Agathon 2014

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AGATHON2014

Barstow, Looking through the artwork and writing pieces you have created this year, we realized the immense privilege we had. Your works document a moment in your lives, an instant of production later seen through the lenses of perception. Brief decisions of verbage or hue reveal the intrinsically human desire to leave an impression, to share a morsel of your experiences with one another. The selections in this issue represent your stories -- they are your mementos and souvenirs. Gifted with the task of stylistically presenting your stories to the student body, we have taken a minimalistic approach to the layout of the magazine, in hopes of allowing your work to captivate the viewer’s undivided attention. As you scan through the pages, remember that we serve as merely the agents of communication; you and your talents comprise the substance of the magazine.

To enhance the aesthetic aspect of this year’s Agathon beyond an online book format, we have arranged your pieces in a portfolio-style website, which you can visit at issuu.com/barstowagathon.

We thank you for the opportunity to witness your expressions in artwork and writing. Enjoy.

Your Editors,

Iris Dew and Madeleine Tadros

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A NOTE FROM YOUR EDITORS

EDITOR-IN-CHIEF

EXECUTIVE EDITOR

LAYOUT EDITOR

CONTENT MANAGER

EDITING STAFF

PHOTO EDITOR

Madeleine Tadros, ’14 Iris Dew, ’14 Preston Schwartz, ’15 Becky Reilly, ’15 Faiza Aslam, ’15

STAFF:

FAIZA ASLAM DANIELLE DEPREIST IRIS DEW LIBBY ROHR RACHEL RIPP BECKY REILLY ELLIE SCHNEIDER PRESTON SCHWARTZ MADELEINE TADROS

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2014 STAFF

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EURYDICE MEGAN NALAMACHU, 8

His smile is the center of my whole world.

My eyes light up when he is in the room.

I feel as if I spun around and twirled.

Knowing what lies ahead, I set my doom.

Magic fills the air and frees me from fear.

Danger is ahead; this feeling in me.

He comes close and whispers, “Don’t shed a tear.”

Day after day it is clearly to be.

My heart soars with love as he touches me.

We express our love even on a whim.

“We can even overcome rage,” says he.

My Orpheus sang a beautiful hymn.

Together, love can conquer even death.

Love me until your gasping, dying breath.

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JANE VELGHE, 11

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THE IRONY OF FLOWERS ELIZABETH LEACH, 9

Oh, the irony of the bouquet.

Heartwarming but heartbreaking.

Bared to the deceased, But gifted to those breathing From “I love you” to “Rest in Peace,” They are the default.

Oh, the irony of the petals.

Beautiful but deadly.

We kill the beauty, picking for love.

“He loves me, he loves me not.”

Oh dear God from up above, The petals grew and killed her heart.

Oh the irony of flowers, This is all lie.

They say, “April showers bring May flowers.”

Well I say, “Pollen in the sky makes me cry.”

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LAUREN ANDREWS, 5

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SKYLAR DEVINS, 12

Because I can hear the whispers of the forest, and can feel the soft ground beneath my feet, I am human.

Because I can feel the tiny pricks of the bark against my fingertips, And can smell the leaves dying, I am human.

Why do you hate me? What do you think I have done? Have I defied God? Did I kill Jesus?

You can hear the forest, And feel the softness of the ground.

You can sense the tiny pricks of the bark And smell the leaves dying.

You are human. You know what you see, hear, smell, and feel.

You are human, and I am too.

Let’s be human together.

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LISA MAEDA, 10

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CHERYL WU, 9

The song of birds goes far. Sometimes, a mild warning and sometimes, a passionate melody. I know their language, they call others darling and sweet.

Green leaves, they are yellow leaves’ children. They love to run with wind. They grow like us. They are floral, fresh, and not strong. If flowers’ flora is like women, then leaves are like girls.

Everything in the nature has its own story. The cicadas that stay underground for six years, the flowers that love beauty, and the moths that love the sun. Everything, including me, has a story. And I’m the most common one in the nature.

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RYAN LANG, 6

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ALISHA CASTANER, 5

BAHRAM NEGAHBAN, 4

Winter is coming Snowflakes drifting on trees Winter wonderland

The first flakes drifting A winter is approaching Blanketing the world

SEBASTIAN NEUMANN, 5

LAUREN BERNARD, 10

Leaves fall down from trees A ton of colorful leaves Beauty awakens

Do not rest until the day turns dark and the blaze falls to despair.

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JANE VELGHE, 11

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FAVORITE WINTER ACTIVITIES LAILA LEE-SANDERS, 2

Hi! My name is Laila and here are two of my favorite winter activities! One of them is ice skating because I like feet required sports. One more is having snowball fights because I like throwing balls. Now those are my favorite winter activities.

MICHAEL YAGAN, 2

Hi! Some of my favorite winter activities are: to make snowmen in the snow, making big snow castles, and getting into snowball fights! I like those things because I like to do those things with my sister and because it is really fun! But most of all I like to play in the snow!

JAYDEN SAMPAT, 2

Hi! My name is Jayden and would you like to hear my 3 favorite winter activities?

My first favorite activity is having snowball fights because I like to play with my friends.

My second favorite activity is making snowmen, and my final most favorite activity is having hot chocolate while reading. I hope you enjoyed reading this!

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ALEXANDRA FREIDEN, 2

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NEW IN AMERICA FLETCHER SCOTT, 9

The smell of abundance, crisp lettuce shavings littering a bowl full of rice and beans. Frosty shrimp retrieved the depths of the ocean fresh and clean.

New extravagant buildings tower above the buried roads, different people and cultures all mixed into one soup bursting with flavors.

Children rush by trying to keep up with their parents while playing handheld electronics.

Whining as they pass a candy shop.

The opportunity beckons with the tower of being fulfilled. Inside. Men wearing black suits with ties work tirelessly on computers, staring with blank expressions.

Stepping one foot at a time on the ledge where a house stands. Green grass surrounding the perimeter. The perimeter where a new life will flourish.

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CLAIRE LEDNICKY, 11

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ME GABE KUTI, 3

I used to be in second grade. But now I am in third grade.

I used to have no brothers. But now I have one brother.

If I were a football player. I’d wish to make a touchdown.

I used to think I’d not make it to third. But now I know I will!

I would like to be a exotic owner of cars.

But wouldn’t like to be a model.

But maybe a football player.

A good friend is Evan and Alex.

One of these days I will graduate from college.

But who knows maybe I won’t even go to college.

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MEGAN PICKARD, 11

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HARLEM ALEXEY AYZIN, 7 From the small, rattly apartment on the corner of 138th and Douglas.

Flowing with the smells of the rich dinner Ma is preparing for every night.

And on Wednesday.

King comes.

My hero no more, he sits in the most gut wrenching place for me.

With me.

From the room on the right of the kitchen, with the tripod leaning against the wall, as if a part of it by now.

The new Nikon sitting on the desk, waiting to eat up more moments of my life.

In the courtroom.

In the jail.

In my head.

From the busy streets.

Bustling with a cheering crowd as the game unfolds and the ball is flung into the air and down to the net.

Swoosh.

From the brick walls of the public school two blocks south. Filling my brain with everything my father wants in there.

And his dreams for me.

From the concrete, metal barred room.

Surrounding me in a place I hate, with people I shouldn’t be with.

For something I didn’t do.

Maybe for now, maybe forever, or maybe sitting on a chair, tasting death as it approaches me through the lever on the wall, to which the guard is standing behind, putting his hand on, flipping.

My soul goes to the place above.

To observe the others, who have to suffer for their life.

Bobo. Steve. Osvaldo I am free.

But for now, I am in this cell.

Crying.

Writing.

Thinking.

From the city,runs, jumps, screams, and does everything he needs to do.

Where crimes unfold in the night, and people move around to get to work, home, or to go out with their friends.

I am from Sundays.

Mornings giving our thoughts and will to the Lord, and watching the pigskin game in the afternoon, while eating a lunch made up of hot stew and bread.

I am from the courtroom. Sitting in my suit, staring, taking note of everything happening around me.

Wishing.

Praying.

Crying.

From the big screen.

With a moving picture of a life. And characters talking, like a family.

But it isn’t real.

It isn’t like my life.

Or where I’m from.

I’m from Harlem.

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GIA COLON, 9

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MOON HENRY GOSCHA, 9

The most spectacular of them all; It is out, during the night and not in sight during daytime It takes different shapes, a shapeshifter, Occurring and purring in dark alleys of time like a cat; Then transforms and flies away like a bat.

We have conquered it, but not defeated it It’s so unknown that we don’t even know a bit.

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TURNER ANDREWS, 2

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THE END OF THE WORLD Sai Gondi, 9 How will the World end?

A question asked from the beginning, But it never can have a sufficient answer.

We people still argue how life started, So how can we be sure how it’s even going to end, Because I hypothesize that it will end the same way it started.

Nobody knows, or will know ‘till the day comes.

That day, I can envision it perfectly, Blue sky with striped clouds running down all the way across, And a bright sun staring at us from the upper blue ocean, The green grass, Swaying trees singing with the wind.

Its perfect.

But then they came, since the beginning of time they came.

They came in little amounts, And grew uncontrollably to billions of “little amounts.”

They came and trampled the Earth, They trampled it for their own greed.

They cared not of the indigenous species, But they cared about what was theirs.

They conquered, Claimed, Thrived, Then fell in the hands of their own desire.

Us. People.

Humans.

Homosapiens.

Minds engineered to hunt and gather, And live life no matter the cost.

No matter the cost of any life.

We slowly destroy what we built, In hopes to make NOW better, Not the future, BUT NOW. What happens when we exploit all our oil?

What happens when we can’t drive our cars to work?

What happens when we wipe out the resources on our planet?

Move to space?

Keep dreaming.

Artificial production?

Like that will work for 6 billion people.

The day I was describing, Where the standards we set is no longer, And we become a world who have started from the basics again, Square one, Rock bottom.

All the stuff we use isn’t unlimited.

Some is, but not all.

And it’s ironic that the certain substances we exploit the most, Are the farthest away from being unlimited.

They are probably the most limited.

So on that glorious day, Separated from our old ways of life because we cannot sustain That old way anymore.

A day of chaos, a day of war over what we have left.

Bombs, Guns, Soldiers, Us, the people.

We ignited the fire, and used up all the wood.

The fire gave out.

Life is a cold, cold place.

We can answer the first question of how the world will end.

We were the begging of our civilization, And we are the cause for the end.

The end of the world.

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PAYAL DESAI, 11

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A FRIEND ANNA SHAPOVAL, 3

A good friend is honest Being there for you Cares about your feelings Does nice things Exciting Fun Gives you ice cream Helps you Invites you over Jokes around Keeps in touch Likes you who you are Makes you feel god Never yells On time Plays with me Quiety Runs Sleeps over Talks to me Understands me Very Kind Welcomes me X-tra nice Youthful Zealous

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PAYAL DESAI, 11

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THE SANDS

MADELINE PURSELL, 12 The soft cool touch of the surf found its way to the shore. The waves crashed, splashed, playing against the rocks. Above the sky was clear except for the slowly sinking sun, its amber color washing the sand clean.

In this in between time a lone figure walked, its slow movements barely making an impact on the sand. As it traveled it suddenly stopped and noticed the sand. On the sand there was a shadow and only a shadow, nothing else.

As he walked his form changed. First, he resembled a dog. Over time, that is if there was any true sense of time in this barren land, he took the form of a human. Finally, he turned into something not human, but not quite animal either.

The thing that now hobbled humbly across the sand began to limp, then crawl on its hands and legs, and finally it slithered its way through the dirt like a decaying worm. One would feel sorry for this creature, that is if there was anyone here to mourn. Only to find itself vanish into the sand and minutes later to be swallowed by the surf.

Then abruptly the Someone Who Is None noticed that there was a whole multitude of these creatures squirming through the sand. Some stooped lower than others. Some left heavy imprints in the sand. Others floated along leaving no trace behind. Yet most of these creatures, these shadows of the sands, continued on nothing particularly special happening to them.

Unnoticed by the many and the one the sand began to move and change where one of the lowlier ones had walked alone. It was like one of the cool ocean waves, slowly building and getting bigger and bigger. Finally, it broke against the rocks. Soon all of the shadows saw it and reminisced about the lowly one. They thought about many things but in the end the sand subsided and was ignored. The long march continued on, always going, never ending.

Overtime all the shadows left, disappearing into the sand and the ocean. Eventually, as day began to finally turn to night, even the Someone Who Was None decided to move on to some other distant beach. Then the night came.

The sand slowly settled. The water made peace with itself. One, if there was anyone, could have sat at this point and been in complete peace. And then the night came.

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LORELEI CULVER, 4

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ME STEFANIE SHEMITZ, 3

I used to be a ballerina But now I am a gymnast.

I used to have two birds But now I have a cat.

If I were a duck I’d wish for five chicks in a line right behind me.

I used to think homework was fun But now I know it’s not.

I would like pierced ears But would not like a pierced nose.

When I grow up I’ll be an architect But maybe I’ll own a store.

A good friend is there for me And laughs beside me.

One of these days a unicorn will be discovered But who knows maybe I’ll be the one.

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SARENA BIRIA, 3

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the bet(In)ween Lauren Fox, 11

With death comes wisdom of how to live life, A cruel irony that mocks the deceased.

Knowledge of what was missed fills them with strife.

The tainted spirits wish to be released.

In God’s waiting room the souls remain trapped, Watching the living repeat their mistakes, Mistakes of which most all humans are apt.

There is nothing they can do. Each soul aches.

The dead request the help of the living, For without their prayers heaven’s gate stays closed.

But humans, not accustomed to giving, Force the departed to remain enclosed.

They are trapped in timeless purgatory, Watching the living tarnish earth’s story.

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GRANT ZAHORSKY, 11

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EVOLUTION MEGAN NALAMACHU, 8

Man had agriculture, growing by hand Bending and picking causes bad back aches.

Tilling the earth, making fertile land Using gardening tools, shovels and rakes.

Flash forward a few hundred years later.

Man has created a machine to work Becoming something new: a creator.

But behind success, dark gas clouds can lurk To call one another, use a cell phone Communication; developed, tested.

Everyone has one, their very own Used all the time, our minds are infested.

Technology is now our way of life.

The war against work and mind; the hard strife.

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JANE VELGHE, 11 EMILY REED, 10 16

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LUKE GERSON, 11 The wind is glistening in my hair I looked across the ocean and I caught her stare Her name is Debby I know for a fact I am Picasso, I am abstract I do not float, I go in deep I let it soak in, I let it seep I’m lost inside this ocean blue You speak for the many, I speak for the few Living the sweet life like Zach and Cody Wise like Guinness playing Obi-Wan-Kenobi I am self-reliant, I am a transcendentalist I can see through lies I am the mentalist I want to leave, but they want me to stay The government runs the world like Beyonce I won’t pay my taxes I won’t pay my dues I’m wide-awake but you’re pressing snooze Don’t let them rule you, think for yourself You’re on the bottom I’m on the top-shelf They want me to settle but my foot’s to the pedal Just like Bacon I am a rebel

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NARGIZA NEGAHBAN, 10

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TO ALL THE ABANDONED SHOPPING CARTS OUT THERE LILI TUCKER, 10

It was an unusually quiet Thursday evening at Jim and Murray’s Grocery. Only the soft padding of feet could be heard against the slightly worn linoleum floors. Not many people came in after seven and the ones that did never bought anything more than a three dollar bottle of wine or a pint of Ben and Jerry’s. Outside, the shopping carts huddled together against the cold, waiting for Johnny and the others to bring them back into the store. When morning finally came the soft hum of the florescent lights became muddled by the scroop of heavy winter coats and the swishing of Mr Murray’s new electric door opening and closing. The people’s hushed evening voices soon grew into the loud, cantankerous bickering of couples and the crying of children in the checkout lanes, and one by one the shopping carts were pulled from their metal rails and pushed down the long supermarket aisles. Among the quiet groaning of the carts amid the daily bustle, one particular shopping cart emitted a different sort of sound. Piled high with canned goods and cat litter, he squealed and rattled eagerly as he motared through the aisles. In his basket sat a young girl who laughed and kicked his metal grates as they edged towards the checkout line, his wheels slowing to a silent stop. Once outside, she hung on his handles, swinging her legs up and down, as her mother gingerly unloaded the groceries into the back of her 2002 Ford Explorer.

“Can I do it? Can I put it back? Pleaseee!” the girl shrilled, jumping up and down, her Mary Janes slapping the sidewalk with each syllable.

“Fine, but stay where I can see you- and watch for cars backing out.” The mother watched as her daughter scampered across the street, pushing the shopping cart along in front of her. The little girl was attempting to align him perfectly in the metal rails when her mother called for her to come back. The little girl scuttled off across the street as the shopping cart’s front left wheel began to screech in reluctance to turn right. The little girl hopped into the back seat and her mother shut the door. The cart began to roll backwards in attempt to straighten out his front wheel. With the key in the ignition, the car’s engine began to growl as the shopping cart bounced over a bump in the asphalt. The car pulled out of the parking space. The Cart gained speed, and the car rolled out of parking lot. The cart rolled down the hill. At the conclusion of the mid-afternoon rush, the shopping cart found himself in a secluded corner of the parking lot, left to wonder what had happened to the little girl- what had happened to him? Soon the sky began to blush and redden as the sun sank low in the horizon. He could hear Johnny shouting to bring all the carts in, and, promptly, the metallic rustling of Johnny herding the carts into the store echoed about him. He sat patiently, for Johnny to come find him; Johnny always found him. But, as the dark night set about consuming the world in Prussian and navy blues, the sliver of hope dissipated into the atmosphere.

Johnny was not coming back. He was probably spending time with his new baby, Lorraine, that he talks about all the timenot the shopping carts. The weight of this revelation falls back down on his handles like the pounding of rain...Rain...he thought...It’s raining now isn’t it? In the midst of his revelation he failed to realize that it had started to rain.

It was a light cold rain at first. Something that one would expect to go as quickly as it came, and dry up as quickly as went. But this rain did not go. Instead it manifested into a hard, warm rain. The kind with raindrops that dappled his handles making them sparkle in the small sliver of sunlight bursting through the clouds.It was a beautiful rain. But he soon grew worried for he was out in the open, vulnerable to the strings of water that drizzled down from the sky, enveloping him in a coat of woven raindrops. He shivered and whistled with the hard December drizzle that flowed in and out of the holes in his grates. It will surely rust his metal bones. It’s a crazy idea, he thought, This idea of RUSTING. Of becoming incarcerated in a hard red-brown shell. Similar to that of a mechanical moth encasing itself in a steel cocoon. Only to be slowly chipped away by the hands of nature and excessive patience, Revealing a beautiful, shining...shopping cart. Left to stare at the flickering, neon, “Open 24/7” sign in front of Jim and Murray’s Grocery.

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MIRA GUPTA, PreK

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JASON LEDNICKY, 11

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ALISE DAVID, 6

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A SONG OF MYSELF BAILEY FISLI, 11

1 I represent myself, and write myself, From me comes you, and you comes me My essence born of stardust My soul ever connected to the cosmic energy of the universe My heart infinitely beating to the background noise of the macrocosm Infinitely beating along with yours 2 Dents in crinkled paper Binding asphyxiated under nervous fingers Chatter resonating through the physique Atop a mountain of uncertainty Clinging frantically to my world Regretting the loss of everything Regretting the loss of nothing 3 Alone in a crowd of faceless figures Deafened by the yells of the abuser Foaming in the mouth Crying on the floor Innocence battered and bleeding Blood on the hands of everyone 4 Ashen souls and ashen hopes Silence from ashen lips Clawing frantically Invisible scars Invisible human

5 The world is hazy Vision clouded by salty tears The colors of the horizon melt into asphalt Dripping lashes slowly blinking I am grasping for air, breathing nothing but sulfur Hoping for an answer Hoping for nothing 6 What will the future hold?

Seconds, minutes, hours The clock continues to tick Tick, tick, tick, tick Never stopping, waiting for no one Hands holding hands Hands holding rings 7 We will never know what the future holds It is infinitely the present Each present a gift Despite the horrors life holds The warmth of love is all encompassing Beauty outshines evil The world continues to spin

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LEO YUAN, 12

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MCCOLM PURSELL, 6

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LUCIA HERRERA, PreK

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