Part Three: Fall | The Glass Knife 2023

the glass knife

Fall

ѐ Ň ŊĴņ ŇĻĴŇ ļŀŃłņņļĵĿĸ ŇĻļŁĺс ĻĴŃŃļŁĸņņ ŇĻĴŇ ķłĸņ not wilt to reveal the thin shoots of some new desire rising from within it.”

— George Saunders, Escape From Spiderhead

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the glass knife

Appreciation

ĵŌ ĻŅļņŇļĴŁ ŊňŀĹňłĻ яҳҴ Driving home with him, arguing about some bull we’ll forget He tells me I have no respect for him, but he treats me like his biggest regret We come home and we’re still arguing and we don’t talk for some time I wonder what life would be like without him, that thorn in my side Always pressing me about “do that!” and “do this!”

One day without him is my only wish łŀļŁĺ Ļłŀĸ ĴչĸŅ Ĵ ĺŅĸĴŇ ķĴŌп Ķłŀĸ Ňł ņĸĸ Him unable to stand up, no this can’t be ĸяņ ķļōōŌ ĴŁķ ĶĴŁ ĸʼnĸŁ ĺĸŇ Ļļņ ĵĸĿŇ łŁ Ō ŀłŀ ņňņŃĸĶŇņ ņłŀĸŇĻļŁĺяņ ŊŅłŁĺ ĴŁķ ņł ņĻĸ ĶĴĿĿņ ҺҲҲ Taken away in an ambulance, a tear in my eye Wondering if he’s going to die ĻĴŇ ĻĴʼnĸ ķłŁĸы ŁĸʼnĸŅ ĺłŇ Ňł ĴŃłĿłĺļōĸ Wait at home for hours feeling sick ĺĸŇ Ĵ ĶĴĿĿ ĹŅłŀ ŀŌ ŀłŀ ĴŇ Ҳұсҳҷ She tells me “your dad had a stroke” and I lost it All of those arguments, all of those bridges I’ve lit ĺłŇ Ňł ŅĸշĸĶŇ ļŁ ŇĻĸ ŇŊĸŁŇŌ ĹłňŅ ĻłňŅņ Ļĸ ŊĴņ ŁłŇ Ļłŀĸ About how we treat our own About how neglect to respect our loved ones, or to even say hi ĵłňŇ ĻłŊ Ŋĸ ķł ŁłŇ ĴŃŃŅĸĶļĴŇĸ ŊĻĴŇ Ŋĸ ĻĴʼnĸ ňŁŇļĿ ļŇ շĴņĻĸņ ĵĸĹłŅĸ łňŅ ĸŌĸņт

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Ephemera Adam Akins ’23 Photography

Shells Kaitlyn Dias ’24 ĻĴŅĶłĴĿп ŃĸŁĶļĿ ĴŁķ ĶŅĴŌłŁ

the glass knife

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the glass knife What I See

The fetishes.

ĵŌ ŀĴŁļ łĶĻŅĴŁ яҳҵ

I see the angry black women or the deadbeat dads of men

EXPLICIT CONTENT WARNING

W

hen you look at your skin, do you see yourself as a person of this nation? When I look down at my skin, I see an abomination.

I see a joke I see a threat ņĸĸ Ĵ ҷяҹ ŇĴĿĿ ĴĺĺŅĸņņļʼnĸ ĵĿĴĶľ ŀĴŁ armed, carrying a weapon, and resisting arrest

I see the history of forced migrations to a foreign land, the ancestors of my heritage in whips In shackles

Until you look past the news and realļōĸ ŇĻĴŇ ŇĻĴŇ

In chains In plantations as slaves, living the rest of their lives in damnation

ҷяҹ ŇĴĿĿ ĴĺĺŅĸņņļʼnĸ ĵĿĴĶľ ŀĴŁ armed, carrying a weapon, and resisting arrest

I see the hangings, the bombs, the dogs, the separations of families and the sellings of loved ones When I look down at my skin, I see the media’s stereotypes and accusations on my people I see drugs and thugs and alcohol, I see dealers and hood hoodlums I see monkeys, ghetto kids, ratchet adults, rioters, dangers to the nation,

Was really an innocent child.

When I look down at my skin, I see the complications of living in this hateĹňĿ ŁĴŇļłŁ ņĸĸ ŇĻĸ ձŋĴŇļłŁņ łŁ ĵĿĴĶľ struggles I hear conversations about what being black means And if one is too black

I see big nose, big chains The negatives.

I see big lips, big butt

Or not black enough I watch the news and see another person with my same skin

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the glass knife On posters and banners, on clothing ĴŁķ ļŁ ĺŅĴղŇļ As others parade down the street for the who knows how many times this month With that person and their name being avenged Til they are forgotten and it happens again as the cycle repeats A father A mother A kid A sibling An aunt An uncle A niece A nephew A cousin A neighbor A friend

and now House slaves versus Field Slaves turned Light Skinned versus Dark Skinned Whips turned Lynches turned Pepper Sprays And Teargas And Rubber ňĿĿĸŇņ ļʼnļĿ ĴŅ ŇňŅŁĸķ ļʼnļĿ ļĺĻŇņ Movement to Black Lives Matter Slave Masters turned KKK turned Pigs killing my people shouting Blue Lives Matter in opposition to our Black Lives Matter As if they have to live every second of their lives being Blue, and that’s not something they can change As if being Black is just a job or a ĵĴķĺĸ Ōłň ĶĴŁ ŇĴľĸ łծ ĴչĸŅ Ĵ ĿłŁĺ ķĴŌяņ łծ ŊłŅľ ņ ļĹ ŇĻĸŌ ĻĴʼnĸ Ňł ņŃĸŁķ ŇĻĸļŅ lives in fear that no matter where you go, someone somewhere will always see you as

Dead.

An Abomination An Atrocity A Juvenile A Lawless Delinquent A Source of Hatred A Source of Animosity A Dark Evil A Nigger.

Or Nigga, depending on who you ask.

Just because of the color of their skin I see people getting beat to death Because of the color of their skin.

I see people getting choked to death Because of the color of their skin.

I see people getting shot to death Because of the color of the skin.

And trust me, It’s no easy job being a Nigga.

I notice the parallels between then

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the glass knife Thoughts of Us, excerpt

by Kate Barnes ’27

1ST PLACE, 2023 MIDDLE SCHOOL WRITING CONTEST

I

ŊĴŇĶĻĸķ Ĵņ ŇŅĸĸņ շĴņĻĸķ ŃĴņŇ ŀŌ window, the car speeding down a winding road hugging the side of a ŀłňŁŇĴļŁт Ļĸ ĿĴŁķ ĴŅłňŁķ ĴŀŃ łĿĿłŊĴŌп ļŁ łŁŇĴŁĴп ŊĴņ ʼnĸŅŌ ķļծĸŅĸŁŇ from the land around where I was born in New Mexico. ĴŀŃ łĿĿłŊĴŌ ŊĴņ ĿłĶĴŇĸķ ļŁ Ĵ ʼnĴĿley, on the shore of a small lake that reminded me of where he died. We came to a stop in front of the main building ĴչĸŅ ņĸĸļŁĺ ŇĻĸ ĶĴŀŃ through the trees.

The sun was setting, sinking below the mountains; night fell faster here in their shadow. My parents turned to look at me anxiously.

“Rosie, are you sure you’re okay with this?” asked my mother. “We want you Ňł ŀłʼnĸ łŁ ĴչĸŅуё ĴչĸŅ ŀŌ ĵŅłŇĻĸŅяņ death, she meant.

“But we also don’t want to upset you.”

I know she meant well, they both did, but I was tired of them treating me like a glass bomb, likely to either break or explode. ѐ яĿĿ ĵĸ ձŁĸт Ňяņ łŁĿŌ ĹłŅ Ĵ Ŋĸĸľпё

answered, irritated. “Okay, but call us if you need anything, and we can come pick you up,” said my dad.

Maybe ‘glass bomb’ is not the right metaphor. To them, I was already broľĸŁт չĸŅ ŊĴĿľļŁĺ ŀĸ ļŁņļķĸ ĴŁķ ĶĻĸĶľing me in, I was relieved when they headed toward the door. They didn’t look back.

Chapter II I woke up the next morning feeling disoriented. I blinked, staring blankly at the underside of a bed; I was on the bottom bunk. I wasn’t used to waking up that early, and when I turned my head to look out the small window, the sky was a light shade of gray.

I had an odd feeling, as if I had forgotten something, but didn’t know what. ĻĸŁ ŅĸĴĿļōĸķ ļŇ ŊĴņ ĵĸĶĴňņĸ łĹ ŇĻĸ ļŁŇĸŁņĸ ņļĿĸŁĶĸп ņł ķļծĸŅĸŁŇ ĹŅłŀ ŇĻĸ ĸĴŅly-morning sounds of the town where I lived. The only sound was the sound of the other girls’ breathing and a faint strain of birdsong. I closed my eyes, and suddenly the memory resurfaced of the place where it happened, no doubt brought on by the similar circumstances. In a cabin in the woods, by a small, but deep, lake. . . I screwed my eyes shut and rolled onto my side in my sleeping bag, determined to go back to sleep.

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the glass knife չĸŅ Ĵ ŀĸķļłĶŅĸ ĵŅĸĴľĹĴņŇ ļŁ ŇĻĸ ŀĸņņ hall a few hours later, the counselors encouraged us to get to know our cabinmates. I learned that two of them were sisters, Lisa and Katie, and that the other one was named Krista. Lisa and Katie kept to themselves, but Krista, on the other hand, was friendly and outgoing to the extreme. When she turned to me, her eyes bright and searching, I admit, I was a little intimidated.

“So, Rosie, right?” She began, and ŇĻĸŁ ĶňŇ ŀĸ łծ ĵĸĹłŅĸ ĶłňĿķ ŅĸņŃłŁķт “My name’s Krista, and do you know what we’re doing today? I heard we’re going to go kayaking, or maybe hiking. I’ve never been hiking. I want to, though. Do you like hiking?”

I blinked, her attitude taking me by surprise; she was so cheerful that you would think we were going to Disneyland.

Then she surprised me by answering my question-I-didn’t-know-I-was-asking with another question.

“But wouldn’t just being out there make up for the weather or whatever?

Like, wouldn’t the fact that you’re there seeing it all make up for the things you don’t want to see?” She sounded slightly desperate.

I just stared. Who is this girl? But I could see now in her eyes a hint of vulnerability, a hint of insecurity. I felt ŀŌ łŊŁ ŃĸŅņłŁĴĿļŇŌ ņĻļչ ŇĻĸ ŇļŁļĸņŇ ĵļŇ to mirror hers. This has always been my best defense mechanism; if I act like the other person, they’ll accept me, respect me.

In response to her question, I said ņļŀŃĿŌс ѐ ĸŃĸŁķņ łŁ ŊĻĴŇ Ōłň ķłŁяŇ want to see.”

Obviously, we became friends.

“I mean,” I replied, unable to imagine being so enthusiastic about nature camp. “I guess it depends where I’m hiking.” She stared at me, and I felt the need to elaborate “I’d rather hike in a forest than a desert.” I continued. “It’s less hot and there are more things to see . . . ?” I don't know why I made that sound like a question, except maybe it was because she kept staring at me, like ņĻĸ ŊĴņ ŇŅŌļŁĺ Ňł ձŁķ ĴŁ ĸŋŇŅĴ ĿĴŌĸŅ łĹ meaning in my words.

Read more from “Thoughts of Us” here

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pa

tnudidicni ropmet domsuie od des ,tile gnicsipida rutetcesnoc ,tema tis rolod muspi meroL -icnit lsin subicuaf dI .arterahp allun mes tu oido ucra eranrO .auqila angam erolod te erobal tu sumaviv iud ucra eranrO .te subitanep euqotan siicos muc adivarg tege tilE .mallun tege tnud tis euqsetnellep a subicuaf cnuN .tidnalb non cnun eitselom sullet hbiN .mudnebib silef ucra -tam susruc siruam hbiN .euqen secirtlu te arterahp siruam tege im seicirtlU .tege rotittrop tema sulleT .tirerdneh adivarg niorp ranivlup des hbin taiguef repmeS .tare ta silucai a eitselom sit -uef cen ropmet assaM .des essidnepsus eFriaonn roa,subliaciuraef G sueru mpmeatiV .saneceam maid a siruam .ainical domsiue oido non ucrA .lsin taiguef cen ropmet assaM .teillel v’ di ecsuf muiterp lsin taig 2 , -ref euqsirelecs sitrobol mine siuq maid missingid maitE .ibrom oido d6 es A sisilicaf ue mutnemelE rotrot te mes mauqila man cen euqsetnelleP .sisilicaf mine mudnebib teuqilaccrny un muspI .mutnem l sittam mutnemidnoc anru ta sulleT .euqen anru sucnohr sittam sucnohr lsiN .aitcrop di tauqesnoc -lun tege tnudicniT .di euqsetnellep sittam mutnemidnoc anru tA .di rotrot hbin di euqsetnellep euqsetnelleP .ranivlup subicuaf tu surup rutetcesnoC .angam sisilicaf tema tis tse isin non mal -ilicaf allun tema tis nasmucca iuD .cnun tege susruc anru sitanenev tema tis mine missingid tema tis angam euqitsirt tnesearp hbin teuqilA .ue etatupluv sutem ni sullet sitaneneV .ibrom is -ila man cen euqsetnellep mauq supmeT .regetni oel seicirtlu eativ siruam sum sulucidiR .surup mine siuq maiD .seicirtlu saneceam maid di mauqila tema tis arterahp tu etatupluV .mes mauq .te euqitsirt tu mudnebib silef ucra sumaviv iuD .subicuaf iud mutnemref euqsirelecs sitrobol cnun silloM .subicuaf di orebil rutetcesnoc mudretni essidnepsus teeroal euqen ranivlup noN -ipas ranivlup cnun tnudicnit assam teidrepmi siuq odommoc siruaM .ni susir repmes di des tema tis mutcid temA .teuqila di tnudicnit siprut deS .susruc di cnun anru rotcua ta rotroT .te ne -iv assam tema tis siruam sisilicaf oidO .des susir siuq ta ainical domsiue oido noN .cenod otsuj -pida sarC .te sutcenes euqitsirt ibrom tnatibah euqsetnellep ranivlup euqsetnellep siruaM .eat icro sullet non euqsiuq murtuR .angam arterahp naenea muiterp satsege siprut ue mine gnicsi -idnoc rotrot eativ assaM .tema tis mutcid tema tis susruc tema tis teeroaL .eugua rotcua ca eugnoc satsege euqen mudnebib im uE .ni susruc siprut tidnalb siuQ .siuq ainical mutnem te mutnemref ni adivarg euqen euguA .tege susruc anru sitanenev tema tiS .satsege euqsiuq -calp assam euqsetnellep ni domsiue tilev mudretnI .susir ucra non ibrom rolod tegE .niduticillos .ranivlup cnun tnudicnit assam teidrepmi siuq odommoc siruam temA .sucal seicirtlu siud tare -etcesnoc dI .mauqila tu tile gnicsipida rutetcesnoc temA .cenod otsuj tema tis mutcid temA tema tiS .non euqsiuq murtur adivarg tirerdneh nI .mutnemele ranivlup subicuaf tu surup rut -sus eranro subicuaf suruP .mauq suirav siuq susir ucrA .im seicirtlu saneceam maid di mauqila tis rolod muspi meroL .reprocmallu sittam mulubitsev sutcel deS .des sucal isin des essidnep rutetcesnoc non mutcid nI .semaf adauselam te suten te sutcenes euqitsirT .rutetcesnoc tema lsin tema tiS .rotrot hbin di euqsetnellep sittaM .sittam cnun iud cen mine assaM .ta man tare a .allignirf lev oel sisilicaf mutnemele tnesearP .regetni seicirtlu tse mudnebib gnicsipida tipicsus .semaf adauselam te suten te sutceneS .ue etatupluv sutem ni sullet sitanenev tu maid taptulov tA -rocmallu des tilev reprocmallu sittam mulubitseV .euqsirelecs taiguef regetni sullet ni ta gnicsipidA mes mauqila man ceN .alugil te neipas ranivlup cnun tnudicnit assam teidrepmi siuq odommoC .rep sitanenev tU .mauqila tidnalb taptulov saneceam taptulov tidnalb mine tu oidO .tauqesnoc rotrot te tu mauqila sillom merol atrop isin domsiuE .teidrepmi silef euqsirelecs ue etatupluv sutem ni sullet ropmet niduticillos maid A .tilev reprocmallu sittam mulubitsev sutcel des taiguef cA .oel rotittrop -nellep mauQ .cenod sore lev siuq ainical mutnemidnoc rotrot eativ assam temA .im cnun lsin ue di arterahp arterahp te anru supmet des satsegE .di tauqesnoc rotrot te mes mauqila man cen euqset ue etatupluv sutem nI .surup tema tis angam euqitsirt tnesearp hbin teuqila tege regetnI .assam assam

t in

w on

ood

l p an e

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Watchful Eye Alex Shuler ’24 Photography

the glass knife

A new genesis every day

by Adam Akins ’23

The seventh day of rest never reached this place It's still turning and raw, Parts of reality coming together and tearing apart Here as captive, yet content admires, of the garden. Seeing a new world born and reassembled every hour, never sleeping ever awake, lost in the trance Eden spores for us, it draws in and demands our peace,

time, everything it can take.

Sentinel — the watcher and the post — inseparable, a lesion on the beauty of this place, Slowly eroded by the crashing tide of this new world ĸŇĴĵłĿļōĸķ ĵŌ ŇĻĸ ĺĴŅķĸŁп an insidious creep taking more and more It makes new life from us, When we are done, Eden keeps going.

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the glass knife

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Toxicity composed by System of a Down ŃĸŅĹłŅŀĸķ ĵŌ "ĴŁķĸŅ łŅŁĸĿļňņ яҳҴ Drums

Lie Down Natalie Park ’23 Stamp

the glass knife

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the glass knife Valiski, Act I

Her nails were sharp, occasionally piercing the boy’s skin. Nikolai’s blood fell slowly across his body, dispersing ŇĻĸ ŀĴŅľņ ŇĻĸ ĸĿķĸŅ Ŀĸչ ňŃłŁ Ļļŀт

by Ishaan Sekhon ’24 1ST PLACE, 2023 HIGH SCHOOL WRITING CONTEST

T

Then the woman moved towards his ĹĴĶĸт ĸŅ ձŁĺĸŅ ĶŅĸŃŇ ňŁķĸŅ Ļļņ ĸŌĸт Nikolai immediately jerked his head back, but his father grabbed it and held him still.

Ļĸ ņŀĸĿĿ łĹ ŃĸŇŅļĶĻłŅ ձĿĿĸķ ŇĻĸ boy’s nose as he stared at the շłłķ ņňŅĺļŁĺ łňŇ łĹ ŇĻĸ clouds. The sound of the droplets smacking the leaves rang through the ĹłŅĸņŇ շłłŅт A single droplet fell on the boy’s bare skin. A cold, stinging chill erupted across his body and fell down his spine.

“Bear it, Nikolai. Much worse will come,” a voice told him.

His father stood beside him and restĸķ Ĵ ĻĴŁķ ձŅŀĿŌ łŁ Ļļņ ņĻłňĿķĸŅт Ł ĸĿderly woman chanted and danced slowly but unorthodoxly. She held a small cup of ground up herbs into the air to catch the falling droplets.

The elder stirred the mixture in her ĶňŃ ŊļŇĻ ĻĸŅ ձŁĺĸŅņ ňŁŇļĿ ŇĻĸŌ ŊĸŅĸ ĴŁ armorial red. The elder, still chanting, walked slowly towards Nikolai. The woman jabbed the boy in the heart with ĻĸŅ ŃĴļŁŇĸķ ձŁĺĸŅņт

The woman’s nails clawed underneath the boy’s eyes. Blood seeped out and merged with the vermillion marks the ŊłŀĴŁ ĻĴķ Ŀĸչ łŁ Ļļņ ĹĴĶĸт ļľłĿĴļяņ body shuddered as the elder dipped her ձŁĺĸŅņ ļŁ ŇĻĸ ĶňŃ łŁĶĸ ŀłŅĸт ĸ ŊĻļŀŃĸŅĸķ Ĵņ ŇĻĸ ŊłŀĴŁяņ ձŁĺĸŅ ņŇŅĸŇĶĻĸķ towards him eerily.

Twang. Nikolai screamed in horror as Ĵ շĴņĻ łĹ Ņĸķ ĸŁĺňĿĹĸķ ŇĻĸ ŊłŀĴŁт Ļĸ stumbled backward, a ghastly look of shock on her face. Her trembling hands clutched the arrow embedded in her side, then she collapsed.

Nikolai’s father threw him to the ground, then drew his ax. He swung it Ŋļķĸп ķĸշĸĶŇļŁĺ Ĵ ņĸĶłŁķ ĴŅŅłŊт ѐ Ŀĸľsander,” a voice said gleefully, almost howling. A giant lumbered into view.

Nikolai gasped for breath. He nearly fell to his knees, but his father forced him upright. His eyes widened as the elderly woman began to draw on his body.

He tossed his bow to the side, then drew his sword. The man’s chest and stomach were riddled with scars that twisted and wormed all across his body.

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the glass knife “Papa!” Nikolai screamed. Tears streamed down Nikolai’s face as he fell to his knees in shock.

Nikolai screamed in agony as he sprinted towards his father.

Nikolai shook his father’s body again and again and again and again and again.

ŅŇ Ĵ Ĵծ ņŇ

On his face, in place of an eye, lay a twisted, burnt hole. ļľłĿĴļ ĹŅłōĸ ļŁ ĻłŅŅłŅт Ļĸ ĸŌĸ ĻĴķ ĵĸĸŁ ņŇĴĵĵĸķ ĵŌ ձĸŅŌ metal.

“Valiski.” His father, Aleksander, scowled hatefully at the one eyed man. ѐ ňŁп ļľłĿĴļт ĻĴʼnĸ Ĵ ķňŇŌ Ňł ĹňĿձĿĿтё Aleksander roared and ran towards their hunter, who did the same. The clangs of metal echoed across the forest.

Aleksander swung at Valiski’s side, but he pivoted and blocked the blow.

Valiski lunged forward and thrust at Aleksander, but Aleksander blocked the blow. The hunter screamed as Aleksander relentlessly continued his ĵĴŅŅĴĺĸ łĹ ņŇŅłľĸņт ňŇņ ĹłŅŀĸķ ĴĶŅłņņ Alexander’s body. Each one longer and deeper than the last.

Aleksander’s ax seemed to screech ĴչĸŅ ĸĴĶĻ ĵĿłŊп Ĵņ ļĹ ŇĻĸ Ĵŋ ŊĴņ ĶŅŌļŁĺ ĴչĸŅ ĸĴĶĻ ĵĿłŊт Ļĸ ĻňŁŇĸŅ ŅĴļņĸķ his sword in the air and swung down.

Aleksander blocked with his ax, but the metal weapon shattered into two.

Aleksander’s face widened in horror as the sword cleaved through his body and tore out his guts. Valiski roared triumphantly as Aleksander’s breathless body collapsed onto the ground.

“PAPA!” Nikolai cried out, screaming.

“Papa...” The boy broke down crying.

Valiski grunted in annoyance and walked towards the boy. He grabbed Nikolai and threw him to the ground.

He stuck his hand in Aleksander’s corpse.

Then Valiski marched towards Nikolai. He grabbed the boy by his neck and raised him in the air.

“Die a man,” he said, then slammed Ļļņ ձņŇ ļŁŇł ļľłĿĴļяņ ĽĴŊт ļľłĿĴļ ŊĴņ thrown against the ground. He whimpered weakly. He was a tattered, bloody, and bony mess of a child.

Valiski looked at Nikolai with disgust and walked away, spitting on the boy’s remains.

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So What?

Brynne Barnard-Bahn ’23 Pen and paper

the glass knife

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ĹŅłф ňĵĴŁ łĿĿĴĺĸ Brynne Barnard-Bahn ’23 Pen and paper

the glass knife

ĸƱłŅ Ŀňĸņ composed by Taj Mahal performed by David Kedem ’23 Piano

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the glass knife clementines

by Sage Spradlin ’23 clementines. ŇĻĸ ŇłŅŁ շĸņĻ ņĴŇ ĵĸĹłŅĸ ŀŌ ĶŅłņņĸķ Ŀĸĺņт ņŇļĶľŌ ņŊĸĸŇ ķŅļŃŃĸķ ķłŊŁ ŀŌ palms, to my wrists, and onto the grass. she put her citrus-stained hands to my face. i muttered some sound of inquiry and she smiled. the sun shined too bright in her golden eyes when she told me

the

tea ity in n i v i d re is

in sin a sanctity — e m consu ar t t o p a g rin

she kissed the tears as they fell from my eyes and i knew i was forgiven.

ņŇĴծ ĴŅŇ

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the glass knife mother. i thought the earth must remember me she took me back so tenderly ĵŅĴļķĸķ ŀŌ ĻĴļŅ ŊļŇĻ ĺĸŁŇĿĸ ձŁĺĸŅņ brushed away where tears still lingered she smiled and cradled my broken bones ŇłĿķ ŀĸ ŇĻĴŇ ļŇєņ Ňļŀĸ Ňł ŅĸņŇп ļєŀ ձŁĴĿĿŌ Ļłŀĸ

the grove. i am rotting fruit ķĴŅľ ņłչ ņŃłŇņ where worms have made homes please plant my seeds

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The Glass Knife Editorial Board

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Ļĸ ĿĴņņ ŁļĹĸ ŇĴխп ҳұҳҳфҳұҳҴ

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Acknowledgments The production of this 13th edition of the Glass Knife, only our second ĴչĸŅ ŇĻĸ фҲҺ ŃĴŁķĸŀļĶп ŊĴņ ĶĸŁŇĸŅĸķ ĴŅłňŁķ ĺŅłŊŇĻт Ňяņ Ĵ ĹĴĶŇ entirely attributed to the volumes of support we have received. We’d like to thank the high school teachers for granting extra credit for subŀļņņļłŁņп ĴŁķ ĸņŃĸĶļĴĿĿŌ Ņт ňŁŁļŁĺĻĴŀ ĹłŅ Ļļņ ĻĸĿŃ ļŁ ձŁķļŁĺ Ĵķķļtional pieces for publication. Thank you to Ishaan Sekhon, Kate Barnes and Navina Singh, the winners of Dr. Novell’s school-wide writing contest, for graciously allowing us to print your work. To the three authors whose quotations we have borrowed — L.M. Montgomery, Tove Jansson and George Saunders — your work provided inspiration when we needed it most; even if it was unwitting support, we’re thankful for it.

Finally, as always, Mrs. Strong, this edition would not be here without you. We couldn’t ask for a more patient or supportive adviser, and we’re impossibly grateful for all of your help this year.

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the glass knife Golden Gate Simon Lindenau ’26 Film

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Sacramento Country Day School 2636 Latham Drive Sacramento, CA 95864 916.481.8811

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