Gifted Grif fins Roycemore School Literary Magazine
W E L C O M E The 2019-2020 Gifted Griffins Literary Magazine As you open this book, take time to enjoy the work that has been put into each and every piece in this book. From our lower school all the way to faculty members, there is something for everyone. The book has many parts, similar to the 2019-2020 school year. It will start with the happy pieces and then transition to the sadder works and specific works about the quarantine and coronavirus. This year has been a rollercoaster, but now is the time to celebrate the year and all the amazing accomplishments!!
Photo taken by Ela Chintagunta
I am so happy that we have been able to produce this book with the help from many. Firstly, to all the people who submitted work, it has been a pleasure getting to see your creativity. I also want to thank all the teachers who helped me with trying to gather submissions. Specifically, Mrs. Milner, Ms. Hilda, Mrs. Hecht, Mrs. Stein, Ms. Negronida and Mr. Stanley, thank you for trying to get your students to submit. It was a pleasure communicating with you about various projects and works that you did in your classes. A large shout out to Tomas Prendergast, Nino Maruszewski, Ellison Holloway, Chyna Cannon, and Faelyn McGuire, with helping to get pages done and help me organizing the book. Ms. McGuire, you helped me with the whole idea. I came to you and I was like I want to do this, and you made it happen. It has meant so much to work with you and I am so glad that we could do this together. Lastly, without Grace Lawlor this would have fallen apart. You have made the interior designs for the whole book, helped put pages together and navigate InDesign. If it were not for you, this book would not exist because my technology skills are slightly lacking. Finally I want to thank everyone who is reading this, because you are contributing to creating a new medium to share the creativity that Roycemore has. I hope that this book can continue in the future and more people partake in it.
- Ela Chintagunta, Senior Editor
2019 - 2020 School Year
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Untitled
By: Tomas Prendergast - Grade 9 Photography 3
Roycemore School Literary Magazine
In Mrs. Hecht’s drawing and painting class as well as in sculpture, students were tasked with taking photographs during remote learning. They took pictures of things inside and around their houses and neighborhoods that were variations of one color, or monochromatic. These photos are taken from two students who had many images of nature among their collections.
Untitled By: Cindy Zhang - Grade 11 Photography
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Barcelona!
By: Bronx Tercero Day - Grade 3 Mixed Media
Airplane Wing
By: Tomas Prendergast - Grade 9 Pen 5
In the Wind By: Ela Chintagunta - Grade 11 Photography
Roycemore School Literary Magazine
S T O R I E S
The Great Escape
By: Lucas Trowbridge - Grade 5 I weighed more than expected, but he didn’t dare stop to rest. He was underground when the aliens started attacking. He used his telekinesis to stop the avalanche of rocks, but it weighed a lot. He still had 500ft to go until he was safe, where there were no more falling rocks, and tried to lift the rocks and then, when he was in front of them, put them down on the ground. He started forwards, but he had to concentrate so much, because the rocks were so heavy, that his head started to hurt and he started sweating in concentration. When he was 100ft in, he was so tired he almost fainted, but he kept pushing. He was now 200ft in when he heard something. It sounded like a lot of people coming. But he could see them, their faces with 3 eyes and blasters in their tentacle legs. There were 5 of them. He tossed the first two aside with his telekinesis, and then grabbed their blasters and was ready to shoot the others when, all of the sudden, they were knocked unconscious. He looked around, suspicious, until he met the eyes of another person with telekinesis. He knew they were the only two with telekinesis, though, because that is what the mysterious wizard said, when all of the sudden, he disappeared. He knew the wizard was telling the truth, because he could sense when someone was lying. Then, he heard something else. The aliens! While he was thinking about the wizard, they must have snuck up on him and his partner and surrounded them. He was still holding the rocks, so this was going to be a challenge. He ran 250ft more before the aliens toppled onto him. He lost his balance and the rocks came down. At the last second,
2019 - 2020 School Year
He managed to pull his partner with him and floated up above the rocks, using his telekinesis to pull himself ( and his partner ) up. The rocks crashed into the aliens and he survived. Then he woke up. Was that a dream? Or something else? TO BE CONTINUED...
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Spring
Alex Davis - Grade 3 Photography 7
Towering Daffodil Faelyn McGuire- Grade 8 Photography
Roycemore School Literary Magazine
S T O R I E S
One Summer Day
Yummy Gummy
One summer day in Maine, I almost had my hand bitten off. We were on vacation on the sea coast. I was too young to stay at the hotel alone, so when we arrived in Kennebunkport, I went into town with my family to a toy shop. After we bought a kite, a baseball bat, a water gun, and a whiffle ball, we explored the town. The town was ancient, the roads were cobblestone, the houses were wooden, and the stores were on the top of the houses rather than below. In the morning we ate outside, and I collected clam shells along the bay. Later that day, we boarded a small white lobster boat, chock full of traps, thick ropes, and a rubber model of a lobster. The day was sunny and the calm sea mirrored the blue sky. The captain, who looked like a blond, sunburned young version of Al Pacino, paid special attention to me because I was the only kid on the boat. Suddenly the rope that was attached to a lobster cage lurched downward into the cold blue water, the captain jerked his head around so fast I thought his neck would snap, and then he yanked on the rope. Slowly but steadily, a cage emerged from the deep, holding six lobsters. The lobsters thrashed around like they were having seizures. He reached inside, grabbed a lobster, and quickly put tape on a claw and the mouth. But before he could tape the second claw, the lobster slipped out of this hand and hit my chest. I fell backwards in fear and felt a pinch on my hand. The captain pulled the lobster off me and put it into bucket of water. I was really happy when we finally got back to shore.
I woke up this morning and I went to the bathroom to wash my face. When I turned on the faucet, I saw gummy bears falling out!! I rubbed my eyes to see if it was real... and it was! So I didn’t wash my face or brush my teeth because it’s kind of hard to do that with gummy bears. Insteadddddd I ate some - YUM! I went downstairs to make breakfast. I wanted some oatmeal so I reached for a packet in the cupboard. But when I opened the packet I saw gummy bears!!! So instead of having oatmeal, I had a bowl full of gummy bears - YUM YUM! It was time to walk my dog. I grabbed the leash and went to the doghouse but when I got there, my dog was a...gummy dog!! I couldn’t believe my eyes. So instead of walking my dog, I ate him and boy was he delicious. It was now time to feed my cat. I went inside the house to get the cat food and then I went to my backyard to feed the cat. When I got there, my cat was a gummy cat! So instead of feeding my cat, I fed myself by eating it! Then I wanted to read my favorite book. But when I got to the bookshelf, all of my books were gummy books! But I was full and my stomach was hurting and I couldn’t eat any more gummy bears. All of a sudden I heard my mom yelling “the school bus is leaving. Wake up Isra!”. I woke up and it was all a big yummy gummy dream.
By: Alex Davis- Grade 3
2019 - 2020 School Year
By: Isra Jamal Alam- Grade 2
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P O E M S
Snow
By: Chyna Vashay Cannon - Grade 11 There are thick soft and white cloud-like flakes raining down upon the earth coming from heaven. It’s wet but dry more so moist If it touches my hair after a while it’ll frizz and curl up. The cloud thing brings people together while breaking them apart. The cloudy thing brings people together because it’s pretty, calming, and satisfying. It breaks them apart because cars won’t start, people slip and fall. It can be dangerous.
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Rain
By: Ela Chintagunta - Grade 11 As I listen to the pitter patter at my window I fall into a deep trace The dark gray skies The streaks of water Racing Trying to reach the bottom. As I ponder this, I consider Which rain drop am I? The slow one painting a pretty picture The fast one Just wanting to finish Rushing as if something were chasing me The rain drops fall as I consider Am I the one who stops to help Do I create my own path Do I block another rain drop What role am I playing…
Roycemore School Literary Magazine
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Untitled
By: Isabel Amat - Grade 5 Paint
Darkness Before Dawn By: Mandy Xuan - Grade 4 Paint
2019 - 2020 School Year
Mini Masterpieces By: Bella Umana - Grade 4 Paint
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Rooster Roaster Rocket Engine ÂŽ By: Robin Yu - Grade 10 3D Modeling
Title Goes Here By: Your Name Medium 11
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Pepper
By: Grace Lawlor - Grade 11 Ink and Marker 13
Roycemore School Literary Magazine
The Black Chase of the Black Cat By: Alexandra Ryskin - Grade 4 Colored Pencil
Neon Wolf By: Gabe Melson - Grade 6 Tempera Paint
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Lyn-Z Way By: Lucy Birnbaum - Grade 7 Pencil
Determined
By: Leah Berger- White - Grade 4 Pencil
Lady
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Lynz Way
By: Lucy Birnbaum - Grade 7
By: Lucy Birnbaum - Grade 7
Pencil
Colored Pencil
Roycemore School Literary Magazine
Faerie Statuette
By: Faelyn McGuire - Grade 8 Photography
People of Style By: Devyani Dudek - Grade 4 Colored Pencil
Frankenstein Girls By: Lucy Birnbaum - Grade 7 Colored Pencil
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Kindergarten Sea Zone Project
By: Roycemore Kindergarten Class Papier MâchÊ and Paint
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S T O R I E S
The Life of a Printer
By: Julia Hu Steenbergen - Grade 5 Ring, Ring! The sound of my alarm clock wakes me. I yawn and stretch as I slowly get out of my soft bed. I stand on my tired and weak legs and rub my eyes. My vision is now clear and I make my way to my drawers of clothes. I get my clothes on and go to brush my teeth. Brush, Brush, Brush, Brush, Spit. As I warm up to the day, I run down stairs and check the time, 6:20. Perfect timing, I thought.I put on my shoes, I packed my food and other stuff quickly, and within a second, ran out the door. Walking, jogging, running, and then sprinting. I spotted the local print and copy shop and sprinted towards it. I opened the door and went in. I go to my table, on it is stacks of paper. I laid all my stuff down. I need news. I go outside, I hear people talking to each other, normal, but one conversation caught my ear. “Did you hear, all the animals in the zoo!”. That could be news. I go back inside and open my case. Inside holds stone blocks with letters on them. Every letter of the alphabet. Fun fact, the upper part of the case holds the “upper case”, the lower part of the case holds the “lower case”. I get the composing stick, the composing stick holds all the letters together. For this job, I must be quick, and I must memorize where the letters are, and no typos. One by one I put the letters in, A, n, i, m, a, l, s, and then I make a space and put the next letters in. Hours go by as I work hard on the newspaper. I take a break and eat some food, sweating from hours of placing letters. How did Benjamin Franklin go through all this, jeez. Patience, Benjamin must have had. Back to work, pick up, place, pick up, place, repeat. Finally, done placing the letters. I got out the ink balls, dipped them in ink, and dabbed them onto the letters. 19
Too much or too small can ruin the whole newspaper, I must be proceice. I grab a piece of cut paper from my table and place it on the paper holder. I fold the printing press up and push it into the wood platen. I take the devils tale and pull it, this causes the wooden platen to push down the paper into the inked letters. I unfold the printing press and reveal the piece of paper. I read it through to see if there are any errors, I saw none, thank god. And the ink, not bad. I clean the letter blocks, and make more newspapers. Clean, ink, fold, pull, unfold, repeat. More hours passed, and soon, I was satis ied by the amount. I check the time, 5:36, the clock read. I took the newspapers, put them in a bag, and dashed outside. The news will be sold. I go running beside the streets, “ANIMALS IN ZOO BREAK OUT, ANIMALS IN ZOO BREAK OUT!”, I shout. Some people were excited for the news, some just didn’t care. I sell this product to everyone. The more I sold, the more money I got. As I ran, shouted, and sold, the hours flew by. Tiering work it is to be a printer. I came home exhausted from work. Hard work pays off. Sigh. Tomorrow is another day, and it won’t be a good one if I don’t lay down and sleep. I’m proud of my work, without me, none of Roycemoria would know what was going on in this strange world. As this day goes by, I am awaiting for the next. This is the life of a printer.
Roycemore School Literary Magazine
The Gunsmith
By: Pasha Zabadneh - Grade 5 I am the gunsmith of my village. I fix guns, but occasionally, I will make one to sell. I do not typically make guns, my talents are repairing them. My job requires the ollowing skills: a mind that can understand how things work, such as the mechanics of weaponry. Also, I need to be capable of tolerating loud noises all day, and not minding being dirty due to the soot from repairing guns. I also need to be able to defend myself physically because thieves are rampant. Lastly I must be good with math for calculations and measurements. In terms of trading, I trade with many! I have traded with farmers, bakers, tailors, business owners, and many other types of workers. A good example of a decent and fair trade is: the farmer gives me 20 eggs for me to fix his rifle, or a market stall owner gives me flour and sugar to repair her musket. I fix damaged firearms, and a lot of people need them for hunting live game, defending themselves from intruders, and protecting their livestock and property.
I do what I do because I love to see how things work. When you take a gun apart, you can see all the springs and pins, which fires the bullet. People need someone to fix their weapons, and I am the person that does just that.
As the final project for fifth grade humanities, students read the book “The City of Ember�. When you turn twelve in the City of Ember you pick your life long career at random by pulling a slip of paper out of a sack. Students did this as well and picked out a career and wrote what a day of theirs would have looked like if they lived in that city. These are a couple examples of the specialized worker stories that students produced.
One day, the Europeans came and sold many guns to the villagers. My business went through the roof when those Europeans arrived. Many people came to my shop, and demanded that I fix their weapons, but I did not want what most of these people had to offer. Most people wanted to make some OUTRAGEOUS trades, such as: one chicken for me to fix their weapon, or one bushel of wheat for me to fix their gun. I made those people quadruple, or quintuple their offer before I even thought about the trade.
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Kirby By: Xavier Montgomery - Grade 4 Marker
Ink Sans By: Charlie Spitznagel - Grade 3 Pen
Wierdmageddon By: Leif NIelson - Grade 3 Colored Pencil 21
Monster By: Lucy Birnbaum - Grade 7 Pencil
Roycemore School Literary Magazine
Baby Yoda
By: Simone Montgomery - Grade 2 Marker
The Duck Swimming in the Lake By: Alexandria Ryskin - Grade 4 Pastel
The Dragon of Tower Bridge By: Grace Lawlor - Grade 11 Marker
2019 - 2020 School Year
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James and the Giant Peach
By: Farrah Zabadneh - Grade 2 Colored Pencil
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Roycemore School Literary Magazine
Books
By: Sooliat Bakare - Grade 12 Various
A Stone in the Water
By: Ela Chintagunta - Grade 11 Photography
2019 - 2020 School Year
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Tulips
By: Alexandra Ryskin - Grade 4 Photography
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Blue Flowers
By: Julia Michaelson - Grade 4 Photography
Roycemore School Literary Magazine
P O E M S
Yearly
By: Alexandra Ryskin - Grade 4 Winter and spring yearly fight Both wanting to extend their rights And tulips cheer spring on with all their might As if it were more bright
Glow
By: Julia Michaelson - Grade 4 In the darkness of night, they always give light. For they shall glow, like falling snow.
Other flowers do the same For they shall not proclaim That they would like to die Right after they got a chance to live and thrive Go on! Go on! They cheer spring on You’ll win! You’ll win! They shout out loud The winner changes From year to year But all continues to appear And happiness and love
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Untitled By: Jacqueline Gorski - Grade 6 In French
Overwatch
By: Rafael Umana - Grade 6
In French 27
Untitled
By: Jacqueline Gorski - Grade 6 Translation
Roycemore School Literary Magazine
P O E M S
El Barco
The Boat
Extraño el barco.
I miss the boat.
Los remos que cortan el agua tranquila, Y el viento que entra volando a mi cara.
The oars that slice through the smooth water, And the wind that blows in my face.
Extraño el barco.
I miss the boat.
Los ocho chicos que se juntan como un equipo, Y la coordinación que producen en cada braceo.
The eight boys that come together as a team, And the coordination that they produce in each stroke.
Extraño el barco.
I miss the boat.
La timonel que grita muchos commandos, Y su determinación que dice, “¡Remen duro!”
The coxswain that shouts many commands, And her determination that says, “Pull harder!”
Extraño el barco.
I miss the boat.
El sudor que cubre mi cuerpo, Y los músculos que activan mis piernas y mis brazos
The sweat that covers my body, And the muscles that energize my legs and arms
Extraño el barco.
I miss the boat.
El alivio que nosotros sentimos después de una carrera, Y la puesta de sol que crea un cielo naranja y rosa.
The relief that we feel after a race, And the sunset that creates an orange and pink sky.
Extraño el barco.
I miss the boat.
By: Benjamin Schweighauser - Grade 11
2019 - 2020 School Year
By: Benjamin Schweighauser - Grade 11
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A Dolphin Drifts By
By: Leah Berger-White - Grade 4 My eyes search the deep sea, trying to find Maddie’s beautiful face in the dim, red light emitted by my headlamp. I find her and grab her hand, feeling her soft flesh. My name is Hunter Silverstone. I have long, jet black hair that Maddie says is the color of the deep sea that I love to explore so much. Through a foggy mask, our eyes lock, as they have so many times before. Her eyes are so beautiful, I think. Like a fresh field. Mine are lightning bolt blue. Maddie is as beautiful and as striking as one. Still linking hands, hers like a peach, mine hot cocoa, I kiss her for the thousandth time. I will never get used to kissing those lips, I think. And then I pop my mask back on, expecting to feel the rush of water, the maneuver to clear it out, and then the river of air. But it doesn’t come. I wait, starting to feel desperate, before checking my tank. Out, I think, heart pounding. I am out of air. I show Maddie my tank, the desperation rising in my chest. She shakes her head, indicating she won’t have enough air for both of us. I see a dolphin drift by as the last thought before I black out passes through me. Air. I need air. And then I am engulfed by a cloud of pure darkness.
The white walls, the smell of disinfectant, evan the beeping noises all disappear. As far as I’m concerned, we are the only things in existence. Just me and her. When she finally pulls away, I ask, “How?” She gets my meaning. “There was a dolphin, it, well, it carried you up like it knew exactly what it was doing!” She says. “Once you were at the surface, it shot through the water and dropped you off at the boat. Once I found you, I rushed you to the hospital. “That dolphin,--” she chokes up. “That dolphin saved your life.” 10 10 Years Later I tell this story to the kid. The kid I love so much. “And ever since then,” Maddie cuts in. “We have always loved dolphins.” “But not as much as we love you,” I say, ruffling her hair. ”And...” “We want you to fall in love with them too!” Maddie finishes. She squeals, knowing exactly what we mean! We’ve told her this story a million times, but today, there is a special ending. I ask, “Ready for your first scuba diving lesson?”
I wake up groggy, feeling the icy sheets and stone mattress press against my skin. The thin, scratchy blanket that covers me does little to keep me warm. I’m dead, I think. I have to be. And then I feel it. Maddie’s lips up against mine. Everything fades.
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Roycemore School Literary Magazine
Unicorns
By: Simone Montgomery - Grade 2 One day, there was a girl named Willa. Willa was catching frogs and then she heard a screech! She followed the sound and she found a unicorn that had fallen out of the sky. Willa saw a busted wing. She decided to help the poor unicorn. Willa got some spare parts that she had found and started building a mechanical wing. And Willa tried to put it on the unicorn but the unicorn didn’t want it on. So she tricked the unicorn into thinking it was a cupcake by drawing a picture of a cupcake on the wing. Then the unicorn tried to eat it! And then Willa put it on the unicorn. The unicorn didn’t like the wing, but it worked. She flew back up into the sky and said, “goodbye, my dear friend, Willa!”
“I made them for a special person named Willa,” said the unicorn. “But how did you make them so quickly?” asked Willa. “I have a magical horn that makes food and desserts!” “But then why couldn’t you just fix your wing?” asked Willa. “My talent isn’t to fix things. That is my brother, though. He is a mechanic.” So Willa gave the unicorn a big hug and the unicorn said, “I’ll see you tomorrow!” And Willa said, “Goodbye!” THE END
So she flew back into her flock of unicorns and Willa screamed, “Where is your unicorn flock? ”The unicorn said, “Humans cannot see my flock so we can be protected.” “But then how did I see you if I cannot see your others friends?” asked Willa. The unicorn said, “I ran out of magic dust.” So then the unicorn went back up, and Willa went home, and she found a frog to catch! She brought the frog home, but she felt sad. She missed her friend. But then she heard a knock on her door! It was the unicorn! Willa was so happy and glad to see her friend, but she asked, “Why aren’t you up in the sky?” “I wanted to give you these cookies that I made,” said the unicorn. “Where did you get these?” asked Willa.
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The second graders in Ms. Hilda’s library class worked on designing new covers to books in the library. These were some of the cool new interpretations.
Dog Rules
By: Lila Shutters - Grade 2 Marker 31
Roycemore School Literary Magazine
Harry Potter
By: Jiwoo Kim - Grade 2 Marker
King Baby
By: Josiah Foster Mayo - Grade 2 Colored Pencil
2019 - 2020 School Year
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Here Dance Moms:Title AbbyGoes and Kelly
By: Rafael Umana and Jacqueline Gorski - Grade 6 Medium Tempera Paint 33
Roycemore School Literary Magazine
Untitled
By: Macy O’Donnell - Grade 8 Photography
2019 - 2020 School Year
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Flowers By: Lucy Birnbaum - Grade 7 Colored Pencil
Fallen Crabapple
By: Ela Chintagunta - Grade 11 Photography
Floating Among the Buildings
By: Ela Chintagunta - Grade 11 Photography
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Summer Day
By: Theodore Barshai - Grade 4 Acrylic
Roycemore School Literary Magazine
A Beautiful Weed
By: Ela Chintagunta - Grade 11 Photography
Untitled
By: Sooliat Bakare - Grade 12 Various
Grecian Sunset
By: Katherine Carson - Faculty Oil Painting
2019 - 2020 School Year
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School Strike for Climate Change
By: Madeline Daniel - Grade 12 Oil Pastel
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Roycemore School Literary Magazine
Top: Spring Blossoms
Bottom: Untitled
Watercolor
Various Mediums
By: Katie Carson - Faculty
2019 - 2020 School Year
By: Sooliat Bakare - Grade 12
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S T O R I E S
Dear Martin Excerpt By: Faelyn McGuire - Grade 8
jusmeister has entered the chat. jusmeister: Hi Doc, it’s me, Jus. I’ve just been in a rough patch in my life, and I don’t really know what to do. I was making sure this girl was alright, and we KNOW each other, and then the police came and arrested me! Like, without really giving me a chance to explain myself. Sure it may have looked a little sketchy, but still! Man, I just don’t know what to do anymore, and I REALLY need some advice on what to do. drmlking has entered the chat. drmlking: Hi Jus, I feel you. When I was protesting in the streets, I saw people being wrongfully arrested left and right. Do not let your temper get the better of you, you gotta hate the idea and not the people. It’s gonna be really hard, but that is how you truly can follow in my footsteps and live the nonviolent lifestyle. jusmeister: What do you mean lifestyle? Isn’t it just not fighting? Like I’ve never been in a fight before, and I make sure that my friends don’t either (despite there being some real annoying people in our class) so I would say I’m nonviolent. drmlking: You do still hate those people yes? And want to do them harm? That’s still not nonviolent. It is cowardice to hate them, they are living breathing people. If it is your true lifestyle, you know that you have to love them. Not romantically and such, but a neighborly love for all people. Sure they may say and do questionable things, but they are still humans, and we are a deeply flawed species. You must also not just do this once or twice and call yourself nonviolent, it is a lifestyle. Everyday, you have to put into account other people and how they are just as human as you are. jusmeister: Oh, okay. So be righteous and shit? 39
jusmeister: Sorry Doc, I’m just really fed up okay? These people don’t deserve love because of their hate! If they aren’t going to be nice and thoughtful and “loving” to me, then why should I care about them? You treat others how you want to be treated, and they sure as hell aren’t treating me the way they want to be treated. drmlking: See, Jus, you could turn that right back around on yourself! You should choose to live nonviolent to teach those cops exactly how wrong they were to treat you so terribly. The universe is not cruel, it is only random. And it tends to lean to the side of the righteous (haha). jusmeister: Okay Doc, whatever you say :/ drmlking: I know it’s extremely frustrating, but this strategy works you know! I did countless protests, countless times I was arrested. I never laid a finger on one of those corrupt cops or firemen. And sure, even I doubted this strategy because of the suffering my people and I were going through, but suffering is good. Good for your mind and how you look at the world. Not only do you not take what you have for granted, but it reaffirms the belief that what you are doing is morally right. And, lo and behold, the Civil Rights Act got passed. It took a damn long time, but nonviolence is the way to go when going against racism. If you go at it slow, they will realize how wrong they are and that they have to change their ways. jusmeister: I know Doc, I just am really upset. I’ll take into serious consideration what you said, and your words mean a lot to me. jusmeister has left the chat. drmlking has left the chat.
Roycemore School Literary Magazine
My Dear Fellow Fighter For Justice By: Rachel Ashley - Grade 8
My Dear Fellow Fighter for Justice (Justyce), While reading the letters of your young life experiences, I would like to commend you on your efforts to be courageous and to use nonviolent methods to combat racism. Sometimes our actions are not interpreted correctly due to the prejudice that is involved when any man of color is the person pursuing said actions. I am sorry to hear of your negative experience and unfair incarceration. Do not allow these experiences to stop your advocacy and helpful actions. The anger you felt can be used to fuel your advocacy work. My son, always remember the fourth principle, that nonviolence accepts suffering without retaliation and that suffering can educate and transform. In Birmingham, where I was jailed, unjust treatment in the courts as well as police brutality towards our people was the norm. It is, unfortunately, our reality. I put my efforts into teaching our people that we must demand justice. Justyce, this is what you must do. Demand justice through non-violent efforts, such as protests and sit-ins. Do what you can where you live to lead others and bring justice to our people. I would also like to give my heartfelt condolences on the loss of your friend, Manny. Regardless of the circumstances and the racism and prejudice involved, always focus on the sixth principle, that nonviolence believes that the universe is on the side of justice. Even though it may not seem like justice is being served, we trust in Almighty God that justice will prevail. As far as advising you, dear boy, on your 2019 - 2020 School Year
relationship choices, and Sarah Jane, I will leave you with this. Principle Five teaches us that nonviolence chooses love instead of hate. If you have love in your heart that is guiding your choices, others who love and care for you will see that shine through and support your choices. Thank you for reaching out and sharing your experiences with me. As a young student of color living in a world that isn’t always kind or fair, life can seem too difficult and frustrating to fight hate with nonviolence. Trust in God and your heart to guide you. Yours for the cause of Peace and Brotherhood, M. L. King, Jr.
These works are from the 7th and 8th grade humanities class who studied Martin Luther King’s principles of nonviolent protest. Some of these ideas were: nonviolence is a way of life; nonviolence seeks to win friendship and understanding; nonviolence seeks to defeat injustice, not people; nonviolence accepts suffering without retaliation; nonviolence chooses love instead of hate; and nonviolence believes that the universe is on the side of justice. The class then read a book called “Dear Martin” where the main character, Justyce, tries to live how Dr. King would live and would write him letters as a way to manage life as a young African-American. The assignment was to take something that occurred in the book and write back to Justyce as Dr. King, trying to incorporate nonviolence principles into their works.
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We Are All In This Together By: Charlie Spitznagel - Grade 3 Pen 41
Roycemore School Literary Magazine
P O E M S
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Keep Six Feet Apart By: James Harris - Grade 7
My family says you keep six feet apart. I walk the dog around the block every day. Humans and dogs are such social animals Why must this happen? I feel like I am entrenched in my own thoughts and nothing else. This makes me want to fight an elusive but visible enemy. They tell us to wear masks and to be aware of your safety Does this quarantine help people to think or to be motivated to strive for something, that I don’t know? Is there a goal that is waiting for everyone to see or is it not so obvious? Is the store a safe place to go? We never thought the supermarket to be a dangerous place. Are there bigger issues that this disease bestows? Is this throwing our eyes off the prize? Is walking six feet apart so easy or more of a challenge? Is it hard to know how long this virus goes? Staying six feet is the way to go. Don’t let this time away from people for your own safety get the best of you. Stay positive and optimistic because you’ll make it through. I know this is true. That this virus cannot take from you.
2019 - 2020 School Year
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Quarantine Snack By: Sophia Kwok- Grade 5 Pencil Sketch
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Roycemore School Literary Magazine
P O E M S
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Corona Virus
A Fearful Promenade
History repeats itself leaving people to mope and cry as they lye still They feel down as they hound obsessive amounts of supplies They keep their eyes on the prize as they try to stay safe but they hate being restricted as time feels limited They look to each other for hope and encouragement They read books to pass time away They find humor to keep them sane It hides all of the pain that they gain People are hurt People are panicked People are anxious People are lost People are worked beyond their limits to provide people with support This brings families together while tearing them apart People are working longer hours and risking their own safety Special events have been canceled for some like graduations, weddings etc. During this difficult time let us empathize with those that are being affected by this pandemic We are all being affected by this pandemic but it does not look the same for all Although this feels like we have fallen and failed let us stand tall through it all
Like most who have the opportunity, frequent walks are now an aspect of most daily schedules. An activity that used to be meditative, though, has since developed into a pursuit that requires concentration and patience to avoid a newly developed social stigma derived from the Coronavirus: interaction. During and throughout the growth of the virus, people have begun to take the term ‘social distancing’ to heart, where you should both (a) stay six feet a part and (b) literally ‘social’ distance yourself. In some cases, people feel completely comfortable staring at you during what seems to be an endless pass by, and if you were to even give a nod, a look of fear radiates throughout what you can see of their face; as if the sheer interaction with another person (even six feet a part) can deliver an unknown diagnosis.
By: Chyna Vashay Cannon- Grade 11
2019 - 2020 School Year
By: Anonymous
The virus has created a sense of fear among people, arguably for a reason, and it’s interesting to see effects of this daily. Walking and taking a moment to oneself should be relaxing, but it’s the worrisome consciousness regarding some people’s recklessness that creates this fear people are experiencing. As people continue to go on walks, it’s important we give people the space, both physically and socially that they feel comfortable with, in the hopes that we collectively will learn to destigmatize being friendly.
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P O E M S
Teeth
By: Chyna Vashay Cannon - Grade 11 She is wide She is curvy She has grooves She is rigid She is squished She is ripped, replaced, cleaned and restored. She is examined She is gold She is worked on She is rewarded She trusts no one especially not the man with glasses and lab coat nor the people that strap her down as she loses her mind. Why have I never seen a black dentist as a child? Why are they not seen and represented? She is loose and wiggly She is growing like a seed that has been planted She is nurtured but sometimes neglected and unappreciated.
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Angel AA
By: Chyna Vashay Cannon - Grade 11 She is beauty She is kind She is genuine and worthy She is strong She is loyal She is religious She is Muslim She is resilient She is a minority She is brown She is an instrument for those around her She wears a hijab so that those around her respect her as a powerful Muslim women She wears a hijab because it is apart of her She inspires those around her to happy and true to themselves She honors respect and integrity She is always nice even when she is given reasons not to be She keeps me surrounded and well-grounded First impressions are not always everlasting Support and unconditional love strengthens people at a time of need She shines bright like a diamond She enjoys Spongebob and memes She enjoys making others smile She is an angel and is truly godsent
Roycemore School Literary Magazine
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Untitled
By: Madeline Daniel - Grade 12 Watercolor
2019 - 2020 School Year
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Lose and Gain
By: Chyna Vashay Cannon - Grade 11 My weight goes up and down just like temperature on a thermometer I look in the mirror and notice all of my flaws I see all the scars When I lose I gain confidence When I gain I lose confidence Yes I am strong but my body feels wrong It all started when I was about 10 I started to get bullied I started paying attention to that number on the scale When I walked off the scale I would look at that taupe and ivory color tile And sadness would fill my heart I laugh to deal with my inner raft
I fall but I STILL Stand Tall like a giraffe’s neck I gain knowledge In my brain cells When all else fails I lose and I gain I bruise from the pain I cruise as an escape I reflect I reject I reconsider But I am not bitter I AM ME
When I would weigh in, the LPN would say, “Oh my gosh you’re so big.” Although, I would smile It would sink in like a handprint on memory foam that eventually disappeared. I look different than my mom so it shocks most people. My confidence began to shred into pieces like lettuce. When this woman asked if I was pregnant at the age of 11. Yes, it was probably ignorance but my Conscience was internally and externally affected within my mentality. I lose selfishness, childish ways, weaknesses, and writing utensils I gain voice, strength, maturity, and experiences It was my choice to interpret things for the well being of myself My voice is something that is priceless but as strong as a brick wall 47
Roycemore School Literary Magazine
Accepting Myself By: Anonymous
As I step on the tiny block, I feel the weight plopping down Suddenly aware I try to suck my whole body in I can’t be fat. I am not fat. Everyone tells me to just do some exercise I try to But how Running is boring Team sports are fun But hard to do Walking takes time And weights Really? To me, I feel gross Not myself I wish I were different. I know that only I can change Whenever I try, The number that flashes does not change. I close my eyes Hoping that I was dreaming As my eyes flutter open The same number As I step off, I think about what to do How to change I know I am strong Pain makes it hard for me I cannot do certain things So how can I change How do I see myself as normal My body sags I feel the weight Complaining won’t help Sitting on the couch doesn’t help I try to walk The sharp pain seers through me
2019 - 2020 School Year
I try to dance It doesn’t feel like enough I try to find videos I have no motivation. My body should be at a factory Getting fixed How can I embrace who I am Love myself Be myself I want a new body One that does not have pain One that feels normal One that I can accept One that feels like me But for now I have to decide Do I want to change Or stay the way I am
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My Life
By: Ela Chintagunta - Grade 11 The pieces mixed together, the colors blended like the colors of the rainbow. I selected one very carefully and placed it next to the others. I was sorting pieces to my new puzzle. The puzzle was an old map of Washington DC from the 1860’s. Blue, like the sky; Brown, like dirt; black, the color of darkness; and green, the color of Earth. My hands were quick and nimble as I selected the pieces to place. It was very dark and gloomy outdoors on this Sunday afternoon. I had finished my homework the day before and had the pleasure to relax. I let the noises seep in. The rain, pitter-pattering on the roof and the sound of an engine whirring as my dad was on the elliptical machine. I looked up and the darkness of the basement contrasted with the white sweater my mother wore. Her face lit by the lights and her smile grand across her face. I looked up again, this time bringing my wrist to see the numbers displayed on my watch. The screen lit up; the numbers 5:39 in bold, white print. I sulked when I picked up the next piece; this one was a green one with beige lines running through the green. I dragged my feet along the cold brown flooring not wanting time to move forward. I glanced up and saw my mom searching frantically to find the slot where the piece went. I waited until she had finally found it and asked her, “When?” She knew what I meant when she replied, “Soon.” I asked again nervously awaiting the answer, “When exactly?” She spoke words I never would want to hear, “Now?” My mouth opened to say no but instead I doubtfully answered, “Sure,” in a hushed mumbled tone. 49
My feet dragged up the stairs until I reached the first floor. The space felt dark because of the gloomy outdoors but once lit, the room was rejuvenated. The walls a pale red and green that blended with the red chairs and beige-white sofa. I trailed on to the bathroom where I was greeted with white tile and soft lights. There I opened the cabinet and grabbed the bandages and the alcohol packet. I walked into the guest room where I opened the closet to find white shelves organizing the space. I reached for the box that contained the practice injection. I also grabbed the box with the Buzzy. The Buzzy is a device that vibrates, and you attach ice so it numbs your skin when placed on it. By this time my dad had come upstairs and had washed his hands along with my mom. I called to my dad, “Can you come get the box?” He replied calmly, “Sure thing.” I went back to sit on the couch and found four pillows leaning there and I moved them. I rested on the couch allowing my body to rest and sink in. I finally got up realizing I needed my pain diary. I went towards my black and white desk. I reached my hand out onto one of the shelves realizing it was not there. I frantically looked around in every place I could think of. My mom spoke, “Looking for this?” I spun around and gleamed. She was already sitting in front of the couch beckoning me to come and do “it”. It is the way that I say injection in my family without saying the word. I sat down and relaxed a bit until my dad pulled the practice injection out asking where it would be today. I motioned towards the middle of my right thigh. The practice injection was just to see where we would actually do the injection, but does not have a real needle and does not have actual liquid. As he began practicing I started fretting about what would go wrong with it today. I asked, “Did you hide the box well?”
Roycemore School Literary Magazine
The box was where we put the injection after we are done using it. My dad had gone to collect the rest of the supplies. When I looked up, I saw my mom opening the packages of alcohol and bandages and asking whether I had my phone. I nodded a gentle yes. Dad came back with a white injection and cold packs in the shapes of butterflies. The injection had a valid use by date and the liquid was all clear with no bubbles to start. Next I diverted my attention to the ice pack. It fit into the buzzy and was very cold. I unlocked my phone and went to the stopwatch. I turned the Buzzy on with the white button on the top. It was cold on my skin like I was getting frostbite. I watched as my phone counted the seconds. The phone finally said 1 minute and 45 seconds. I stopped the stopwatch and moved the Buzzy to the side although it was still on. I began getting scared, as my insides began shivering. My whole body went cold and was shaking. My mom said to try to control it. She wiped the alcohol swab on my bare skin on the cold spot. It felt like it was stinging like a bee sting. She started blowing furiously so it would dry. My dad picked up the injection and removed the cover on the top protecting the needle. He placed it over the spot he had practiced with earlier. The fear rushed into me and suddenly I yelled, “STOP!!! I cannot take it! Please wait.” He sat there and waited. I started breathing in a pattern and shut my eyes tightly. I listened to myself for a moment, in one, two; out one, two, three. I slowly, calmly and quietly said, “Ok.” With my eyes still shut, he put the injection back on my skin and pressed the button. It made a little clicking sound. To my parents, the world was looking as the yellow liquid went into my body through a tube. They saw how much had gone in so far. My world was made up of the sounds of breathing and the anticipation of the click to signal the end of the injection. The hardest part was not tensing 2019 - 2020 School Year
my leg. I heard and listened to my mom saying the words, in one, two; out one, two, three. I waited anxiously until I heard the click. When it finally came I let out a sigh of relief. But the pains were not over yet; I immediately started screaming when my dad took the needle back out of my skin. My mom quickly covered it with a pad that soaks up the blood. The tears streamed down my cheeks and landed on my lap. My mom reached out to grab my hand. She applied the second ice pack and held it there for a couple minutes. She started speaking in a hushed tone, “I am so proud of you.” I answered back, “I wish I did not have to go through this. Why me? Can I stop doing this?” I knew I could not stop the medication because I would go back to having inflammation and flare-ups. I always asked myself those questions hoping the answer would change. They never did and never will. While I was crying and talking to my mom, my dad cleaned up everything we had pulled out. The box went back in the closet and the boxes on the shelf of the closet. He smiled at me when he came to pick up the items. When my mom finally put the pad off, there were blood spots on the pad. I had stopped crying but again the tears flooded me. I settled down slowly and I got up slowly. My leg did not hurt very much anymore but my emotions were shattered and I knew that I would have to endure this for a long time to come. As I look back on this, I am glad that this is not my fate. As I have had no flare ups in the last couple of years, I am ready to start going off my medicine. It is a huge relief for me to not have to worry about this and be able to live a normal life and I hope that is what happens.
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Down the Chicago River By: Ela Chintagunta - Grade 11 Photography 51
A Day at the Beach
By: Ela Chintagunta - Grade 11 Photography
Roycemore School Literary Magazine
P O E M S
I am ...
By: Chyna Vashay Cannon - Grade 11 I Am.. I’m from Chicago where the only thing that matters is the sound of a gun, “Pow!” which makes us scream loud I’m black and I’m proud and I don’t have to speak loud my cocoa brown skin and kinky hair are the perks of it all even though it may seem small my big beautiful hair holds all my melanin because of the pigment of my skin I have many limitations that many expect to hold me back when in all honesty I break through them I am voice I am success I am potential YES I’m going places my ancestors brought change for me so now I will do the same for other generations because the future is in our hands. Being black isn’t an obligation it’s a privilege it’s more than an ethnicity its decades of history, fighting, and sacrifice. Although, I have to extra extra try to succeed as a black woman when a woman that is a different ethnicity can succeed within two minutes. No matter how long it takes a change will come it might include sweat, tears, and a lot of marathon running but it will all be worth it by the end. My actions will not just benefit me. It’s for those that need equality and equal rights disregarding sexual preference, race, and ethnicity. I’m looked at as the little brown girl with the squeaky voice trying to be something that she is not.
2019 - 2020 School Year
People assume that I will be loud because I am black when I speak with such articulation they are shocked. My voice may seem small but it has a big impact. I will not look back, for I am greatness.
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Excerpt from 826 Lakeside Terror
As I reflect, maybe it wasn’t a helicopter, maybe I was seeing the storm that comes when one is about to die. I think this might be true now.
I woke up in a cold sweat, again. How boring right? But I gotta tell you, that’s what happened. It’s always the same. I am asleep, I think, and in my bed. My room is the same, the blankets, my smoking hot boyfriend sleeping next to me. But then I am wide awake, in the dream, I guess. And there she is at the foot of the bed. A toddler, maybe? 2 or 3 years old. White, all white, dress, face, hair. Except where the eyes should be are grayish which fade to dark circles at the center.
I remember looking out the window, sucking on a fruit roll-up and knowing I would never see my Grandpa Mac again. The adults were stressed, my grandmother’s eyes were wild. He died that night.
By: Sara Keely McGuire - Faculty
“Mama,” she says and a hand, tiny, white, perfect with little dimples in the knuckles, extends to touch the blanket at the end of my bed. “Mama” And then I wake up. I saw my first dead body when I was four years old. It was my grandfather, I don’t know what he died of, but I remember thinking for a long time that he was my very best friend. I remember eating bowls of strawberries sitting on his bed. He must have been sick because all of my memories of him are in that bed. Reading stories, hanging out. His leg had been amputated below the knee sometime long before I was born. Sometimes he would put a hat on his thigh and make it whinney like a horse. We are all weirdos in my clan. The night they took him to the hospital for the last time, I remember being very intense, there may have been a helicopter. No one remembers this but me.
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I remember wearing a pretty dress and riding in a limo and knowing we were going to see him. I don’t think we went to a mass or a memorial, but we went to a viewing at a funeral home, the only one I have ever been to. I asked my Daddy to lift me up so I could see him, give him a kiss. Daddy loved me a lot and didn’t see anything wrong with it. Grandpa looked like a grandpa doll, in a dark suit and surrounded by satin. I leaned in to give him a kiss and I could see that there were threads behind his lips, holding them together. This is my last memory of my grandfather in this world, the threads behind his lips. The most horrible thing, I think, about this all was that years later my older sister told me about how there were dead bodies buried in our basement. She liked to try and freak us out, me and my little sister. She, being both older and half, had been displaced by the younger siblings of the younger wife of our father. She and our brothers enjoyed making us scream with terror. What was particularly horrible, and what I never told her, was that I could only ever picture my grandfather’s body inside the weird hole in the basement. With his lips sewn shut so he couldn’t even scream.
Roycemore School Literary Magazine
A few years later, I had my final goodbye. We had acquired my grandfathers rocking chair and my younger sister and I were in the house alone, waiting for my older sister to come to babysit. I was really scared because there was a storm happening that only I could see. Shadows creeping outside. Wind on foliage? Or shadow people trying to get in. I will never know. Because my grandfather’s chair began rocking, began rocking, all on its own. And there was light in the room, and the shadows were gone. And the storm stopped. And my sister came home and all was right with the world again. But I couldn’t face that basement alone for a really long time. “I had the dream again,” I said to Erik as we got ready for work. He turned his big green eyes to me mid brush and stopped. “Again?” Concern flashed through his face. A twitch of his dark blonde eyebrows he finished brushing his teeth, spit in the sink, and stepped aside so I could do the same. Holding back my long reddish-brown hair, I cleaned my mouth and met his eyes. “Yep.” “How far did she get this time?” He scooped some pomade and began taming his short fine hair into place as we talked. I ran a brush through my hair, being far less finicky about how it hangs than he was, and began my morning makeup routine. Moisturiser, sunscreen, Covergirl liquid powder, eyeliner, lipstick, done. “I saw her hand on the bedspread.” “Woah.” “Yep.”
2019 - 2020 School Year
Applying the bronzy lipstick rescued from the 90s to my full lips, I rubbed them together, “good?” “Gorgeous.” He kisses me on the cheek. What a sweetie. “But, maybe we should figure out if there is any, you know, history here?” “Babe. We live in a 100-year-old buildingon the Northside of Chicago. It’s older than any place we have ever lived. Of course, there is history.“ “Older than Mary’s?” Crap. I had forgotten about Mary’s. In college, I befriended an older woman who was in our classes. We had many nontraditional students, and because we were in the theatre department, friendships formed fast and tight. She was renovating a beautiful house in the Victorian district in Denver and had something like 13 cats. I love old homes and cats, so naturally, when she needed a house sitter, she asked me to stay. I could even have a boyfriend over. This was a godsend. I didn’t want to be at home or with my boyfriend’s roommate and I definitely wanted him to sleepover. If you want to call it that. Anyway, he came over. The house was gorgeous but in stages of renovation, the kitchen cabinets were totally open but fully equipped. She didn’t have a television, so we made our own fun. We are getting ready to go to bed, to sleep, and start cuddling up, the down blankets almost staving off the cold. Suddenly there is a racket like cabinets opening and closing, banging closed. We hopped out of bed, together, to investigate. No doors on cabinets to bang. The pantry had a sliding door, did one of the cats get in there? Knock stuff around? Nope. Nothing out of place, nothing on the floor. Erik flicks 54
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the light on to the “servants stairs” and starts to go down to the basement. “I can’t go down there.” I look at him, terrified. “Ok, do you want to stay in the room.” “No.” His patience with me, even now, a precious asset. “Ok, I think I need to go check. You can come with me or stay here.” “Ok, I am going to go sit in the dining room.” For some reason, that room was ok. He didn’t think it was weird, he just proceeded to do my housesitting job and check the house. Downstairs, upstairs, the sitting room, the sunroom. Nothing. Not a cat out of place. He came back, shaking his head. “But you heard that. It was something.” “I heard it. It freaked me out. Let’s go to bed.” He fell asleep, as is his gift, pretty quickly. I, on the other hand, did not.
Untitled
By: Farrah Zabadneh - Grade 2 Pencil and Marker
Through a series of events, Mary invited me to move into the house when it was done. I would pay rent and could have any of the bedrooms, as well as space for an office in the basement. I told her what had happened when we were house-sitting, and that I could not sleep in the small bedroom off the kitchen. She gave me the second biggest room in the house, with an incredible bathroom inside, on the second floor. I had an office in the basement, but could never use it. I woke up again, this time she’d inched closer. The same thing.
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Roycemore School Literary Magazine
S T A F F A special thanks to all of our staff, without whom making this literary magazine would not have been possible: Faculty Sponsor: Sara Keely McGuire Senior Editor and Cover Design: Ela Chintagunta Interior Design and Layout: Grace Lawlor Page Organization: Chyna Vashay Cannon and Faelyn McGuire Page Layout: Nino Maruzewski, Tomas Prendergast, Ellison Holloway