Heal - Literary Magazine 2018-2019

A THOUSAND WORDS 2018-2019 VOLUME 6

HEAL A SHALHEVET LITERARY MAGAZINE

SHORT STORIES, POEMS, PHOTOGRAPHY

Table of Contents 3..............................................................................The Battle By Neima Fax 6.............................................................. Finding Soul By Anya Mendelson 7............................................................... Heal, Love, Repeat By Eva Suissa 9.............................................................This Is a Metaphor By Ami Nelson 10............................................................ Shining Shadows By Sam Navon 11................................................................... Blue Bird By Hannah Poltorak 14............................................................................ A Galaxy By Rachel Lasry 15....................................................................... Another Day By Noah Rossi 18....................................................... My Butterfly Angel By Kira Faerstain 18.............................................................................. Enough By Rachel Lasry 19.............................................. Consuming California By Jackie Faerstain 21... The Friendships That Launched a Thousand Ships By Gabby Grunfeld 23................................................................. paNIc aTTacK By Eliana Mizrahi 25.......................................................................... Thankful By Eliana Cohen 27......................................................... Our Sidewalk Stamp By Maya Miro 28..................................................... Victims of France By Brittany Marshak 29............................................ A Fish in The Tank: Part II By Daniella Silva 31.................................................................A Broken Leg By Shira Weinreb 33........................................................... Enlightenment By Adira Waldman 35 .....................................................The Unspoken Path By Abby Blumofe 36 ...............................................The Manchester Angels By Kira Faerstain 37..................... When We’re About to Finish Healing By Abbi Sentchuk 38............................................. A Miracle, By A Mile By Bailey Mendelson 1

Contributing Artists Aiden Bieda, 11th Grade Emma Mackler, 11th Grade Izzy Hoffman, 12th Grade Adina Ackerman, 9th Grade Neima Fax, 11th Grade Sam Rabinowitz, 11th Grade Jordana Glouberman, 12th Grade Sheyna Schusterman, 11th Grade

Contributing Photographers Josh Sarir, 12th Grade Neima Fax, 11th Grade Adira Waldman, 12th Grade

Contributing Filmmakers 12th Grade Talia Abel Eva Suissa Tara Chriki Noa Kligfeld Daniel Medovoy

Adin Keiter Adam Ritz Elinore Keredian Aaron Navon Michael Soussana Eitan Remer

Singers and Songwriters 12th Grade Bailey Mendelson Eliana Cohen

Front and Back Cover Drawings 12th Grade Ariella Sassover

Editors

Jackie Faerstain Kira Faerstain Abby Blumofe Abbi Sentchuk

Faculty Advisor

Dear Readers, Within this literary magazine you will find a collection of artistic visions produced by students and faculty at Shalhevet High School. Each year the magazine is intended to give students a platform to express their artwork, storytelling, poetry, photography, and creativity. This year, for the first time, we are also including film and music.

The theme we have chosen is healing. Literature has the ability to express one’s thoughts or emotions even when they are unable to do so themselves.

The theme captures both the physical and emotional, through relationships, repairing the world, and one’s body and mind. We hope that this medium can act as a source of healing for you. We encourage you to use these works as an opportunity to become inspired to reflect on your own experiences.

What we first had in mind when creating this piece was much different than what came of it. Similar to healing, creating this magazine was a process.

Our society today is heavy with tragedies shown on the news and stories in the paper. We believe the works on these pages can act as a light that cuts through the darkness, and can hopefully provide solace for our community.

Warmly, Abby, Abbi, Kira, and Jackie

Ms. Michelle Crincoli 2

The Battle By: Neima Fax

11th Grade

It started when I was young, In around seventh grade, When girls fixed up their hair instead of selling lemonade, When I realized I wasn’t up to par.

My feed was flooded With weight loss tea, And how I should look, God just let me be.

But my phone made my self control a blur.

My hair was a mess, And my shoes were lame, So I bought some new kicks I was no longer ashamed.

But in Eighth grade the girls raised the bar.

And now all I can think Is if I’m skinny enough, Or if my hair looks weird, Or my skin looks rough.

I might look ok but inside I feel like death.

And all of a sudden, I learned about makeup.

It could conceal your scars, Just patch them right up, But I hadn’t realized scars were something to hate.

When ninth grade hit It was too much to take.

Now my body was wrong And makeup was fake, And I dressed for what guys called my rate.

But little did I know, Until it really began, What I was in for, When I got Instagram, And at the push of a button I was insecure.

But I use my makeup And my weight loss tea And I’ll fake a smile So they’ll think I’m happy, As I suck in my stomach and hold my breath The worst part by far Is that I don’t know why I’m trying to fake perfect For anyone who passes by.

They may like me but do I even like myself?

I forgot one key thing, The entire purpose Of self improvement.

I just looked at the surface.

When you change, make sure it’s for yourself.

You can fix up your hair.

You can buy new kicks.

You can care about your clothes, And your makeup tricks.

But oh god please know you are worth the world.

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Art By: Aiden Bieda

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Falling Soul By: Anya Mendelson 9th Grade

Do you ever lie in bed at night and wonder about what could have been?

Have you ever kept yourself awake, careful not to let the monsters in?

Is the fear that you don’t do things right, ever too much to bear?

Do you ever think about your life and realize what you want is not there?

It is not normal to think about these things and try to mend the broken parts.

Do not let those thoughts ruin the love inside your heart.

The healing process is a scary thing, especially when the pain cuts so deep.

Just step off the ledge, take a deep breath and find that missing piece.

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Art By: Aiden Bieda

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Heal, Love, Repeat By: Eva Suissa

12th Grade

I constantly wonder about the lives of other people.

What does she do everyday? What does he think about?

These are the thoughts my brain seems to shout, but most importantly I question if the things I say to people cause them to pout.

In every interaction, I drift to the distraction, of being in someone else’s situation.

How would I feel if someone said that to me?

Did that to me?

Lied like that to me?

It is for this reason I also wonder why others cannot reciprocate this lack of hate that swims around me and strokes the ugliness off my slate.

I am not sure if it is my environment that causes humanity to suffocate, or the lack of beauty they grew up with in their home estate, but I know it blankets me with a darkness I cannot escape and am learning to break.

My cries heavier, deeper, darker on this 18th rotation around something that is supposed to provide so much light. If only everyone would embrace the sun and shine as bright, then I’m sure we’d all reach new heights.

It’s time to deny the hypocrisy and comply to acceptance, love, and no woman will goddamn ever cry.

Let’s loosen the ropes that we hold others with so close and rain down the peace hose.

Communicate, give and take, reciprocate, repeat.

Communicate, give and take, reciprocate, repeat.

Communicate, give and take, reciprocate, repeat.

Communicate, give and take, reciprocate, repeat.

Bob Marley said it first friends, “emancipate yourself from mental slavery, none but ourselves can free our minds.”

The man was right, but he forgot that there is more to the fight, because we can help free each other if we just shine some light.

On my journey with connecting to this light, I pray to maintain hope for I see glimpses of beauty everyday that help me to cope.

Recognize this beauty, sympathize because it is your duty.

If you’d like to be a human that is more than just being, love yourself first, love others too, love love, and soon you will realize the magic so many speak of.

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Art By: Izzy Hoffman

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This is a Metaphor By: Ami Nelson

12th Grade

My mind still flashes back to the day It was sunny and chill in the bay I felt something tear into my lower limb My leg gave out, and I knew it would be grim It tore me apart, then came back around I would have been done, if I wasn’t found They pulled me up, and their red lights flashed in my eyes I heard the siren, even through my cries I can’t walk without crutches, and move without help I have PTSD even when I see kelp I haven’t been back in the water since then I have an idea, But I don’t know when I’m going to get back in and face my fear As long as there are no sharks, then I’m all clear

Deep Breath

Song Written and Sang By: Eliana Cohen

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Shining Shadows By: Sam Navon 12th Grade

Pictures on a wall Inevitably will fall.

But make it a memory And it enters the minds treasury The golden light defeats the dark Even though its chill is most stark, And we rise like an endless chateau Where we reveal the eternal shadow.

In light they flourish like a potent flower.

These dark shapes aren’t meant to scour Standing tall and prominent like a tower, Shining Shadows unsheath their power.

We don’t need villains to create the heroes The number of deaths exceeds five zeroes Their names may not be in our minds But there presence is felt at all times.

Photo By: Neima Fax

Their ashes engraved into the earth Through plants they are rebirthed Their shadows stand in daylight As their souls continue to fight.

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Blue Bird Blue Bird By: Hannah Poltorak

Grade By: Hannah10thPoltarak

Once, there was a bird. This bird had beautiful blue feathers. Those feathers made the bird who she was. After a rainy day, the bird flew into a tree to watch the sunset that illuminated the grey clouds. The bird was at the top of the tree, above the green leaves, and could see the whole sky above her. This was her favorite kind of weather. It was cold, but the bird kept herself warm with her blue feathers. The bird looked down at the bright green grass and the dark soil below her. The bird was happy. Then she slipped. As a gasp left the bird’s delicate beak, everything went dark.

The bird woke seconds later to all of the other forest animals staring up at her. While she adjusted to her surroundings, the bird did not understand. One minute ago, she was in the tree, looking at the blissful sky. The next, she had her wings in the cold dirt. Her wing! She turned her small head slightly, and from the tip of her beak, she saw that her beautiful wing was broken.

The bird had too many thoughts racing in her head. The first was not to cry.

The bird could not comprehend why she was on the ground when she should have been in the tall tree. The bird was so scared. She looked at her broken wing again and noticed that the tip of her wing started to turn black. Her feathers were dying. The bird’s consciousness began to fade.

Months pass and her feathers are as black as coal. The bird had lost all hope.

She will never have her wing back. She will never, ever, be beautiful again. The bird felt alone and helpless. As hard as they tried, none of the forest animals were able to cheer her up and the bird’s family was making things worse. She pushed all of the people that she loved away, and she knew that she would not be happy for a very, very long time.

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The bird’s family spent weeks searching for the wisest beasts to help heal the bird, but she was not believing anything they said. “Time is all it takes,” they said.

“You need to wait,” they said. The bird could not listen to them. Every time she tried to fly, the bird would come crashing to the ground. She knew that every time she would try to soar like she once did in the magnificent sky, she would fly straight down. The only way was down.

One night, the bird stared at the dark sky and saw the bright stars twinkling above her. She was lying on grass and felt the warmth of the earth below her.

Warmth? She had forgotten what it felt like. From the corner of her eye she noticed that at the tip of her wing, there was one blue feather. Gaping at the returning beautiful blue, she sat up. Closing her eyes, she remembered the day that she fell from grace. She remembered being scared. She remembered the irreplaceable pain that has been haunting her. She remembered the feeling of being alone.

What she forgot was the beauty and awe that lead up to that darkness. She forgot about the bright sky above the lush green leaves above her head as she perched on the strong branches of the tree. The bird had forgotten that light.

At that very moment, she knew why her wing was as dark as the sky above her. She did not allow herself to see the light in the world like the stars, sparkling in the sky. She was too stuck in her darkness and had drowned in it. She realized that she had been scared of being alone in the darkness and that the bird had shut out the light for good. It was coming back to her because she had not let herself see the light.

She looked at the starry sky, smiled, and was truly happy.

I Am

Song Written and Sang By: Bailey Mendelson

Use camera on any phone to scan code

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Art By: Adina Ackerman

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A Galaxy By: Rachel Lasry

11th Grade

I feel the world around me growing so much heavier.

But how can that be when you inhabited so much of it, And you’ve disappeared.

Your absence holds no less importance.

Does an empty galaxy demand any less reverence than a star?

I float aimlessly in a galaxy that once had direction.

I know I will find it again.

You were supposed to be the light that lead the way.

Instead you painted black holes, And lead all my stars astray.

Art By: Emma Mackler

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Another Day By: Noah Rossi

12th Grade

I wake up at the crack of dawn. Before the the dim light shines on my face.

Before the birds chirp their songs of despair, before the members of society stumble out of their homes heading to their 9-5 jobs, I look next to a trash can with an empty pizza box. My stomach rumbles. It’s time for me to scavenge and hunt for food. If I’m lucky I’ll get another day’s meal. If I’m lucky. Walking down the main streets that were once friendly to me now feel unfamiliar to both my heart and my eyes. I walk past Henry, the same stray cat who has become my only companion. With its orange fur and wide blue eyes, I couldn’t really tell if it was a he or she but that didn’t matter to me. I needed a friend. A companion through this harsh time in my life. It doesn’t matter to me that I can’t talk to the cat. I just need someone to listen.

I turn onto sixth street and start rummaging through the garbage cans behind Robinson’s pizza. Trying to find any food that might be left over. Leftover pizza crusts and half eaten lasagna is all I can find. This feels like winning the lottery. I savor a bite and place them carefully into my food sack. Onto the next alleyway. My dog tags hang out of my back pocket as I search for more food. The weight hangs on me like a ball on a chain. I turn onto eighth street which has the best bakery in town. I smell the wafts of fresh bread the bakers are preparing for the day. My stomach rumbles loudly and my mouth starts to water. I see the bakers preparing a birthday cake. I wonder who’s birthday it is for. I try to remember the last birthday cake I had. Probably years.

No one’s gotten me a cake ever. I find only cupcake liners and leftover dough. I take the dough and put it in my food sack. This should last me for the day. I search for hours turning like a maze around the streets finding nothing edible. By the end of the day the sunlight is starting to disappear. It’s time for me to go “home”. If you could call it that. But home is what is safe to me.

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Safe meaning back to the corner of Maine and Beverly, near the pizza shop and bakery I can rely on for scraps. My sack is much lighter than the night before. As the sun sets, I pray to the God I used to know, that hopefully tomorrow will be a more successful catch than today. It’s hard to fish out in the concrete sea without a fishing pole. But I won’t give up.

I can’t give up. I must survive. Despite and against all odds. There is hope at the bottom of the trash bins. I lay down and close my eyes. My stomach rumbling less and much quieter than when I woke up. The growls of my stomach caress me gently to sleep like a lullaby of despair. I’ve made it through another day. I’ve survived another day.

Photo By: Neima Fax

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Art By: Aiden Bieda

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My Butterfly Angel By: Kira Faerstain 12th Grade

Car horns and traffic disappear while I soak in the feeling of the warm sun on my skin.

I see the butterfly spread its bright yellow wings, like a door opening to heaven.

Blue sky and sunshine seep through the green leaves while the birds sing.

Wings fluttering like my heart when I think about missing him.

I am the green tree with the butterfly circling me.

It does the same for me every day.

Wherever I am, it follows.

Like a guardian angel, It’s a sign from god.

Telling me, Everything Will Be Ok.

Enough By: Rachel Lasry

11th Grade

Sometimes We put our blood, sweat, and tears Into something that means everything And it isn’t enough.

Sometimes We put our mind, soul, and love Into a person who means everything And we aren’t enough.

And sometimes We need to lose everything That means anything To learn how much more We truly deserve.

Letting Go

Film By: Adam Ritz, Elinore Keredian, Aaron Navon, Michael Soussana and Eitan Remer 45

Use camera on any phone to scan code

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Consuming California By: Jackie Faerstain

12th Grade

The bolded headlines were as black as the houses I burned through the night.

“150,000 acres were consumed in the Woolsey Fire in Southern California” As my flames scorched the roadsides that were painted with the green brush, I watched the mountaintops while the Malibu roads shriveled up.

Lobo Canyon Road was where I met Alfred, with his wrinkled hands and tired eyes.

This was the destination of my first victim of three, burning on the ground, age seventy three.

Out in the distance beyond the stretch of my blaze, a car rested, on the highway.

The two civilians, up in flames, facing the swaying ocean that they would never touch again.

Onto Thousand Oaks, with a community already charred and frail, Like the metal skeleton of the homes that I left in my trail.

The rustling wind sent me to the rolling hills where the rabbits played in the mornings.

Overnight, the green turned to grey, and the grass turned to ash, while the rabbits ran far away.

For all the pictures, problems, and pieces of memories that were obliterated within my reach, I hope that you realize that you can’t control everything.

November 8th will be the victim of my anger until the hills return to green, And not before the air is safe to breath, so that we remember what it’s like to lose everything.

The article ended so simply that it was like lighting a match.

And whenever there’s smoke, there’s a fire burning.

“The firefighters told us that they were happy to risk their lives for anyone in danger.”

Because a stranger in a time of need is now your neighbor.

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Art By: Sam Rubanowitz

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The Friendships That Launched a Thousand Ships By: Gabby Grunfeld

12th Grade

The Friendship that Launched a Thousand Ships.

An intruder doesn’t always need to break a window.

Sometimes, they already have the key.

You think the blood soaked shirt you’re wearing comes from the shattered glass you had assumed they broke into, but in reality, it was within you that was hurt.

Your heart broken, torn apart.

All because you let them in.

The ones that seemed trustworthy.

The ones whose key so easily fit into your locked fortress.

Yet it was all an allusion heavily veiled with happiness and friendship.

All in one word they tore your fortress apart, brick by brick.

S i l e n t l y.

Until you turned around one day with a sharp pain in your back, exposed.

Ruby red lines dripping down your shirt.

What you thought was an easy fit, turned out to be your biggest nightmare.

Someone you had let in to your most inner walls, took siege of the city you call your mind.

How could I fall for this Trojan horse?

I’ve read all the books, I’ve heard the cautionary tales.

How could I be naive?

They made me feel like I was a damsel in distress, when in reality I was the queen of my own heart.

Once they entered my walls, they tore down the work I had put into this fine city.

Driving me to i n s a n i t y.

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How could these beautifully carved walls go to waste?

Those looming embroidered tapestries draped all over my rooms?

We were supposed to share the safety, together.

Yet all you wanted was to rip away any jewels I had and use them for your own crown.

Another adornment others could validate you with.

It’s the venomous poison you subconsciously injected me with that created this perfect storm.

You left me with a mess so dark and destroyed, it took months to clean up.

Counseling, therapy, and even anti-anxiety medication.

You did this.

Instead of raising me up, you razed my city.

My safe place. The very inner workings of my mind.

Day by day I lay in the ruins of what I used to call happiness.

I’m left to pick up the pieces.

Brick by brick, stone by stone, I’m flourishing.

My mind’s garden is finally being tended to by those who care. all of those horrible weeds that choked up and destroyed my poor flowers are finally gone.

Removed from my life and they are able to bloom again.

Spring is here.

Growth is here.

Rebuilding is here.

Friendship appears.

Soon my castle will be rebuilt, and I know to be more careful with the keys.

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paNIc aTTacK

By: Eliana Mizrahi

11th Grade

you see i didn’t know what to do my surroundings were turning all blue wanted to leave i couldn’t breathe they stared at me as if it was new you see i didn’t know what to say for them to go i wanted to pray tried hard to shout for it was a men’s twist to the day you see i didn’t know where to go couldn’t stay i was feeling too low was followed out he had no doubt that he could help my mind stop the show you see i didn’t know where to be but then he sat there and still held me stood by my side through the whole ride then i knew friendship was the key

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ArtArt

by Aiden Beida Bieda By: Aiden

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Thankful By: Eliana Cohen

12th Grade

Mom, dad, and I would prepare days in advance for Thanksgiving, and I was always lucky of having the best job, being the taste tester. The scent of mom’s pumpkin pie and dad’s special stuffing filled our home. When guests arrived, mom gave her usual speech, thanking everyone for coming, but this year she followed with a story. “My good friend, Destiny and I, had a running joke about turkey, before she passed on. I had a night meeting at work, and they served all different kinds of meat, but since I’m a vegetarian, I obviously didn’t have. I put a turkey sandwich in my purse, for someone who might want it at home. On my way back, I stopped at Destiny’s house, since I hadn’t seen her in a few weeks. We talked for a while and then she suddenly said, “You know what I’m craving, more than anything? A turkey sandwich.” I reached into my bag and handed her the sandwich as she blankly stared at me. We laughed at the odds that me, the vegetarian, happened to have a turkey sandwich laying around in my purse. Anyway, I’m done rambling, I just thought it would be nice to share”. She walked back to the kitchen and asked me to take out the gravy I supposedly made.

“I thought you made it”, I said.

“You’re telling me you didn’t make one of the Thanksgiving essentials? I gave you one job, and you can’t even do that”

“Mom, I’m sorry, I thought--”

“Go right now to the market and buy gravy”

“But mom, that market is 30 minutes away, you’re really gonna make me take the train now?”

She handed me a wad of cash as I headed towards the door.

My train arrived, and I made my way to the back row. I shoved my earphones in, still angry about how ridiculous mom is sometimes. When I got to the market, a shoeless woman sitting on a square of cardboard waved her hand, trying to get my attention. I went to the isle to get the gravy, and as I picked it up, I looked out the large glass window, where the lady sat.

I went outside asking her if she wanted anything from inside.

“Can I get a steak sandwich and a sprite?” The look in her eyes oddly reminded me of someone. I came back out, apologizing for the turkey sandwich, since they didn’t have steak.

She looked at the food as if she won the lottery. As I watched her scarf down the sandwich

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and chug the sprite, I sat beside her and she asked me, “Now, what’s a little lady like you doing here on Thanksgiving night?”

“My mom forced me to come here since I forgot the gravy, everything has to be her way.”

“I know, moms are tough, my mama and I fought plenty because we were so similar.”

“She told a story about her friend and snapped at me, it’s not my fault her friend died.”

“Deaths are tricky, especially when it’s the people we love. But let me tell you one thing, you gotta be patient. She’s not gonna wake up one day and get over it. As her daughter, what you can do is be there for her, show her your love.

Looking at the woman sitting on the cardboard box, I thanked her for telling me what I needed to hear. I glanced at my watch, realizing how lost I got into the conversation, dinner was nearly over. I started heading in the direction of the train station, but couldn’t leave yet. I turned around and said, “I didn’t catch your name”, “My name’s Destiny”.

Photos By: Josh Sarir

@joshsarirphotography

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Our Sidewalk Stamp By: Maya Miro 12th Grade

V.O. + E.L. = <3

The staple of our everlasting love right under the apple trees, Engraved in the indestructible sidewalk with my silver house keys.

We used my keys to demonstrate our love.

He used his keys and God took him above.

Grounded on the concrete, I shake with no control As my eyes observe the cars zoom by, it aches my soul.

I’m stuck on the crash.

The image of him bleeding.

It all happened in a flash.

He was just speeding.

I hear him in my ear whispering, “I love you, Vee”.

Chills crawl up my spine. He’s all I can think about, all I can see.

“Oh how cute,” a stranger claims as she stares at the imprint.

“Their initials spell LOVE, that’s gotta be God’s hint.’”

I glance at her with sorrow, I grab my silver house keys.

Breathe in. Breathe out. And get down on my knees.

V.O. + E.L = <3

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Victims of France By: Brittany Marshak

12th Grade

Victims of senseless crime, Victims with no more time.

People come and go Much like the birds that fly to and fro Some are victims I must say While some are evil all the way.

Sadness, solace, sundry sins  and suffering All because of hatred and radical thinking.

The evil, disgusting, wicked boom of a bomb crying out More horrid and hateful than anyone could ever shout.

The deaths that occurred in twenty fifteen Are anything but calm and serene.

The lives lost can never be replaced They can never be forgotten or erased.

The horrid images of that day will not leave my head I see them everywhere; the gym, the mall, in my bed.

Tears rush down my eyes while they convey the hurt There are so many that they seem to flow onto my shirt.

Wondering why bad things happen to good souls Is a story that will always remain untold.

Art By: Jordana Glouberman

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A Fish In The Tank: Part II - Progress and Peace

By: Daniella Silva Staff

“Life is ten percent what happens to you and ninety percent how you respond.”

-Charles R. Swindoll

The wind blows softly through the streets tonight; the force of it gently pulls littered candy wrappers and the first dead leaves of fall, off of the streets, through the gaps in my fence, and onto my yard. The clouds part to reveal a full moon and I realize that this is the first time in my many nights of sitting on my porch that I have actually craned my neck upwards to look at it.

I used to spend whole evenings here on this porch. I would come home from work, change into comfortable clothing, light a cigarette, and I would either stare out onto the street or, watch the nearby commuter train pass along an elevated railway above my street. I had started smoking in college as a way to deal with stress and recently, it had become my only way of coping with how disappointing my life had become. I was nearly 25 years old, I hadn’t accomplished any of the goals I had set for myself, and I was living with people who hated me.

I would sit, and smoke until my eyes watered and my throat felt scratchy. The nicotine would leave me feeling relaxed and numb. The stress of the day would disappear and I would be able to sleep peacefully.

Tonight though, I don’t have a cigarette hanging loosely from my fingers. Instead, I have a water bottle and every time I remember the absence of the parchment roll on my lips, I take a sip of water. It is no substitute for nicotine, but at least it’s a healthier habit.

The commuter train passes again for the third time tonight and without the nicotine in my system dulling my senses, without the usual sadness burdening my soul, the thunderous booming of the train feels different than usual. The trains would pass, I would watch them go and feel stuck in place. Tonight, I feel the rumbling of the earth beneath me and think, “Movement.”

Movement. Mobility. Progress and advancement. The train keeps going. I have to get going too.

I take a deep breath and this time there is no burning in my throat, no smoke in my lungs. I am thinking clearer than I have in months. I put my hands on my knees and push myself up to stand. I pick up the water bottle and drink the last dregs of liquid from it. I slow-

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ly unlock the door and my sister gives me a small awkward wave, her boyfriend glares.

I nod my greetings and walk away with my head held high. Earlier this evening, we had a scuffle and the jerk called me fat. But right now, there is steel in my spine and moonlight in my soul, so he can disappear.

I make a beeline to my bedroom. I put on pajamas and turn on the TV. I listen as Sherlock tells Watson how elementary it all is. The blankets are warm and I go to sleep. I never needed the nicotine, I just needed peace.

I let my alarm ring three times. Thatâ&#x20AC;&#x2122;s ten times less than before. I put on a white dress and red lipstick. I leave the house and the morning air is fresh in my lungs.

The train passes and I sing and dance on my way to work. I arrive fifteen minutes early.

Flowers are being sold along the driveway and I buy a bright pink bouquet of buttercup roses.

At times, this work can be tiring. People can be rude but, without the nicotine in my system dulling my patience and with the morning air in my soul, my smile comes more naturally to me. They are just people trying to get to where they need to go. They are just people trying to make their days less tedious. They are just children who need to be told they matter. We are all just trying to matter.

â&#x20AC;&#x153;How can I help you? What can I do?â&#x20AC;? Rudeness is gone, we are all smiles and I can finally breathe. They stop being simply eyes and fingers and instead they become faces. Faces give way and soon, they are simply people. It is my job to help them and I like helping them. They deserve to feel the peace that I want to feel.

I had three goldfish in my office once. I got them as a gift and I kept them in a tank at a corner of my desk. I would watch them everyday as they swam back and forth listlessly, in a two gallon tank. At times, almost as if they suddenly became aware of how small their enclosure actually was, the fish would stress out, begin to violently flash their scales, and release ammonia. The ammonia would relax them when they absorbed it through their gills, but it would poison them at the same time.

Last March, a friend and I released the fish in a local pond. I hope they grow large and strong. I hope they find peace. They deserve to feel the peace that I want to feel.

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A Broken Leg By: Shira Weinreb 9th Grade

The pain from my shattered bones consumed me. My whole body felt weak and limp, and I was incapable of doing anything. My broken leg collapsing on my whole life. There was a moment. Just one moment, where nothing mattered. I felt hopeless with every moving, living, and breathing thing in my body and all I wanted was to be with you. Then I remembered, you’re so far out of touch. Every time I think about when I was with you, your warm arms were protecting me. I knew you could have made me safe, right now, in this terrible moment. Now I have to learn to be safe without you. With my broken leg, and my broken heart, nothing can fix how I feel. Not another person, not a mom, not a dad. I only needed you. You weren’t there, nowhere near where I was. Now I’m just here. Without you.

The bones are back in their place, but the pain isn’t. Learning to live in a world where you’re not around all the time is like learning to walk again. You’re walking through your own path and you’ve moved on. No one can change your destiny. We all just have to learn how to live with that. Now I have to start my own journey with the the people that love me. You can move on. That’s ok. Because now I’m ok. My leg and I, we’re ok.

Photo By: Sheyna Shustermen

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Art By: Aiden Bieda

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Enlightenment By: Adira Waldman

12th Grade

The crosswalk light ticks 12 times. I know the light is green now and I begin to cross the street. Dogs bark, cars honk, the streets smell of morning coffee. My cane bumps the curb and I stumble up the step. Ugh. Third time today. The noisy street soon muffles into soft murmurs. I glide my fingers over the wall to decipher my destination the Braille reads: ‘Dr. Harp- room 407’. In the elevator, my stomach leaps into a backhandspring and my knees support my body like a shaky trampoline. Today is the day.

I feel my body buzz with nerves. As I lie on the bed in my gown waiting for the nurse, I practice my nerve-calming exercises. I check out my surroundings and get in touch with my 4 senses. I feel the sheets on the bed. I taste my dry mouth and morning breath. I hear shoes squeaking on the hallway floors and the sounds of machines. I smell a mixture of hand sanitizer, latex gloves, and then, warm vanilla. The scent gets stronger and stronger and soothes me further with the sound of a soft, gentle voice.

“Mr. Hansen- I am going to put you down soon. Choose a flavor for your laughing gas”.

“I choose your perfume please. Mmm” She chuckles. Her laugh is perfect.

“Hahaha no can do but bubble gum is the closest to that”.

I don’t know what it is but I feel a connection to this girl, this nurse. There is something about her aura--her scent and her sound-- it makes me want to be vulnerable. I feel my face getting hot and a giant lump forms in the back of my throat.

“I have been waiting for this surgery for 23 years. 23 goddamn years. What if it doesn’t work?”

My mind quickly transforms into a rollercoaster of sound. All of my memories are in sounds. Sometimes the sounds take over my whole body and cause me to hyperventilate. My train of sound is riding 80 miles per hour. It halts to the voice of the soother,

“I believe this surgery will be successful. And if not, I believe even more that what you have inside you is far more powerful than anything a surgery can fix”

The vanilla scent weakens and I yearn for it to come back. I yearn for her comfort. I think about her words and my anxiety soon turns into excitement. I possess a newfound hope at the fact that I finally might be able to come out of this successfully. I smell the vanilla wafting into the room. I am ready.

“See you in 3 hours, Mr. Hansen. See you.”

“See you...___?”

“ Amelia”

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My heart jumps. She is beautiful. The needle penetrates my arm. I fall unconscious.

Blur motion Light

The hand sanitizer is no longer a smell it is a figure. The latex gloves glow with color. The sounds of the squeaky hallways turn into shapes of shoes gliding over the glossy reflective ground. I look around and I see people. I SEE!! The figures around me move with such elegance and grace. I always imagined what a human looks like. I am in awe. I touch my eyes. I blink. There is no longer a sheet of darkness hovering over me.

I am so engulfed in my sight but I suddenly smell the vanilla and I glance up to meet it with my eyes for the first time.

Each feature on her face is distinct. Her eyes, one large and one small, fall in a diagonal line down her face. Her nose leans all the way to the small eye and looks flat against her face. Her lips curve to the left and a tooth sticks out at the right corner of her mouth. One ear flaps out and the other is curled into a small ball, barely visible from the front. She is so beautiful.

“Amelia!”

She pretends not to hear me. Why is she avoiding me? Several doctors and nurses pass by my hospital room. And that’s when I notice. All of their faces look relatively the same. All of their features are aligned and symmetrical in the same areas.

I am confused. I picture Amelia in my mind and blink several times. I close my eyes to retrieve my sheet of darkness and tune into the sound of her words. ‘what you have inside you is far more powerful than anything a surgery can fix’. It is all coming together now. Her face is deformed. The doctor unplugs the machines from my body. I run across the hallway, hands dangling free, no cane, no sheet of darkness.

“Amelia. Will you go out with me?”

A Different Perspective

Film by Talia Abel, Eva Suissa, Tara Chriki, Noa Kligfeld, Daniel Medovoy, and Adin Keiter

Use camera on any phone to scan code

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The Unspoken Path

By: Abby Blumofe

12th Grade

April 13, 2013, her face a dark shade of red.

Shouts echoed across the room, Oxygen attempting to catch up.

Every exhale came with an insult.

My mouth proceeded its opening motion, But the heavy wood door stood in a guard’s position, Splintering my vision and mouth from any retorts.

Empty band-aid boxes littered cracked floors.

April 15, 2013, my hands clapped succinctly.

Her feet pounded against hard concrete cement, Reaching the checkered black and white line.

Sneakers slipping away sneakily from owner’s feet, As they tried to catch up in the Boston street.

All too soon excitement filled my stomach.

The deafening ringing booming in my ears, As her frantic face searched for mine.

April 16, 2013, our anniversary day.

Blaring hospital monitors echoing, Empty band-aid boxes lined the shelves.

Stark white walls choking sanitized air.

Numbness radiating through my legs, I frantically spin in my permanent seat.

Lu Lingzi, Martin Richard, And Sean Collier not as fortunate.

April 21, 2014, yet nothing has improved.

Shouting replaced with her pitiful eyes.

Marathon training on perpetual hold, Mirroring our “relationship” status.

No more fights stood in our place.

The only thing that didn’t remain, Where those unspoken eight letters; “I Love You”

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The Manchester Angels By: Kira Faerstain

12th Grade

The night filled with smiles then survivors.

Monday May 22, we lost 22.

The arena held 21,000 souls, By the end of the night it was 20,978.

Tiny flashing lights blinding my eyes, Each light a person in the mighty crowd.

Singing along to her stunning songs, The rapid heartbeat of their/OUR energy -- Could be felt through the crowds extremities.

The lasers and screens brightened the artist.

The famous long hair was seen from afar.

Her voice was like a mythical creature, Each of us/member drifted as we/they listened.

BOOM, ringing in their our ears was deafening, The room started to shake and fill with smoke Young girls screaming on the floor in pain, “Just keep breathin” the angel sang to them.

Nell Jones, and Kelly Brewster to name 2 of the 22 Blood covered every inch of the concrete.

The Manchester bombing made her strong, There were “no tears left to cry” later on.

The night filled with smiles then survivors.

Photo By: Josh Sarir

@joshsarirphotography

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When We’re About To Finish Healing It Happens Again

By: Abbi Sentchuk

12th Grade

The sun set as the music blasted.

They all went to just have a good time, To enjoy the life they were living.

Fifty-three stories up he stood, Pure evil erupted out of this man.

Bodies fall to the floor, like hail falls from the sky.

The headlines read: “Deadliest mass shooting committed by an individual in the US” Las Vegas, Nevada: 59 …………………………………………………..

They went to go pray, One beautiful Sunday morning.

The headlines read: “Deadliest mass shooting at a place of worship in US history” Sutherland Springs, Texas: 27 ………………………

Day of love High Schoolers laughing in the halls.

“Deadliest High School mass shooting in US history” Parkland, Florida: 17 ……………..

College students on a night out.

“US safest city affected by mass shooting” Thousand Oaks, California: 13 ………….

Tree of Life.

Holocaust survivor praying.

“Most anti-semitism in US history” Pittsburgh, Pennsylvania: 11 ………..

Teenagers like me.

“There’s nothing we could do but run.”

Santa Fe Springs, Texas: 10 ……….

This is for you.

I can’t bring you back, But, what I can do is give each one of you one space to be remembered in my poem.

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A Miracle, By a Mile

By: Bailey Mendelson

12th Grade

Imagine in this world we had peace No guns in our hands just speech Imagine in this place we call home We felt safe and not alone We’d be able to fly through the sky with ease To see the sun to feel the breeze We’d grow up with imaginative minds And our kids would have extraordinary finds They would want to be brave and free And I want to be able to just be me We strive to fix the world and make it right To be able to talk without a fight, Hopefully we’ll all be able to see that sight, To grow old enough to see our grandchildren walk down the aisle In our world that’d be a miracle, by a mile.

Photo By: Adira Waldman

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