Quiver 2018

The Quiver

2018

LETTER FROM THE EDITORS Dear Reader,

Greetings and good fortune upon you, kind stranger. Yes, it is I, The Quiver. What’s that? You have not heard of me before? Your life seems to be lacking a concrete purpose? You’ve skipped your court date and are now on the lamb? Well, not to worry, dear friend, you have come to the right place.

As the police drag you off to jail, why don’t I tell you a little about myself so we can at least get you an alibi. I am a literary and artistic magazine made up of art, fiction, and poetry submissions from the St. Sebastian’s community as well as the extended community (this year I have some work from Walpole High)!

Oh geez, those cell mates look pretty tough. Well, maybe you can win their favor by reading them one of the hilarious short stories inside of me, or melt their souls with a nice poem. In fact, a good friend of mine, Jack Flynn, wrote our literary award-winner: a poem called “Are They Out There”.

Wait a second, that officer standing outside the door has his keys hanging out of his pocket. Maybe you can distract him by showing off the incredible artwork that’s inside of me. Be sure to show him the award-winning photo by Vaughn St. Marie.

Well, it seems like you’re just about free to go. Man, they’re really cracking down on tax fraud aren’t they? Well, I guess you can start rebuilding your criminal empire whilst sitting by your large executive desk and perhaps giving my pages a good ol’ look. I promise you won’t regret it.

This edition of The Quiver has been put together by a team of readers, writers, editors, critics, and students with an eye for artistic talent. When reading please keep an eye out for our outside submission award winner Jenny Cucua, who has created a striking mixed media piece, bringing attention to the pull of technology. Our front cover is brought to us by St. Sebastian’s very own Student Body President/senior class photographer Will Hentschel ‘19. Lastly we would like to thank Ryan Conlon of the School of the Art Institute of Chicago, as he has contributed our back cover, called Teen Identity 1, a photographic commentary on the angst of adolescence.

To all our readers and our artists out there, thank you for letting us show your work and letting us continue with this magazine.

We hope you enjoy!

Sincerely, The Editors Ted Duffy and Anthony Perez

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THE QUIVER 2018 Issue A St. Sebastian’s School Publication

EDITORIAL BOARD Senior Editors Patrick Dufour ‘18 Patrick Ryan ‘18 Art Editor Ted Duffy ‘19 Junior Editors Anthony Perez ‘19 Owen Martin ‘19 Readers Brendan Murphy ‘19 Alex Maalouf ‘23

Nathan Piecyk ‘20 Patrick MacDonald ‘20 Connor Bertsch ‘19

Faculty Advisors Mr. Sean Cleary Mr. Adam White

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CONTENTS 5

Definately

Anthony Perez ‘19

10

Love

13

Abandoned

15

Moody’s Anthem

17

Gardening

18

Poem #1801

19

A Bored Summer’s Night

Partick DuFour ’18

20

Clouds Are Leaves

Ray Hilvert ’20

21

Damon the Anointed

Andy Duong ’20

29

Photographs

Nick Howell’18

34

Are They Out There

36

Selected Art

67

Baseball

Nate Kelly ‘20

68

Merrily Go Around

Aiden Garrity ‘20

70

Blank

Nate Kocho ‘19

72

Tiresias

75

Business Man

Tim Williams ‘20

77

The One Who Shines Bright

Cole Hannifin ‘20

78

Oedipus See the Truth

Krishna Thach ’20

80

Spaghetti and Death Sauce

Cam Martin’ 18 Jude Doherty ’20 Mudia Onaiwu’ 18 Krishna Tach ’20 Jared Price ‘19

Jack Flynn ’22

Patrick McDonald ‘20

Connor McKay ’20

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Anthony Perez Definitely

Traitor noun

A person who takes the trust of another person and wipes their a** withit.

Baby noun

A person who can’t handle the ever-increasingly vast pocket of wasted air that they create inthe atmosphere with every passing moment that they breathe, prolonging their wretched existence.

Friend noun

A person who you can trust not to be atraitor.

Friend verb

When the person you trust knows that in a given situation, for the benefit of all parties involved, the circumstances- often arising from the presump-

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tuous nature of one or more persons involved- make it so that the only respectable course of action would be one in which a ‘hurt’ feeling would be evoked from the party who is acted upon

Hurt adj

State of being. State of distress?Victim.

Sentence: When someone is hurt they are a victim.

Victim noun

A person who does not understand the full scope of the actions that have been takenagainst them.

Sentence: The likelihood of you being a victim is equivalent to the chances of me licking the bottom of a light bulb and admitting that the electrifying sensation from such naughty behavior has any affect on me in theslightest.

Thief noun

A person who takes that which hath not been allotted to theirpossession.

Blind adv

What the person who was just robbed is.

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Succulent adj

What she is.

Right adj

What you are.

Jerk noun

What you are

Satisfaction: noun

When someone comes back for more.

Bloody adj

The deserving state of he who hath transgressed against his brother

Free-will noun

The ability for a person to make a (sometimes) decision, choosing from various availabilities in a given circumstance, usually culminating with a decision so impactful that it makes atraitor.

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Inevitable adv

The excuse that a thief uses to justify taking something that doesn’t belong to them.

Property noun

1. That which belongs to a person or group.

2. That which is under the complete control of another person.

Sentence: Because of the fact that humans have free will, one can never be owned by the other. Humans don’t belong to anyone but themselves, therefore they act independently, ergo they are not property (and should not be treated as such).

Relationship noun

The voluntary agreement between two people to enjoy each otherscompany.

Crying verb

The action of and/or relating to disliking the current predicament and not knowing how to cope like a rational adult.

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Human noun

What a person can lose if they are a traitor Sentence: If one is human than they are in a state of being that does not correlate with your own current state.

Traitor noun

1. A person who is accused by another person of unspeakable evil, when in reality,the situation would merit no such response from a rational bystander 2. A person who acts with the sole intention of making a situation better than it was before.

3. Winner.

Sentence: Although you may call me a traitor, that which represents the mostvulnerable essence of an intimate relationship, begs todiffer.

Attraction noun?

That which cannot be helped

Friends noun

State of being. What you are, or what you should be at least. Sentence: Friends are too valuable for squabbles to end them.

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Cam Martin Love

The first day that I met her Her eyes lit up the world around me The glow of her hazel green eyes Reminded me of the color that the deep sea gives off at midday She sat at the sharp left corner of the bar With her vodka soda in hand Stepping through the packed crowd of drunks, I headed to the bar for a drink to calm me down Her delicate posture from across the bar, Getting the attention and affection From the drunk 40 year old in her ear Slurring his words as he started getting tactil An untucked button down shirt, A rugged suit with a loosened tie, And the removal of his ring Destroying the vows he once made He gave off a look of anger With a potent smell of cigarettes She gave off a look of relief 10

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With a beautiful smell of perfume I asked about his family, And all about his wife.

He denied and got real angry, And asked to go out back.

I didn’t wanna seem like I was scared So I said yes and just got prepared.

But it actually wasn’t so bad, We talked, and argued, he even got sad.

He spoke of love and how it all started, His wife and kids, and how they parted.

I calmed him down and got him a taxi, Told him to be honest and it’ll all get better.

I turned and headed back in, Asked if I could buy her a drink.

We talked about the man, And all that he’d been going through.

The bar finally cleared and they asked us to leave So we had our final drinks and gathered our stuff

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Vaughn St. Marie ‘18

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Jude Doherty Abandoned Lifeless and glum, the porch drooped like the branches of a weeping willow.

Blotches and dry spots in the paint scared the neighbors the from even saying hello.

Driving by the rotting, wooden wreck fortunate enough to call itself a house, I

realized no cars patiently waited in the driveway, no lights illuminated the halls, and no whispers crept

into my ears.

The house searched for an owner, torn apart and abandoned.

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Vaughn St. Marie ‘18

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Mudia Onaiwu Moody’s Anthem They say true power comes from the words within Well I’m a fat chubby black boy Trying to win All my life I have faced different adversities Scared to fly ,held back by my own insecurities Ma told me I could be what I want if I believe but the key is to have a big heart and a dream You see I suffer from low self esteem Can’t be myself because I fear what people will think of me It’s not my fault I’m around so much negativity Struggling to be accepted and fit in But the real truth can only come within I’m searching ,praying for god to show me my path Who would have thought I could create such lovely craft When I create I fly something happens deep inside I’m like a little child happy and ready to rise I’m free of all judgment and hate because what I create is mine I keep it trapped up in a treasure box And as it overflows my mind keeps going and going going like a waterfall it never stops

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I feel like the king that I am and my confidence roars like a lion Children staring at me in awe Saying look ma that man is flying !

I have a goal I want to accomplish in this world ,which is to prove that we are all equal and have the same power Whether you’re a boy or a girl I am a brilliant young man full with talents that cannot be counted waiting to prove all of the people who have ever doubted ,that even though my life had its bend and curls ,I am going to be that man to change the world .

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Krishna Thach Gardening Gardening isn’t just about patience: It’s about care, love, tranquility.

The fradgley brown dirt Supporting, Helping, The impatient seeds to grow, The sun, shining a path Guiding the way to life. Water, feeding the imperfect, Forgetful ground.

Over time, the seed grows And grows And grows Till it reaches up to the surface To meet the ravishing rays of light Which carries it to its full Potential.

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Jared Price Poem #1801 “The Lantern” shines – in a sea of darkness – Gleaming in its radiant Glory – But from Death it does not follow – Yet to Death it may well lead – And – to Life – “The Lantern” does glow – For I and all to see – But soon we shall be gone – And in Death – this light shall cease – In my arms I held “The Lantern” – Within it Once a raging flame – But Death soon grasped me by my hand – And with him took the light’s great glare – For with Death one can not s​ ee ​– but knows – That in this place “The Lantern” does not shine – With its glow and radiance – In the fingertips of the Divine –

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Patrick DuFour A Bored Summer’s Night The sun starts to descend towards the ocean A soft warm breeze blows along the beach A mosquito bites an unsuspecting guest A towel is thrown over a couples lap The sun dips closer towards the flat ocean water A dog runs along the water stopping to go for a final swim of the day A child plays in the dry sand A cricket’s chirp echoes across the beach The orange sun starts to dive into the water A couple laughs as they lay back on the dry sand A wet dog retreats home with a smile upon his face A smiling child is scooped up by his parents The water engulfs the vibrant sun A sudden darkness fills the beach A happy couple piles into their sand filled car A lone boat horn sounds in the distance The moon gently illuminates the empty beach Ready for Tomorrow

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Clouds Are Leaves

Ray Hilvert

The clouds are leaves.

Massless, white, flowing in the high-up drafts.

Late leaves of fall like cumbersome clouds made gray, Their dark shades warning of what is to come: Telling of winter and storm.

The leaves hold their water In droplets sitting on top, circular.

The clouds hold the great weights of H​2​O In water vapor, ready to go Back down to Earth.

Wet in the morning, They soak you with just a shiver.

Wet all the time, They soak in thorough deluge.

The clouds are leaves.

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Damon the Anointed

Andy Duong

Hum to me Muse of the Man who stood Before the savage and judging Greek Gods The man who withstood the might of the Lord of the Underworld Hades, a God with a perilous rod, yet a stone heart with a soft center Damon was his name and paladin was his title Yet his story spoke of a broken scum He was evil, vigorous, and notorious for his deed To the tribe that he served ,among demi-gods, he proved fateful Like a faithful son to his loving mother He defends her honor from unsuitable suitors He defends her pleasure from the devil He protects her from any jarring blade He protects her life, no matter the cost When he transformed from Ares, a man who lives behind his bloody execution with no royalty To a man who lives behind pride and loyalty Sing while the plump bard hymns of victories There was Michael, scourge of many tribes Knight of Pentacles, searching near and far for adventure Loved and caressed by all daughters of Aphrodite and Athena as if he gained all glory Michael's title was known throughout all the land While Damon pre-existed alongside Michael as nothing but a mule

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From their youth, the two have battled alongside one another However, there was always anger in the voice of Damon Their shouts of war intertwined one another like the red-hot lovers But different when it came to characteristics and actions The Gods always favor Michael, but always disowned and forgot Damon Until they saw the light that gaped through Damon’s heart As he hung from beast-crafted logs, while blood, water, and fire poured from his lungs Driving her across the wine-dark sea The swift-footed Damon bolted from stern to port to take helm of Atet Thunderbolts flew from the sky and swam in the frenzy sea Damon tried to steer away from fanged Charybdis But the hazardous tridents said otherwise In a arrow’s distance, the snaky necked Scylla screeched Damon’s heart was set on returning home Returning to the Knight of Pentacles Who roared for his return similar to that which of a lion Who roared for his aid like a queen bee buzzing for her followers Schools of fish were blasted from Charybdis’ mouth and flung into the air The fish came at the speed of bolts and besieged Atet Atet steadily swam towards the swirling whirlpool that hurled Damon across the burly ship Lightning continued to swim in the clouds Till suddenly a bolt of white light impaled Charybdis Green blood splattered the red rocks and the wine-dark sea Damon took this opportunity and sped away from the cries of anguish Damon stood at the head of a brittle Atet gazing at the capital of Laconia Sparta, the land of soldiers and disciplined men, yet home to

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thieves Merchants stood in the dim sun selling their product before all’s feet Before Damon stood Michael in his cape of blazing glory Soldiers knelt to his side in blazing hot gold armor Women sighed in pleasure at the sight of Michael Children bowed in the presence of Michael Lurking demi-gods gave no notice, for they knew the real Michael For they, like Damon, fell at the bottom step “Ah, the white-plated paladin, Damon Fate has allowed you journey home But with no ease, I can tell!

Come, let us gallop towards the garden of Eden” Michael wrapped his burly arm around Damon and strode to the garden The eyes of peasants, soldiers, and women followed Michael’s cape of glory Poor children ran up to Michael pleading for drachma In response, Michael tossed a handful of drachma into the air The children tackled one another for a coin and dashed towards their local merchant The greek gods smiled upon this action, while three disappeared The two men sat on a stone bench surrounded by budding flowers Bushes of bright green concaved the men in a square “As you have heard from the feather-footed son of Hermes I require your aid once more, brother My love has fell into the grey hands of Hades,” Stone statues of Zeus, Poseidon, and Hades peered on the men as they spoke “It is now my duty and your honor, great warrior of Zeus To rescue her and prove my love for her Prepare yourself for the voyage ahead, we may never return home Arm yourself with the blessings of Hephaestus and Ares

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The men set off on their journey ahead Like a gentle kitty playing with fire They were to find Styx using the gold thread The menace of death is none to require They knew not the terror they were to face The three-headed dog will have the two bound Death's eraser has the blood to erase Their existence was never to be found One man shall live One shall face pantheon One shall bear witness to his real heart One shall lie and throw false blame thereupon The two parts will like a killed rose, depart Dangers of the Under, showcase of strength Relationship... Power will be at length The sword and shield arrived at the gate to the River Styx White-coated rocks engulfed Atet as if it were Charybdis Thorns of ragged rocks stuck to the ceiling of the massive cave The wine-dark sea water turned oil-black as the two ventured deeper towards Styx Slowly, a pale figure appeared in the hazy mist A paper-white and bony male dressed in a top hat and a black suit stared at the men In his hand laid a shovel and a rose Charon, spoke in croaky voice that echoed throughout the cave “Souls… Alive souls… Not dead...Why…” “We come to seek Hades,” Michael said with authority.

“He has my beloved. So if you were to be so kind and to allow my friend and me to pass, that will be greatly helpful.”

“No… No… No… Alive is you… Dead… You shall be.”

Charon dashed towards Michael and swung at him with his shovel Michael parried Charon’s swing and quickly heaved his golden sword from his sheath The two men bolted every in the cave, shaking the cave as if a drill was plunged into the wall While clashes of metal ringed throughout the cave

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Damon stood still and watched the River Styx ooze out its oil-black water From the water Damon sensed a powerful presence Look inside your pocket and hold the silver obulous to Charon For even he knows the might of me And with that, the presence disappeared like a bat in the night Damon screamed at the top of his lungs, “Here!”

In between Damon’s fingers laid the obulous Charon sped from his battle to grab the coin to inspect it Poseidon, God of the seas “Come upon my boat… I am tired of your pet, son of Poseidon My ferryboat shall carry you to the gates of the Underworld But this act will be the last you will ever see of me” Cerberus and Hades will deal with you two Out of breath, Michael claimed his seat on the boat With patience, Damon walked towards the boat and sat Patience was what Michael needed to survive wrath Wrath that would drown him alive Hours later, Charon and the two men arrived at the gates Charon sped away from the two, knowing what was to come His senses were not as sharp as the one who was to come His blade was not as bloody as the one who was to come His thirst for souls was not as craved as the one who was to come The one who was to come, was Cerberus, the three-headed dog, gatekeeper of all souls The two men jogged towards the black gate that separated them from the Underworld However, in front was Cerberus, Hound of Hades Cerberus sniffed the air, sensing the close presence of souls Suddenly Cerberus dashed behind the rock that Michael and Damon hid behind Blood drooled from Cerberus’ mouth as if his mouth were a waterfall

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Cerberus shined his fangs to the two, showing his desire for their soul and blood Michael’s bones shook inside his meaty body, his mind filled with the terrors of dying His mind emptied of his love, instead filled with survival Michael shoved Damon with all his might to Cerberus The god-forsaken warrior tried to run away, but instead Cerberus pounced onto Michael Like a drumstick, Michael dived into the mouth of Cerberus His body was grinded in between the pyramids that laid inside Cerberus' mouth Guts spilled from his mouth, while blood dripped The only part of Michael that survived was his chopped crown Patiently, Damon arose from the blood-stained rock While Cerberus munched on the remains of Michael, Damon yield his sword from his hilt He tipped the silver sword into the River Styx On Damon’s sword is etched D ​ o. Or do not. There is no try This sword has never left his side ever since the death of his gaea Ever since, the once hot silver sword became as black as night Never to be held by clean hands From the black water, clear and purified water consumed the blade In a shout of bravery, Damon charged Cerberus with his blessed sword Damon slashed Cerberus’ leg, leaving a large gnash The water that laid upon Damon’s sword expanded to the point where Damon held a whip Damon lashed at Cerberus who backed into a corner with no chance of escaping Soon Cerberus was pelted with gnashes all across his body Cerberus laid on the ground defeated The water from Damon’s sword slid off and was drained to the River Styx Towards the Palace of Hades, Michael pondered about what he would

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say to Hades Would he complete the task of saving Michael’s love?

Would he bargain with Hades about the fate of Michael?

Or would he seek forgiveness for his sins.

From the age of twenty, Damon was renowned for his acts of bravery Traveling to different capitals completing bounties Defeating beasts that slaughtered villages Saving the widow in distress However, one act was all it took to erase Damon Damon had murdered his own mother, under the influence and control of Hades Word of this murder plagued all the capitals Soon Damon became a convicted murderer, who was never to be seen again There were only few who believed him, but so many who wanted his blood Only Zeus and Poseidon knew the truth, yet they stood behind in Damon’s shadows, aiding him Now here he is, seeking truth from the villain, seeking forgiveness For what he did to Hades Damon had assassinated the son of Hades, Cain No one knows where the body of Cain lies, or if he is still alive But people will forever remember Cain and what happened to him Cain killed humans for joy, he became a renegade from the society of demigods A beast who needed to be stopped Damon walked up the red rug that led to the throne of Hades Beside Hades sat the daughter of Zeus, Persephone “I’m impressed you had the courage to walk into my house, Why are you here?”

“You know why I am here, to clear my name. And for my mother to come back.”

“Years have passed since I have cursed you. I shall cleanse you, and bring your mother back.

Bring Michael’s head with you to Sparta and be prosecuted for his death.

Only then shall you be forgiven.”

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“Will my mother live happily.”

“Yes, yes she will.”

And so Damon took Michaels’ beheaded crown and took way to Sparta Upon arriving, everyone’s eyes locked onto the crown that laid in Damon’s bloodied hand Damon stood at the front of the town hall Men from everywhere charged at Damon and took his bloodied arms and legs Damon’s hands and feet were nailed to a dark wooden cross Woods cut from the forest of demons Wood taken by ignorant men Wood that shall take the life of the faithful The final day had come for the sin-stained knight to end Disgusted and infuriated men had come for the final day A spartan man stood before Damon and kneeled Before the three watching brothers A shout filled the air like snowflakes drifting towards the ground The center of Damon was pierced by a sharpened spear Blood shook the air, while a burning white light struck the stands surrounding Damon Waves crashed into Sparta destroying all the boats Graveyards stood still, as a flower blossomed The Gods witnessed the death of a loyal man A man loyal to his mother Think what you will, he kept his vow to mom Even at end, thou will bow with all qualm

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Nick Howell Photographs 1 Photographs Tucked away in the back of the closet sat a box, its lid covered with the dust accumulated from the years past. It was only until a new substance, freshly spattered blood, stained the box that Omar took it out of that dark corner and brought it into the light of the humbly decorated bedroom. He stepped gingerly over the body and placed the box and his pistol onto the quilted bedspread, now stained crimson.

“Hector! Get in here man, I found something!”

Hector was busy rummaging through the dining room, shoving the silver and china into the gym bag slung over his shoulder, and disregarded Omar.

“Hey, your loss then. I’ve got dibs on whatever’s in here,” Omar shouted down to his accomplice.

Dusting it off, Omar removed the lid. Inside, he found nothing of monetary value; only stacks and stacks of old photographs. All the photos on the top of the piles were in color, digital printouts likely made in the last ten years or so, but as Omar rummaged further, the digital printouts turned to Polaroids and then to black and white photos, their images damaged by oxidation and their corners frayed from the wear and tear of time.

At first, Omar was disinterested in the box. After all, there was no profit to be made off of the memories of an old man. Yet the more he looked, the more curious he became. He started to look at the photos in detail, trying to piece together the story of the body face down on the acrylic carpet next to him.

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2 He pulled out a tattered photo at the bottom of the box, towards the very beginning of the piles. Someone had written Eamon and Saoirse, Happy to be in America on the back in pencil long ago, but some of the letters had smudged and faded over time and the writing was now all but illegible. Omar flipped over the photo and chuckled at the other side.

A boy, about eight or nine, was staring back at him. His eyes shone sad and afraid, and it was evident he was not only not happy to be in America, as the epigraph on the back of the photo had stated, but was frightened beyond all doubt. Calf high leather boots met at the very moment the bottoms of his well-worn trousers began, trousers which were seemingly given to him around when he was five, and due to a lack of money, were the nicest pair of trousers he would own.

And so he wore them everywhere, and they had to be patched and stitched and willed back to life many times over. The overcoat, too, was a bit too small for him, and caused him to scrunch his shoulder blades perpetually inwards, leading to slews of back problems earlier on in his life than should’ve existed.

A plaid neckerchief had been hastily wrapped around his neck, and atop his head he proudly displayed a sailor’s cap which clashed with the general ensemble of the outfit, as if someone had been in a rush to make this little boy look as proper as possible regardless of whether or not he looked coherent. In his right arm he clutched a burlap sack, slung over his shoulder. With his left he held a protective grasp on the hand of a little girl, and due to the tenderness which he held the hand and the way he positioned his body slightly in front of her, one could assume that this was Saoirse, his little sister, a girl around six yearold. She too was dressed in the poor man’s “Sunday best”, with the addition of a scarf around her head. Omar reminisced back to all the times his parents would fuss and fixate over every little detail of his and Omar’s outfits.

3 ‘Those were simpler times, back when all we had to worry about was a smudge on our blazers or a scuff on our shoes,’ he thought. I wonder if Mama still has my First Communion blazer. It’s been ages since I’ve seen her. Omar became lost in his memories until Hector’s voice from the other room jarred him out of his nostalgia.

“Omar! Find anything yet?”

“Nah, nothing important, just some old photographs. Hey, when was the last 30

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time you talked to Mama?”

“I don’t know, man, why the hell are you thinking about Mama? Focus on the loot, we’ll call her later,” said Hector, wondering how his brother could be so absent minded sometimes.

“Of course, yeah, the loot.” Omar began to forget where he was and what he was doing. Instead, he became deeply lost searching through the life contained in the box of photographs. He pulled another photo from a little bit further on in the collection. A group of six men stood outside a brick building, all wearing what appeared to be military uniforms. The three scrawniest of the men, whom Omar assumed were the newer recruits, stood in the back with their hands on their hips, with the exception of the one furthest to the right, who leant against the man in the middle, elbow on his shoulder, clearly enjoying the time spent away from the battles. In front, crouched three burlier boys, still no more than thirty-five, faces covered in grime. Omar recognized the bottom left soldier, the one with the glasses, as the little boy Eamon from the first photo. He had bulked out some, but the facial features were the same, the same rounded chin, the same gaunt cheekbones, the same strong nose. The bottoms of their slacks were caked with mud, 4 and it seemed like they had been marching for quite some time, as if they had just taken the base. Omar read the note on the bottom of the photo, McGuffey's Third Squadron, “The Paddy’s”. Omar began to feel pangs of guilt.

He hadn’t thought about the old man, his family, his squadron members. He had a whole other life outside of being murdered for a quick score, and yet his end came nowhere near his family or friends, but in the company of a couple of thugs. ‘That’s what we are, we’re thugs. I mean sure, we’re Hector and Omar. But we’re just a pair of thugs.’ He looked from the photo of the young man, serving his country and holding on to hope for victory, down to the cold and lifeless body, wrinkled and defeated.

‘Lucky we got to him now,’ thought Omar. ‘If it had been sooner, he probably would’ve whooped us both.’ Attached to the squadron photo was a fairly scandalous photo of a woman, with a note written on the bottom: I’ll be waitin’ for you when you get back XOXO Betty

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In a moment of childlike innocence Omar quickly tossed the photo aside and put it out of his mind. He couldn’t understand why anyone in their right mind would take a photo like that and send it to someone, especially at that time when every photo was fairly permanent.

Cop sirens blared in the distance, and Omar’s guilt began to snowball and gather inside of him, gnawing at his insides. Yet he continued to search through the box of photos; he was in too deep, and he had to find out how the story of this man’s life ended. Was he happy? Did he live a good life?

Omar pulled out a photo separated into two images. It was a wedding scene. A four-tiered wedding cake with an ornate bouquet topper took up much of the foreground of the photo. The 5 daisy-patterned tablecloth clashed with the ‘Persian-rug’ walls. All in all, the venue was horribly ugly. The one bright spot was the couple. Eamon had apparently decided to tie the knot with pin-up girl Betty, and it was their wedding day. His hair was parted and slicked back strongly, his tux was crisp and fit him well, and his bowtie was immaculate. His face, however, was covered with cake. Betty, to his right, laughed gleefully as she smeared more white frosting across her new beau’s mouth. The second photo was the reverse. A more tender moment, the couple were gathered together over the cake as Betty struggled with the oversized portion Eamon had hand-fed her. Candles cast shadows over the cake, and even the horrendous tablecloth was mercifully left out of the photo. They were blissfully happy to be alive, to be with each other, and to be covered in cake.

The sirens grew nearer and louder as Omar began to panic.

‘What am I doing here, what are Hector and I doing here, how did we get here, how did it come to this, there’s a body lying next to me on the floor. I killed him. I did it. Eamon is dead because of me.’

Hector began to grow anxious as the sirens began rapidly approaching the house and the flashing lights shone brighter and brighter.

“Omar, we need to go. Get your shit and get out of here.”

“I killed Eamon.”

“What the hell does that mean? Was this guy Eamon? Good for him fool, he’s dead now, he doesn’t matter, let’s go!”

“I can’t do it, man, he deserved better.”

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6 “What the fuck does that mean? You didn’t even know the guy! Move your ass, we gotta go!”

Omar just stared at the body, unable to move, unable to respond to his brother. He just stared at Eamon.

“Fuck you, man! I’m leaving this shitheap, I’m not going back!”

Hector sprinted down the stairs, burst through the backdoor, and ran at a full clip to the car stowed away on the neighboring side street as the sirens converged on the house.

The door kicked in with a slam.

“This is the police! Show me your hands!”

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Jack Flynn Are They Out There Award Winner

Are they only three feet tall With green skin and just one eye?

Or do they look just like us And laugh and sing and cry?

Are they in galaxies far far away, Or do they live as close as Mars?

Are they still in the Stone Age, Or do they ride in hovercars?

Is there a place full of Klingons?

Do they use light sabers to fight?

Are there other beings like Mork?

Do they die from Kryptonite?

Has God granted all life With only one planet called Earth?

Or are there other places With life and death and birth?

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Are there others like Jefferson, Ford, da Vinci, or Twain?

Are they happy and peaceful, Or are they completely insane?

One of these alien creatures Is whom I would like to see.

I could learn something from him, And he could learn something from me.

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Temple of Apollo at Delphi Nolan McGovern ‘20 St Sebastian’s School

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Monster Head Ryan Conlon Walpole High School 38

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Crushed Jillian Cooper Walpole High School St Sebastian’s School

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Clay Vessal Ryan Conlon Walpole High School 40

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Now Is The Time Breanna Andreassi Walpole High School St Sebastian’s School

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Penguin Colors Anthony Perez ‘19 42

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Gossip Jackie Kelley Walpole High School St Sebastian’s School

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Sunset in Falmouth Tim Malloy ‘20

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Wake Up America!

Ray Hilvert ‘20

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Premature Ryan Conlon Walpole High School St Sebastian’s School

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Faces of the Jungle Osamudiamen Onaiwu ‘18

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Summer Photos Timmy Malloy ‘20 50

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The Setting Sun Evan Prince ‘20 St Sebastian’s School

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Fading Between Worlds Vaughn St. Marie ‘18 52

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Construction Anthony Perez ‘19 St Sebastian’s School

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Summer Photo Timmy Malloy ‘20 54

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Photographic Work Vaughn St. Marie ‘18 St Sebastian’s School

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Smoker Collage Ryan Conlon Walpole High School 56

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John Turco Ryan Conlon Walpole High School St Sebastian’s School

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Teen Identity 1 Ryan Conlon Wlapole High School 58

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Teen Identity 2 Ryan Conlon Walpole High School St Sebastian’s School

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Bird on the Wire Vaughn St. Marie ‘18 60

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Memento Mori Anthony Perez ‘19 St Sebastian’s School

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Land Of The Free Jeff Serowick ‘20 62

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Along The Bike Path Jeff Serowick ‘20 St Sebastian’s School

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Award Winner

Aftermath of a Car Crash Vaughn St. Marie ‘18 64

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Award Winner

The Pull of Technology Jenny Cucua Walpole High School St Sebastian’s School

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Barn Jeff Serowick ‘20 66

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Baseball

Nate Kelly

They’ve gathered round’ for America’s favorite game A flag has risen for our country’s national tune From 2 year olds to old timers, all fans the same The sun falls as the end arrives to another day of June The yellow pole grazes the pink-touched clouds The beaming lights cast down on the men in red As their performance strengthens happy hollers come from the crowds And an array of baseballs soar over their heads Although it’s great that the performance is going well But their conversation and laughter is what occupies them In the midst of the conversations brings the occasional yell Sitting together in the crisp warm night is life’s true gem Because in a week they might forget who pitched However the memories they form will last And the quality of life is enriched It is a way to make use of this life that does go fast The men in red are a great way to have fun And spend time with ones you love out in the sun When all the games for the men in red are done At least you’ll know that in the end you won

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Merrily Go Around

Aiden Garrity

Oh how the horse goes round and round and round Around the center vortex of the wheel One feels as though they’ve put on quite a pound From eating a large carnival fair meal.

The carnival comes back to town yearly And with it comes the year’s festivities Along with children begging on their knees Asking for treats with loud obnoxious pleas And with the carnies comes the circus rides The best of all spins round and round and round Of course referring to the great big slide Which spins and doesn’t even make a sound Merry go rounds are one of my favorites They are the backbone of the circus kits.

They are the backbone of the circus kits Lacking that ride would be a horrid crime Like those committed by th’ masked bandits Who does not care about his own jail time But who would do a horrid thing like this Identical to holding back water Away from one who sorely needs the bliss Without which there would be a manslaughter 68

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But let’s go back to that carnival ride The one that fills me with much childish joy Like dusting fries with sodium chloride Like I once did when I was once a boy Merry go rounds are always such a fright How can this contraption bring such delight?

How can this contraption bring such delight?

If only it comes back to town yearly Despite causing so many forms of plight And hurting those who built it so dearly How tall it stands against the glitt’ring sky Which shines through the help of a thousand stars And night smells as delicious as a pie When looking up at Venus or at Mars Merry go rounds spin far below on earth As circuses begin to close fore’r Their money having a foreboding dearth That they will re open again never.

And as the last merry go round is drowned Oh how the horse goes round and round and round

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Nate Kocho Blank I have the opportunity to strengthen my community But lately I’m just staring at a page.

What’s better yet, I haven’t set My goals. I’d rather not regret Then leave it up to consequence and fate.

My mind believes, but seethes and ails For what would happen if I failed To measure up to what my heart conceives?

I want to move I need to prove That even if I’m bound to lose I’m higher than the bar they set for me.

But deep inside a voice has cried That if I ever start to try They’ll pin me to a cross and curse my name.

And out of fear I shed a tear For now convinced the end is near The water soon extinguishes the flame.

But deeper still I feel a spark A fire raging in the dark That calls me back from where I want to go.

This fire will forever burn.

It fuels in me the will to learn The facts of life that man will never know.

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Until it prompts the pen to page And ďŹ nally the earth will cease to spin.

With ink in hand The boy is man.

The page is blank and I am him.

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Patrick McDonald Teiresias Come, boy…

Lead me somewhere where my voice is heard -Though my voice is so subversive and adverse To other voices, I have heard...

That is, I’ve heard, As I’ve no eyes to see but for the birds.

And though I have no eyes -Much less a pair to see the birds -Regardless I can feel their words, And preach to Thebans who will Come to be their words.

I, the blind man, see what others can’t: Oedipus, who can’t admit His petulance, Denies that he’s the city’s Pestilence, and despite Presented evidence.

Though Oedipus would see That he would never see The sea again, but only smell The salt and feel the breeze.

And I, the blind man, also see That Creon ought to plead 72

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For mercy; he’ll decree That men who battle in his name Alone deserve a service, Not insurgents: “The opposition ought to burn For this! Neither will they know what dirt is On their carcass if they turn against.

Now, we’ll feed the birds With him and lay a scourge To any person we determine To be hurt by this.”

But alas: The sights I see in blindness, They are useless altogether.

If I could write the fables Of the future, all the better, But the future writes itself, And it happens to the letter.

But people still endeavor To discover the truth, Discover who-killed-who, And where the hatred, And the lust, and The hubris brew, And then they take it As a warning, not a “This-is-you,” As if the future is a storm They don’t pass right through, that they Can take another route Because the other’s Simply too untrue.

“This is you!” I would say to them,

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“This’ll come to pass; what’s written In the future is as permanent and helpless as What’s written in the past.”

But they can’t handle that.

I see its difficult to see the Future’s print cast; Still, the future holds fast Without a care if you can grasp it.

So don’t attack me if you’d rather Have another fate and find It happy-ever-after.

Again, I’m not the writer, just the Actor. And don’t you flagellate Me when you ask me what you’ll be And what I tell you is The truth of what you’re after…

So come, now, boy, Let’s move along before the Angered masses say we have to.

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Tim Willaims Buisiness Man

The everyday business man’s life is great If you are into being a robot Completing projects until really late Always dreaming of getting that big shot In a small cubical, he sits all day long Staring at a screen, his eyes grow very tired When the day is done, he hears a loud gong And he leaves, happy he wasn’t fired Finally when he gets to his home He realizes he still has work to do So he sits and opens up google chrome After for some peace he’ll go to the loo Right before he decides to go to bed A soft pillow, resting under his head A soft pillow, resting under his head Until he hears the screams of the alarm clock Then he shall quickly spring out of his bed So that he can go back to his own block He’ll walk into his bathroom, eyes still narrow Startled, he’ll jump as he enters the shower Frigid water piercing like an arrow Giving him a taste in his mouth, sour

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Rushing, he’ll down a bowl of cheerios While observing the front page of the news Occasionally watching some videos Sometimes he will see Giant’s Victor Cruz Then he will drive to work inside his car Stuck in traffic, he won’t go very far Stuck in traffic, he won’t go far He’ll turn on some music, all over played While he creeps forward inside of his jaguar Which is why he can’t afford an upgrade From an apartment to a new small house But he doesn’t care, since his car is cool When he arrives, he is in the doghouse For being late is against all the rules Into his cubicle, he quickly sneaks Trying to be as quiet as possible Around him are a bunch of tired geeks The sound of clicking clearly audible For all of his life, this will be his fate The everyday business man’s life is great

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Cole Hanifin The One Who Shines Bright In the room lies a candle, Not just any candle, it’s one of a kind.

It lights up the room And takes away the darkness’ gloom.

Through good and bad The candle reminds me not to be sad For each day it battles to stay lighting.

But, if this candle stops glowing, Will one stop hoping?

Can a candle shine forever?

Or does it dim and die out?

Yes, there are times where this candle begins to flicker And burn out, leaving those around it blind.

But with time to reconsider It may return to being kind.

When I near the burning candle, It warms my heart, For not only does it sit through the hard times, But staying in the living room, from my life it will never depart.

Everyone sees this candle burning It lights up their day.

I know I can see that candle burning, I hope you see it too, For this is not just any candle, This candle is you I Love you, mom

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Krishna Thach Oedipus Sees the Truth My wife flees by me In a passion of sorrow, (Sophocles. 57) Emotionless, disturbed.

Shuts the doors, Where we started our lives.

She excommunicates Myself with hers.

My heart is synch With hers.

I can feel the serpent like constriction tightening round, Unable to speak, To scream.

I burst through, At the twin doors (Sophocles. 68) That holds me back.

Finding no soul to To the women that gives me life.

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The women that carried My own children and Myself (Sophocles. 68) I run to her, Hold her, I look into her eyes To find nothing, but Despair.

The hole in my chest Grows with the angrys Of my doing.

I grab the pins That held what was left of her.

I scream to her, to God The truth overtook me, It ripped from her gown The golden brooches (Sophocles. 69) And found a resting place in my Eyes.

But it wanted more pain, I wanted more pain, For I struck my eyes Not once, but many times (Sophocles. 69) Taking away more tales, Scriptures, oracles, and The truth.

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Connor McKay Spaghetti And Death Sauce Setting: Two characters at a lake house. Johnny and Clara. Johnny is an old man in his 50’s with dark grey hair and wrinkles. He is a plumber.

Clara is an old lady with long light grey hair. Clara's mom died to lung cancer a week ago. They had the funeral two days before. Clara and her siblings decided to cremate the body.

Scene 1 Clara is already awake and sitting at the table eating toast with jam. Johnny comes into the kitchen for breakfast.

Johnny​: “Mornin’” Clara​: “Morning” Johnny​: “How are ya?”

Clara​: “I'm fine.”

John begins to make his cereal. He sits down across from Clara Johnny​: “We goin’ to the Creamery today?”

Clara​: (​shouts angrily) “ ​For the last time John, the C ​ rematory.”

Johnny​: “Sorry” ​John pokes at his cereal Cara​: “No I'm sorry, I've just had a lot on my mind since Ma died” Johnny​: “She was a lovely little lady when she wasn't bein’ an oul bitch” Clara​: (Smacks John in the face, shouting angrily) “Johnny! You're talking 80

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about my Ma!” Johnny​: “Sorry, sorry, sorry. So what time for the burning?”

Clara​: “It's at 1:30. And please don't call it the burning.”

Johnny​: “Sorry. Well I'm off to work. Seeya babe.”

Clara​: (Hugs him silently) (​John exits. Clara sits silently looking over the lake) Scene 2 It is 5:30 and John comes back from work. He enters and Clara is reading magazines on the dinner table. The container of ashes is on the counter in the kitchen.

Johnny​: “Hello hun.”

Clara​: “Hey, how was work?”

Johnny​: “Boring as shite. Another old woman blew the pipes off her toilet ‘cuz of a deuce the size of a mammoth. So how did it go today?”

Clara​: “Fine.”

Johnny​: “What do you want for dinner?”

Clara​: “Marinara pasta.”

Johnny​: “Alright! (mumbles quietly) Pasta and sauce.”

He starts to make the pasta. Some time pasts.

Johnny​: “Alright it's almost ready, just adding some extra spices. (​looks around the counter for spices. Grabs the ashes and talks to himself) well this one looks interesting. (​He sprinkles it on top of the pasta). Ready!” (​John brings the pasta to the table) Clara​: “Looks good” Johnny​: “You bet! Now dig in.” (​Clara takes a bite) Clara​: (Says with food in mouth) “Mmm, very good.”

Johnny​: “Why thank you, it may taste different because I used a new spice.”

Clara​: “What's it called?”

Johnny​: “I don't know, they're all the same anyways.”

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Clara​: (​Realizing what spice he used. She talks with food in her mouth) “John.

What spice did you use e​ xactly?”

Johnny​: “I don't know it was just on the counter in a little grey container” Clara​: (Spits food on the plate) Johnny​: “Come on the foods not that bad.”

Clara​: (Yells angrily) “Do you know what s​ pice t​ hat was?”

Johnny​: “No for the fortieth time I don't.”

Clara​: (Continues shouting) “Thats my mums fecking ashes ya dumb oaf!”

Clara sprints to the bathroom Johnny​: (​Stares at the pasta) “Well I'm not gonna let this perfectly good pasta go to waste.” (​Continues eating) End

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