said Pedro. “—Here they are.” She exclaimed, followed by a mumble of “told you they were mine”.
“...Those aren’t your keys.” White said, a realization dawning on him. He wished he didn’t care—he normally didn’t, but something about Jay’s mischievous, almost alarming grin set him off.
“After today, they sure are.” Jay reminded him, with a tone so sinister it could pull someone out of a lull. “Anyway,” The bubbly criminal began for the door, “it was nice seeing you, but you know me. Always busy. So maybe I can explain another time.” With that, Jay was out the door, shouting a “Buh-bye!”, muffled by the walls of the house that White did not own.
White was almost abashed by how confused he was. It’s like someone interrogated him, and he didn’t study for any answers. Maybe he doesn’t want to study. Some things are better left unsaid. For example, literally anything Jay is ever involved in. Unfortunately, for as long as Jay lives, White will have things he needs to avoid. He doesn’t expect Jay to leave, one way or another, anytime soon. White considers the possibility that he may pass before she does.
White is so busy being beside himself—confused—that when the television flashes on, it’s like he’s been flashbanged. With a wince, he raised his hand over his vision. “What is wrong with—” He began to complain, only to stop himself from asking an inanimate object a question. He returned his hand to his lap with a sigh, his breath mixed with exhaustion and relief. Because, he truly will never know what is up with Jay, but at least the television has finally powered on. And he can watch the finale of the Golden Bachelor.
VincentMcCrady Grade10
