The Quill
AMSA’S Literary and Creative Magazine 2020/2021 Edition
The Quill Teacher Advisor: Carolyn Rousseau Staff: Allison Silva, Evangelina Burdick, Shaleigh Balcher, Mary Hodge, Jasper Keener, and Melvin He Cover and Letter to the Editors Images: “Picturesque” and “In Flight” Lauren Williams ‘22
Advanced Math & Science Academy Charter School 201 Forest Street, Marlborough MA www.amsacs.org
Literary and Creative Magazine, Issue IX, 2021
A Letter From the Editors Dear Readers,
Thank you for all of your fantastic submissions this school year. As usual, they were incredible and we hope to see more work from all of you in the future. Have a wonderful summer, AMSA students!!!
The AMSA Quill Staff Evangelina, Alli, Mary, Shaleigh, Jasper, and Melvin
Table of Contents High School Page 6: Page 7: Page 8: Page 9: Page 10: Pages 10-12: Page 13: Page 14: Page 15: Page 16: Page 17: Page 18: Pages 19-26: Page 27: Page 28: Page 29: Page 30: Pages 31-35: Pages 36-37:
“Fear and Loathing” Nico Solimine ‘22 “A Lost Year” Melvin He ‘21 “Sugar Roses” Kimberly Wang ‘23 “Vaccination” Liam Harlan ‘23 “Ceiling of Yale Divinity Library” Lauren Williams ‘22 “A New Ending to Dracula” Evangelina Burdick ‘21 “The Lighthouse” Nico Solimine ‘22 “Blackbirds” Jasper Keener ‘22 “kenopsia” Amanda Denney ‘22 A photograph from Julia Campbell ‘22 “Flutter and Bloom” Lauren Williams ‘22 “Sunrise” Jasper Keener ‘22 “Eight Minutes” Julia SIlva ‘22 “Sea and Sky” Amanda Denney ‘22 A photograph from Julia Campbell ‘22 “Plesiosaur” Amanda Denney ‘22 “The Sadr Region” Anthony Grankin ‘22 “Bleak” Aidan Correll ‘21 A photograph from Julia Campbell ‘22
Table of Contents Pages 36-37: Page 38: Page 39: Page 40: Pages 41-44: Saha ‘24 Page 45:
“listen” Amanda Denney ‘22 “Annie Jump Cannon” Amanda Denney ‘22 “Batman” Malachie Brunach ‘23 “Cabin in the Alps” Lauren Williams ‘22 “Group Projects Don’t Have to be Horrible” Ishani “Quarantine” Liam Harlan ‘23
Middle School Page 47: Page 48: Page 49: Pages 50-51:
“Hot Pink Cast” Maia Vasady-Kovacs ‘27 “Challenges Faced at Home” Sanvi Venkayala ‘27 “Stars” Yasmin Reis ‘27 “Ideal” Tessa Kinney ‘25
“Fear and Loathing” Nico Solimine ‘22
“A Lost Year” Melvin He ‘21 2021 will be a lost year. And I refuse to believe that Anything can change. Because if you take a closer look: Our democracy seems so unstable People are outcrying for justice and Millions are suffering from disease Even if it appears that There is some good in this world. I know this may seem cliche but “Our attitude makes a difference” Is a complete lie, and the reality is “There is nothing we can do.” So in 20 years, I will tell my children Money, grades, convenience, pleasure Are worth so much more of my time than Friendships, family, and community And I must tell you this: We will contribute nothing to society. No longer can it be said that I am not afraid to stand for the oppressed I am not afraid to step outside and I am not afraid to reach out to my neighbors Because I know COVID-19 will plague us forever And I refuse to believe that Our lives will be normal again In the future, I know We’ll be defined by death and division. And I do not accept that We can make a difference. (There is no hope for change Unless we choose to reverse it) *Now read the poem backwards
“Sugar Roses” Kimberly Wang ‘23
“Vaccination” Liam Harlan ‘23
MINA HARKER’S JOURNAL (pages 414-419). 6 November.― … The leader turned to them and gave a word at which every man of the gypsy party drew what weapon he carried, knife or pistol, and held himself in readiness to attack. Issue was joined in an instant. The leader, with a quick movement of his rein, threw his horse out in front, and pointed first to the sun―now close down on the hill tops―and then to the castle, said something which I did not understand. For answer, all four men of our party threw themselves from their horses and dashed towards the cart. I should have felt terrible fear at seeing Jonathan in such danger, but that the ardor of battle must have been upon me as well as the rest of them; I felt no fear, but only a wild, surging desire to do something. Seeing the quick movement of our parties, the leader of the gypsies gave a command; his men instantly formed round the cart in a sort of undisciplined endeavour, each one shouldering and pushing the other in his eagerness to carry
out the order. In the midst of this I could see that Jonathan on one side of the ring of men, and Quincey on the other, were forcing a way to the cart; it was evident that they were bent on finishing their task before the sun should set. The gypsies felt the shoving, and turned to face Jonathan and Quincey, weapons in hand. Jonathan struck first, cutting the vein on the arm of one of the gypsy men. Quincey saw Jonathan’s courage and decided to aid his friend in the battle for Dracula. Some of the gypsies, however, were trying to pry open Dracula’s box simultaneously. I could see my Jonathan edging closer and closer to the dreaded box, lashing at the gypsies as he went. Mr. Morris was not long behind him, the groups of men lessening the space between them and the box of earth. Dr. Seward and Lord Godalming closed in on the carriage, cocked their Winchester rifles, and aimed at the gypsies. The leader of the gypsies paid no attention to the armed Englishmen and kept fighting Jonathan and Quincey to the bitter end. I watched as one of the gypsies stabbed Mr. Morris in the abdomen, he clutched his gut with his free hand and doubled over. Horrified of what I believed was to happen, I covered my eyes. But Dr. Van Helsing said my Jonathan was keeping an eye on Quincey and lacerated that bloodthirsty gypsy looking to off him. Lord Godalming sensed the gypsies were defeated, for they had cuts of all shapes and sizes. He commanded them to open Dracula’s box at once, or Dr. Seward and himself would shoot them all on spot. Clearly frightened out of their wits, the gypsies with minor wounds came up to the carriage and pried open the box. It opened with a loud screeching sound that could be heard from Dr. Van Helsing and I’s spot. We could see Dracula and he was as pale as ever, his wax-like face was frozen still, and his red eyes rested open displaying their vengefulness for all us
spectators to see. The gypsies must have known something we did not, for they seemed quite anxious. The Castle Dracula now stood out against the red sky, and every stone of its broken battlements was articulated against the light of the setting sun. The gypsies...turned, without a word, and rode away as if for their lives. “Jonathan! What are you waiting for? Just kill him already,” said Dr. Seward, desperately. My husband―God save him―waited too long to kill Dracula once and for all, which means he can change to anything he wants and slip away from us again. Mr. Morris was about to stab his knife into Dracula’s heart when Dracula awoke and knocked the knife out of his hand. Dr. Van Helsing fainted beside me, while the others were distracted by the sudden change of events. Before we knew it, Dracula had spun the tables and killed our dear Quincey Morris―God save his soul! Jonathan was quick however and lashed Dracula’s cheek. Stunned by the blow, he stood, shocked on the carriage. Lord Godalming came up from behind him and shot the creature in his heart at point blank. It was like a miracle; but before our very eyes, and almost in the drawing of a breath, the whole body crumbled into dust and passed from our sight. I shall be glad as long as I live that even in that moment of final dissolution, there was in the face a look of peace, such as I never could have imagined might have rested there.
“A New Ending to Dracula” Evangelina Burdick ‘21
“The Lighthouse” Nico Solimine ‘22
“Blackbirds” Jasper Keener ‘22
kenopsia
A time capsule, sealed on March 11, 2020, and locked until further notice. Until the doors swing open for someone to observe what was left behind. A poster that clings to the wall by a strip of tape, pleading for its viewers to join it at the trivia night dated a year ago. Desks, scattered across the room, one still sporting the heart-shaped tattoo a love-struck seventh grader etched there. A lonely drinking fountain whose red light still begs for a new filter, with the same lump of gum lodged in the drain. The hall pass hanging on a hook outside the bathroom door, where someone always forgets it. A rack of coats, textbooks, pencil cases, lying as they have for months, lost, but not yet found. At first glance, it seems abandoned, a forgotten place, without life, without a past or a future. But look closer, and you will see our marks, little traces of ourselves that whisper, We were here.
Amanda Denney ‘22
Julia Campbell ‘22
Flutter and Bloom Lauren Williams ‘22
“Sunrise” Jasper Keener ‘22
Julia Silva ‘23
Eight Minutes
“Eight minutes,” I answered in a clear, loud voice. “It will take eight minutes for the explosion, caused by the death of our galaxy’s Sun, to reach and destroy the earth.” My teacher gave me a proud smile before moving on. “And how long until the Sun explodes?” Mr. Kaberman asked the class. Several eager hands shot up, only to be ignored as our teacher walked over to the desk of my sleeping roommate, Casey Grey, and dropped a thick, hardcover textbook next to her head. Casey, startled awake, looked up to meet the scowling face of Mr. Kaberman with a sleepy, sheepish grin. “Is the answer A?” she cheekily asked, only to be met with giggles from our fellow classmates and the reddening of the tips of Mr. Kaberman’s ears. Turning around and swiftly walking to the board while muttering something about grey hairs, Mr. Kaberman picked up a marker from the outdated white board, and began to write the question down. “For those of you whose beauty sleep I interrupted by teaching my class, I deeply apologize,” he griped, while sending a quick, sharp, glare in Casey’s direction. “I should have taken your feelings into account. However, for anyone who is in fact interested in not failing my class and learning information crucial to future generations’ survival, I will repeat the question. My question was, how many years are left till the Sun explodes?” Once again, a barrage of hands shot up, and once again they were ignored by our teacher, who felt the need to strut over near the desk Casey and I shared, determined to force her to answer the question. “Casey,” he asked, “since you are finally awake, would you like to answer the question?” Casey groaned. “Why do we have to answer this question every day? We learned this like, forever ago.” “You know the answer to your question, Ms. Grey,” he sharply replied, “and if you have answered this question every day, then you should have no problem doing it once more.”
“Ughh, fine. 200 to 300 years,” she said exasperated. “Can I go back to sleep now?” “No,” answered Mr. Kaberman. “Because of your attitude, the entire class will be having a pop quiz. Lucas,” he asked the class assistant, “can you please pass out the stack of papers on the right hand corner of my desk?” The entire room erupted into a series of long, disappointed groans. There was a reason Mr. Kaberman was the least popular teacher, which happened to be the same reason not many people liked Casey. They both gave and caused way too many pop quizzes. Casey did have a point though. It was annoying to be asked a question on a daily basis, no matter how important it was. After all, we really didn’t need to be reminded when the Sun would explode. The Sun’s impending explosion was the whole reason we had been living on the Carlos2452 spaceship for the past seven years. While I did love space, I really would’ve loved to go to restaurants, or the movies, or get to visit my parents in person more than once every three years, like a normal sixteen year old. Don’t get me wrong. I got to facetime my parents every night, but it's just not the same as being there with them. I still didn’t understand why they enrolled me in the Future Of Us All program, or FOUA for short. I was happy that they did, and I got that the education was the best in the world, but my mom was a very doting mother, and it still baffles me how a woman like her was okay with sending her nine year old daughter into space to be trained to become the next generation of astronauts, and be raised by military officers. I also found it impressive that the government managed to pull this off. After all, at first glance, sending nine year olds into space sounds insane, but the logic is sound. The idea was that if they raised children in the ship's environment and trained them how to do tasks around the ship at a young age, then it would be second nature to them. So far, it had been a major success. All thirty of my classmates and I had daily jobs on the ship, in addition to having to observe all of the tasks which we were not old enough for yet. Sometimes, I thought how different my life would have been if not for The Flash. I might have never even known Earth, or maybe I would have been able to live my entire life on the planet before it was destroyed, since everything would have been prepared already. The Flash was just insane to think about in general. After all, how do 7.6 billion people all revert back to stone age intelligence in the blink of an eye? When we first discovered the extremely intelligent
documents and records from before the time of cavemen, some scientists theorized that there could have been some world wide catastrophe or disease. But there is no spike in the number of deaths in that time period, or any signs of some global accident. It really was the greatest mystery of all time, and sadly one that will probably never be solved unless someone figures it out in the next two-hundred years before the earth dies, which is highly improbable. Suddenly, I was ripped out of my thoughts, as Lucas started walking around to collect our test since class was ending. My head jerked up towards the clock, reading the time, then back down at my quiz in horror, realizing twenty minutes had passed and I hadn’t even written down my name. As I scrambled to write my name and answer at least the first question, Lucas grabbed my test from under me. He sent me an apologetic wince when he realized I hadn’t answered anything, yet simply slid my quiz to the bottom of the papers. I dropped my head into my hands and groaned in frustration. I can’t believe I just bombed that quiz. It was worth fifty points! Seeing my frustration, Casey swooped down, grabbed my bag, swinging it over her shoulder, grabbed my wrist, and started walking, dragging me along behind her. “You did it again didn’t you?” she inquired, leading me to our room with a bored look on her face. “Yeah,” I mumbled through my shirt that I had pulled up to my mouth, trying to hide my face out of embarrassment, “but I can’t help it.” She sighed as we reached our room, and she dragged me through the door. “I know, but that doesn’t make it suck any less, for you I mean,” she retorted, dropping both of our bags by the old couch in our room. “Uhhhhhhhgg,” she frustratedly groaned. “If only the world wasn’t so stupid then maybe you could get some help.” I knew what she meant. Ever since I was younger, I always had trouble focusing and would constantly get distracted or lost in my mind. My mom was going to take me to get tested to see if I had any conditions that would explain my trouble focusing. However, about two days before we were supposed to go, some of the founders of the FOUA program, who had been scouting schools in the area, approached my mom because of my grades and personality. Later that day, I was signed up for FOUA, and my mom told me that my issues focusing were normal for kids my age, and that I was completely fine. Later on, I found out that in order to be
a part of FOUA, you have to have a perfect bill of health. Even something as simple as a peanut allergy or migraines could get you kicked off the ship and replaced. The only reason Casey knows is because one of her brothers back home has a similar condition to what we think I have. Casey took a deep breath in to calm herself, then walked over to me and squatted down. “Hey, don’t worry it's gonna be okay.” She reassured me while placing a comforting hand on my shoulder. “It's Kaberman. He loves you. Just tell him you didn’t get any sleep last night and he’ll let you retake it.” I nodded and started to calm down, feeling my muscles relax as I started to practice a breathing exercise that we were taught a couple years ago. “I think I’ll get it out of the way and go talk to him right now,” I said, huffing out a breath as I stood up from sitting on my bed. “Are you sure you're all set to go right now?” checked Casey. “There’s no rush. I mean it's not like the man has a social life. I’m pretty sure he lives in the classroom.” “Yeah,” I responded with a small laugh while walking towards the door. “Might as well get it over with now. Thanks, Case.” “No problemo, my bro,” she said with a casual salute, as she flopped down on the couch. At this, I shook my head and walked down the hall to Mr. Kaberman’s room. When I arrived, I sheepishly opened the door while knocking lightly on the blue metal. “Mr. Kaberman?” I asked. “Are you in here?” At that, Mr. Kaberman slid his dark green glasses up his nose, looking up with a distasteful look that softened into a smile when his eyes focused on me. “Why hello, Ms. Silvia. To what do I owe the pleasure?” he asked with a smooth friendly voice. “Well, you see, Mr. Kaberman,” I spoke nervously, “I didn’t really get much sleep last night cause I was studying for another class, so I kinda accidentally fell asleep during the quiz.” At this, his eyebrows rose in surprise. “I wanted to know if you would be willing to let me retake it. I’m really sorry and I won't let it happen ever again.” When I finished talking, I stood silently, waiting nervously while twiddling my thumbs in my pocket yet still trying to appear somewhat confident.
Mr. Kaberman sighed, “Of course you can retake it. I know how much you care about my class, and how hard you try. It happens to the best of us every once in a while. You can retake it tomorrow morning before class.” My whole body relaxed, and I could feel relief washing over me like a tidal wave. “Thank you, Mr. Kaberman,” I beamed while walking towards the door. “I really appreciate it!” “Just one last thing,” Mr. Kaberman pleaded, pushing his glasses up to his forehead and rubbing his eyes with one hand. “Please do not tell that wild animal of a roommate of yours that I’m letting you do this. I don’t need her bugging me saying she has a right to retake all of the quizzes and tests she slept through.” “Of course,” I giggled. “Thanks again.” As I left the room, I waved, closed the door behind me, and started on my way to our solar systems observatory. It had been a habit of mine for as long as I could remember to visit the observatory and talk to the planet Earth. I would tell her all about my day, about my problems, how much I missed her, ask her to watch over my parents, or just quietly sit there taking in her beauty. At this point I could walk there in my sleep. The room was black with only a few lights on the floor so as to not make the scope hard to look through. In the middle of the room was a large hanging telescope that would allow miraculous views. However, my favorite thing in our solar systems observatory was the scope. It was amazing. It was a large piece of glass that allowed us to see our solar system in current time, even though it was light years away. This meant that we could see things at the same time the people on earth could see them. As I walked in, I gave the giant hanging telescope that my class had gotten the privilege of naming Charles, since we were the first class and participants of FOUA, a traditional pat, and sat down at my usual spot. “Hey,” I said. “Today was a pretty crazy day. First period in the fourth grade art class I was helping out in, Mrs. Kerry accidentally broke Mikey’s solar system replica. She tried to hold it by the ceramic Sun, but it came off and the whole thing fell and shattered. Then Mikey, since he had worked on the model for three months, started to cry, only to be reprimanded because of the whole, ‘you can’t cry unless someone of your blood dies’ rule, as you know. I mean, I get why its there, but its so dumb, and I know that it’s not actually dumb. I just needed to say it. Oh yeah, in addition to that, communications are going down tomorrow night,
and General Skies says that there is no way of knowing when it will be back, so that sucks. Do you ever wonder what life would be like if The Flash didn’t happen? I mean, like, I might have gotten to live on you my entire life. How did it happen anyways? Really though, how can an entire planet full of people suddenly forget everything and have to start from scratch? Well, technically not scratch since they had all of their books and stuff, but you know what I mean. It's kinda sad that we will probably never know since you're gonna explode in like 200 to 300 years. Anyways I should get going, Casey is probably waiting for me, bye.” As I got up and walked to the door, I took one last deep breath of the room’s unique and safe scent, and headed out towards the cafeteria for dinner. The next morning, I got up bright and early in order to take my make-up quiz. I quickly entered Mr. Kaberman’s room, and he was standing by his desk fixing his tie in a frantic manner. When his eyes landed on me, he quickly closed his briefcase, handed me my quiz off of his desk and ran out without saying a word, slamming the door behind him in panic. As confused as I was, I was determined not to make the same mistake twice and started my quiz, easily nailing all of the questions. As I went to put my quiz on his desk, I noticed something on the ground behind his chair. Placing my quiz on his desk, I bent down to pick up what turned out to be an old photograph of a smiling young woman. She had shoulder length hair that curled in at the ends, along with a blue bandana that was tied like a headband around her forehead. On the back were the words, “My dearly beloved, I will truly miss you, but I am so happy you are following your dreams. I can’t wait to see you again. When you find out, please know that I’m sorry and that it's not your fault. This way, at least one of us will live. Love - Rachel.” Realizing I had just stumbled upon something very personal, I quickly sprinted out of the room to return it to Mr. Kaberman who was probably in the conference room. However, as I went to knock on the door, I heard someone screaming. “I need to go home!” he yelled and pleaded. “My wife! God my wife, I need to be with her! Please, I'm begging you! Get me off this ship. I have to go home. I have to see her! Please!” Suddenly a loud, sharp voice cut through the yelling.
“Sit down, Kaberman, and stop acting like a fool,” commanded the sharp voice of none other than the head of the ship, General Skies. “You are not going home. You can’t save her, and you know that. The best thing you could do for her is stay here, and that is exactly what you are going to do. If you feel it necessary for someone to go see her, then I would be more than happy to send some of your students. If I remember correctly, you are quite fond of young Silvia Gardener.” There was a pregnant pause. “So any objections to you staying on the ship?” Silence followed till it was once again broken by General Skies. “Good. Now move along. You have class to teach in an hour.” Before the door could open, I scurried down the hall to my room, flinging open the door only to quickly slam it shut, waking up Casey in the process. “What’s going on?” Casey grumbled, crawling out of bed and wiping her eyes on her way over to me. I quickly explained everything to her, asking what she thought was going on. “His wife probably just has cancer or something. Go back to sleep. It's too early.” “But what did General Skies mean when she told him she’d send me?” I asked, still confused and looking for answers. “Don’t know, don't care. Sleep,” Casey replied, crawling back under her covers, going out like a light. Frustrated, still confused and wide awake, I started heading to the observatory for some comfort when I heard something. I turned down the corridor to my left where the sound was coming from, and quietly sneaked down the hall. When I got to the next turn, I pressed my back up against the corner of the wall and listened. Someone was crying. Not just anyone, but Mrs. Travis, who was famously known for how cold-hearted she was. “They're all gonna die,” she sobbed, “and I just left them there. There’s enough room for Gabriel, and the kids. They’re all gonna die and they’ll never see it coming. Curse that damn star, God damnit.” This was too personal. I ran, confused and scared, trying to think and figure out what was going on. I couldn’t focus in any of my classes. I didn’t take a single note all day. I didn’t talk to Casey during breakfast, lunch, or dinner since I was too busy, trapped in my mind, twisting and turning all of the pieces in a puzzle, trying to put them together until late at night when it was time to sleep.
Then it all clicked, the writing on the picture, the yelling, the crying, the loss of communications. I flung my sheet off my bed, and ran as fast as humanly possible, barefoot and in pajamas, down the hall. Everything seemed slower. The cold metal tiles slapping against the bottom of my feet seemed to fade away. Memories of my parents started spinning in my head. Baking cookies with Dad, singing with Mom, swimming at the lake, going to the movies, laughing at dinner, Christmas morning, Halloween night, so many vivid memories I didn’t know that I had, all fighting in my head for dominance as I sprinted to the observatory. Then, just as I get there, just as I rip open the doors I see it happen. I knew, but part of me still didn’t believe it, but now, now I’m falling to my knees as my legs give out. Now I'm watching the Sun explode. My world, my family, my everything, has eight minutes to live.
“Sea and Sky” Amanda Denney ‘22
Julia Campbell ‘22
“Plesiosaur” Amanda Denney ‘22
“Sadr Region” Anthony Grankin ‘22
The Sadr Region is the name of the Nebula. This is a stack of 2.5 minute exposures taken with a DSLR and a 70-300mm zoom lens on a tracking mount, with a total exposure time of a few hours.
“Bleak” Aidan Correll ‘21 Year 2035 Humanity has been at war with The Organism, a massive object with psionic abilities that has lived miles underground for millions of years. It now feeds off the minds of humans, gathering intelligence and knowledge of human civilization. Nations from around the world have worked together to stop the spread of the organism’s spores from covering the planet. Some nations, however, resisted an alliance. A soldier, James Barkley, from the Northern States of America, has been fighting in the European Campaign for 11 months. On the battlefield, against Russian forces, he fell.
Where am I? A figure in front of him answered: “A dimension of your own mind, a place of perfection, where your mind is at ease.” The setting was faintly shimmering. James was sitting on a wooden chair next to a long pool of water, with white flooring surrounding as far as he could see. The sky was dark with the light of the cosmos, he saw nebulae, he saw stars and he saw light as if it was his first time opening his eyes. At the far end of the pool, there was a monument with tall pillars. It was dark on the inside, he couldn’t make out it’s details. But where am I, in the real world? Where’s my body? “Your body was consumed, reduced back to cells.” Who are you? He asked in a state of disbelief. “Do you recognize me?”
I- don’t know. “I thought taking the form of someone you knew would only cause you to panic. I assimilated all the faces of people you love and trust into one human figure.” James is speechless, his mouth open and incapable of asking any questions, he doesn’t even know where to start. “You died, James. Well, at least your body did. I was able to salvage your conscience before you went completely brain dead.” You have my brain? “I did, for a bit. I melted down your synapses and took what I needed for you to experience this reality.” So where is my consciousness coming from? “Isn’t that the question. Humans seem to believe conscience comes from inside the brain, from a deity, or from some cosmic amalgamation that the brain filters a part of.” Which one is it? The being laughs before answering. “Definitely neither of the last two. Conscience is a trick evolution played on humans, and, well, the organism. All of what you perceive as reality comes from that three pound ball of meat in your skull.” But I meant- where is my brain?? “Right now, most of it, the parts I needed, are inside my body, linked temporarily to my-” Wait, what are you?? Are you one of those THINGS? What’s happening?? “James.” He says reassuringly, “I flooded your brain, well the organism I put you into, with shots of serotonin and I severed most of the part of your brain that feels fear when I removed it from your head. But your mind still hasn’t fully accepted what happened, so you feel panicked by how calm you are. Breathe.” He sends vibrations through the air that distort space, like ripples in a pond. Like a reflection in a body of water, Jame’s body is distorted by the waves, and bounces back to normal within a few seconds.
James’s face is visibly calmer, almost in a sedated way. Why “What is it James?” Why do you talk like that? Like a cool, charismatic guy? *Chuckles* “I embodied the speech patterns and personality of your best friend.” Dale. He says it more as a realization than a question, his mind sliding more into a state of comprehension and bliss. “Yes. He died a few months back, and I thought slowly bringing his persona back would make you feel almost as if you joined him in the afterlife. And now that your mind is getting more to where I want it, I feel more comfortable doing this. Initially, I didn’t want to overwhelm you with a familiar face.” His face morphs from the stranger’s into Dale’s. James, surprisingly, seems unfazed. Is-- Is there an afterlife? *Pauses* “I don’t know. And that fear of the unknown has been driving the organism to survive since its birth.” What ARE you?? Are you the organism? “No, I’m a fragment of the organism’s conscience, delegated specifically to accommodate you. As you have several different regions of your mind that simultaneously work on things like locomotion, fear, hunger, mood, sex, and your daily thoughts, the organism has thousands of regions of its mind that instead of acting as different functions, act as entirely separate thinking minds.” What, like schizophrenia? I see why you think of it that way. A schizophrenic is in constant battle with what it thinks are separate consciences, but really, it’s just one person with a damaged head. But the organism, well I can’t explain it in a way you’ll understand right now. Essentially, it’s a huge collection of minds that operate as one being, but at the same time many individuals. (James pauses, then starts laughing). Man, what the hell.
The figure smiles. “I’ll try a visual aid. (Two organisms appear in front of him.) This is a Portugueuse Man Of War. Each man o' war is actually a colony of several small individual organisms that each have a specialized job and are so closely intertwined that they cannot survive alone. Yet, they are considered to be one animal. This is a colony of ants. Every ant in the colony works tirelessly for the good of the colony. But because each ant's body is separate, they are considered individual organisms.” *Dumbfounded* What does the organism want? “Its ultimate goal is to assimilate all life on Earth and arrange all of its minds into one singular conscience, so it can finally be at peace.” And then what? “It will simply exist, constantly feeding off the sun’s light, the Earth’s magma, and the ocean’s water.” What, that’s it? “It wants to live forever so it can meditate on it’s own existence and the mysteries of the universe. It’ll spread spores into the atmosphere that will drift into space, landing on the moon and distant planets. But, now there’s a problem.” Which is? “The organism has, and will, live for millions of years unless some major calamity forces it into extinction. Humanity has brought upon that calamity. The threat of nuclear annihilation drove the organism into its most primal state. Rage. The organism has never experienced anything like this, these weapons are not of the natural world, they are an abomination.” *Sternly* Why am I here? “You’re the piece, James. The missing link.” The piece to what? “The organism’s final goal. Over the millions of years the organism has been alive, it has broken apart and re-assembled it’s consciences several times. And when that happens, fragments of it break off and eventually reach the surface. This has resulted in all life on Earth.” What?
“Everything, James. Well at least everything under animalia and flora. The cells that broke off from the organism all those years ago eventually mutated and evolved into humanity. But there’s something special about your genealogy. One of your ancestors possessed a special cell from the organism. It’s been in every organism up until you. Every fish, every lizard, every early primate, your family, and then you. But you have the ability to unlock its potential. You are more closely related to the organism than any other being on this planet. But it doesn’t know that. I know it, and yes, I am a part of the organism’s consciousness but as far as it knows, this conversation is a simulated outcome, it hasn’t actually happened. The mess of minds that make up the organism can’t work together in synthesis until it absorbs back it’s most important piece, a runaway fragment that transcended the natural order and into a Homo Sapien. When your first ancient ancestor evolved into a Homo Sapien, it brought all others with it. Your ancestor was the first human. The piece of the organism hyper-evolved humanity into a sentient species. If that piece was ever lost, there would be no human race.” This can’t be real. “Don’t think, feel it James. Does this feel real” *He becomes inhumanly stern, his pupils split into three and dilate back into one* Yes. “Come with me.” Where? “Into the mind of the Earth.” The figure took his hand and they walked into the darkness. James had never felt so truly confident in his entire life, he felt as if this was his meaning, the reason he exists. He felt the utter silence of the universe.
“listen” Amanda Denney ‘22
Listen-- lean in and you will hear the universal beat of every heart melting into the rhythm of the world
The song of life begins as the gentle timbre of a spirit strikes a chord that resounds in oscillating overtones through the earth
It is not a solo, but an orchestra of hundreds, thousands of players whose melodies interweave in a glorious cacophony
Rising, swelling, soaring into a crescendo— voices, although distinct, merge as one and revel in the splendor of their resonant unity
And the sound fades at last a fermata over a rest as ringing silence sets in— an ending, abrupt, unexpected.
Does the song die? No. Even as its tones dwindle, the echoes of its final note whisper the story that it told
Long after its music is spent, it reverberates among those who remain and it can be heard—woven into the songs of souls—
if you listen hard enough.
Julia Campbell ‘22
“Annie Jump Cannon” Amanda Denney ‘22
“Batman” Malachie Brunache ‘23
“Cabin on The Alps” Lauren Williams ‘22
“Group Projects Don’t Have to Be Horrible” Ishani Saha ‘24 Tarapati haphazardly dropped his binders onto his desk, wincing when one made a slamming noise. A few of his classmates turned to check the noise, to which he awkwardly smiled, and shoved his materials inside the desk. The teacher was scribbling out something in the strange shade of green you only found in whiteboard markers, while another noisy group of freshmen entered the classroom. Oh, and they were coming his way. He didn’t always like sitting alone, but it was better than sitting in the middle of a chatting group of friends— it made him feel lonely which was even worse. Did they really have to sit there? After a quick sweeping of the room, he determined that it was. There was another seat— next to some kid he didn’t know. As he was mulling it over, his teacher decided to begin her little spiel explaining what they were doing today. Tarapati tried his hardest to pay attention, he really did. But after a few minutes of listening to his teacher go on about poetry he tuned out her voice and began to daydream. However, the shuffling of feet pulled him back to reality, forcing him to realize that everyone was finding partners. A quick glance at the whiteboard told him they were doing a three-person group project with partners of their choice. Mostly everyone had already grouped up— the few still milling around were quickly making groups. If we wanted at least decent partners, he would have to move fast. He spotted a pair of girls in the corner he knew to be good workers, and maneuvered his way through the maze of students before coming to a stop in front of them. “Hey, Mira, Sonia, do you mind if I join you?” There was no reason for them to decline, so he was pretty sure he was set. “Sorry, man, we already have a third person. Inez is just getting her stuff.” Well, apparently he was wrong. Flashing them a smile and a nod of understanding, he turned away. That was a waste of time. From what he could tell, everyone was in groups by now. He stumbled around his general area for a little bit, to look like he was actually doing something, but he’d given up on finding someone at this point. He repeated the same action a couple times, waiting for his teacher’s announcement of “WHO STILL DOESN’T HAVE A GROUP?” It didn’t take much longer before he heard it, the chatter gradually quieting and everyone sitting down. Tarapati raised his hand, and looking around, he found two other kids without partners. He vaguely recognized one of them as the kid who skipped a grade rather recently— a rather formidable feat, especially at this age. Her name was Chiara, but that was pretty much all he knew about her. He had a smart kid in his group. Great! That was better luck than he’d had in the past. The other kid was someone who wasn’t bad, work-wise, as far as he knew. His name was Cole, and his general presentation should have led Tarapati to believe he was a good guy, but something about him gave him bad vibes. He seemed really fake, somehow. The three met in a corner of the room. “So, we should probably get started,” he began awkwardly. “Oh, and I’m Tarapati, if you didn’t already know.” With a small bow of her head, Chiara introduced herself. Cole did the same, although with a lot more enthusiasm. “Okay, so now we know each other. Um, do you have any ideas?” And so it began. |—/—\—/—| Tarapati had pushed the group project to the back of his mind as soon as the class had ended. It was pretty straightforward: pick a poet, memorize a famous poem of theirs, research them, and create a presentation to educate the rest of their classmates. Or at least try to educate them— they’d probably forget it in a week or two. It wasn’t a very difficult assignment, so it didn’t worry him. Instead, he was listening to his sister complain about some interview she had in her newspaper club with the head of the martial arts club as he stroked his cat, Chottu (little one) on the head. “She won’t even answer one question properly! Like some kind of politician. It’s not even like I’m trying to expose dirt on the club, I’m just reporting on their performance.” “Hmmm. Sounds like that principal you interviewed in middle school. Except you’re more annoyed.”
“I mean, I guess. But-- somehow this just feels different. Maybe it’s because she’s a student.” Tarapati didn’t comment on her deduction, although he didn’t quite agree. “Perhaps. Did you get enough information for your article, though?” “Yes. I suppose I could have done the article even without the interview, but it’s always more interesting when you have a direct source, you know?” He did not, in fact, know, but he kept quiet about this as well. “In that case, at least this failure of an interview didn’t affect you too much.” Suddenly, it occurred to him that the head of the martial arts club was not the only member he knew of. “Hey, wait, the young freshman, Chiara, isn’t she a part of the martial arts club, too?” “Yeah, why?” His sister replied. “She’s working with me on a group project right now. It’s not important.” |—/—\—/—| It did end up being important. The project was due the next Monday, but the three were way behind. The only way to produce quality results for the project would be to meet on the weekends-- except none of their times matched up. Tarapati volunteered at an animal shelter on the weekend, but when he was free, Chiara had a club meet. Cole had some social gathering to attend on Saturday night. So the only time that left was Sunday night, meaning they would have to stay up working on the project, which would lead to extreme exhaustion on Monday morning (and probably a crappy project.) Cole… was not up for it. He didn’t care much for his grade, and though he was normally a decent worker, the same did not apply to him after dusk, apparently. So there they were: Chiara and Tarapati, on a Sunday evening, tired and totally not in the mood to do any work, and stuck at Tarapati’s house. Fundamentally strangers with nothing to break the silence as they worked but the occasional ominous crashes that were probably a result of Chottu’s shenanigans and muffled rock music being played by Azrael. Mostly, they kept to themselves, glancing at each other awkwardly as if to make sure that they hadn’t disappeared. Tarapati did not expect any more than this. His prediction for the next few hours was that he and Chiara would finish the project with minimum interaction, Chiara would leave, and two-thirds of their group would be exhausted tomorrow morning, but hey, at least the assignment would be finished. He was wrong. An hour into this awkward work session, Chiara let out a surprised shriek, attempted to scramble out of her chair, but instead pushed it back and fell, leaving Tarapati’s line of sight. “Woah! Are you okay?” “NO, THERE’S A LITTLE DEVIL ON MY PAPERS!!” After picking herself off of the floor, she pointed accusingly at the table, pressing herself into the wall as if to protect herself from whatever was there. That had to be the most emotion Tarapati had ever seen from her. “A little-- what?” He made his way to where her chair used to be, but all he saw was a little spider. Chiara had arachnophobia? “This spider? Aren’t you a martial artist?” “Yes. I fail to see the relevance,” Chiara responded, having calmed down a bit now that she had put distance between herself and the “little devil.” “Well, I mean, you fight human beings. How are you scared of a much less threatening spider?” Chiara made some frustrated noises in looking for an explanation, but finally settled for an annoyance-saturated “they’re scary!” “Okay then. In any case, he ran off, so you can sit down again.” They were both doing exactly that, until Tarapati caught sight of Chiara’s lightly scraped ankle. It had probably caught on something in her haste to escape the spider. “Oh, I didn’t notice that before, hold on a second!” He promptly sprinted out of the room, hearing a “NOTICE WHAT?” follow him, which he elected to ignore as he hunted for a band aid, towel, and some water. He wasn’t an expert, but he was fairly sure he was supposed to wash out a wound to prevent infection.
When he returned, he was out of breath, not being the most physically in-shape guy out there, but still managed to clearly say “For your ankle,” before kneeling to dab some water on the scrape. His black glasses, matching his hair, slid forward a bit. She hissed quietly at the sudden contact. “I didn’t really notice it either until you did that, but thanks.” “Uh, we can get back to the project, now, I guess.” “Yeah. How far did you get?” |—/—\—/—| The presentation had gone smoothly. They had Cole present the parts which he had done, which was barely more than two sentences, they realized after going through the project. It was lunch now, and Tarapati was alone again. He didn’t realize it before, but he genuinely liked spending time with Chiara, and although his lunches usually were spent alone, he found himself longing for conversation. Most of his previous waking hours had been spent with her, which was unusual considering that he didn’t really have any friends besides Azrael that still went to his school. He hadn’t always been a loner. In the beginning of middle school, his friend group was pretty large. But as life continued, they drifted apart. He had only two friends by seventh grade, and that was fine by him. As long as they were still there. And then they weren’t. In eighth grade, one moved away, and the other went to a private school when high school came around. Yeah, it hurt, but he’d make new friends eventually. His sister didn’t often hang around him during school, and her friends didn’t quite click with him, otherwise he would have joined up with them. He took a bite of his sandwich, and the taste of deli-meat turkey and a myriad of other flavors overwhelmed his senses, melancholy thoughts clearing. It was a simple meal but-- SLAM. Someone loudly plopped their lunch tray and jumped on the bench. Ah, he hated this. “Hey, Tarapati,” a voice full of fake enthusiasm said. “Go away, Frederick.” Frederick. If it weren’t for this guy, Tarapati’s life would have been a lot easier. Even though he went by Rick, he called him Frederick to get under his skin. It didn’t deter him in any way, but at least Tarapati could be at least a little annoying in return. “Oh, come on. You don’t have to be so mean. I was just looking for a place to eat…” The artificial pout in his voice was so repulsive, Tarapati almost visibly winced. “Or you could sit with your friends. You do have them, don’t you?” As soon as the words left his mouth, he realized his mistake. “HA! You’re one to talk.” Tarapati turned back to his food, deciding to ignore him (likely a wiser tactic.) “Aww, are you sad that your friends left you? Hey, wasn’t one on the football team? George, I think. He sucked. Good riddance, I say.” He took in a sharp breath, turning back to Frederick. The taunting, he could take. But no one was allowed to speak like that about his friends. A slight growl crept into Tarapati’s voice, fury clear in his gaze. “You want to say that again, Frederick?” “What are you gonna do about it? Punch me? You don’t have the guts, Tarapati,” the other challenged, butchering his name’s pronunciation horribly (and deliberately.) His anger increased… but he also realized that his antagonist was right. As much as it would satisfy him to land a fist in the center of his sneering face at that moment, the effect even a single punch might have on his future was probably not worth it. But apparently, not everyone thought that way. He was about to sit back down, prove Fredrick right, but a second familiar voice sounded from behind the bully. “Hey, Rick, isn’t it? Turn around for a second.” And then she punched him in the face. Chiara punched him in the face. “AHH!” He reeled from the impact, holding his jaw. “What the frick was that for? I’m-- I’m bleeding!”
“Yeah, I don’t care. How ‘bout you find a better hobby than picking on others when you can’t even handle a strike to the face?” Frederick lingered a few seconds longer, but ultimately retreated to his own table, muttering something that Tarapati didn’t pay attention to. “Hey. You good?” “Yes. I guess.” He looked at Chiara for a moment, still confused. “You punched him. Why?” “He was being a jerk, I’m sure you noticed,” she joked. “No, I certainly noticed, but why… he wasn’t being a jerk to you, and we aren’t friends… I mean, unless you consider us friends. I wouldn’t be opposed to friendship… I just mean-- you know what I’m going to stop talking now.” He smiled awkwardly in a way that anyone could tell was obviously meant to cover up his inner turmoil. “Well… it was the right thing to do. Nothing much else would have probably put it in his head that he needs to stop, or else I’m sure you would have tried it. As for friendship, well, one can never have too many friends. Not that I have many friends here yet.” “So… friends then?” “Yes, of course.” “We sound like we’re five year olds in TV shows making friends for the first time.” Chiara snorted at that. If it had been a stranger, Tarapati would have found it an ugly sound. But even after just a few days, he was already invested enough in their friendship that it was one of the most beautiful things he’d ever hear, because it meant she was happy.
“Quarantine” Liam Harlan ‘23
Middle School
“The Hot Pink Cast” Maia Vasady-Kovacs ‘27 One of my friends broke her arm I remember it was when we were in preschool Young as kittens Her cast was bright orange and she broke her arm in the fall In the winter I was sitting on the edge of the couch I was a baby bird on the edge of a roof I don’t know how this happened but I fell and landed on my arm Off to the hospital me and my mom went I remember playing this game at the hospital where I had to feed the kitty “Feed the kitty,” the doctors said But whenever I had to feed I had to drink grape medicine I remember returning to school with a hot pink cast around my arm “How did you break it” “Fell off the couch” I remember having to stay inside during recess Playing with some toys all by myself It felt like I waited a year to get the hot pink cast off When it had only been 3 months The hot pink cast lies in my house somewhere Forgotten But not really forgotten
“Challenges Faced At Home” Sanvi Venkayala ‘27 I realized then, At that moment I knew, This house is a trap, That I cannot escape from. I couldn’t leave, But I could get through, It was a horror, But humankind had to face it, It spread through us, And I meant that literally, For the coronavirus was upon us. Yes, I could get through, Because though it is hard to always smile, We still do, And we will survive through the hard times, Because we always do, I realized then, At that time I knew, That everything will be alright.
“Stars” Yasmin Reis ‘27
Stars
I like laying Down on the grass While shooting stars pass. I wonder why they only come at night The stars are beautiful in the moonlight. I lay on the grass, while the wind whistles. The grass tickles. I wish I could stay here longer and just wonder. I wonder how people can predict how the moon will look like next week I think that just unique I wonder How the moon looks so bright every night. I wonder do stars look the same When you look at it up close. It's better to go watch the stars in the spring. I see a shooting star. The star was not far, so i made A wish. I cannot tell you my wish or i will Disappear in a swish. I connected the stars like Connect the dot. I wish i could see the stars every day I wonder how stars were created. I wonder a lot. I wonder if people only go and see the stars To Wonder. I wonder how Stars come out at night.
“Ideal” Tessa Kinney ‘25