Literal Impact, Fall 2022, Vol. 7

LiteralImpact

ProspectHighSchool’sstudent-run ArtandLiteraryMagazine

Coverart:Vengeance,WilliamYep,Classof‘26

Literal Fall Impact 2022

LetterfromtheEditor-in-Chief

Dear Readers, Prospect's Art and Literary Magazine, Literal Impact, is delighted to welcome you to a celebration of the art and literary talents of Prospect students. At Literal Impact, we encourage students to showcase their creativity and individuality through original works.

This Fall 2022 issue features a range of photography, art, prose, and poetry. You will see the uniqueness, thoughtfulness, and symbolism of each work alongside the distinct personal styles of each artist. We hope that our readers will be inspired by the dedication of each of these remarkably talented individuals.

LiteralImpact EditorialStaff

I would like to give special thanks to all of our Prospect students who submitted their works; this magazine could not exist without you. Also, a big thank you to Ms. Campanella and Ms. Cannell for supporting the Literal Impact team throughout the semester. Finally, thank you to the whole editorial team for all of your hard work in making this happen!

Enjoy, and see you next semester!

Adrienne Ferguson

Editor-in-Chief of Literal Impact

Editor-in-Chief: Adrienne Ferguson

Graphic Design and Layout Editors: Daphney Tsai Sarah Gilmore

Business Editor: Venice Hodac Copy Editor: Clay Whelan

Associate Editors: Clay Whelan Daphney Tsai Fayth Liu Sarah Gilmore

Pagination Proofreader: Tazmeen Ahmed Club

Ms. Campanella Web Support: Ms. Cannell

Fall2022ImpactAwardWinners

In every issue of Literal Impact, the editors work together to choose up to four pieces to recognize with an Impact Award, no more than one in each of the four categories: Art, Poetry, Photography, and Prose Writing. Each of the award winners also receives a small scholarship. The award selection uses a blind submission process, whereby the editors do not know who is the artist or author of the piece, until after the winner has been chosen.

We had many contributions submitted to this issue, and many outstanding pieces. The editorial board found these works to be especially well-crafted. It’s an honor to bring you the Fall 2022 Impact Awards:

ImpactAwardforArt:UnitedWeWin, FontannaZhi‘23

ImpactAwardforPoetry:ThePeopleICallHome,MiaSoto‘23

ImpactAwardforPhotography:coolintersection,KennyNamba‘23

ImpactAwardforProse:Love,MiaSoto‘23

Congratulations to the winners for their extraordinary creative abilities! You will find these award winning creative works, along with many other beautiful pieces, on the following pages.

Support our magazine! Impact Awards are funded solely by donations. If you would like to support the creative arts and writing at Prospect by contributing to the online magazine’s scholarship fund, please visit our donation link at Prospect High School Web Store. Thank you!

Literal Impact is a student-run art and literary magazine that is published on-line twice a year. All Prospect students are welcome to submit their creative work! We publish a variety of art and literary works:

Do you want to be featured in our next issue?

Literal Impact is accepting entries for our Spring 2023 publication. To learn about the submission process, please visit our website prospectalmagazine.wordpress.com and click on the menu item ‘How to Submit Work’.

The work featured in this magazine is the intellectual property of Prospect High School students. All ownership rights are retained by the student artists and authors. Literal Impact is primarily an online magazine; however a limited number of print editions will be made available. Please contact us through our website if you are interested.

ProspectALMagazine.wordpress.com

UndisturbedClayWhelan.

Impact Winner for Art United We Win, Fontanna Zhi ‘23

Impact Winner for Poetry Mia Soto ‘23

The People I Call Home

For T.A.S.

We possess the tendency to classify our friends as another bloodline

Which I suppose is fine

But, my people—those I cherish, aren’t family. But rather, a home.

I can talk to them, like how I talk to the walls I can cry in front of them, like how I cry on the pillow

I can fall apart beside them, like how I do on the cold floor I can smile at them, like how I do in front of the mirror

I can live my life with them, like how I do between those rooms

Furthermore, these people aren’t friends Or even family, They are home.

Into the Sunset Andrew Nomi ‘25

LiteralImpactProseWinner

Love

MiaSoto‘23

The howling waves of the cold, biting wind blew against her luxuriant dark hair, as she stared out at the sky—the fleeting, yet dauntless beam of sunlight, which was concealed by gray melancholy clouds. It was an exquisite view from the open window, at least she reached that conclusion a few hours ago when her eyes first descended upon it. And she had not moved since. Not to eat. Not to sleep. Not even to write, which was an activity that she regarded heavily. She just sat, without purpose. Come on! said Mother, an hour ago. You cannot allow this infatuation to oppress your heart any longer than it has! There are plenty of other options for you to explore, child Which was true—surely there had to have been several other males and females in the bustling city that could satisfy her desired expectations. After all, Mother always said she had basic standards that one should have no problem fulfilling. But— (None of them are him) she didn’t want someone sufficient, someone who could simply just do what she expected in a relationship. She yearned for more than that. She felt an abundant crave for the element in life that she rarely experienced—security; or to at least feel a precise essence of it, which was what he provided every time they were together. She released a sigh and lifted her hand, tracing her delicate fingers over her somber face. The skin was swallowed by the cold breeze, but soon evaporated in the warmness of her fingers. What has life become?

(Hopeless, a whole bunch of— FOOLISH CHILD!

YOU ARE YOUNG YOU ARE FRESH YOU HAVE TIME—) But, she loved him. Loved him with everything her heart permitted.

It was first love—and when first love collapsed, it usually brought upon an anguish that required one to embark on an arduous journey to heal. Perhaps that was it, exactly. She was enduring the aftermath of heartbreak; but instead of pursuing another source of happiness or relinquishing those tender emotions, she was slowly decaying into a forlorn individual.

(You didn’t even date him, young one

So why must you torment your soul with thoughts of him?)

No, they did not date or share any intent to pursue something that surpassed the regard of a friendship. That was the most pathetic thing—they were only friends, and he was only a crush.

(No! He was my first love

The first person that I ever fell in love with, that is) She closed her eyes, momentarily, and swallowed hard. She loved him, a lot. More than he’d ever know, as she would say.

Some found it peculiar and wondered if it was an emotional obsession, but she knew herself better than anyone and asserted her opposition to these claims. She wasn’t obsessed. Obsession differed from love, real love at least. Obsession is when you masquerade your emotions with fabrications of absurd thoughts that possess no value. Love was when you felt seduced by raw bliss—beyond emotionally, and she knew that’s what it was.

She loved him.

Her heart chirped with singing euphoria when they were together. Her stomach knotted with ropes of flourishing anticipation. Her soul blossomed with happiness. Her eyes fluttered with admiration. Her smile was genuine, authentic.

Impact Winner for Photography cool intersection, Kenny Namba ‘23

In short, she was in the bed of euphoria—that seldom place that only embraced her when she was with him. In love.The persistent sun beams finally began to dissolve into darkness when she moved. She proceeded to stumble to her room, where she laid on her bed and stared at the small hole in the ceiling.

Once again, there was no purpose. It was futile to have purpose. At least when you’re in love.

Last Light Andrew Nomi ‘25

Used to be me

Rowan Innamorato ‘24

I hate me,

I wish some things were smaller And that some were bigger.

I hate not being able to breathe. But not just because of what’s On me but in me.

Beyond the clothes and flesh. Something else that restricts is a heart.

A heart that’s heavy, A heart that wishes it would stop, A heart that’s sad

A heart that’s full of grief for someone that has not yet died.

A heart that’s full of everyone’s grief for someone that has not yet died.

A heart that’s full of everyone’s grief for when it finally rests.

A heart.

But it’s so full it leaks to a soul.

A soul that hopes the tape and glue will hold it all together.

A soul that is far beyond repair. A soul that silently prays for its despair.

A soul

One that’s so broken it’s now just A shell.

A shell so hollow it can feel the cold wind.

A shell that’s so dark it’s never heard of light.

A shell that’s clawing at the soul, heart, Warm blood, flesh and clothes. A shell that cannot reach.

A shell Of what used to be me.

Scarlet and Ink Natalie Dinh ‘26

The Patterson’s Chickens Fontanna

New Legacy

‘23

It has been so, so long And the world is so, so different quiet in here e " to this place It has been a while since I've been to this My, oh my it is quiet in here Ifeel the old times happening in here again The mirrors that reflected my image The furniture that served me well The parties that this place once beheld It has been a while since I retired from this committee But was I meant to come back? There is not one being in here So deserted, dark, and cold The success I once dreamt of has now dissipated I look at my old walls Torn they are and full of cobwebs My old dwelling has summoned me I have come back for good To polish my old home

To ignite the fire I once started To continue the legacy that my family has called for

Clement Boiteux

Hualien, Taiwan Mia Liui ‘25

Sunsetz Pardi Soroushi ‘26

the last breaths of the sun lay on the tree in front of me i wonder which face my last breath will lay on i look away for a second the sun has faded leaving the tree green and normal again at least it got a minute of glory and specialty sometimes i wonder if the leaves are in love with the sunlight and if the sun feels the same way because in this city filled with concrete the sun always finds a way to shine on the tree

We wrestle with that word Often unheard like the Quiet kid in the back Praying they don't slack Special will hit your heart Like a dart thrown by cupid Until you realize that special is now Stupid. All along they meant that Special equals Wrong. Unhearing every spoken word Until they become ghosts leaving That sad unheard host. They say everyone's special But Not like you. You're not special you're weird No one talks to you No one likes you No one sees you No one hears you No one understands you You're odd and they Won't applaud because you’re Special.

Rowan Innamorato ‘24

Lion Laying Low Piper Anderson ‘26

In or Out?

Rowan Innamorato ‘24

What will happen if you don’t know? Will something come to swallow? No… right? ‘I’ll come to face no harm.’

That is wrong, as I thought the same. I thought I could stay strong, ignore all of the comments, as I was safe in that dark room.

The locked door and no window felt safe, but as I aged and grew I no longer fit. I was forced to pick

IN OR OUT?

That was all they would shout, either rudely or from naivety.

It was suffocating the way they yelled. But rather than die and give up I chose to endure and thrive in that cluttered room.

I almost met my despise, that was until someone pulled me out. They unlocked the door and saved me?

I’m not sure since it didn’t feel like help.

But no longer did I have to question IN OR OUT?

I was free, or so I thought. Again they made me question ‘Am I really out?’

It was almost as bad as being in I couldn’t tell the difference. I’m not sure I’d want to know. If I did I think it’d just get worse. That peace would be gone in a blink of an eye. So before I say goodbye, think are you IN OR OUT?

Maybe Someday

Clay Whelan ‘24

What courage it must take

To follow the advice that screams

Live in the moment!

Begging you to slow, slow, Slow down. Watch the flowers Bike leisurely Let time seep into your skin

Let it beat with your heart

And I wish, I wish That I could But the world Does not wait for flowers

The world says bike faster Says keep running

Until your legs give out Then stagger to your feet again

The world does not care About injured calves

The world tells you

Time ends as soon as it can

So you live not even for tomorrow

But for some bright shiny future day

When the golden shimmer of your memories

Might finally feel as good when you’re in them

As if adding another class

Another hour of work

So the college applications

Look like something to be proud of Makes your life something to be proud of

As if the late nights in liminal spaces

Where time slowed to match your breaths

Were not something for pride to nestle in

But they were!

Screams the advice givers But they were beautiful More beautiful

Than the pain you’ve wasted

Waiting to be something

And maybe that will mean something

When you are not 16

When you are not coming undone

When you are not here

When you have the luxury

Of a life made of moments That follow each other in a line Force it sooner And you will crash

When you fall down a waterfall

They do not call your jump brave Despite the beautiful view

Daydreaming

Sid Banerjee ‘23

Let the garden’s venom make you laugh

It’s almost real, resting on the surface Ride the wave, don’t pierce the film Everything will be worth it

There’s fear under your comfort But life will take new meaning Shatter your mirror and leave it All perfect in your dreaming

Dissolve your doubt and cherish faith

Transcend feelings you can’t describe It’s not important, it never was Find the peace inside your mind

Nothing means much, right?

So don’t get trapped inside a moment

Ignore the thoughts lodged in your throat

The words you’ve never spoken I know you want to look deeper But there’s poison on the lens Just look and smile, it’s hardly real Don’t worry how it ends

Please don’t be so serious All of life is a cartoon Such a pretty garden, but Forget that afternoon

Mammoth Camping Ashleigh Wall ‘24

Maybe the venom gives you life

Thinking haunts but can it heal? No, it can’t. Ignore its tendrils It can’t exist, it can’t be real

Everything will be okay Make peace with what will be I know it eats your skin and flesh, but Push it down and you’ll be free ...

What if we rebuilt your mirror? If not disease, what if the cure? Perhaps you must see it–touch it–feel it I thought it evil, but I can’t be sure

I feel you slipping from me Suspended in your world of ecstacy Crumbling because that’s not real Your reality, designed in fantasy So remember the garden in all her beauty And let your safety shatter See yourself within the mirror It matters. It all matters. The garden is a part of you Held in love and sincerity Let her image free your mind Listen to your heart in clarity

Let the garden build your mind And surf the line of fantasy So near the edge; and yet you’ll balance Comfort blossoms from tragedy love[sic]

Green Heron in its Element Carter Gasiorowski ‘24

Young Pardis Soroushi ‘26

I know I'm young

I shouldn't know all, all the wonders the world has left us with but can't a child just wonder why?

Why do I seek love in a war?

Why do I find comfort in endings? even if they're dark and soulless

Why do I dream? even if my eyes are open?

Why do I cling? when everyone is taught to let go let go of something you can't achieve?

Why do I wonder? even a little, even at all?

desolate thoughts

Kayla Kirkendall ‘25

These desolate thoughts are what's keeping me awake

This drowning in the dark keeps me in this place This anguish chills me to my bones These worthless hours given to me I waste away in pity I cannot grasp what I want most You.

A starless sky

A moonless night Underneath my eyes

The pattern of rain can't bring comfort When there's nothing to soothe I scream your name but am not heard

An empty wave Covers my face The only thing left is pain

These desolate thoughts These unbearable thoughts These endless thoughts -kayla kirkendall

The Light at the Point Andrew Nomi ‘25

Iris - The Longetivity

Chad Greenlee ‘25

The butterflies are burning, as if they were a witch at stake during the Salem Trials. Their dream to be seen, their seek for attention, are turning into nothing but ashes. The dream is becoming nothing but a crisp. Everyone has seen them before, so was the wish of being acknowledged pointless? No one could agree more. People were out there for them, but they chose to ignore them like a hypocritical piece of shit would do. If only they had woken up to reality and realized everyone knew they were alive, then maybe they could’ve learned that their hopes to be seen were rather redundant.

People are out there. They are everywhere. No matter where you go, you are always being watched. Everyone has eyes behind their back, and they at all times know you exist. You must get out your head. No, you will get out of your head. I order you to. Life is not a perfect fairy tale world like it is in your fictional video games or stories. Reality lives forever, and your delusions of no one knowing who you are will die.

It was fun knowing your cute little dreamland game was what went on in your head, but playtime is over. Wake up.

Bourbon Street

Adanna Todd ‘24

Juice boxes and animal crackers

Our screens as bright as day We were flash players Only believing what we may

Our lives were hanging on by a swing set One we always jump off of at its highest peak We land too fast Our dreams of touching the sky Simply a liability

Finger paintings on the wall Who's the fairest of them all?

Naive to deception Naïve to direction

Even as years pass We're not like who we use to be We're no longer a liability No matter

At least we'll always have bourbon street

Skin anonymous ‘24

To own this skin

Is to carry cold touches Like they are fire instead of ice To seal flesh inside of a mountain of blankets Tight, warm, heavy Squeeze and I will be real Gentleness is nothing more than forgetting I am done with forgetting

To own this skin Is to refuse to be stolen Fighting bloodstains With wadded up tissues And putting down the razor blades Leave the lined-up scars be I cannot do the pain any longer I am done stealing from myself

This skin, this skin Which I have been denied I hold close in defiance As I learn to own me

Comfortable

Adanna Todd ‘24

Your lies are so cozy and so warm

I want to escape

I don't think I can anymore

The sleepy I rub from my eyes The blankets that cuddle me tight My laptop screen as my light And your deceit that kisses me goodnight

With your deception around I feel so at home

The raindrops on the windows wash the truths away Like gray clouds that keep the sun at bay

The screaming kettle reliving all my doubts I'm satisfied with being safe & sound

Even if it brings me perjury & slander I'm forced to relax into the ground

In my den I'm as snug as a bug in a rug

Blind to the fact I feed on forgery Happy and secure, sheltered from the world The lazy laborer of the sweet fruits of my labor

The television reruns my comfort shows

I'm happy preying on lives other than my own Witnessing every fable and falsity

You'll never be my remedy, l'll never be comfortable

But your tender lies, so warm, so cozy Bring me back to my blanket over and over each time

Liminal Dystopia

Jacob Schauer ‘26

An ethereal realm. A zenith in serenity. inner peace beyond that visible by the mind's eye

A collection of the memories of the mortal body. And a response from the workings of the immortal soul. A personal heaven.

Or so it appears.

The illusion fades like a velvet curtain in an empty stage play. Lies revealed in life, death, and all rested beneath the two. A cursed realm.

A contradiction to the previous serenity. Inner peace beyond the reach of the mind's gazing eye.

Collecting memories for the insidious destruction of the mortal body. A liminal dystopia. A personal prison.

Or so it appears. Look as many times as you want. Not once will you see it the same way as before.

Untitled Document

Jacob Schauer ‘26

Blank. Ideas thrown out once more. Endless cycles like the sun and moon, invading the head through its deceptive allure

Never had the goal mattered as long as something stuck

Abstract thoughts of topics broad and obscure. Too hard for the modern world to understand

The powers of creation all at the hand. Yet still, the page remains blank. Used, written, then cast aside.

Madness would ensue, if not for such persistence holding sentience and sanity together like stitches in a plush.

Blank, absent, insanity is as old as the idea of stories themselves. But a story about such an idea, is something that could never exist. Not in the modern world

Perhaps you'll get it right this time. Just erase, think, and continue

Undisturbed Clay Whelan ‘24

Little boy sits on a rock in the middle of the ocean, or maybe just a rather large lake. One where the wind whipping across the water creates a raucous of waves, deep and cold and vicious. Whether lake or ocean, they lap at the rock on which the boy sits, threatening to shake him from his perch, soak his coat, freeze him to the bone. He does not move. There is not much he would be able to do to escape his predicament if he did. No lifelines, no shore in sight. Nevertheless, he does not seem to desire to change his situation. The air around him is not much warmer than the water, and yet he does not shiver, does not rub his un-gloved hands together for warmth. His eyes are fixed on a point in the water, never wavering, rarely blinking. Expectant, he stays in this stillness for what is likely hours, though in the dead of night, in such isolation, it is difficult to tell. The boy does not tire from his waiting. An onlooker might debate if he is alive at all, or rather a statue, perhaps representative of the virtue of patience. Little boy waiting for something in the depths of the water. Something that will never come. Frozen stone on rock, imperturbable, suspended in icy time forever. Perhaps that is all that he is.

Path Taken

The

Andrew Nomi ‘25

Two people of indistinct shadowy figure glide-walk along a sandy shore. It would be understandable to consider this shore in some way connected to the water surrounding the boy of breathing stone. This may, after all, be the truth. In such inky darkness, one cannot discern. The sky is void of both moon and stars as if the world blew out its candles so as not to burn down the universe in its sleep. Since the figures are much more metaphor than reality, they pretend to face the boy as they pause in their glide-walking. Their eyes could not possibly spot him, and they do not have eyes, but as they stand there they note his every soft inhale. They count his infrequent blinks. Catalog the slight shift of his left leg. Memorize the shape of the shadow he does not cast on the water below him. A strand of his salt-water-crusted hair flutters. The figure on the right wades into the water up to its knees despite the fact that it does not have legs.

Snowy Woods

Yi Shiuan (Sophie) Luo ‘26

There is a flooded basement under an inconsequential home in an equally trivial town. No one has entered the basement in some time, likely several years. Cobwebs hang from the ceiling in fuzzy curtains. A mouse scampers from a rotting shelf to the caved-in top of a washing machine. In one corner, a vacant wasp’s nest has been overtaken by a colony of half-starved cockroaches. Placed in the very center of the space is the only thing in the room that has decidedly not been there for much time at all. It sits atop a rickety pinewood stool whose legs have been taken over by the rising water level in almost unnoticeable increments for the past few hours. The thing gleams where everything else in the basement yellows. It has just as much if not more reason to fear the rising flood, and yet unlike the mice and roaches and spiders, it does not quiver. It sits. Stately. Like it knows it was placed here with a purpose, and with every second that its mortality is put in increased danger, that purpose only becomes more immediate.

No one breathes in the town that does not matter. If the boy was breathing he waits patiently for the moment to shift so that he can inhale. His fingers betray him, clench around the folds of his coat. It is probable he knows what is coming.

The mouse springs off of the washing machine as if it has been shocked. It lands in the water without a splash and does not resurface. The thing on the stool twitches. The ocean or lake freezes in a matter of seconds. The ice begins at the center, at the rock. It reaches the darkest depths of the water — fifty, maybe sixty feet down. Fish die instantly, body immortalized.

Acrylic krishna painting Sana Nayaki ‘25

The shadowy figure on the right finds its legs trapped. A surge of panic jolts through its nervous system. It fights in vain with the massive body of unmoving water around it, trying and failing to wrench itself away. It yells out, screams until its vocal chords tear, begs tearfully for someone, anyone to save it. The shadowy figure on the left remembers that it does not exist. Little boy on the rock hears and does not move. The thing in the flooding basement waits to be submerged.

Sailing Through the Blue Andrew Nomi ‘25

Glance of the Moon

Pardis Soroushi ‘26

The only thing that keeps me going is the fact that we live under the same moon

The fact we might've looked at the moon at the same time

The fact that we called the moon beautiful at the same time

Tree Hector Sanchez ‘24

Thankyouforreading theFall2022issueof LiteralImpact,Prospect HighSchool’sArtand Literarymagazine. We hopeyouenjoyedit!