2012 Art Magazine

Art s S UFFIE LD ACADEMY

review

2011-2012

Contributors Alyssa Fruce ’12

Joanna Borg ’12

Anna Strzempko ’13

Julie Doten ’14

Annie Pitkin ’12

Lohen Parchment ’12

Caroline Leonard ’12

Mack Montague ’13

Caroline Vianney ’14

Mariam Ibrahim ’13

Cheryl Kuo ’13

Mikhail Kozak ’13

Conrad Mish ’12

Molly Stromoski ’12

Dyland Downes ’12

Paco Tarruella ’13

Eleanor Kelly ’12

Pixie Clauson ’12

Eliana Ferreri ’12

Pure Maleenont ’15

Fredrik Randmael ’12

Sarah Hong ’12

Gina Nasiadka ’13

Taylor Grand Pre ’12

Hannah Thrall ’13

Teresa Sweeney ’12

Izzy McDonald ’12

Victoria Kiarsis ’13

Jaclyn Chalke ’12

Will Sartorius ’12

Jay Fields ’13

Zac Czikowsky ’12

Jieming Wu ’12

Lexi Hildreth ’12

Cover art: Caroline Leonard ’12

Pixie Clausen ’12

iChoose My whole life I have been going through and believing that a person has a very special power. And I am trying to use it well, almost everyday. It is a power to choose the path you are walking on. Everyday, you, me, everybody make small or big decisions that will affect your life or sometimes someone else’s too. Here is a story of a man who changed mine.

Roman Kozak was born in what is now Ukraine and what was then the Soviet Union.

He was an excellent student from the start. He got straight A’s only. My father’s patience and stubbornness and his love in reading opened almost every single educational door in front of him.

He found his passion in Mathematics and Physics. Roman was keen on solving problems and equations in his spare time.

After my father finished high school he got lots of offers from the universities. He went to a college that majored in physics and Roman was very successful in there. He even got a money prize for taking the first place on a nation wide algebra competition and that was really rare in the country back in those days. At Roman’s last year in college he suddenly changed his mind and with out money travelled to Moscow and applied to Moscow Theatre University. He got in. Roman was a successful student there, too, although he had many quarrels with his parents but he insisted on his choice.

My father, after the graduation, immediately became a great and popular theatre actor and after that even more successful director. He had his own theatre, many loved him, and he enjoyed what he was doing. When I asked my father what did he get from that extreme change?

“Happiness,” he answered. I did ask no more. I should have… My father died one and a half years ago. He was fighting cancer for 12 years. But he did not stop acting, directing and writing plays.

His last year my father was working on a play and died two days after the premier. The play is still successful in Moscow, but that is not the point.

You are asking me why did I tell you this story and what does it have to do with the power

of choice. I’ll tell you. I did not want to show that your choice could only change your career. No. …My mother is a ballet dancer and a choreographer. If my father did not change his life, they would never have met and would never fell in love and create a family. They would not give me that love and they would not give me that joy and happiness that I was fond of. I believe in a power of choice, I believe that a person has a freedom to pick the path that he is going to walk through his whole life. I hope I am choosing the right one.

Mikhail Kozak ’13

She’s Okay Her mother comes in to wake her up, but she sets the alarm for six minutes. Six is a good even number and she lays asleep but she is not really asleep. She is in the state between awake and asleep, but not the pleasant serene state, rather the rushed and fitful and scared and sporadic sleep of a person who knows what is waiting on the other side of her eyelids. 6 minutes left, 5 minutes left, 4 minutes left, 3 minutes left, 2 minutes left, 1 minute left of sleep and even though she’s technically asleep (but actually in a state somewhere between Hell and beginning the day) she can count down the passing time in her head. Time does not stop, even if she wants to stay in bed and even if she wanted to be All-American. She sits up and lets down her still-wet hair and it is cold in her room. It is cold, but not cold like it was back then. Not cold like it was when her birdlike shoulder blades held the weight of the world and cracked under the pressure. Reconstructive surgery in a comfortable hospital repaired those blades and added protection to them in the form of body fat…

Reconstructive surgery, in this case, is cognitive behavioral therapy (CBT) and the Modsley Family Method.

No, it’s not as cold as it was then and the pressure is still heavy on her shoulders but they are not in danger of collapsing anymore, nor can one see the thin outline of her blue veins under the surface…

There is a pile of sweatshirts in the corner of her room and what the Hell is she going to do with those sweatshirts? They’re just sitting on the ground and taking up space and stressing her out and bugging her out and she could leave them but when she comes back the ugly sweatshirt mess will still be there. She stands…

The knocking on her door is sudden but she is not startled because she’s reached a place of peace. Her mother sees her standing, with her eyes transfixed on the sweatshirts and she’s not sure how long she’s been standing there but it’s more comfortable than going and facing them and living. Her mother speaks sternly and its 7:15 and the roads are bad but she wants to know why she can’t just stay there for a while? The scented candle is burning and her room is familiar and safe and habitual and non-judgmental and she knows she could stay there for a while. She goes to breakfast. The sweatshirts aren’t cleaned up…

Putting on makeup but she still cannot recognize the face looking back at her. Back then the face was grey and the eyes were sunken in and the cheekbones protruded and she looked hollow like a skeleton. Skeletons don’t tell secrets. The grey face was familiar and it would scoff at the face looking back at her. The face now is vibrant and youthful and even a little bit pretty, she thinks, and healthy and colored and the eyes are where they’re supposed to be…

Her father turned her car on but she can carry her own backpack now on account of her shoulder blades being operated on with aggressive CBT (he used to carry it for her, back then). The car is running and the sun is shining and the heat is coming out of the vents (she’s going to be okay) and her dad is yelling and the dog is barking and the music is playing and life is happening. She breathes in and backs out of the driveway.

Anna Strzempko ’13

Annie Pitkin ’12

Love How plausible can it be To have an intangible force create Endless feelings of enchantment yet debris?

The one thing that uses fate and destiny as its founding base?

It lurks and waits for its next victim, Tugging like a piercing rope.

Inching you closer to the forbidden kingdom That expands across this unworldly globe.

Titillating the stomach of lovers, And leading them astray, To foolishly trust their significant other, Will not leave their hearts in dismay.

It is a powerful force preying on those Who seek out the ending they once opposed.

Lohen Parchment ’12

Caroline Leonard ’12

The Ledge Hannah Thrall ’13

The bird sits on the ledge.

As the woman says to the man, “The quiet is unsettling.”

But the man turns away.

And the woman continues to read Sylvia Plath’s, The Bell Jar. The man thinks, what’s in my jar?

As he’s standing over the ledge, But he thinks over what he read, And wonders if that man Would run away, Due to an event so unsettling.

Though the facts are unsettling, He decided he had a full jar.

When he walks away, He thinks he hears the ledge Cry, “The true life of one man Is bigger than what you’ve read.”

Now he begins to read About a story most unsettling.

The story is about a man, Who’s sitting in a jar On top of a rocky ledge, Who thinks, “How do I get away?”

Though he can’t get away, He thinks to the man, “Roll away from the ledge.”

Otherwise his fate would be as unsettling, As that man sitting in a jar, According to what he’s read.

So now this man Begins to turn away From his own tumbling jar.

Due to what he has read He doesn’t want to be so unsettling As a man falling from a ledge.

He takes one last look at the ledge, Then the man starts to run away, So his own story wont be unsettling.

Lexi Hildreth ’12

February As my body lays on the cold pavement, I hear nothing. There is no one around to save me; there is no one around to protect me. I see my friend lifeless in the passenger seat. This is my fault; I did this. Around me there are trees without leaves, there are pieces of trash littered on the grass and in between bushes. Breathing becomes more and more challenging as the moments inch by. I am not thinking about whether I will live because I am almost certain I will not.

My last thoughts drift to you; I see your face and I envision your smile. My last wish, as I slip into this never-ending sleep, is to impart one last thing. I just wish to tell you I am sorry. To express to you for the days following my own death, that I am sorry. Yet, I know there is nothing I can do. You will receive the news and be forever heartbroken, forever scarred. I just wish to relay the message to you that everything will be okay. But I cannot. I lay on the cold pavement in the middle of February and accept the inevitable end of my life. I close my eyes and I try as hard as I can to remember the way your arms felt wrapped around me. For a second, I believe I feel you. But then I am turned over on my back by an unknown force. I hear a gasp; I hear questions like, “are you okay?” I cannot utter a word; I am having trouble breathing. I do not open my eyes for I am too weak. Cold air brushes my face only to sting the wounds on my face. I can feel the blood dripping down my temples and catching on my ears. Lights hit my eyelids and the intensity passes through them. I may be found, but inside I am still dying.

Victoria Kiarsis ’13

Jay Fields ’13

Caroline Vianney ’14

W.W.W. *** Wrong Time The police officer arrived. He was in a hurry, his eyes were running back and forth. He put on a vest and opened the car door. He was medium size, dark hair, blue eyes and a small but noticeable belly was standing out of his light blue shirt. His legs were shorter compared to his body. He took out a gun and with small but fast steps he rushed into the glass doors.

Blood and screams. He looked around and he saw people whose eyes were filled with fear and cold. He glimpsed at the floor. A man was lying down and blood was all over him. Police officers immediately bent down to check the pulse. *** Wrong Person A young, tall handsome man walks into the office. With a big sigh he sat down at his desk and turned on the computer. His eyes were filled with boredom but he was too lazy to find any adventures. He took out of his leather bag some papers. Put on his black with white stripes on the sides glasses that he was still keeping since college.

“Peter, go get a package for me.” His boss suddenly appeared. “ But that is not my job.”

“Well, yes, but you can have no job here at all.”

For a few seconds Peter was looking at his boss sternly. “Ok,” he said with a small and gentle smile.

Peter walked out of the building to catch a cab. He had his own car but he did not want to waist fuel for this so called “trip”. He sat in the cab and said the address. Arrived. Peter paid the driver and exited the yellow car. He was choosing a song on his new iPod while walking through the glass doors.

“Hey” somebody shouted so loudly that Peter could hear him, even though he was wearing headphones. “ What do you think you are doing?” Peter lifted his eyes up and saw a fist coming towards his stomach. He hits the floor with his face.

“This is going to be an example to everyone here!” screamed the other man.

Shot fired. *** Wrong Place “This is going to be an example to everyone here!” screamed the other man.

Shot fired.

He did not even look at the corpse, he threw a bag to the woman “Fill it up”. She did not move. He glimpsed at her with his dark and sharp like a hawks eyes. Pointed a gun at her. “Move.” he said with a stern voice. So she did. Black pants and black t-shirt. His face was covered by mask so people could see only his eyes and unshaved, yellowish from the smoking chin. He took a bag and rushed out through the glass doors – the main entrance of National Bank Mikhail Kozak ’13

Paco Llonch Tarruella ’13

Paco Llonch Tarruella ’13

The Haunted House Fredrik Randmael ’12

When I was just a little child, There was a time when my mom Told me “son go out and play There is far more to do outside Than there will ever be inside the house.”

So I went outside to play with my friends.

In front of the house stood my friends.

I heard from the window: “be back by five my child.”

We ran to the woods, to an old haunted house.

In the back of my head I heard the voice of my mom “Be careful out there, it can get scary outside.”

But I had no time to think; it was time to play.

There I was ready to play.

Inside the house with my friends.

The sun was going down, and it was getting darker outside.

There were no lights inside. I was just a child, I thought to myself; I am supposed to be at home with my mom When it’s dark, instead I was in a haunted house.

There were no lights in the haunted house.

We ran through the house; scary and dark, when I realized play Time was over by now, it was time to go back to my mom.

I yelled out: “CAN WE GO HOME?!” The response was laughter from my friends.

I was scared alone in the dark. I was just a child.

I did not want to go alone, because it was dark outside.

At last I found myself all alone outside.

It seemed like my friends had left the haunted house I could not hear them inside. It was not easy to be a little child.

It was not fun anymore; it was not fun to play.

I walked all by myself, leaving my friends At the haunted house, I was going for my mom.

I was walking through the woods when I heard a scream, I yelled “MOM!” I was scared of the dark, and it sure was dark outside.

I was angry for being left alone by my friends.

I was scared now, I was never going back to that old haunted house.

It was dark outside, way past bed time, kids were not supposed to play That late. We were just children. I was just a child.

I was finally at home, at the door waiting for me was my mom. “What have you been doing outside?” She asked me. All I wanted to do was to play. Then came my friends, out of the woods. Never again did I go back to the haunted house, I was just a child.

The Sounds of Study Hall It starts off quiet and just the sound of a door opening and quietly shutting. And then it begins: the sounds of study hall.

The sounds of sweatpants stuck in-between L.L. Bean slippers and the carpet, which turns a few heads because the inevitable question of who is walking by arises. Next the sounds of macbooks opening one by one. The accidental three seconds of a Katy Perry song is blasted from a speaker, and then all the fun begins. First a quiet whisper to find out what the homework was, then a comment about the teacher. The whispers turn into audible tones and a loud burst of laughter, which is quickly followed by little giggles astonished at how loud they had been. Once the laughter quiets down, the sounds of typing emerge. As if a army of nutcrackers is marching across every keyboard. The library really isn’t a place for quite time.

Izzy McDonald ’12

Run Away with Me My life is like a gypsy, Travelling everywhere, Always being on the go.

Can’t afford to let the bad things, Bring you down.

Find something good, Stay there awhile, But not for too long.

Pack up your things, We’re going somewhere new.

New, with new opportunities, New chances, new personality.

No one knows you.

Start a new. Show off past qualifications, And hide the bad.

With all the changes and differences, Accept it, you won’t really fit in anywhere, Which isn’t always that bad.

Different isn’t that bad.

Joanna Borg ’12

Chronicles of a Broken Heart Clenched jaw, my mind’s storming.

Disaster hits, without warning.

Beehive pissed, feelings swarming.

Thinking back, when I was soaring.

It was love, hearts unpouring.

Now I’m stuck, sitting, mourning.

Should I leave? Gone by morning?

Is it still love, dormant, snoring?

Just give up, stop imploring.

But wait, we’ve been enduring.

Small problems, worth ignoring.

Jeopardize my happiness, What the hell am I snorting?

Back to square one, tears pouring.

Take it all in, just absorbing.

Wishing for something, anything, Heartwarming.

Teresa Sweeney ’12

Dylan Downes ’12

The Surgery Sweat trickles down his soft features, his hands shake. He takes a deep breath, and looks back down at his patient. His hand inches towards the patient’s skull, his tweezers grasp the obstruction. Holding his breath, he meticulously extracts the ice-cream cone, victorious.

Now, on to the funny bone, he thinks as his sips his apple juice.

Zac Czikowsky ’12

My life is like a fairytale Full of dreams and hope, I may start off alone in the beginning but later on I will not be alone.

I will meet the people who are willing to help me, I will meet the people who try to stop me, I will meet the people who no matter what, will always be there for me.

And I know that the right thing to do should always be done, And no matter who I meet or what obstacles I come across, And even when I feel like giving up I will keep on going because, I know that no matter what, there will be happy ending.

My happy ending will be like a prince and his princess riding off on a white stallion, into the setting sun.

My happy ending will be like finding a place like peter pans neverneverland.

This is my life, it is like a fairytale.

Jieming Wu ’12

Eliana Ferreri ’12

Which Charm Do You Add? My life is like a charm bracelet.

There are different aspects to it each have their own unique realm, yet are connected together by one common thread.

Some parts come premade, and I’m forced to stay with them, but I learn to appreciate them.

I get to choose what to add in, where it goes, and how long it stays.

I can switch things around, put in a new order, change up a color or two, whatever my heart desires.

Some people try to add more to it, But its ultimately my decision what to keep.

It starts off nice and shiny, but over time without proper care it gets scuffed up.

I can show it off to people wherever I go, or I can keep it to myself and enjoy it on my own.

Sometimes I can get a bit obsessed to have the newest, the best, the most, but I end up realizing I shouldn’t be customizing it so other people like it, I should be making it my own personal experience.

Teresa Sweeney ’12

Solitude I.

I’ve gotten used to it by now. It started out as pain, and loneliness, but I guess solitude gives you time to truly reflect on your life. Well, lonely in the sense that no one is around. I would never expect to live this long, but like I said, I guess I have gotten used to it. It’s incredible how fast one can use his instincts to survive. I never expected things to go this way…

II.

His name is Clayton. He is seven now, and has strong green eyes. He was taken away from me. He lives with my exwife about two hours south of here. Everyday I mourn to see him a little more than my extended time. The court ruled in her favor, as they sought me as a bad father. I want to be with him every second of the day. He is my everything.

Without him I have nothing else to live for.

III.

The snow was coming down hard. It was a blizzard to stop all blizzards. I was hoping Clayton could come with me, but his mother said otherwise. I guess I was trying to get away from it all, hope to escape the reality of my horrid life.

What I did not realize is that going to Colorado was going to make matters worse. When I entered the slope on that blizzard, I didn’t realize what I was getting myself into.

The woods engulfed me. I had no control of where I was going: everything was pure white. When I stopped, it was by the biggest evergreen in the bunch.

My leg was broken.

The pain was excruciating. “Help!” I yelled. It was futile. I was lying under a foot of fresh powder in the middle of nowhere Colorado. My clothes were sopping, and I had no food or water. The temperature was probably about 10 degrees, and the sun was about to go down. There were trees surrounding me at every corner, all concealed by a light white cover.

I had no food, no water, nothing. “Help!” I screamed again. It was useless; there was no one around. I struggled to get up one more time and failed. My entire body was numb. The only thing I could do was curl up into a ball to avoid the wind. It was torturous.

The first night was the hardest, as it always should be. The weather beat me.

IV.

“Court is in session!” The judge moaned as he slammed his gavel down. “This is to determine the custody of Clayton Henry Sagas.”

My palms were sweating.

“Mrs. Sagas please approach the bench.”

My jaw clenched as I saw her stand up. She was going to take everything away from me today. She has already taken most of my money, and now she wants my child. I don’t understand how someone in this world could be so cruel.

“Please state your case.”

“My husband was never around for Clayton’s childhood. He was always working, or off somewhere else. Never home.

I had to raise this child myself, without the help of a man who promised to be home. He was not even there when the child was born as he had a board meeting. Now that your honor, is preposterous. His work always came before Clayton and myself, and today it will still be the same. If you grant him custody Clayton will grow up in a household

where he is not loved.”

“Objection your honor,” my attorney interrupted. “She has no right to say if my client loves his son.”

“Overruled, precede Ms. Sagas.”

“Thank you. If you grant full custody to me I promise you that Clayton will grow up in a household where the attention is one hundred percent on him. He will be my focus. He will be my little boy. That is all.”

“Mr. Sagas, your case.”

I stood up and approached the bench. I faced out to the audience. “My son was born on February 19th, 2001, the happiest day of my life. I wished to be there, but my work did not permit it. I swear to you, I have changed from that day. I want to be there every second of everyday with him. I have quit my job, and want to focus on all the mistakes I have made. I love this boy more than any of you ever could. He is my all. Maybe my wife has been with my son, but she is not a good mother to him. He does not feel comfortable in that household.”

“Objection your honor,” my wife’s short stubby attorney shouted. “Mr. Sagas has no proof of this. He barely even talks to his son, nevertheless hears him complain about his mother.”

“Is this true Mr. Sagas?” The judge questioned.

“She abused me, so only even God knows what she will do to my son.” I said sorrowfully. I walked over to my chair full of disdain.

“Has the jury reached a verdict?” Asked the judge.

“Yes your honor,” said the one in charge. “We find in favor of Mrs. Sagas to have full custody, and for Mr. Sagas to have limited visitation rights.”

“That is all, court is dismissed.”

V.

I think I slept for about two hours under the evergreen: more than I expected. Sounds of owls surrounded me. The temperature was constantly dropping, and my leg was not feeling any better. I figured I had to do something about it or I might lose it forever. I struggled over to the smallest tree in sight. It was about six feet and dead. It was standing alone in the woods whereas all the other trees were standing in bunches. I went over to it and grabbed the strongest branch I could find. I used all my strength and tore it off the tree. Shortly there after I took the branch and using my goggle strap, and attached to my leg for support. It provided little relief, but it was something. I stumbled back over to my evergreen in attempt to sleep a little bit more. I was somehow staying warm, as I had numbers of hand and toe warmers. I coated my body with them. I knew I was not going to survive long out here if I was weak and tired: under the evergreen, I shut my eyes for just a few more hours.

VI.

The first time I saw him after the court case, seemed forced. His mother dropped him off and told him to not speak anything of what happens in the household. I know this because he did tell me. She abuses him verbally. Whenever he does something wrong, she gets inside his head and makes sure he feels like the smallest man alive. She does everything to hurt him.

She did the same to me.

We met in New York City on New Years Eve. We were both young and ignorant. I was throwing my money around attempting to impress her. She was beautiful. I remember when I first talked to her: she was unimpressed. She thought that I was just another guy with money.

I saw her again the next night, at a banquet for my work. She looked dashing. I asked her out on a date that night, and she somehow said yes.

Before we were wed we were the happiest two lovebirds in the world. We would do everything together, and were told on multiple occasions that we were a model couple: definitely a self-esteem booster. She was my wingman, and never left my side. She was there for me when my father died of a stroke. She was there every second. However, one day she told me, “Scott, if you do not marry me, I will leave you.” Dumbly enough I agreed.

We were married a month later, and that is when the abuse began. Everyday when I got home from work she would scream at me that I was never home to help her make dinner. She would scream at me about how I was not bringing enough income into the household. Everything was my fault.

VII.

When I woke up the sun was high in the sky. I was impressed that I slept for so long. I was starving. However, my leg did not feel as bad as it did yesterday, on the other hand the swelling had gone up. The snow had stopped, and the temperature was probably about forty. It was all in all a much better day. I got up using the evergreen as support. It felt good to stretch out. I figured I had to find food or I was certain to not make it through the day. For water I was just constantly eating snow. I guess that did the trick.

I set up camp under the evergreen; well I don’t know if I would call it camp. It was my large ski jacket and my ski pants with my bag full of hand and toe warmers. I made a little hut, in which I would sleep the nights to come. I used a large branch and found numbers of pine tree branches for cover. It was truly cozy. After setting up camp I went to search for food. By searching for food I mean exploring.

I walked for a few hours and did not make it very far because of my leg. I passed numerous berry bushes, but I felt as though it was way to risky to eat one. The snow was about up to my ankles as the harsh sun had melted the most of it from the previous night.

Eventually I came up to tree, which had a squirrel in it. Now I know what you are thinking, but I was starving. With that said I had never killed a live animal, so I knew that this was going to be a feat for mankind. I took my pole and waked the small tree it seemed to be sleeping on. It was startled and jumped as far off the tree as it could. However the snow restricted its tiny legs so it could barely move. I jumped on top of it, a little abrasive I know, and held it in my hands. It was squirming vigorously. I felt so bad for the poor fellow. It was so innocent and who was I to take his life. But I had to. I grabbed its head strongly in my right hand, and pulled. The squirming stopped. I had conquered, man had won.

VIII.

When his mother dropped him off that day he ran into my arms. I squeezed him so tight, that I was sure he could barely breathe. I loved that boy so much. My ex told me to have him back home by nightfall. When he came inside we talked about his school, and how he has a crush on this girl named Isabel. We talked about, you know, guy stuff. The day sped by, as we could talk about anything we wanted. When he told me that my ex-wife was screaming at him, I told him that it would all get better soon.

I was going to fix this, I knew it.

IX.

The snow, to my favor had become my best friend. No squirrel could escape my broken leg and me. That day I probably captured about seventeen. Not bad for a first day killing. When I found my way back to the evergreen I placed all of the squirrels underneath the tree. I had to cook them I know I did. Surprisingly I knew how to make a fire.

When I was a kid my mother’s boyfriend at the time sent me to a nature survival camp. I am not joking around. I learned how to make a fire out of flint, rope and a starting stick. It was definitely a challenge as all of the other kids actually wanted to be there. But I learned. I got through a week of hell and I learned how to make a fire.

After struggling to find everything I needed I set up the flat piece of wood on the ground. I cleared out all of the snow so there was a wide opening. It all started with a coal.

X.

After he left to return to his mother’s house, I knew I had to do something about this. He was growing up in a household where he was being verbally abused. I called child protective services and told them. We were scheduled

another court date, on my sons birthday. I wished to call it off, but my wife insisted that she not be made out a bad guy. I realized that what I had done was going to affect my son so greatly, that I regretted it in every bone in my body.

Little did I know what I did that day would hurt me much more than it helped.

XI.

After I cooked two squirrels, which tasted horrific may I add, I felt extremely content. Having a full stomach was extremely satisfying. With that said I could now figure out how I was going to escape from these woods. I had no cell phone, and no way to contact the outside world. I figured the only way to escape was to keep fighting against all the factors against me. I was alone in these woods, and everything was working against me. It seemed as though I was the bad guy in a good woods.

The next day or two I continued on killing squirrels I could find and eating them. I would hunt, eat snow, and sleep in my shelter. It was the life built for champions, but I am definitely no champion.

The night of the third day I was determined that I had to get out of there, for Clayton. He thinks I betrayed him, and I have to prove him wrong.

XII.

At age seven being forced to go to two court cases would be tough for anyone. This one particularly would be hard for Clarence Darrow. One word to describe it: perjury. My wife lied through her teeth, and made me look like the bad guy. She manipulated me, and everyone around us.

XIII.

I packed my bags full of squirrels, and hand/toe warmers. I left my home of three nights, and made my journey. In a few hours my camp was far off in the distance. The snow actually made things more helpful as I could track where I was going. I am pretty sure I made some good distance on the first day. It was not snowing which was definitely a bonus. When the sun started to go down, I figured I should find a place to rest.

I sought an evergreen tree five times as big as the original one. I approached it slowly, and when I got close enough, I blacked out.

I woke up in the middle of the night in a large hole. One of my skis snapped in half due to the impact. It was amazing that I survived. I was under the evergreen. The snow had hit the tree, and therefore not gone under it. This called for this large hole I was in. I got in the feedle position. There was no way I was going to get out of here. I closed my eyes for a few hours.

When I awoke I ate one of my squirrels. I had only six left in my bag. I ate some more snow to make sure I could stay hydrated. I had to get out of here. There was no way I would let my son find me in a hole, shriveled up and dead.

There was no way. I had to get out of here. I had to escape.

XIV.

When she stood on the stand she claimed that I tried to call off the court case as I realized that I was lying. She said that I was abusing my son, and that’s why when he comes home from my house he is crying. She said that I do not deserve to ever see him again. She went on and on lying. Just thinking about it makes me feel sickened.

The jury sided with her, and I was told that I could only see my son with supervised visits. When the words supervised came up, tears starting to flow out of my eyes. I could not help myself and I stood up and ran over to my son and attempted to hug him one last time. The bailiff grabbed me before I could reach him, and dragged me out of the building.

XV.

I attempted to use my ski poles to get out, but it was nearly impossible. I could not get out. However, I was not giving

up. I was put in this hole and I was going to get out of it. Somehow, no matter what I would see my son again and make things right with the two of us. Everything was pitting against me, but I still had will power. I still knew what was right in my heart and that I knew I had to make things right.

I spent two nights and three days in the hole. I rationed out the squirrels so I could survive, on the third day I finally made it out.

XVI.

I needed to get away from this all. From the courts, from my wife, from everything. She had taken almost everything away from me aside from my freedom. I was going to use my freedom to escape, to get away from this all. After sometime I decided that I was going to go to Colorado for a bit, and figure out what to do with my life. I tried to call Clayton time and time out, but his mother would constantly answer and not hand him the phone. I decided to give it a rest.

I bought a plane ticket to Colorado. I packed all my ski gear and the next morning I went to our ski cabin in Colorado.

It was nice to get away from everything. At the same time I missed Clayton so much, and knowing that I was not going to see him for quite a long time just him and was haunting to me. I determined that the next morning I was going to wake up early and get fresh tracks. I packed a bag full of hand and toe warmers, because I have the worst circulation of any other person in the entire world. I went to bed early in preparation for fresh tracks the following morning.

I woke up early, maybe about five o’clock and grabbed my gear. I drove over to Vail where there was not a soul in sight. There was one chair lift open. I put all my ski gear on and skated over to it. I showed him my season pass and he let me on. It was a blizzard, and freezing. My toe warmers had already stopped working. That or maybe it was just too cold for them to work. My toes turned into icicles instantly. My big plastic boots did not help either. When I got to the top I could not see a thing. The wind chill was probably about negative ten degrees and the temperature was about positive ten degrees. I was determined to get first tracks however. All of the trails it looked like had already been skiied. I was too stubborn to go down one of those. I wanted an untouched trail. I am a pretty experienced skier, so I was not worried. I found a trail in the trees that had not yet been skied. I entered on the right. When I looked back I saw that there was a sign next to the trail, which said, CLOSED in big red letters. It was too late now however. I was cruising at full speed dodging every tree. I felt like a god. I was on the top of the world. It was not until I nicked a tree and did a 180 that things started to go down hill.

XVII.

Finally on the third day I made it out of that hole. How I did it? Adrenaline, hope, and will power? I am not really all that sure. What I did is slammed one pole into the snow on my right as deep as it could go. At first it would not hold me.

Eventually I found a patch made of ice. I hoisted myself onto my pole and got out of that damn hole.

I now only had one ski and one pole. It was cold, really cold. I was starving, and had no food to eat. All the animals seemed to be in hiding due to the cold weather. I had no hope, and nowhere to go. I spent all my energy on getting out of the hole. However the hole was what protected me from the outside. The wind, and snow, everything. I had no energy to move forward at this point. I felt like I was going to die. I collapsed into the snow and sank deep within it. There is no moving forward at this point, I thought. I cannot escape here, I have no sense of direction and have no idea where I am. All that effort to get out of the hole, for nothing. I shut my eyes until I heard a noise.

“Dad!” I picked up my head and saw my son in the distance standing there. I found the energy to get up and run towards him. Right before I got to him he started to run away.

“Clayton, wait!” I screamed.

I was ignoring all the pain my leg was dishing out to me. I abandoned my other ski and ski boots. My feet were beyond numb, but the sense of hope that fulfilled my body warmed me up. “Son, wait!” I could still see him in the distance.

I was picking up more and more speed. Tears started to flow out of my eyes. I could not help it. I was so happy to see him, even if he was not real. I continued to chase him for about thirty minutes. I kept running until I collapsed on

a bump. I face planted hard. It did not feel like snow. I lifted my head up and saw that I was on a road. A road! A real road!! I started to scream and shout.

Shortly there after came a large pick up truck. I flagged him down and he pulled over.

“What is wrong with you son? It is freezing out and your not wearing any shoes!” Said the big burly truck driver.

I told him everything that happened: the squirrels, the hole, my son, everything. I was spilling myself out to a stranger, a man that I have never met before.

XVIII.

That truck driver turned out to be one of my closest friends to this day. His name is Bob. I always make fun of him because that is such a cliché truck driver name. Bob hated truck driving, and said that he always wanted to be a guitarist. Now, many may judge me for this, but I took Bob back into New York with me. To this day he is preforming gigs all over the city with his band: The Saviors. I gave him the idea for the name.

Anyway, that day, one year ago, Bob took me to a hospital where they casted my leg, and fed me. Even hospital food tasted amazing. I soon there after went back home with Bob on my left on the plane.

My story became famous, and I got to speak the truth of what happened. I was able to tell the truth about my wife, and how she manipulated the world. For some reason, she came out clean. Maybe she said it for the publicity. Maybe she said it to become famous. Or maybe she said it because she knew that what she was did was wrong. Deep down, there is a good person in there. Deep down there is the woman I fell in love with.

I live with Clayton now in a three-bedroom apartment. I was offered my job back at Lehman Brothers but I said no. I wanted to spend as much time as possible with my son. It’s kind of a good thing, as they went under pretty bad and a lot of people hate everyone that worked there.

I work as a public speaker now. I go around and tell people my story and how my son was the only one who could guide me out. He was my light in a dark place. He is my everything.

Will Sartorius ’12

Molly Stromoski ’12

Valentines Poem

Unfocused

I hate to hear, will you be mine?

It’s said so often on Valentines Day I hate it so much; I don’t have the time, To stroll around, being charming and gay.

My life is like the universe

I left my girl yesterday; I guess it was wrong, Yet she doesn’t understand just to leave me alone.

She still thinks there’s love, so she calls all day long, But knowing me, do I answer? No! But I felt bad, just to leave her so lonesome, So I tried to explain that she was too needy, The best way to do so was to write her poem, So I started it off with a, Look sweetie, Roses are red Violets are blue, The truth is, it’s not me, It’s most definitely you.

This is the reason for my Valentines Day hate, I have a girl no more, but I guess that’s just fate.

Mack Montague ’13

There’s so much to discover It’s like I’m trying one new thing Now I’m looking at another.

I’m experiencing life Like the countless stars in space Houston tells me to slow down I punch him in the face.

There’s a billion different reasons Why not to sit and wait Life will go on and pass you by So go and build your fate.

Now unfocus yourself, Take a look around You’ll be surprised at what you see Try out all the things of life Cause some day soon you’ll cease to be.

Zac Czikowsky ’12

My Life is like sailing.

Depending on the day sometimes you get a nice breeze and it fills your sails and takes you to where you want to go. But sometimes, you get caught in irons, or in the middle of the chop.

And the only way to get out is to keep trying. Try to catch another nice breeze before you get pushed Backwards.

Sometimes you catch a wave going downwind and just get to cruise for a while. It’s the upwind that makes you work: tacking and roll tacking, trapezeing and hiking. You get tired and are sick of it and can’t wait for the big gibe around the mark.

The relief of going downwind. Hopefully you can catch another wave.

Izzy McDonald ’12

Gina Nasiadka ’13

28

Muette

Les nuages

C’est très difficile d’être muette

Les nuages dansent dans le ciel

Mais je le fais pour mon oncle

Ils tournoient, ils sautent

Mon ami

Ils glissent, Ils dansent

Pour les gens que je connais

Pour moi, et toi et le monde.

Et les gens que je ne connais pas.

Nous les voyons avec plaisirs

C’est très difficile d’être muette

Parce qu’ils sont calms

Mais ces gens se taisent tous les jours

Et la vie n’est pas.

Aujourd’hui je connais leur douleur

Nous pouvons être comme les nuages.

Parce que c’est très difficile d’être muette.

Sans Bonheur Qu’est-ce qu’est la vie?

Dedicated to the participants of D.O.S.

Vide Comme le ciel sans nuages La vie est vide sans bonheur.

Mute It is very difficult to be mute

Clouds

But I do it for my uncle My friend

Clouds dance in the sky

For the people that I know

They swirl, they jump

And for the people that I don’t know

They slide, they dance

It is very difficult to be mute

For me, and you and the world.

But these people are mute everyday

We Watch them with joy

Today I understand their pain

Because they are calm

Because it is difficult to be mute.

And life it is not.

Eleanor Kelly ’12

We could be like the clouds.

Without happiness What is life?

Empty…

Like the sky without clouds Life is empty without happiness.

Mariam Ibrahim ’13

Writer’s Block

Until the End

And at that certain time of day, the writer thought, “What story do I want to construct?”

He moved his pen, made some words, But couldn’t find anything to say.

And he sat back and looked at the world And opened his mind to creativity

Its funny, people think they know, but they don’t.

And there’s always someone there.

But you still feel all alone.

You try to fix everything that’s wrong, But this won’t be fixed, it never will be.

It will be like this until the end.

He sat there, waiting for the creativity To invade his thought Like waves from the oceans of the world Congealing into ideas, his construct.

He fumbled for what to say, He fumbled for the words.

But this, this wont end, Nothing will just get better, things don’t Change. Your life will never be Better. You know that there Are always going to be things that are wrong, You know you’ll always be alone.

Which words, which words?

Which would he grasp from his creativity?

Did he have anything to say?

Something that would provoke a thought?

Something he could construct, And share with the world?

But people tell you that you’re not alone.

They tell you that it’s not the end.

There’s still time to fix what’s wrong.

And you’ll say to them, “Don’t.

Don’t tell me I can fix everything. Not when there Is so much wrong, not when there will always be.”

He sat there, immersed in his world.

A world of peoples, thoughts, and words.

Where words command, people construct, And thoughts spring from creativity.

This writer, lost in thought, Just couldn’t think of what to say.

And you’ll hear voices saying back, “Be All that you can be.” But you can’t, because you’re alone.

You have no one there, All trust in others has come to an end.

People may think you trust them. But you don’t.

Because you can’t, at least not when everything’s wrong.

What does anyone ever say To make a difference in the world?

How is it that they take a thought, Write them down as words, And expand on it through their creativity?

How do we construct?

And everything is always going to be wrong So you will never be Able to trust. Besides, people don’t know what it’s like to be you. Alone, just waiting for the end.

But the end isn’t near. So you have to just stay there.

How do we construct What we say?

Where is the writer’s creativity?

As he looks into the world, He finds some words Then another, then another. He finds a thought.

Stuck. Without anyone there Beside you. And you would be wrong To quit before the end.

So you know you’ll just have to be Patient, waiting all alone.

But never quit. Just don’t.

He knows what to say.

He finds the words.

So just wait there, and try not to be Wrong in any decision, just wait alone.

For the end, But never quit. Just don’t.

He grasps at creativity.

He’s given a thought.

Zac Czikowsky ’12

Pixie Clauson ’12

Their First Encounter Teresa Sweeney ’12

Her eyes gazed over the crowd, The atmosphere was a stuffy haze full of music, For some reason their eyes met, Something changed within her stomach, It did a flip, a turn, and a loop, then finally settled, She realized he was the one she had waited for.

This was the one thing she needed to look good for.

She could care less if someone else saw her in the crowd.

She had settled in her chair too long. She used the music to get by, stomach to stomach, until their chests met.

Then their hands met.

How long would they be dating for?

Way too soon, said the gut-wrenching stomach.

They had connected, everyone in the crowd could testify. The bass of the music seemed to have settled the two stranger’s heartbeats into the same rhythm the moment they met.

Her face started to get red. What for?

Well for one, there was an army of butterflies in her stomach.

The couple couldn’t hear each other in the crowd.

He took her to a quieter place, with less music.

Then they finally got settled.

His body close to hers, her hands settled in his. “It’s kind of crazy how we met.”

She could actually hear his voice now over the music.

“What would it be crazy for?”

She could feel the jealous eyes burning from the crowd.

Girls envious of her! Now this she couldn’t stomach.

Her self-conscious hands grazed over her stomach.

He gave her a look of assurance and the butterflies settled.

“Don’t worry about those girls in the crowd.”

Without warning their lips met.

She had no idea what that was for.

Was it the atmosphere, the food, the music?

It wasn’t the music, the discussion was settled.

There was no denying the feeling in her stomach the moment they met.

This truly was the one she had waited for, the one out of the crowd.

Paco Llonch Tarruella ’13

I Believe In I believe in looking at the whole forest, not just the bark of the single tree. I believe in the ability to see the whole picture, question, wonder, and ask why? I believe in this because it applies to so many different parts of a single life.

The evolution of stepping back and getting the larger picture started when I was young. I started to look ahead and plan what I needed for a specific task, or what I needed that day. To be honest this started as a manifestation of general laziness. Planning ahead is what saved me from running back and forth getting what I needed. Instead, I just got what I needed in the beginning. It worked so well the planning stuck, and thankfully the laziness did not. Planning relies on seeing ahead, but this is only part of the picture; being able to see the past is also needed. I started to master this quite easily and simply because of memories. As I got older and older, I got more and more. With more memories I had more to look back to, and, once again, the looking back stuck. I was now able to understand the past and the future in my own way; this created a picture of what happened and what might happen in my mind. The only detail that restrained my present belief into a slow evolution after this figurative picture was formed is the most important part of a picture, and an English class concept that I never could quite get, context. Without context a picture is almost useless; the meaning could sway either way, like a ship without an anchor. Context was the anchor the picture needed. It took me so long to develop this context because I never really had to put anything into context until high school. Along with context comes the ability to ask, Why? Asking why was often seen as a nuisance to everyone around me. I started off just like any typical child: why this, why that? Basic stuff. Once again as I got older I began to understand on my own, and instead of asking why, I started thinking why and stopped asking it, much to my parents’ relief. This change was greatly needed, before I got the answer, now I gave myself the answer. I could now openly and endlessly wonder because I could answer the great question, why. With my anchored picture and the ability to understand what it meant, I formed the idea that I should take a step back and look at every decision, every choice I had and have to make, because every picture is different, and can lead you in infinite directions. This idea is now what I believe in.

This belief that I hold so dear also helps out on the practical side. By taking a step back and observing what is going on, I can get a better view of what to do and how to do it. This applies most in solving problems. I have been told that my solutions are ones that have not been thought of before, and stepping back and taking a look at the whole picture is why. I believe this is a great trait for engineers and problem solvers alike to have, because it opens up so many different paths and opportunities that may have not been seen before.

I use this belief in everything I now do and hope to do. It started forming as I was young and I hope to still have it and use it when I am sitting in my rocking chair with white hair. The ability to step back see, and ask “why?” has the potential to help so many with the new decisions, solutions, and the ideas it can create. No matter what, I hope to bring this wherever I go and pass it on, and hopefully, even if it is just slight, I can step back and see change that I brought for the better.

Conrad Mish ’12

Jaclyn Chalke ’12

Princess Felicia blended in with the crowd, And when her subjects greeted her, no one bowed.

They all said she was too ordinary and plainShe didn’t dress like other princesses, so she wasn’t treated the same.

But Princess Felicia was still a princess, indeed, Even if she wore navy blue pants and a jacket made of tweed.

And Prince Jacob still loved her a lot No matter what people said or what people thought.

She told a little girl who asked why she wears what she wears, “My dresses are uncomfortable and my crown messes with my hair!

A Princess doesn’t have to wear ’princess clothes’!

There is no such thing! I do not own those!”

“One day,” she continued, “people will appreciate me!

They should not fuss and fret about how I appear to be!

Why do clothes matter so much anyhow?

Does it really affect them if I don’t always wear gowns?”

The little girl smiled and gave the princess a hug “I don’t like dresses either!” she said with a shrug.

“I think you’re perfect and you’re just what we need!

You’re a trendsetter, not a follower; you’ll surely succeed.”

Princess Felicia hoped that what the girl said would be true.

She was tired of feeling left out from the whole royal crew.

Wanting to prove her appearance, she drew and drew.

She sketched unhappy princesses in nice gowns and shoes.

The pictures were distributed around and around They were seen by the royals and viewed by the whole town Maybe it is the heart that matters, they thought with a guilty frown.

Maybe, a princess was a princess, even with no dress or crown.

Then, within the royal family, Princess Felicia noticed a difference, Not all of the princesses dressed with such a fancy stiffness.

Everyone was happier letting their true colors shine, And the kingdom accepted their outfits time after time.

Molly Stromoski ’12

A Princess In Disguise

Bad TV My life is like a bad TV show.

Every day is like a new episode, Another problem arises, I spend the whole show trying to fix it.

Sometimes in one episode I am done,

Brand New

I solve the problem, or I fix what was wrong.

Life is like a toothbrush.

But sometimes it’s not that easy,

Eventually it gets worn out.

At the end of the episode, I’m left with a cliffhanger

The bristles lose their strength,

I have to wait until the next day

and the toothbrush becomes less helpful.

To try to right whatever situation has happened this time.

But you have control of your toothbrush…

But this is where the plot can thicken,

Just because it gets worn out

Storylines from past episodes come up in the script again,

doesn’t mean you can’t replace it.

I find myself stuck within one plot line

A toothbrush is only effective if you use it

That I just want written out of the show.

to its full extent.

The writer is just begging for viewers now,

But what would a toothbrush be

Making problems arise that no one will believe.

without toothpaste?

But I don’t seem to have control over this matter,

People in your life

I am just an actress,

are the toothpaste.

Saying every line written for me, doing every action.

You can’t brush your teeth

But I am not alone,

without the help of toothpaste.

In every episode there are the same few characters,

As you get older and you brush your teeth more,

They are my closest friends,

the toothpaste runs out

Filling my show with bad jokes and awkward moments.

and eventually it comes time

But they’re the ones that give it life,

to get a new bottle.

Without them, my show would already have been cut

Every year,

From the program, other shows would take my time slot.

new toothbrushes are created.

They keep me going.

But you should have control of how good yours is.

But after years and years, like any TV show,

The grips on the toothbrush are there

My day will come.

for a reason.

My show will be canceled

Use them.

And all that will be left of me are memories or reruns.

And only the ones who watched my in me prime would care to watch again And remember everything that happened, All my ups and downs.

Pixie Clauson ’12

Taylor Grand Pre ’12

Pure Maleenont ’15

Imperfection It’s not the way you roll your eyes It’s not the way you snore at night It’s not the way you ditch me for the guys It’s not the way you have to be right.

I hate that you know me so well I hate that you know my next move I love that you can barely spell I love that every day you improve.

It’s the way you look at me It’s the way you kiss me on the nose It’s the way you say Grand Pre It’s the way you fold your clothes.

I hate that you’ve stolen my heart I love that I love you, till death do us part.

Taylor Grand Pre ’12

And I Keep Waiting When will I get food, I wonder. I get brought around Everywhere. Having nothing else to do, I lay down to nap.

I lay, I sit, but all I do is wait.

She’s always on the phone, my mother But little does she know that I do listen.

Poor her on Fridays for when the workers come, she has to listen To me bark profusely. She evens tries to bribe me with food To calm down. It’s important for me to bark, does mother Not understand? There are people with weapons running around In our backyard! But no, she locks me up in a room, and I wait Until finally I’ve had enough, and its time for a nap.

It always seems like I am taking a nap, During the night, and during the day, but I listen Carefully for when mother arrives home and I wait By the door, excited to greet her with my kisses and hope that she gives me food.

After lunch, I run around, Bringing toys, hoping that I get to play with mother.

She pulls out her car keys, time for adventure, just mother And I. We go to a place smelling of leather. She picks out a collar while I nap Inside her bag, and I wait while she walks around.

She calls up her friend and mentions she’s going to the car, as I listen I pop out from the bag, excited to hear: “car” where I know I’ll get food.

But no, not today, she puts me in my cushioned middle seat, and I wait.

She takes me on a short promenade, but I take my sweet time, so she has to wait.

Suddenly, I sense it’s 5 o’clock, time for my dinner, so I pull mother Back home as fast as I can, even if the leash is choking me, it’s worth it for the food.

After dinner, I need to go outside and do my thing, and then take a nap.

It’s been an exhausting day for a dog like me, but mom can’t leave the room; I listen, Even if she thinks I’m sleeping, I’m not. I am there to always follow her around.

She goes and starts tapping at a screen, while I hang around Her, in her office. I sit patiently in her nice chair, rather than my office pillow and wait.

We are alone in the house, but I listen, Just in case I hear something that might scare my mother.

After all, I am the mini housedog. People can think I’m taking a nap, But actually I’m guarding, and waiting to be rewarded with some food.

All day, I follow around my mother, It seems like forever when I wait for her attention, but in her comforting presence, I nap.

I listen carefully, while mom is in the kitchen, waiting for the sound of dropped food.

Joanna Borg ’12

Sarah Hong ’15

It’s Not Enough Valentines Day sonnet You stand there, just right You’re all I crave, For you, anything, I’ll be your slave.

I dream about you every night, That’s when my imagination takes flight: Your body withstanding the wave, Your handsomeness, oh Dave, Your skin reflecting the hot sun light.

I lay in bed, just waiting, For that day when you’ll be mine.

I swear, you’re my other half.

If only we’d meet, we’d be dating.

How happy I’d be, for you to be my valentine, It’s a shame you’re only a photograph.

Joanna Borg ’12

Cheryl Kuo ’13

Snow Tunnels (a children’s story) So much snow is on the ground.

It’s all I see when I look around.

If I could, I’d play in it all day.

It’s a shame my mom will never let me stay.

Today I’ll build tunnels all under the snow.

They’ll take me to a place that my mom will never know.

I dig and dig for what seems like hours, and crawl out to take a rest.

I go inside to drink hot chocolate.

And count out as many marshmallows as my stomach can hold.

I return back outside to finish in the cold.

Im climbing back into my tunnel, which seems to goes for endless miles.

I can’t help but think and smile.

All of a sudden, right before my eyes, I came across a turn that was not mine.

Around the corner was a large dug out room filled with all different candies laid straight in a line.

I started to feast and sat in a great-carved ice chair.

I turned and ate all of the gummy bears.

With a stomach nice and full, I turned around and headed back home.

I climbed into bed after I got in, to dream up a new adventure.

I closed my eyes to fall asleep.

Alyssa Fruce ’12

A Time of Thanks Hours spent talking, laughing Countless jokes and witty banter Finally, a day of peace

I Could Never Love Anyone the Same

Maybe I belong, maybe it’s changed Sitting around with full stomachs Together, not talking, just watching The television bright, passing the hours It feels right, such peace

It is that steady hum beneath my ear

Comfortable, lying down, happy

As I rest my head on your chest as you talk

I am forced to move,

The night away, there is nothing I fear.

Anger now takes hold,

Small amorous mumbles, endless in stock.

Taking the place of happiness He’s bigger. I don’t care.

Your voice is echoing through your body

But that wasn’t a smart choice

Which then reverberates through mine

Now he’s not happy, so mad

Being in your presence, it’s so godly.

But I don’t stop, I keep pushing

The warmth from all your coos feels so divine.

Until he cracks.

And so does my wrist

Our love radiates into the small room.

Tears don’t seem to stop him

I don’t understand you but I need you.

Only becoming more furious

Can you believe I was just in your womb?

My legs are kicked from under me

Your eyes gaze into mine, mine just as blue.

I try to get up, but he won’t have it My hair in his hand

We are both so calm, both breathing so deep,

He sends my head towards the floor

So soothed and warm, I could just fall aslee…

Only then is it broken up

Teresa Sweeney ’12

Where were you before?

When I needed you Of course nothing is explained I must have started it I always start it.

So I am sent to my room But that’s no punishment at all That is where I have my peace.

Pixie Clauson ’12

Julie Doten ’14

Cheryl Kuo ’13

My Journey My life is like a road trip.

If I see someone standing by the side of the road,

It’s a long journey I take,

I would be more than happy to stop.

Until I reach my ending point;

I am willing to pick up someone along the way,

My last stop.

A beautiful relationship could form unexpectedly.

I have important decisions to make,

Why not be spontaneous?

Right or left?

Do something unexpected.

I should always try to do the right thing,

Visit someplace historic,

Why would I want to hurt someone along the way?

Meet someone famous.

What is the most efficient way to get there?

Make your life worth living.

I don’t want to spend my days doing nothing.

You can’t ever turn back.

It helps to be productive,

You don’t get a second chance.

Not to take to many detours.

Leave your mark on the map.

Alyssa Fruce ’12

Annie Pitkin ’12

2012 SENIOR

FROM LEFT TO RIGHT Caroline Leonard, Jaclyn Chalke, Eliana Ferreri, Will Sartorius, Conrad Mish, NOT SHOWN Pixie Clauson, Dylan Downes, Teresa Sweeney, Lohen Parchment, Eleanor Kelly,

ARTISTS & WRITERS

Fredrik Randmael, Joanna Borg, Annie Pitkin, Jieming Wu, Alyssa Fruce, Izzy McDonald, Zac Czikowsky.

Taylor Grand Pre, Lexi Hildreth, and Molly Stromoski.

Artistic

growth is, more than it is anything else, a refining of the sense of truthfulness. artist, the great artist, knows how difficult it is.

The stupid believe that to be truthful is easy; only the

Willa Cather (novelist)

Art is the desire of a man to express himself, to record the reactions of his personality to the world he lives in.

Amy Lowell (poet)

Painting is

poetry that is seen rather than felt, and poetry is painting that is felt rather than seen.

Leonardo da Vinci (painter, inventor)

Creativity is allowing yourself to make mistakes. Art is knowing which ones to keep.

Scott Adams (cartoonist)

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MISSION Suffield Academy is a coeducational, independent secondary school serving a diverse community of boarding and day students.

Our school has a tradition of academic excellence combined with a strong work ethic. A commitment to scholarship and a respect for individual differences guide our teaching and curriculum. We engender among our students a sense of responsibility, and they are challenged to grow in a structured and nurturing environment. The entire academic, athletic, and extracurricular experience prepares our students for a lifetime of learning, leadership, and active citizenship.

NON-DISCRIMINATION Suffield Academy does not discriminate on the basis of sex, race, color, religion, creed, national or ethnic origin, citizenship, physical attributes, disability, age, or sexual orientation. We administer our admissions, financial aid, educational, athletic, extracurricular, and other policies so that each student is equally accorded all the rights, privileges, programs, and facilities made available by the school.