Editor’s Note
This school year, Santiago Christian School became part of the National English Honor Society. As part of this society, students engaged in service opportunities all related to literature and reading. One subdivision of NEHS was put in charge of the school’s literary magazine, Voices. In past years, Voices was made by a collaboration of students and staff at SCS, who compiled art and written works made by students. This 2023-2024 school year builds on this tradition. This year, however, a team of students, rather than just a few, worked together to compile Voices You see the impressive result below; this magazine was one hundred percent made and managed by students.
This magazine, as in years before, features short stories, poetry, and art from the secondary students at SCS. However, instead of individual students submitting their works to the magazine, the Voices team has collaborated with the English and Art teachers to showcase a variety of assignments given that best show the students’ creativity. This creativity, in both art and literature, mirrors the creative nature of our Creator, who created all things for his enjoyment and glory--and made us, like himself, to delight likewise in the act of creating. We invite you to celebrate with us as we recognize the creative nature of God in these creative student works
From everyone involved with 2023-2024 Voices, we hope you enjoy and appreciate the literature and artwork in this magazine, as well as the talented students behind it. A special thank you to the amazing editing team:
Ueejin Jung
Fernando Santos
Kevin Feng
Micah Davis
Johanaly Rodriguez
Hyunwoo Choi
Daniela Garcia
Yehui Park
Cole Williams
Calder Gann
May God bless you,
Zoey Krauss and Eva Tavarez
Co-chairs of Voices Magazine, 2023-2024
POETRY
artwork by Maia Fernandez - 9
HAIKUS
A River Flowing
A gentle current, Slowly rising by my feet.
Cold, the river water ~ by Hiba Chamy - 9
artwork by Sarah Reyes - 9
Reading is a trip.
A paradise you should live, pick a book and see.
~ by Jeimy Holguin - 9
~decorative drawings by Johanaly Rodriguez- 11
Cold air blooms in winter
Children slide along in sleighs Branches have no leaves
~ by Martha Ziegenhirt - 9
Gentle petals fall, Whispering secrets of spring, Nature's silent call.
~ by Mayer Ziegenhirt - 9
A swirly dancer
Is so beautifully made She loves her dancing.
~ by Mariana Funez - 9
The night is cold
The stars are shining bright It’s just so calm
~ by Sarah Reyes - 9
FREE VERSE
Long haul flights, the type of flight that will feel like an eternity for some and quick for others. Around 7-14 hour flights, don’t worry, if you have business, you’ll probably get entertained. The feeling of arriving, you fell the temperature of your destination, and finally feel a sense of comfort after the flight.
~ by Manuel Farre - 9
Grow with time
~ by Rianna Mo Liang - 9
As the clock ticks, time flows by. Never waiting, for those nearby.
Time flows like breeze slips through our fingers as if to leave a trace time hurts but cures. Time rushes by with traces behind Time; Time brings so much more than this.
Time bring memories; time forms us.
During the summer in the Caribbean seas, we walk barefoot down the sandy beaches the water is as crystal clear as the sky the tall palm trees where we get our fresh coconut.
Laying on our beach towels sipping on piñacolada as we take in the summer heat and the slow gentle breeze. This is the beach in the Dominican Republic, where life stays at a standstill forgetting any worries and trouble you are facing ~ by Jason Valette - 9
As the clock ticks, time flows by. Never waiting, for those nearby. Time flows like breeze slips through our fingers as if to leave a trace— time hurts but cures. Time rushes by with traces behind Time; Time brings so much more than this. Time bring memories; time forms us. poem by Elio Mella - 9
~ by Martha Ziegenhert - 9
THEme for english B
artwork by Shiloh Davis - 8
The instructor said, Go home and write, a page tonight, And let that page come out of you Then, it will be true.
But will the words I put down On this line-filled page find an identity for me, that I can relate to and have as my own? My sin makes me feel as if I am stuck between two, that doesn't define me as true.
I exist to be a transitional period, what is believed to exist only for the convenience of others. But even this, doesn't feel quite right. There are many other things to say, like my love for art, for writing to rid my pain, the advice that my heart pours, and the uncertainty of my brain's thoughts.
I want to explore the world. To sit in a coffee shop in an alleyway, to dip my fingertips in the cool water from a fountain, and to find all the lives I could love dearly. Without belonging to a single place, without anchoring my boat.
As I may want to sail once more in the endless world of possibilities that I will never experience the truth of.
I thought too highly of myself. I harbored as many aspirations as I could, for anyone to acknowledge me. And because of that, I was left hopeless, in an endless wander of finding an identity. It seemed like there was absolutely nowhere I belonged in this world. So I withdrew away from people As I am afraid to be perceived in the wrong way. I've never been good at expressing my feelings.
Although it is when I'm alone piling up my thoughts, that I can get a grasp on the ocean of emotions that was held back by a wall that wasn't ever strong. And soon I realized, that people who cry oceans, soon learned to surf them.
( poem continued) artwork by Victoria Peña - 8
I grew up with loving parents, or what they said they were.
It wasn't until I reached my mid-teenage years, that I remembered I was taught to be quiet when peace needed to be kept. Until I realized whose peace I was preserving so carefully. And little me, in her small body, was holding back an entire war, and I didn't want to hold it anymore. I kept telling people that I wanted to remove my spikes. But they only replied, "Your spikes are what make you a porcupine." and that's when it clicked: nobody knew I was a hedgehog, and I was soft.
~ by Kevin Feng - 10
The instructor said, Go home and write a page tonight. And let that page come out of youThen, it will be true.
I’m Chinese born in the Dominican Republic.
I’m the person who likes to hearing music, the type that creates worlds within its imagination.
I’m the person who likes what truly passions him, the kind who visualizes its future, before facing its reality
I’m the person who dreams dreams, dreams yet to be true.
I dream to speak out loud, to express my answers in class yet, afraid of stating wrong answers. I dream to accomplish my desires and challenges yet, afraid of disappointment and failure.
I dream to be a book that perfectly fits in the bookshelf yet, I struggle to be on the right shelf.
I’m the person who enjoys baking, not for himself, but for others to delight. I’m the person who looks at pinterest all the time,
Wishing for a life like those happy pictures I want to have.
Wishing for a life like those happy pictures I want to have
If only dreams weren’t just dreams, and reality an illusion of a craving wish to be fulfilled
Will my Theme for English B paper be my dream?
Or will it be words and letters about reality?
he truth is, my dreams are just dreams. My life in the DR is being called by my race and not by my name. Not even being asked how I am before getting attacked by claims. My life in the DR is the assumptions that people make, the wrong thoughts they have about others.
Insulting and claiming Chinese immigrants businesses, taking away their base of survival in this country.
At what cost? Pesos? Dollars? Taxes?
I’m the person who prays every day and night, the kind who bows its head when someone prays.
I’m the person who dreams by faith, and puts its wishes on God.
I’m the beacon of hope and possibilities that God wants me to be
The prove that dreams, dream big, and dreams do come true. Reality will always remain the same, but dreams transform reality into a better life. ( poem continued)
~ by Miranda Pantaleón - 10
I love the way my name sounds, Miranda Mercedes.
Behind this facade, my inner voice cries. My skin flares up, a silent protest, Allergic to denial, that I can’t ignore.
As a Dominican, I find my place, in the embrace of culture, in the warmth of joy.
Yet still, I desire to belong in a world where I sometimes feel mocked.
I dance, pray, and sing to find release from procrastination’s grip and anxiety’s increase.
In Jesus, my baggage rests and my soul finds its place.
So I no longer hide from the troubles I face.
artwork by Yamily de los Santos - 8
CINQUAINs
artworkbyRiannaMoLiang-9
Ava Bautista - 9
Dear beach, I adore you.
Warm sand and cool water, tanning in the flaming hot sun. Love, Ava
Franco Papaterra - 9
Gold tint
Paint the sky soft
Night embraces the sky Day whispers farewell goodbye from Peace
Nature
Flowers blooming
Hiba Chamy - 9
A soft breeze blowing by The sunlight gently hits my skin
Peaceful
Efrain Tavarez - 9
Whispers
Soft, Gentle
Echoes in silence within Secrets shared in stillness and strength Murmurs.
Sebastian Taveras - 9
I AM
Ainsley Gann - 9
I am just a girl
Living overseas.
People always ask me
What makes me myself
I always have a simple answer
Like my passion for art
But there’s more to me
Than just my hobbies
I’d say that I am a lucky person I am loved by my family
And many by good friends
So I guess I’m actually defined by my loved ones
Elio Mella - 9
I am a guy who has no idea what to do,
I may have many ideas, But get completely lost when I see a paper, I wish I was home right now, Instead of having no idea what to write.
I am a guy who likes playing tennis all day, I am a guy who plays video games, The bell has not rang, I am gonna go.
artwork by Avril Marin - 7
I am a 15 year old girl, A very energetic and funny one. I am the smallest in my family, But I’m the tallest one of all.
I am the sporty girl, The one who loves soccer with all her heart.
I am a ordinary girl that lives in la ciudad corazón,
I am a girl who loves God with all her heart,
A girl who also loves her family and friends.
I am Marcela Zimbrón
A girl who loves to make people laugh
A girl who talks like there is no tomorrow.
I am a girl with dreams to accomplish.
Marcela Zimbron - 9
Drawing but only when I feel like it, Reading but never something useful, Talking with family but never by message, Arguing with my brother but still loving him
Always sleeping but having time for homework, Organizing my room but leaving a messy closet, Being lazy all day but complaining of doing nothing, Being awkward but nice, Being smart but distracting, Doing all those things, Makes me who I am.
~ by Maia Fernandez - 9
artwork by Victoria Peña - 8
I am the daughter of a father who hates different
But I am also the daughter of a mother who likes perfect, almost like a monarchy But I am also who I am, who can change the way I AM
The life of a woman needs to be “perfect” but who can define that or even be that roleplay
Why all these standards, why all those rules
Since I always thought cool was good
They can’t change who I am. I will define myself and love myself the way I am
Someone with different tastes, different life
I am someone who doesn’t pretend. May I continue with my taste, games, trips, poetry…
Not being the perfect Barbie that everyone plays with
~ by Student - 9
POLITICAL POETRY
~ by Maria Elima Sosa, Camila Yoo, Yamily de los Santos - 12 Sombra
The sun shining bright waiting as we shout. Who will cover me from this light?
When will the moon come out? Against lions, cubs lose the fight.
Up above, lions reach for more. “Give us the sombra,”we cried! We are the poor, we are the poor. “We are roaring for you,”they lied. But our souls burn at the core.
poem by Miranda Diaz - 9
The Keys to Freedom
~ by Calder Gann, Daniela Garcia, and Micah Davis - 12
I have seen men crushed in the galleys.
I have been pursued by my own shame.
I have been hunted by the laws that protect me. I have lied to defend the most vulnerable. These chains have pulled me to the ground.
I want rehabilitation, not ruination.
I want acceptance, not aggressiveness.
I want justice, not judgment, I want compassion, not cruelty.
You have the keys to set the country free.
SONNETS
Soccer is my life. Why do I love it?
The competition, it helps me distress.
Endless space on the field helps me forget.
Juggling the ball helps abandon my mess.
A sport which gives me everything I have, even when I believe I have nothing. The field, where I go when I’m sad to laugh.
The sport I love so much, more than all things.
While I’m playing, all I hear is silence.
My thoughts vanish, along with my troubles, and I can hear God, giving me guidance. His words help my motivation double.
Soccer, my happiness and therapy, I hope one day you bring prosperity.
~
by Ava Bautista - 9
People who writes poems are very smart
They write in a distinct, thoughtful manner
Looking into their soul and in their heart
Every action precise, they are planners
If you have not tried writing works like these
You won’t realize what a challenge it is
Because you can’t see what poets can see
Which is that the labor is quite endless
We don’t want to be ever forgotten
Left behind in history’s endless night
Every one of our memories rotten
One way to preserve your life is to write
This is all to say that we should write more
Let’s not go back to how we were before
~ by Ainsley Gann - 9
In sunny fields, flowers shine so bright.
The birds sing softly in the blue sky.
Their colors move in the morning light.
As the clouds move as time goes by.
The wind whispers to the trees. Their leaves move in the soft air. Nature's beauty is all around. An incredible sight that can never be seen.
In moments like these, our hearts are bright. Our worries disappear, lost somewhere.
Simple moments of life, so sweet and cheer.
In simple pleasures, happiness is clear.
So let us love each delight. In them, magic takes flight.
~ by Sebastian Taveras - 9
artwork by Ha Eun Kim - 7
The stars shine brightly through the starry night.
Wind blows and runs throughout the empty field.
Midnight darkness fights the minimum light.
Leafy trees behind the house like a shield.
Walk through the freezing breeze to find shelter; housing nowhere to be found near this place.
Up the gloomy sky, hoping for better. Stars respond by twinkling from outer space.
The soft silk hair follows the ruthless wind.
In pitch black night, tender glow soft moon gives.
Oh, no similar pureness one can find, She is one and only, can you believe?
Quiet surrounds, shadow falls deep asleep.
A kind soul like this, you are meant to keep.
~ by Rianna Mo Liang - 9
We wish to see you and be by your side, We miss having classes with your knowledge,
Each day we wait and our longing can’t hide,
Waiting even if we get to college,
Your absence leaves a void within our days,
Like sea with no fish and trees with no leaves,
Yet inside our heart your memory stays, May your healing be as fast as the breeze,
Though we’re apart, our hopes with you remain,
Remember we love you and wait each day,
Our heart and soul sours, knowing your pain,
All of your kindness will forever stay,
We keep you in mind, as long as we may, With love from your students, for you we pray.
~by Maia Fernandez - 9
VIGNETTES
artwork by Yamily De Los Santos - 12
When We Were Young
~
by Alice Park - 10
A few years ago I used to play in the playground and run around the fields in the hot, burning weather, sweat soaking my bright blue shirts. Everyone took a part in it; boys and girls, laughter with different pitches of harmony filling the air. Now, during the break, all I do with my friends is sit down at the light gray desks with our computers open, the sound of typing filling the quiet and boring classroom, or just stay in a classroom and share snacks. No more running around. No more laughter. We used to do morning meetings to start the day, talking about the things we liked or did during the weekends. Now we sit at the round tables in front of our lockers and talk about homework.
Throughout the years, we changed a lot. But the day I took my first finals was the day that I truly felt the change. I was on my way with Sara to take my first Sociales final. Soon, something caught my attention. Right next to us, on the small soccer field, elementary and middle school students were running around, laughing and talking, with their faces full of happiness. We stopped for a moment and stared at them.
“We used to play like them. Do you remember?” I asked Sara, getting lost in the memories. I forgot all about how the actual breaks felt, how when we ran around with our hair wet because of the sweat, dirty clothes, and flushed faces. But as soon as I heard the voices of the kids, memories flashed back to me.
artwork by Hiba Chamy - 9
“I miss running around and playing tag in the playground. And counting to 60 to ride the swings.” Sara told me a few seconds later, staring at the kids. That day I realized that I did change a lot and that time flies by. I don’t have recess like them anymore, and I’m on my way to take finals, which I thought were only for grown-up, highschool students. I did not feel like a high schooler at all. I thought I would be a middle schooler forever. Yet when I looked at the kids playing, I had to admit that I was not a kid anymore and sadly, those days would not come back.
“We should go now. The bell’s going to ring soon.”
Sara’s voice brought me out of floods of memories and back into reality. I was still blacking out, mad about the fact that now I don’t even have a few minutes to enjoy and think about my memories. After taking a big sigh, we headed to the classroom, to take our finals, leaving the joyful waves of laughter of kids behind, and again going one step forward to the future without even noticing. It will take another few years before I realize that there have been new changes since that day.
Hello, Dolly
~ by Cole Williams - 10
Coming back after quarantine was probably one of the most euphoric things I’ve experienced. To be able to be back with the people that could relate to me and I could be myself around was something truly incredible. The entire year was truly spectacular, and I had never loved school as much as I did then I had made some of the best memories of my entire life and loved almost every minute of every day, so coming to the end of the year was honestly something very difficult.
artwork by Avril Marin - 7
We had half days the entire week because the high schoolers had to take finals, so we had fun in the last few days of school. We played different games and would spend a lot of time just enjoying each other's company. The last day of school went on in a similar fashion but in a much happier way.
Our first class, we were told to get rid of all the things in our lockers, but many of us had already done that, so we decided to goof around. Near the lockers in the middle school building, someone had left a furniture dolly, and we all thought the same thing.
With a huge grin, I told my friend Tommy, “Hop on, we’re gonna go for a joyride.” So he got on, and I started spinning him as much as possible and tried to mess with him as much as I could. The dolly squealed as I ran around with it in my hands. Eventually, my hands got to a point where they were slipping, and I knew he was going to fall.
“WHY AM I GOING DOWN?” Tommy yelled as he started to fall like a tree in a forest. Within milliseconds, he had hit the floor, and we had all lost it.
artwork by Simone Santana - 10
At that moment I looked around and realized what made me love this school in the first place; everyone was different, but nobody really cared, we were all just happy to be enjoying each other’s company. Before COVID, I had never really understood the closeness people felt toward school; I understood that your friends were there and that could be fun, but I never really understood why anyone would want to go to school. Right in this moment, as I looked around at all of the glowing, laughing faces, I started to understand it.
As the day went on, things got sadder as we started to say our goodbyes. The hot summer sun glistened in the sky as the day came to an end. The sounds of tears and hard goodbyes filled the school as the SCS family got ready to leave for the summer and prepare for a new chapter.
Laughs that Linger
~ by Maria Fernanda Montes - 10
Unbeknownst to fifth-grade me, laughs speak louder than words. My khaki straight-legged pants were stiff as two tubes, and a cobalt blue shirt hung over my shoulders like a big blanket. A short bob framed a round face that paraded a gap-toothed smile and a pair of Converse adorned the feet of my younger self. The gray denim sneakers traveled miles on the daily, running up and down stairs, traveling from Ms. Hartwig’s classroom to Africa.
As the monotonous routine of school embedded itself into my mind all I ever looked forward to was recess. A time of rest after two long periods of English, to me, was synonymous with a well-deserved break. Playing tag was just beginning to rise to fame, becoming more and more popular by the day.
Twenty little heads gathered together like an army ready for battle, waiting for the magical, “I’m not it”, to start running in countless directions. Nevertheless, that afternoon, a new game and I became acquainted.
“Cheese touch!” Sarah screamed while poking me in the ribs.
Immediately, the people around me parted like the Red Sea, wanting to be nowhere near me. Suddenly, the blazing sun blinded my eyes as my feet planted on the sidewalk.
“You’re supposed to give it to someone else!” whined a distant body behind me, “You can hide that you have it and give it to someone while they’re not expecting it or just run and tag them,” she explained.
I decided to wield my power strategically and, as a quick alternative, proposed a game of tag. Recess was back on its usual course. Blue polos and heads full of hair of all different colors adorned a small field. Cackles bounced off the walls of the nearby gray building, the steady thump of running shoes marked the beat of 5 B's youthful hearts. When break ended, we walked waveringly as a wire heading into our next class in an orderly manner, out of breath and sticky from sweat. Yet, the itching reminder of the “cheese touch” tingled my stubby fingers.
The only sound emerging from Ms. MacKenzie’s quiet classroom was the creak of the overhead fans. My foot anxiously tapped the floor, and my hair struggled to stay in a ponytail. Looking around, I noticed the distinct sound made by the grating of a pencil against paper. I had already made up my mind, I was going to touch the person beside me.
“Cheese touch,” I whispered as I touched Andrew’s shoulder.
Disbelief struck his face, followed by the scrape of a chair, his legs quickly straightened as he jumped up to touch a girl behind him The girl touched the person beside her, and rapidly, the classroom became a jungle as students attempted to flee from one another.
Laughs echoed from all four corners of the room as the joy of being a kid filled us from within. In my mind, that day marked the occasion in which cackles became the anthem that strengthened our bond as a class. Nowadays, whenever I hear fits of laughter,
I can’t help but be overcome by joy because happiness and unity describe the family of ‘26.
Some Things Aren’t for Me
~ by Senobia Candelier - 10
The game that determined if we would go to ACCAS. The last game that I will remember forever was my last year playing volleyball at my school. It was a game that coach Smith insisted on its great importance. Restless practices, coaches screaming, bruised knees, dirty hands. It will be all worth it in the end, but I just don't see that. All I see is the stress that it all gives me and the realization that I would have to play in one of the most stressful games in front of a crowd. What if I miss a ball? What if I fall? What if I do horribly in the game? All of these worries are making me see this game as a chore and not so much as a fun game to play as my favorite sport.
“Control the ball! Again!” screams Coach Smith for the hundredth time today.
I feel my eyes as they roll while I halfheartedly jog toward the black basket with volleyballs that are the colors of the rainbow. I carefully select a yellow and blue ball and bounce it on the ground to make sure it has the perfect amount of air. Now with my ball, I walk towards the corner of the court and get in line.
As I’m standing here doing nothing, the more I think about the past two years that I've played volleyball at school, the more and more I realize that I get anxious every time someone I know in the blue bleachers sees me play, and I can't remember the last time that I enjoyed playing volleyball without my coaches annoying voice playing in the background of my head like a broken record.
I take slow steps as the girls finish their turns spiking but all I can focus on is the immense heat and how sticky my hands and forearms feel. Right before I'm about to step up and attempt to spike, I look up into the air and zone in on the steel ceiling with random pieces of what I think is paint and make a promise to myself to never do this again next year. I look back down and recite the words in my head as I approach the rapid ball coming towards my direction, left, right, left… spike! I come down from my jump and I did it, I finally spiked correctly.
But as I run to retrieve my ball, I'm confused. Confused because instead of being happy that I finally did it correctly, I blame myself for not getting it earlier. Why do I no longer acknowledge the achievements I make?
Why am I forcing myself to do something I don't enjoy? Today is the day I'm finally deciding to put an end to this chapter of my life. I'm tired of seeing my disappointment when the ball controls me. I'm going to finally listen to my heart and allow it to lead me to do something I truly desire.
The Footprints of Jesus
~ by Miranda Pantaleon - 10
As the firm chair, surrounded by the familiar fac us voices of the school echo in my head. Ms. P, t the front of the chapel. Her compassionate ey e she even utters a word. Then, in a moment of y, how she struggled to forgive her father. Though testimonies have been shared to me since kindergarten, there’s a quality in hers that sparks my attention like none other.
Ms. P describes how her father is like a storm, unpredictable and intense. Each interaction with him left bruises on her spirit, causing her now to have a distorted view of men. I listen carefully, absorbing every ounce of wisdom she expresses. “I never had the courage or desire to forgive my dad,” she confesses, “but I sat down with him and said, ‘Jesus loves you and I forgive you’ ” .
Silence thickens as the revelation sinks in that her father apologized for being neglectful, and I can't help but feel a sense of curiosity
“Ms. P, what led you to forgive him when he hurt you so profoundly?” I ask.
“I extended forgiveness because I felt called to embody Christ’s behavior. Jesus saved me from all the suffering between us and by giving him mercy, I healed a lot of wounds” she replies, her voice cracking with raw honesty. As Ms. P’s words flow like a gentle river, I feel myself being swept away in the current with tears of gratitude flooding my eyes.
Meanwhile, with a vague vision, I see nods of understanding from my peers by the teacher’s message. Suddenly as I look back at Ms. P, it’s as if the loving presence of Jesus comes into the room. His voice, comforting and clear, breathes into my soul.
“Daughter, I know the suffering and betrayal you’ve endured just like your beloved teacher, but I stand steadfast, and my footprints are eternal,” Jesus says.
In this moment of revelation, the walls built around my heart begin to crumble. All these years, the teachings of the school have echoed in my ears, reminding me that Jesus’ footprints are marked everywhere. I no longer sit in the chapel as a lost sheep, I stand as one of the 99 found and as a daughter of Jesus.
I reflect on the countless lessons learned, both academic and spiritual, during my time in SCS From the early mornings spent in Bible study to the late nights reading scripture. Where once uncertainty and questions clouded my presence at chapel, and I’d glance around the room feeling disconnected to something intangible. However, as the years pass by, my love for Jesus blossoms like a flower in spring. My faith began like a mustard seed, yet now it is a beautiful garden of faith followed by His footprints.
Through the heartfelt testimony of Ms. P, I have come to understand the transformative power of forgiveness and the freedom it brings to our souls. I bow my head in prayer, offering gratitude to God for pouring His spirit into the depths of my spiritual dryness. Truly unforgettable are His footprints marked upon my heart, guiding my journey as a Christ following student in Santiago Christian School.
artwork by Raquel Ochoa - 12
FABLES
artwork by Rianna Mo Liang - 9
The tragedy of a cricket
artwork by Jade Perez - 7
~
by Sara Santana - 11
There is a time in life when what you value most, whether a friend, a pet, or a thing, will turn out to be your enemy. Everyone goes through this essential part of life, and Johnny Cricket was no exception. But let’s take up his story from the beginning, shall we?
It was in 1995 that five-year-old Johnny met his best friend. This poor little boy had found someone who lit up the dark and desolate world he was born in. He had no siblings, aunts or uncles, and, unfortunately, no caring parent, but he had Philip Nightowl; his very own best friend and the only person he admired who reciprocated the feeling. At least, that was what he thought. Oh, poor little Johnny.
It was in 1995 that little Philip Nightowl met the person whom he would despise the most for the rest of his life. How could anyone blame him for abhorring the existence of a boy he was forced to love? Well, those were his thoughts on the matter. After all, all he ever heard from his ‘oh so loving’ parents were ‘poor Johnny this and little pitiful Johnny that’. Their words nor thoughts had any extra space for him and so, the young Nightowl stuck with little Johnny through the years in hopes of recovering his parents' love and affection.
Despite their different sentiments, they grew into the best of friends. A relationship envied by those who knew them. Oh, if they could only see beyond that wall of flattery. Although to be fair, Johnny Cricket could not see past it either. But that was then, both boys were now 17 and thriving. Johnny’s love and admiration for Philip grew and flourished into an appreciation one has for family. On the other hand, Philip’s distaste turned itself into a twisted and hateful obsession. This fixation was fed through the Nightowl’s proximity to Johnny, but he hid his intentions with a facade of kindness and admiration. It is safe to say that he was excellent at his selfproclaimed job because no one could see what lay beyond the surface.
The young Nightowl believed he was not loved by the two people he cared for the most. Instead, they focused their efforts on bettering the life of a child who was not theirs to take care of and neglected the son they swore to love. He later learned that this was not the case, but it is a wonder how the human mind can deceive itself into justifying its wrongs.
It is a mystery how Philip managed to conceal his true feelings for so long without anyone noticing, especially since he had multiple mishaps that may have cost him his reputation as a sweetheart. He’d get angry, his eyes would compare just a touch to those of a madman, and there was that one time he lashed out at a girl from the year below. It seems she was too afraid to say anything at the time. Johnny suspected nothing, of course, and followed Philip’s malicious advice whenever it was granted. He always seemed to have a stroke of luck as his plans never ended in his peril, much to Philip’s disappointment. However, his good fortune had seemed to run out, for the next time he listened to the bitter Night Owl would turn out to be his last.
The boys had a favorite and secluded spot just by the rusted bridge over the driedout river that they had claimed as theirs years before. They were the only ones to venture near that old bridge but Philip was always careful not to step on it as his weight could cause it to give in and collapse while Johnny, as usual, paid it no mind. The first person to step onto that rusted surface would go down with that bridge and Philip made it his job to make sure that Johnny became that unfortunate individual. Perhaps it was fate that Johnny was never afraid of the bridge giving away; instead, he insisted on it being relatively safe as it had not fallen despite its age. It certainly made Philip’s job less difficult.
Truth be told, I myself do not recall just how Philip managed to convince Johnny to step on that old and dangerous bridge. It was so long ago you see and my memory is not getting any younger. What I do remember is the adrenaline and relief he felt, as if a burden had been lifted off his shoulders just by having that pest they called a boy gone.
Years after the incident, many still claimed Philip Nightowl was not to blame for Johnny Cricket not making it past the age of 17. This is a lie. Philip Nightowl had everything to do with Johnny’s disappearance and there were times when he doubted his actions, but time hardened any remorse he had once felt as a young man.
He is no longer 17 but a middle-aged man working at his local library and aspiring to become an author renowned for his short narratives. His stories became a success, but he is most known for “The Tragedy of a Cricket”. A story akin to that old fable of a young Grasshopper who gets eaten by an old Owl.
Oh, what a tragedy. Had only the Grasshopper and the Cricket been more cautious. But after all, tragedies are such beautiful stories and this one is my utmost favorite for it is, in the words of Philip Nightowl himself, “The perfect retelling of my final victory against that wretched Johnny Cricket!”
Flattery is not proof of true admiration. Be cautious and do not let flattery throw you off your guard against an enemy.
The Stag and his reflection Retold
~ by Gabriela Mena - 11
*Slap*
“I instructed you to polish my crown gently. You’ve scratched it!” The King seethed with rage.
“Y-your majesty, I am deeply sorry,” stammered the slave, his voice shaky and his legs unsteady.
“Save it! Leave the palace immediately and instruct everyone else to do the same! No one is to set foot in the palace until sunrise. Now, leave before I consider unleashing my anger upon you, making your hands pay for the damages you’ve caused to my crown”
The slave hastily departed, making sure to keep his head low enough to avoid further disrespecting his highness.
“Nobody is worthy of sharing the same air as me, let alone work for me. Why is finding competent help so challenging these days?” The King grumbled annoyed, but nevertheless, he had more important matters to give his utmost attention to—namely, himself. He walked towards his six foot tall golden-framed mirror and carefully placed his crown on his head. He gazed at his reflection in awe and admired the rest of his opulence.
“The gold used for the crown cost 30 men their lives, the jewels eradicated two villages to obtain, the fur on my back forced the remaining last colony of foxes to migrate north, I truly possess the most magnificent riches.” His majesty greatly admired the superficial and was completely oblivious, not glancing twice at the efforts needed to behold such luxury.
Suddenly The King felt a wave of tiredness over him and decided he must have something to drink before bedtime.
“Someone bring me some water!” he shouted, but was instantly met with silence. After a brief pause, he waited before yelling again.
“Someone bring me some water this instant!”
Then he recalled his conversation with the slave and soon realized he had the palace all to himself.
A bitter and sour taste lingered in his mouth, causing a moment of reflection. Could he be regretting his choice? No, definitely not, he assured himself. His decision making was as magnificent as he. Dismissing the uneasy feeling, he blamed the bitter taste on dehydration. Heading downstairs and found the castle completely empty, no footsteps, no liveliness, not even a squeak to be heard. His majesty felt an unsettling fear by the eerie silence and decided to quickly grab the water jug and head back to his chambers. While he strolled through the hallway he lit a lantern, illuminating his path and shining its light upon the paintings hung on the wall. Every single painting was of the king, waist up, in the most extravagant clothing. If the palace hadn't felt so desolate, he would have stayed longer admiring each painting individually, giving every portrait a decent fraction of his time. Upon reaching the kitchen, he grabbed the water jug and headed back. The way back felt longer than the way to the kitchen.
“Who knew the castle could feel this unsettling? Has my palace always felt this lifeless?” He pondered as he headed up the stairs into his room. He closed the door behind him and a shiver went down his spine. Something was wrong. His room looked the same but it didn't feel the same. An uncanny feeling overtook the whole place. He walked up to his 6ft tall mirror to find comfort in admiring his riches once more.
“ How can it be?" he muttered frustrated, “that I am blessed with the most magnificent riches in the whole kingdom, yet my height isn’t but an eighth of my fortune.”
The King loved his mirror because of its rarity but he loathed how it reminded him of his shortcomings, he loved his paintings but hated how he had to be painted from the waist up to avoid confronting the reality of his short legs. The King stared at his legs in disgust and was overwhelmingly ashamed of his height.
“How can I be cursed with such ugliness when I wield the most magnificent crown, the most luxurious robe ” His majesty was interrupted by a sudden black figure that flashed across the mirror. Startled, he turned around and saw the black figure had soon taken the shape of a person, a person with intentions to kill. His majesty screamed “Help, an assassin!” but it was no use. His screams echoed through the empty halls, no one would come to his rescue. Could the servants have heard him but decided to ignore his pleas? Perhaps, he thought, maybe he did deserve this after all.
The King shoved the mirror to the ground, its shattering startled the intruder. His Highness, fueled by fear, ran downstairs into the throne room and tripped on his robe. He quickly crawled behind the throne covering his mouth to not make a noise, not even a breath. The King felt a moment of vulnerability. He was always accustomed to being in charge, emitting a predatory and domineering energy making everyone submit to his will.
“How can I be cursed with such ugliness when I wield the most magnificent crown, the most luxurious robe ” His majesty was interrupted by a sudden black figure that flashed across the mirror. Startled, he turned around and saw the black figure had soon taken the shape of a person, a person with intentions to kill. His majesty screamed “Help, an assassin!” but it was no use. His screams echoed through the empty halls, no one would come to his rescue. Could the servants have heard him but decided to ignore his pleas? Perhaps, he thought, maybe he did deserve this after all.
The King shoved the mirror to the ground, its shattering startled the intruder. His Highness, fueled by fear, ran downstairs into the throne room and tripped on his robe. He quickly crawled behind the throne covering his mouth to not make a noise, not even a breath. The King felt a moment of vulnerability. He was always accustomed to being in charge, emitting a predatory and domineering energy making everyone submit to his will. However, this time for the first time in his life he felt like the prey, like a stag being chased by a panther. The assassin reached the throne room and looked around. The King held his breath, becoming motionless to evade notice. In the corner of his eye the killer saw the shine and twinkle of the King’s crown peeking behind the throne. Soon enough the Assassin overtook him. Everything unfolded so quickly. The King perceived that the very slaves whom he had consistently mistreated could have demonstrated loyalty and might have saved him if only he had shown them compassion. However, he realized that the useless ornament on his head and the fur on his back were the cause of his fate. The regret intensified as he understood that his legs, the source of his shame, could have helped him to swiftly and rapidly escape the grasp of the killer, saving his life.
Leap from the store
~ by Carla Pou - 11
One night, when everything was surrounded by darkness and could only be seen by the almost non-funcionable street lights, a group of teenagers walked by. One of them, seemingly the leader, put his hand inside his under-sized jacket pockets and made an irritated expression. He was a normal height, always wore some sort of jacket, and his hair was a messy canvas for the colors dark brown and red. The one next to him was a bit taller, a white shirt and jeans with almost a bald head, except for the little punk-like hair patch he had on top. Walking a few steps behind them was a girl tall for her age that had jet-black wavy hair, bell pants and a gray crop top. Finally, next to her was another girl, younger than the rest, with short hair and wearing green cargo pants with an oversized black shirt.
They walked along the empty area until stopping on a park bench. The only things that could be heard were the buzzing of the street lamps, the cooler from a convenience store just on the other side of the street and the complaints from the partially red-head.
“Ugh, thank God we finally stopped walking. Dude, do you know how much my feet hurt-”
“Would you do me a favor and shut up, Jacob?!” the black haired girl said loudly towards him.
“Excuse me? Who do you think you are to be talking to me that way, Maria?!” he yelled back, now standing up ready to fight her
artwork by Maia Fernandez - 9
Side-eyeing the fight that was visibly about to begin, the tall, almost bald one shouldered the youngest and whispered warningly, “I think you should stop that fight Evelyn-”
“Noah, I know,” she said.
She got up and began to calm down the situation by talking to the two angered teens out of it. For the most part, it didn’t work, but at least they sat back down. Just as silence was about to take over again, another complaint was heard.
“I’m hungry-”
“Oh my goodness, you’re going to start with that again?!” Maria yelled towards Jacob, to which he responded with an annoyed face.
“Mari, calm down. It wasn’t him, it was Noah,” Everlyn claimed calmly, which made Maria relax almost immediately.
A few seconds passed in silence until it was interrupted, once again, by a loud noise: a growl. Noah, being a bit embarrassed about his actively vocal stomach, grasped it and started to curl up into a ball, gaining a pat on the back from Evelyn. Jacob saw Noah’s miserable hungry state, sighed, and stood back up from the bench.
“Fine! Let’s go get some snacks. I honestly can't keep seeing the poor man like this…” Jacob chuckled a bit, whispering the last part to himself, while putting his hands in his jacket pockets again. Mari, with a slightly annoyed yet understanding sigh, got up as well and stood beside Jacob. Noah and Evelyn quickly follow the same action behind them, wanting to get some tasty snacks as soon as possible. The group walked not so quietly across the street towards the store; kicking pebbles and laughing amongst themselves as they walked through the automatic doors that made a small ding noise when they opened and closed it. The only worker at the store, the cashier, gave them a bored greeting which was ignored and simply stared back into the bright screen of his phone.
The group, still chuckling and talking, walked annoyingly loud through the rather narrow passages of the store, trying to find the most tasty-looking snacks to take Noah crouched down near some cookies and whispered a comment to (mainly) Mari, “Yo dude, that dude looks bald as heck.”
“I know he looks kinda stupid too,” Mari giggled along as she crouched down too so that she could hear better.
Jacob, being close enough to hear their exchange about the cashier, walked behind them and inserted himself into the conversation.
“You know, he looks slow too…” he purred with a mischievous smile, holding a pack of noodles tightly.
Both Mari and Noah caught on to what he wanted to say and grabbed some stuff they wanted as well with a grin, but Evelyn did not do such a thing as she was not close enough to hear. She wondered why the rest of the group was suddenly so quiet and looked at them; seeing they were grabbing things like chips, sodas and candy, she grabbed three packets of gum and 2 cans of sodas, walked over to them and threw her things into the basket.
As she began to walk away from the group and around the store, the cashier eyed her suspiciously, but only received a smile back. Quickly, he went back to looking at his phone and left Evelyn alone. The others grabbed a pack of masks and ripped it open, each hurriedly taking one and putting it on. Evelyn came back with a bucket of ice cream and a bunch of sour gummies, ready for the candy-sugary-acidic banquet that would never happen. Jacob, jacket now filled with savory snacks, looked around the halls of the store, as if he was expecting someone to come in and stop them, but no one was looking towards them.
Evelyn watched from the inside as the others leaped and jumped outside; Mari did look back as she noticed the missing person in the group, but was soon snapped back to reality by Noah, who was warning the other two about the sheriff that was approaching.
Minutes later, a man the sheriff came into the store and saw a tired cashier sitting next to a teenager, not letting her out of his sight. About 2 hours later, Evelyn was sitting in the sheriff’s office, waiting for him inside the anxiously silent room. But, then the silence was interrupted by a phone notification and Evelyn was curious enough to open it; the text was from Jacob himself.
The message read: “Sorry man, ya shoulda known honestly. I’m not gonna do anything ‘bout this cause ya shoulda seen this comin’ ”
Turning off her phone, Evelyn simply looked up to the ceiling and contemplated some things quietly, then she mumbled,
“I should have known,” and with that, she waited for the sheriff to come in and let her leave.
Noah chuckled, which Mari quickly hushed, and whispered something incoherently to Jacob. Soon enough, with a quiet count from Jacob, the three of them sprinted out of the convenience store in a dash. Evelyn tried to follow their sudden flee as she was left behind but the cashier was fast enough to pull the emergency button and close the doors with a lock.
artwork by Hiba Chamy - 9
SPANISH WORKS
artwork by Yamily De Los Santos - 12
Poemas Satiricos
artwork by Maia Peña - 8
En el nombre del Progreso
~ by Ashey Grullon and Luis Trigo - 11
Ser activista ¿qué significa?
¿Leales serán a sus palabras? Ellos piensan que son progresistas, los veo y me dan carcajadas.
Estas personas que tanto retan, pero realmente no hacen nada.
¿Por qué no bajas del avión, Greta, si es verdad que te molestaba?
Tiran tartas a la Mona Lisa y creen que están en lo correcto. ¡Ahora son unos extremistas!
Todo en el nombre del “progreso”.
Se quejan, se quejan y se quejan. Repiten todo cual guacamayo.
Nunca actúan, siempre pelean. ¡Nuestra paciencia se está agotando!
Pero cuando la fama se acabe, ¿seguirás dulce como la miel?
¿Seguirás usando ese yate, o tu dinero para el bien?
Querido Estados unidos
~ by Gabriela Mena and Hye Lim Chang - 11
“Vete a tu país” ellos gritan, pero aman la cultura latina. Siempre critican nuestro sazón, y adoran nuestro musicón.
“Aquí se habla inglés” ellos dicen, mientras que su español es un crimen. Aquí en sus chulas vacaciones, y siempre andan buscando acciones.
“Ching, chong, chan”, me lo dices a mí, mientras que disfrutan de mi sushí. Pasándola bien con nuestras series, pero burlándonte de mis seres.
El pelo chino a ellos les fascina; mes tras mes se ponen keratina. Quieres mis ojos finos de gato, y así dices que a tus perros mato.
Con este llamado les llegamos, pueden sentirse identificados. Mi cultura no es diversión ni tampoco es su inversión.
Álgebra,no te entiendo
~ by Johanaly Rodriguez and Jara Felipe- 11
¿Que el padre del álgebra te haces llamar? Tú lo que me das es ganas de llorar.
A graduarme voy pronto y por ti toco fondo.
¿Para qué aprender si no puedo entender? Pierdo mi tiempo injustamente para que se me olvide lentamente.
¡Ay, Muhammad! El álgebra tú creaste y mi vida, un desastre.
Por tu culpa, no comprendo, la escuela ya no entiendo.
Tu habilidad me sorprende, el álgebra no se comprende.
A muy pocos les gusta; a mí solo me frustra.
En vano te aprendo, pero ya me estoy yendo. Una vez que termine, de ti me deshice.
Cuerpos sin alma
~ by Maria Bojos - 12
Los cuerpos como palillos, deshidratados, malnutridos, frágiles, a falta de comida y bebida, a falta de vitaminas y minerales. Almas captadas en cuerpecillos frágiles.
Mueren buscando un plato, no se rinden hasta encontrar un vaso.
Rogando en la calle y buscando en el zafacón.
Cuerpos vacíos, cuerpos con hambre.
La ropa no encaja y los huesos sobresalen. No es normal esta situación. No podemos quedarnos callados. ¿Cómo podemos ayudar?
Volteas la cara cuando los miras. No te imaginas cosa igual. Vuelves a tu casa y te olvidas, pero siguen ahí sin comer. Necesitan tu ayuda ahora.
Poema Social
artwork by Isabella Villanueva - 7
WRITING COMPETITION
artwork by Sara Reyes - 9
Poems
artwork by Yamily de los Santos - 12
Wants
~ by Shiloh Davis - 8
I wanna feel pretty
I say that like it some kind of lottery
But maybe I would feel pretty if I lost that one calorie
Do you ever feel bad for the way you made me feel
Every time you said something, another part of me came up to steal
Maybe I'd feel pretty if I didn't eat that one meal
I don't think you realize how much I idolized your opinion
Every word you said was a new thing for me to change about myself
I'm so tired of being empty inside
It's like everyone else has my life to decide
You said it was just a joke
Then why did my heart feel like it was about to choke
If my life is such a joke to you, then leave
Instead of trying to deceive
I'm begging you, just leave
With you gone, I could finally believe
Believe I'm wanted
Believe someone could actually care about me
My God, My Father, My savior
~ by Ella Rogers - 8
What ifs fill my head
Text messages I leave on read
My life dangling by a thread
My whole body filled with dread
Thing I wish I left unsaid
What if, what if, what if.
I slowly begin to drift
Until I was given a gift
A man who came to save
I was no longer a slave I no longer caved
For a wonderful man came to save.
He is my salvation
He gave me a new kind of motivation
He got rid of my self hatred
I now know why I was created
My life filled with a new light I will not go down without a fight I know you are with me at midnight.
I will now forever worship you
My father and my king
My heart I will bring
For I feel tied to you like a string
To you I will forever sing
My God, My father, my savior
You are my creator
I am no longer a traitor
For I know that you are greater You have filled an unknown krater.
To you my life is devoted Satan has been outvoted I am finally focused You make me feel noticed.
You brought me out of the darkness You helped me with my problems You are now my fortress I now feel like I am gorgeous.
Satan now forgotten God has made me soften
Now I walk in your garden It’s better than autumn.
Your love is everlasting I’m no longer collapsing I am now forever dancing It’s just me and you My Father, My God, my savior.
Beyond fog
It was January 20, 2 the Capital. We don answers are in The F
My name is Tom Tre currently trying to f g y p g and be out of the border by the afternoon. Before the curfew, I will write an update tomorrow.
My name is Tom Treve, and I'm currently on the other side of the border, I am in Trident, Rebels, and I need to blend in, I have entered the center of the Rebels and need to take the train, I need to stop the train somehow before it makes it to the middle, I will write when I think of a plan.
I got it. I'll go to the bathroom cut a hole, and cut the brakes. If this is like all trains it should stop and make a stop, and I'll be out of here. Ok if I remember this train model it is the Ez Transit Model 230 pro the brakes should be right here, was it red or blue? Crap I need to hold on to something, Ok here we go (CRASH).
Oh man, where am I? I hope I didn't hit my head a little too hard. Wait is that a sign, Crap in Behind a fence but I see some letters Wel o e t Fl r da. Let me climb the fence real quick, huh it says Welcome to Florida. Whats Florida. It doesn't matter let's explore more.
This is amazing this has to be from 201 , What was that rumble, I can't go in there Let me use the drone. Ok, there we go. Wow, this place is pretty crazy, I can't believe people lived here. But this looks fine to live in why did we abandon it (cough) Right I think I've been here for a (yawn) little to (yawn) looooooo… Oh man, how long have I been out? “Hey kid” huh where am I? “What do you mean, you're in Florida, the sunshine state.” FLORIDA, WAIT WAIT WHAT YEAR IS IT? “Uhhh 2029 ” But is it not 2036? “ Hahahahaha, oh kid your imagination is wild, anyway don't you have parents?” Yeah, but I live alone in the Capital, I visit the Republicans from time to time “Oh, so you live in Tallahassee” No “What's the Republican?” The second nation “What is the second nation?” The Republican “That's it I'm going back to my house” KRTZZ WARNING WARNING THIS IS NOT A DRILL EVACUATE EMETIETLY wha- what's happening “I don't Know, Now I'm going back to my house!” I'm also leaving!!! Grunt Humph I CANT MOVE HELP HELLLLLLLLLP. Huff huff huff what happened, was that a dream? I have to explore more, huh was that sign always here? “Evacuate Toxic Gas Don't Inhale WithOut Protection.” Wait let me take a photo of this, I have to show this
5 Days Later
“Hey Tom” Yes? “People are still confused how you got this photo, can you tell us” Ahh easy you Just have to go Beyond the Fog.
The Lost Ghost
~ by Ha Eun Kim - 7
“Are you The Lost Ghost?”
Maybe. That was one of the nicknames the hos She had roamed the halls in the dead of the night ever s he first time anyone had approached her, especially another patient.
The hospital called “Steps to Heaven” was a major hospital which had 3 floors; the 1st was for check ups, shots, and basic needs, as well as the ER The 2nd floor was where surgery and treatments were in place. Lastly, the 3rd floor. That was for the people in treatment, but had very little chance of getting out alive.
Eden was one of those people. She had a chronic illness that was yet to be discovered, and had no treatment. Her parents had been devastated when they found out that her illness was incurable. She was 8 when she first got checked out. She was 9 when she was assigned to the second floor after she fainted in school, then reported to have difficulty breathing.
Finally, the third floor The floor everyone dreads to go to She first went in when she was 14. She was 17 now. She was on the 3rd floor for 3 years now. She had seen people come and go, in different ways. In the hospital, things were. . . cruel.
“Hey!” Eden heard a familiar voice calling her as she walked towards the cafeteria. “Hey Aella,” Eden said. Aella was a girl on the second floor because she had been in a major car crash, which resulted in her chest being severely injured. Eden, however, was sure she would get out healthy. Aella was on the second floor, so she wore teal clothing. Eden was wearing the white, ghostly gown of the third floor.
Aella sighed dramatically as she leaned on to Eden, “Eden, the new patient in floor 2 scared me so much! He was around our age, and he was so handsome, but so scary.” Eden sighed. Aella was into this kind of thing, but sometimes it got kind of excessive. Aella continued, ignoring the sigh, “I think his name was Atlantis? I don’t know, he wasn’t wearing the name card, and I think that’s what the staff called him.” Eden listened to her rant for a bit more about this guy, who apparently had a red eye, and was called Atlantis. After a while though, Aella changed the topic.
After some more talking, Aella was escorted back by her nurse, Emilia. Now, back in her bed, she thought about the new kid in floor two that Aella had talked about. A guy her age, with a red eye The staff gave nicknames to anyone notable in the hospital, which wasn’t a lot. There are about 14 nicknames in total, not including the new kid, if he had one, and Eden’s. Three of the nicknames are hers, for all three floors that she experienced. That happens with all people with nicknames, just that all of them are gone by now Except for Eden. And maybe the new kid.
That night, Eden went down to the halls, the one that led to the children’s rooms. Eden was too old to be in there anymore, and she was glad. Everything there was too colorful. It was a room for children, yes, but Eden liked the monochrome background of the rest of the hospital, especially the white furniture on the 3rd floor.
It had been a while since Eden had been here. She had fainted due to iron deficiency a few days ago, so she wasn’t allowed to get out of bed until yesterday As she walked down the hall, Eden thought about her friends, Eliza and Miles. They were healthy. Eden thought that was great. She smiled softly then sat down on a bench.
Suddenly, there was an unfamiliar voice. It was a smooth and deep voice. It called, “Are you the Lost Ghost?”
Yeah. That was one of the nicknames the hospital staff had given her, after all. She had roamed the halls in the dead of the night ever since she got here, and they gave her this nickname for this reason. However, this was the first time anyone had approached her here, let alone another patient. Eden turned to see a handsome young man, who wore the teal robes that were assigned to people on the second floor To her, he seemed to be around 19. Eden was just about to leave, when she noticed the young man’s eye. It was bright red, flashing in the dark.
When she remembered the new kid Aella had talked about, she was interested in knowing who he was. “Maybe I am. Are you a ghost too?” The young man blinked, then said, “Not yet. I’m Atlantis, the soon to be friend of the Lost Ghost.” Interesting. His attitude more than the fact that Atlantis was actually his name, not a nickname. For some reason, Eden didn’t want this conversation to end Most people avoided her as if she had some kind of deadly virus. This one didn’t. This young man named Atlantis didn’t. So she continued. “Alright, Atlantis,” She hummed. “Meet me again in these halls when you are. We’ll roam the halls together ” Atlantis smiled “Sure We’ll be worldwide famous ” Eden had just met this man, yet she felt like she had known him for years. She felt that. . . They were already friends. Atlantis and Eden talked for a bit, and Eden found this young man to be very knowledgeable and funny. She couldn’t understand why Aella had called him scary, because to her, over the 30 minutes they had talked, they had already become friends.
The next day, when Eden was about to leave, she took her camera then left for the halls Sure enough, Atlantis was waiting for her in the same spot they had first met. They exchanged greetings, and after a few more topics flying by, Eden asked, “Do you want to take a selfie?”
Atlantis blinked. “Oh well isn’t that a quick approach?” He remarked. Every time Eden made a friend, she would take a selfie with them. When they left healthy, she would draw a pink heart next to it. If they had passed away, she would add a green heart. If they were still here, like her friend Aella, it would be blank. It kind of became a tradition ever since her best friend, Elijah, had passed away.
“Is that a yes or a no?” Eden sighed She knew they had only known each other for a day, and it was sort of a push. She’d been rejected before by people anyway. “Why, Eden, I would love to take a picture with you.” Atlantis teased. Eden smiled, aimed the camera at the two of them then she exclaimed, “Cheese!” That night, Eden added a new picture to the board of pictures, this one, unique, taken in the middle of the night.
Atlantis and Eden hung out every night, which resulted in them getting very close. After about a month of seeing each other every day, Atlantis had not come to their usual spot that night Nor the next Not even for the following week Every single one of those nights, Eden had waited for him until the break of dawn until after a bit less than a week, she decided that he had left. She didn’t know which way, so she didn’t add a green or pink heart More so, she had hoped he would have gotten out healthy However, representing his eye and how close they had been,she added a red heart. Little did Eden know that that red heart she drew next to his picture would progress into something more. Something a whole lot different from what she had first imagined.
After a few days of life returning to normal. Or that’s what Eden thought, because fate had it out for her. That day, Eden got what might be the next problem of her short lived life.
5 days was the amount of time given to her. In 5 days she was going to die. Could she change it? Maybe it was meant to be. She couldn't do anything about it. Well if it was going to happen, might as well prepare for it, right? Well, this isn’t the first time the hospital had said she would die in a certain amount of days. She had survived, but every time the hospital said so, that’d make everyone nervous. Aella would cry about it, her nurse Mary would rant over her. The hospital staff would be extra nice, and her parents, as well as her friends, Eliza and Miles, would visit as soon as they heard the news. How did Eden know this? This was the 3rd time the hospital had said something like this. Today Eliza and Miles visited. They were her childhood friends, siblings bickered often, but even so, Eden found that endearing “You have to take care of yourself more, Eden ” Miles sighed Eliza had clearly been crying, but was trying to hide it from Eden. Eden pretended she didn’t know. Eliza crossed her arms, then muttered, “You better not die, because I’m going to miss you.” Eden smiled at the pair, then hummed, “Don’t worry, I’ll live ” “You better ” The two siblings said in unison.
After the two left, Eden was left alone, and she thought about her parents, who were coming tomorrow, and Atlantis. How she missed him. She looked at her board of pictures, with Atlantis’ picture next to Elijah’s.
After Atlantis’ mysterious disappearance, Eden had stopped going to the halls in the dead of the night, to her nurse, Mary’s delight. Tonight, though, she was going to roam the halls once again. Miles and Eliza’s visit might have done something that inspired her to just go back to roaming the halls When she returned to their usual spot, she was surprised by a white clothed silhouette that was sitting on the bench.
Who was that? Shoulder length black hair draping down a white gown, with an injection tube running down their thin silhouette The thin silhouette turned around, and there Eden een a month ago. . . Atlantis. Eden’s eyes widened, Eden finally broke it by calling out, “Atlantis! I dbye!” She could not explain how much she that he had been gone. No, she couldn’t explain it.
Atlantis smiled, then said, “Eden, you know I would never. Even if I were to die, I would make sure to say goodbye, because if I didn’t, I’d haunt you.” Eden laughed. It had been weeks since she had laughed like that “How can you haunt a ghost? I’m the Lost Ghost, Atlantis! I’ll haunt you instead!” Eden announced proudly. Atlantis smiled. “Alright Ghost Lady. I’ve got a present for you. Take this walkie-talkie. That way you can talk to me without having to come down here by yourself ” Eden’s eyes brightened.
The next morning, Eden’s parents visited. They had no real conversation, just her mother crying, and her father standing there solemnly, muttering prayers. That lasted 30 minutes, then they left, her mother sobbing, and crying that she wanted to have a conversation with her daughter. Eden and her mom were close when she was little, but after Eden became ill, her father distanced her mother from her
Aella also came to visit, sobbing about topics that she always wanted to talk about. “You know Eden,” Aella sobbed “I’ll talk about the topics I always wanted to talk to you about ” They spoke about all sorts of things, such as life outside the hospital, news, and more. After hours of talking, Another topic came up. “What is that guy Atlantis like?” That was the question that Aella last wanted her to answer before her nurse Emilia would take her back to her room. Eden sighed. “He is amazing, but I can’t understand why I feel sort of. . . empty.” Aella gasped “Don’t tell me you love him..! You have to confess! Look at how much time you have left!” Eden smiled, even if she felt a little sad. “I know Aella, I do love him, but I’m not built for love, I’ll tell you that And for confessing, I guess I should It’s not like I’ll stay for much longer.” Aella paused in realization, then cried “Oh Eden. . . I didn’t mean it like that, I’m so sorry!” Eden smiled. She knew Aella accidentally slipped sometimes “It’s fine,” She’d say while Aella moaned apologetically, tears streaming down her face
After Aella stopped crying, she left, promising that she’d come every day until Eden would die, or until she was considered to not be in a life threatening situation anymore. “I’m your best friend! If you go away, I’ll create a copy of our selfie, and add a heart next to it!” That made Eden happy.
After her nurse Mary dropped by to give her food, her walkie-talkie rang “Ghost Girl! I’m going to sneak out to see you today, because I heard that you might actually become a ghost. . . Don’t worry, I’ll follow you if you ever do become one. As you said, we’ll roam the halls in the dead of the night ” Eden smiled “I guess we would And I guess we would also have infinite time with each other, too.”
“That’d be nice. Just wandering together, exploring places. I’ll come to see you tonight.” “I’ll be waiting.”
So that’s how it was. Eden guessed that Aella’d want her to confess to Atlantis. So Eden would. She didn’t have anything to lose, so why not? No, Actually. Eden realized it was quite the opposite She had too much to lose now Atlantis, Aella, Mary, Emilia, Eliza, Miles, and even her parents.
So the Lost Ghost was on her way, going down the halls to enjoy everything, everyone. Down until the moment where she was six foot under
The Piece of food
~ by Micah Davis - 12
Preston Walker stepped out of his car at exactly 12:00 and walked over to the picnic tables by the entrance of the hiking trail. Left foot, right foot, left, right, left, right, left, right and sat down at a bench.
He glanced down at his watch. His friend, Jamie Fernandez, had asked him to come here between noon and 12:15, which meant he was not technically late yet. They had been friends since they were children, and although they were no longer as close, they would still go for hikes sometimes
Preston's eyes scanned the picnic area. There were four picnic tables, each of which could seat 8 people Immediately, Preston could detect an obvious problem They were not geometrically aligned. This was a critical error.
Preston got back up, walked to his car and unlocked the trunk. Inside, there were three boxes, carefully lined up. His first aid kit, his car jack and his toolbox. He opened the toolbox and took out a measuring tape and a protractor. He closed his toolbox and car, then walked back over to the picnic area.
The tables were not aligned to form a rectangle, rather a parallelogram. After careful measurement with his protractor and measuring tape, he decided the tables should be at 115 and 65 degree angles, the long distance should be 15 feet and the short length should be 10. Preston then lifted the tables from their previous haphazard placement to their new, slightly shifted position, in order to create a parallelogram.
Once he was satisfied that the tables were perfectly parallel and their distances were all perfectly measured, he returned the measuring instruments to his toolbox and returned to sit at the table. The bare patches in the grass where the legs of the table had once been bothered him, but it was a necessary evil to correct the placement of the wooden tables
Fortunately, Jamie pulled up in his truck just a minute later. He got out of his vehicle and walked over to Preston
"Preston!” He wrapped his friend in a bear hug. “Man, it’s so good to see you!”
“Good to see you, too.”
“Thanks for coming on such short notice. I just really had to talk to someone.”
“Of course, you ready to start the walk?” Preston asked, glancing down at his watch so he would be able to tell exactly how long the walk would last.
“Yeah, sure.” The friends started down the worn dirt trail into the woods, as they had done dozens of times. “You may be wondering why I asked to go on this walk.” Jamie began.
One of Preston’s shoelace loops on his left sneaker was slightly bigger than the other one. How could that have possibly escaped his notice while he was tying them, he had no idea. It must have snagged on something
“...Donna and I are breaking up…” Jamie continued, oblivious to Preston’s plight.
Preston got down on one knee to correct his shoelace. He undid the knot, then tied it again so that it was perfectly symmetrical.
“...same old problems…”
“Uh huh.” Preston wasn’t trying to ignore his friend, but it was pretty difficult to concentrate when he was making sure to carefully measure his stride so that it matched with Jamie’s rhythm. Left, right, left, right, left, right, left, right, left, right, left, right, left, right, left, right, left, right, left, right.
Then Jamie tripped momentarily on a rock. It was such a minor movement that he didn’t even stop talking or shift his body weight at all. But he did take an extra step with his right leg.
Preston looked up at Jamie. “...I really loved her…” he continued, not addressing the second step at all. How could he ignore that?
Preston took a second step with his left foot to compensate for his friend, but that just made him feel out of balance. Like there was no perfection. With what seemed like Herculean effort, he wrenched his focus from Jamie’s pace to what he was saying
“I don’t know, man. I thought she cared about me, you know?” he paused. “I’m just glad you’re my friend. You’ve always had my back.” Jamie smiled at Preston, and that’s when he noticed it.
A small piece of food was lodged between his front teeth. It was very small, a little black speck between those white teeth “You have food between your middle teeth ” Preston informed him.
Jamie sucked in air between his teeth, trying to dislodge the particle that was stuck there “Did I get it?” he asked.
“No.”
“Whatever, doesn’t matter.” he kept walking. “The point is, I don’t know what to do about Donna…”
How could that bit of food have gotten there, anyway? They hadn’t even had lunch, how could that still be there? Surely he would have noticed and removed something like that if it had been there since breakfast
“...tell her…”
Everytime Jamie wanted to get a point across, he would look over at Preston, and Preston would see the obstruction in his teeth again. 14 teeth on the top, 14 teeth on the bottom. Jamie had gotten braces, which made them nice and straight and organized, just like how Preston liked them The particle of food was ruining it It was imperfection
“I know–” Jamie began.
“You have something in your teeth.” Preston interrupted for the second time.
Jamie stopped, a little annoyed at getting cut off again. He stuck his picky in his mouth, trying to get at the thing that was between his teeth After a few seconds of trying, he pulled back his lips for Preston to check again.
“Did I get it now?”
“No, it’s still there.”
“Really, I don’t care. Don’t worry about it.”
The problem was not solved.
Jamie’s face brightened. “Do you remember this place from when we were kids…”
Food food food food teeth teeth teeth teeth That’s all Preston could think about Food in the teeth. Glaring at him while his friend talked. Laughing at him. Taunting him. The disorder he was incapable of fixing.
“...used to jump off this ledge…”
Preston wanted to scream. It was that particle of food. It wouldn’t go away. It felt like torture, someone stabbing his temples with needles The headache was intense It seemed like everything else was fading away, his vision tunneling in on that food food food in the teeth teeth teeth. Food disrupting the teeth. Food in the teeth.
“Heck, we could do it now!”
Preston snapped out of it at this suggestion. Jump off this ledge? They were by the river now, by a clearing that had a 30 foot cliff over a deep section of the water. They had done this jump plenty of times when playing in the river as children. However, Preston immediately opened his mental file of newspapers he read every day. April 7, 2017. Three days ago Third page, second section, was the title, “Teen dies jumping into river ”
This river. A tree had fallen into the water during a storm, and now lay just a few feet below the surface; a fatal trap
Preston started talking at the same time that Jamie did. “Jamie, I saw…”
“Why not? It’s so hot, it’ll be fun. Do you want to?” Jamie smiled. The food once again was offensive to him, glaring at him, torturing him. He was caught off guard, and it almost distracted him
“No, I–” Preston began.
“Oh, come on!” he protested and stripped off his shirt. “For old times sake. You remember doing it all those summers ago with me, don’t you?” Preston couldn’t really understand what he was saying no matter how hard he tried. All that was there was the food, the food, the food. That little piece of food. Stuck, forever in his teeth. A discoloration among the sheen of his white teeth. He had to close his eyes to shut it out.
Preston shook his head, clearing the fog “No, we shouldn’t–”
“Oh, whatever. I’ll do it by myself.” Jamie took a step back to launch himself off the cliff. Right before jumping, he hesitated and gave his best friend a boyish grin “Wait, what were you going to say, again?”
Jamie there’s die! The shout food.
Jamie’s grin s harsh and cru but it was imp killing his mind never go Away.
There was not Nothing he co Nothing could Could make it Make it stop. Stop Stop. Stop.
… …
There was… n
“Hello?” Jamie
“I’ll hold your
