Calliope Spring 2020 Issue

CALLIOPE S P R I N G 2 0 2 0

Pingry’s Literary Magazine

About We are Pingry’s art and literature magazine. We are open to all student submissions! We are also currently putting up a website at students.pingry. org/calliope. Contact us for more details regarding submissions/joining the staff!

Faculty Advisor Mrs. Grant

Editors Lauren Taylor (VI) Noah Bergam (V) Justin Li (V) Cal Mahoney (V) Chris Ticas (V)

Front Cover: Carolyn Coyne (V)

3

Writing Poetry dark room

Max Watzky

8

No More Tears Sabrina Schneider 9 It Was At That Age

Natalie Ladino

10

Where Does It End?

Olivia Telemaque 17

Prose Six Feet Apart on N95th Street Shannen Gallagher 22

Escape Olivia Telemaque 31 Invisible Rules

4

Avidan Shah

53

Art Mirika Jambudi

7

60

61

Carolyn Coyne 3

21 62

63 Emma Barrison

64

65

Isabelle Sheyfer

66

5

67

POETRY

7

dark room

Max Watzky

dark room stale air something under the rocking chair dull pain flashlight it lies under, eyes bright muscles freeze eyes wide the thing shifts over to your side watchmojo dot com it declares its name it’s time for you to play its game trembling there your breath bated begging, what will make it sated? it asks with a grin which you’d like to try of the top ten ways for you to die

8

No More Tears

Sabrina Schneider

My face is dry There are only so many tears I can cry The Tree of Life Synagogue Shooting and The Jersey City Shooting Gunned down in our holy places and in grocery stores I watch as hatred takes the lives Of my people My face is dry There are only so many tears I can cry The Charlottesville riot and the California Kosher Market Vandalization Threatened by the words “Jews will not replace us�

I listen to the Antisemitic slurs and threats yelled At my people My face is dry There are only so many tears I can cry The boy who told me Hebrew is a dead language and the kids who joke about the Holocaust Overwhelmed by the toxicity of the world I experience the abuse targeted At me My face is dry There are only so many tears I can cry As I tuck my Jewish star necklace into my shirt I pray I pray that one day I will feel safe again 9

It Was At That Age

Natalie Ladino

Prologue

The poems I wrote are in an attempt to encompass the emotions and feelings of the current state of seniors by following the specific story of one girl who is going to college in August. I needed an outlet to creatively express my feelings. The first poem, called A Line, is about the new norms in the security line at an airport. I attempted to use the dialogue I would hear at an airport, without revealing that we were at an airport yet. I also attempted to set the setting of leaving one life and moving to a completely new place in the last stanza. The second poem called California is about the love a girl finds in California. Although it took her some time, she fell in love with Los Angeles and the atmosphere there. I tried to make this poem with a happy ending and clear positive emotions in it. I also attempted to be more descriptive here versus abstract metaphors. The poem, called Last Dance, is about two people who have one more time to be together, and they didn’t notice how fast time flies by. Although that is what this poem is about on the surface, my goal was to make it about leaving home. The person the narrator is talking to is her high school, her home state, and the people she loves. The Gun Thy Neighbor poem is specifically about the effects of coronavirus and the moral conflicts that arise because of it. It is my favorite aspect of the poems because it draws a contrast between history and our current reality. The number of similarities between then and now is bizarre. The poem Change was written in February when we had a warmup. In the second half of the poem I added more lines that add meaning to the new life we live. This is also one of my favorite works because of how the ending in February applies to our reality in April. Lastly, I wrote Shirts.

This poem is more simple because it is simply about buying two T-shirts.

I attempted to display how the original internal conflict of packing up and leaving everything behind is solved because the narrator is providing support and comfort to the girl who is leaving for California.

10

A Line “You’re next in line” My body is cold, but I should’ve anticipated this It’s always cold here.

What’s the best way to maneuver this without putting myself at risk?

Phase One. Step up slowly to the officer. Use my imaginary measuring tape in order to stay away from everyone.

“Place your phone face down please” “Government issued ID please” “Go to the line on the right please” The line has three spots for people to stand in.

“Pick up a basket. Place your things inside, and then push it onto the conveyor belt” We’re all nervous and scared. No one is safe.

Nobody wants to move too soon.

Two. I pick up two baskets.

“You don’t have to take off your shoes” I put my coffee color patagonia backpack in one of them and take out my laptop.

I don’t have any carry ons because everything was checked to go far away.

I’m on a tightrope.

Careful not to lose my balance, or else I will put myself in danger.

I repeat to myself: Do not touch your face.

Do not touch your face.

Do not touch your face.

Wash your hands after security.

Wash your hands after security.

Wash your hands after security.

11

Three.

I made it out alive.

Which exit leads me to my new life?

Gate C98 at 2:55 p.m. will lead me to my future.

Another line to wait in.

California She finds herself on Sunset Boulevard.

High heeled women strut down the street around her Sunglasses on; Hair curled; Always tan; Faces from magazines.

High-heeled influencers find themselves on Sunset Boulevard.

She finds herself in Manhattan Beach bracing the wind from the water.

Surfboards of every color are stacked on top of each other under the boardwalk.

It’s 5:30 p.m: Teenage boys rush to the ocean with their boards.

Tight, thick black suits cover their whole bodies.

Surf boys are like the waves that flow back and forth. They find themselves in Manhattan Beach.

She finds herself discovering love in the beautiful hills of suburbia She didn’t find it on Sunset or a party at the beach.

Flamboyant Red, Tangerine, Blush Pink, Neon Orange, and Gold spill over the hills.

It’s 8:03 p.m. and her heart’s been stolen by something foreign.

Watch out for the lifestyle cause it’s armed and dangerous.

She got hooked right away and couldn’t see it coming.

California, she loves you. You make her dreams come true.

She’s coming home to you, California. You’ll see her soon.

12

Last Dance Hundreds of eyes in the room, and yours found mine.

I had no clue this one dance would lead me to you.

“It’s alright to waste some time tonight,” you said.

4 years have gone by since you’ve said yes.

You’ve been waiting so long and you still look your best.

What lasted for eternity, seemed like seconds “Hello, my love, let’s dance one last time. We can take out time. Do whatever you like.”

Who knew I would miss you?

Memories of dancing with you are all I have left.

It’s time to go. Go to my new home. I don’t want to go.

Staring around the room, your eyes still found mine.

My heart shattered into a million small pieces: Goodbye.

Gun Thy Neighbor 1948 IMMINENT THREAT! ATOMIC BOMB COMING TO TOWN! NOISES HEARD OVERHEAD! HIDE INSIDE! FIND A SHELTER! Gun thy neighbor.

Who do we protect?

I have a daughter, two sons, a husband, and my mom in my house.

Six people need protection.

There is room for eight people. Six spots are taken.

Who gets the last two spots? Who deserves it the most?

The newly wedded couple down the street who wants to have a baby next year and raise a family here.

The old couple two houses down. They’ve lived here all their lives and always come to our block parties. Ruth and Thomas are sweet.

13

They’ve never done anything wrong to us, in fact, they help us babysit the kids.

The mom and her son. Their dad left when he was a baby. He was a drug addict. Jessie, the mom, has juggled her five year old son and working at the same time. She’s a hustler. She has worked too hard in her life to not have a chance to survive this.

1948. Gun thy neighbor.

Who do we protect?

The fallout shelter holds eight people comfortably, but it could squeeze more.

There are two spots open.

Who gets the last two spots? Who deserves it the most?

How do I tell someone else, “Sorry, I chose to save someone else’s life over yours”?

How do I tell someone else, “I valued someone else’s life as more important than yours” How do I choose who gets to live and who has to be sacrificed?

2020. Gun thy neighbor.

Who do we protect?

This patient seems to not be getting better, and we need the ICU bed for other people.

We don’t have enough tests. Who gets one?

STAY INSIDE! IMMINENT THREAT! Who do we protect the most?

Change February 2020: It was at that age, four years old, I packed up and left.

It was at that age, seven years old, I chose my dad as my favorite.

It was at that age, nine years old, I have never cried so much in my entire life.

14

It was at that age, eleven years old, I had the best sleepover ever.

It was at that age, seventeen years old, I was the happiest I’ve ever been in my entire life.

It was at that age, eighteen years old, I am old enough to know about my family complications.

It was at that age, eighteen years old and two months, that my responsibility became very real.

It will be at that age, in the unknown future, life will keep moving whether I want it to or not, whether it’s good or bad, life will keep moving forward and I’ll just have to go with it.

April 2020: It was at that age, four years old, I packed up and left.

It was at that age, seven years old, I chose my dad as my favorite.

It was at that age, nine years old, I have never cried so much in my entire life.

It was at that age, eleven years old, I had the best sleepover ever.

It was at that age, seventeen years old, I was the happiest I’ve ever been in my entire life.

It was at that age, eighteen years old, I am old enough to know about my family complications.

It was at that age, eighteen years old and two months, that my responsibility became very real.

It was at that age, eighteen years old and three months, my heart shattered.

It is this age, eighteen years old and four months, new norms have been set in place for the rest of our lives. Everything I took for granted was ripped away from me.

It will be at that age, eighteen years old and eight months, I chose to leave my life behind me and venture off into the unknown. I make this decision not for my parents, or my family, but for myself. I want a new life.

It will be at that age, in the unknown future, life will keep mov-

15

ing whether I want it to or not, whether it’s good or bad, life will keep moving forward. Change keeps coming, and I’ll just have to go with it.

Shirts Won’t you let me buy a shirt for you?

It says “NEW YORK” so you don’t forget where home is.

O’Bagel is here to stay. Your family is here to stay.

It’s okay to leave, but don’t forget where your roots are.

Won’t you let me buy a shirt for you?

It says “CALIFORNIA” so you find yourself a new home.

You can count on me from here. 2793 miles away.

We’ll find out what we’re made of from 2793 miles apart.

Won’t you let me buy two shirts for you?

Home is wherever I’m with you. Keep these to remember that I’m always with you.

A shirt is all you need to let go of the old and be in the new.

16

Where Does it End?

Olivia Telemaque

May 5, 2020​, ​Graphic video of 25-year-old black man Ahmaud Arbery shot twice in the chest, and once in the wrist is publicly released.

“Warning: Sensitive Content” A neighborhood not too different than mine, Three shots, an echo that whined.

Excessive Force?

And with what right?

Some shouts, then silence For two months, too long a time.

They didn’t know his name.

They didn’t know he played football.

They didn’t know he was their neighbor.

They didn’t know him.

How can I cry, When we’re ​wading in the water​of racism, Fannie Lou Hamer?

He was sentenced to die, Profiled for the crime of being a black man in America.

A version of the same story, Same fate.

Same fears.

Same brutal gory.

But ​this is America​, Childish Gambino, Where complacency is as contagious as the pandemic of injustice.

When’s ​the change gonna come​, Mr. Cooke?

When will we stop victimizing the villain, And dehumanizing the victim, And videoing the scene, Without a thought to intervene, And hiding a case, Knowing the damage can’t be erased, 17

And feigning surprise, When the headlines show Every— Single— Black— Loss of life Now we run to the tempo of the heart that no longer beats, Two-point two miles we glide down the street, Tupac, look, a ​ nother rose that couldn’t grow through concrete, Another grieving mother at the dinner table with an empty seat, Another broken family, all documented in a couple of tweets, This unfortunate reality, on a generational repeat.

But still, we rise,​Ms. Angelou.

I’m​ still ​black​, and ​I’m​ still​ proud​, James Brown, you hear me?

We raise our children not to harm.

We teach our children not to judge.

We teach our peers that biases can be changed.

We keep fighting.

We keep speaking.

How can I cry, let it consume me, when there’s so much to be done?

When will it end? Where does the end begin?

His name.

It begins by learning his name. Learning all their names.

Ahmaud.

18

19

20

PROSE

21

Six Feet Apart on N95th Street

Shannen Gallagher

How can one apartment floor be impacted in so many ways? In this piece, we hear the stories of three individuals and the effect of coronavirus: Catherine Black, an entrepreneur and owner of 133 N95th Street, Tyler Long, a supermarket employee and resident of 133 N95th Street, and Jesse Wright, the world famous New York-Presbyterian Hospital surgeon, who is also a resident of 133 N95th Street. From 81 A-E, the stories of these people will no doubt change your outlook on Covid-19 and social distancing.

New York City, March 7th, 2020 - Coronavirus has started to creep up on the United States, and Governor Cuomo has issued social distancing guidelines.

133 N95th Street 81E, Jesse Wright - Today was the most stressful day of my life. It’s bad enough working in a hospital during a global pandemic, let alone having to perform emergency surgery on a kid. I think her name was Emma, umm…or Emily? I don’t know, everything is such a blur these days. Everyone’s just running around the hospital like there’s an apocalypse! Anyways, she’d been in the ICU for a few days, possible Covid case. She developed pneumonia and then her lungs started to fill with fluid.

She was just getting sicker and sicker, and it got so bad that she was sent into surgery. Given that she was a flight risk because of her possible Corona, the whole surgical team had to be really cautious. Right before she was sedated she was coughing like crazy. I had a mask, but it's the same one I’ve worn all week. I don’t really know if it’s working the way it should. The surgery was successful, but I’ve been exposed. The thing about working in a hospital is that I can’t really take part in social distancing all day. The last thing I want to do is go home to my wife and kids and expose them. This whole pandemic is driving me insane! I’m just in and out of the hospital 22

nonstop. Now I’ll likely be in quarantine for the next 14 days! I wish people would take social distancing seriously. Corona is no joke. They really need to take all the precautions that they can.

On a different note, I saw this woman on my walk home from work tonight. I think she lives in my building, but I’m not sure. It probably wasn’t smart of me to walk, but I couldn’t risk a cab and I didn’t drive today. Anyways, she didn’t seem at all bothered by the global pandemic.

What a fucking joke! She kept touching her face and I wanted to tell her that it was a bad idea, but if the President and Dr. Fauci couldn’t get through to her, I don’t know why I would be able to. When I got to my apartment building, she was still walking behind me. I didn’t want to touch anything that she could touch, but my hand slipped out of my sleeve when I went to open the door. I tried to think of the last time I washed my hands or touched my face, but I couldn’t remember anything! The last thing I want is to give someone the disease. Everyone just needs to stay home and follow social distancing orders! It’s like they don’t understand that Corona isn’t some joke.

133 N95th Street 81A, Catherine Black - Earlier this morning I received a call from my partner, James, located in Florence, Italy. He told me that our three hotels were being shut down, but that our two apartment buildings would remain open. He said, “It’s a new social distancing thing, people aren’t allowed within six feet of one another. All hotels are being shut down, not just ours.” Of course, my response was, “What a fucking joke! How can a ‘social distancing’ law close our hotels? Have you tried negotiating? We can leave the rooms open, but just close the pools, gyms, and restaurants.” James told me that this was nonnegotiable and that we have no choice. All I could think about was how I was losing business and income. And to make things worse, James kept telling me that it was 23

getting “ugly” in Italy and that I should go get some supplies. I mean, I hope he’s okay and all, but that son of a bitch is in Italy while I’m stuck in goddamn New York! All he kept saying on the phone was “Cat, buy masks and gloves, you know the drill!” The virus isn’t even that bad yet; I don’t understand the need for a mask, let alone social distancing laws.

Tonight, when I got back to my apartment building I saw this guy struggling to open the door. I think he was trying to use his sleeve or something. I don’t get it. People are taking this disease too damn seriously!

I know that I’m not going to get sick, so what does it really matter? Just embrace natural selection: if you die, you die. Honestly, just whatever floats your boat.

New York City, March 8th, 2020 - Social distancing is advised.

133 N95th Street 81D, Tyler Long - Whole Foods, East 57th street, the bane of my existence. I don’t think it’s possible to hate something more than Whole Foods. The stuck up, bitchy New Yorkers can really take a toll on you. Like today, there was this one woman, kind of tall, black hair, really pretty, the girl you know who has money. She came into the store looking for masks or something. She was wandering through all of the aisles, touching everything, you know, living life to the fullest social distancing and all! She knocked about four boxes of gloves on the floor without even picking them up. Of course, it was my job to pick them up and put them back on the shelves. What a fucking joke! I get that social distancing isn’t that important to everyone right now, but I just can’t stand these entitled New Yorkers who don’t give a shit. Let alone the fact that I’m an actual human being, not a servant. Ugh, pick up your own damn box!

New York City, March 14th, 2020 - Coronavirus has heavily affected the United States. The death toll is rising, all non-essential businesses have been closed, and all employees are required to wear gloves (masks 24

if possible). Social distancing has been enforced and there is a mandatory quarantine for one week, except for essential workers.

133 N95th Street 81E, Jesse Wright - Today is Day 6 of selfisolation. After Emma’s...um...Emily’s...Em’s lung surgery last week I got tested for Corona. When I got back the results, all I could see was a big, bold POSITIVE staring me in the face. You can’t imagine what it’s like to see that positive, knowing that I could’ve infected my family or anyone I came into contact with. My symptoms haven’t come on too bad yet. I’ve started losing my sense of smell and taste, but I’ve been lucky enough to stay out of the hospital. At least I know that I didn’t give anyone at work the virus. I just wonder about that woman who came into the building after me. My wife, Meghan, hasn’t had any symptoms but hasn’t been able to get tested yet. It’s the hardest thing having to stay away from her, you know. She’s everything. Our two kids Rory and Charlotte haven’t been able to get tested either. Rory has some of the same symptoms that I do, so I think it is safe to say that she has the virus. But there aren’t any goddamn tests! I mean, why do we even need the tests? The whole world knows the symptoms. It’s not like there’s medicine either. What the hell is a test going to do? Anyways, Meg has been isolating with the two girls, but I could give them the virus any day. I wish there was a way to distance myself from them. With more people dying, I just need to stay as far away as possible.

The last thing I want to do is infect my family, let alone see any of them die.

The day after Emma’s...Emily’s...Em’s surgery, Meg called the nanny to pick up some things she left behind. She told her—Anna—that I had been exposed and that it was best for her to take her belongings and not come back to work until everything has cleared up. Anna left her laptop behind, which I moved from the island the night of my exposure. At the time, I didn’t know that I had the virus, only that I had been exposed. Meg 25

tried to tell Anna that she could leave the laptop behind, but she insisted on taking it. That’s yet another woman I could have infected. I need to stay away. Lock me in a bubble for all I care, I just can’t get anyone else sick!

God forbid Anna or the woman from the other night become positive and don’t know. If they don’t take social distancing seriously they could infect hundreds, infecting thousands, all because of me.

133 N95th Street 81A, Catherine Black - Last week when James told me to buy gloves and masks, I thought that he was blowing things way out of proportion. I didn’t expect the POTUS to then close all non-essential businesses. This whole coronavirus hoax is such a fucking joke! First, my businesses in Italy get shut down, then my businesses in California, now my businesses in New York! The next thing you know, my apartment building will be evacuated. All I hear, all day every day, is “wash your hands,” “don’t touch your face,” and fucking “six feet apart!” Like enough already, I’m losing business and that’s all that matters. Period! At least I was at work all last week. Coming out of a two-week vacation, work was my goddamn salvation.

This morning I got a call from the manager of my building. Someone had tested positive. Floor 81. That’s my floor. If I get this damn virus, I swear to God. I got another call from James. I don’t think I’ve ever heard so much panic in someone’s voice before. It baffles me how people become so engrossed in fake news. What the hell? Anyways, James was going on about how “it’s only a matter of time until America issues a permanent quarantine too!” Apparently, no one in Italy is allowed to leave their homes.

I mean just cut the crap already, it’s obvious that Trump doesn’t care. He keeps calling it the goddamn Chinese virus! If he doesn’t care, why the hell should I? I mean, I have tremendous respect for the fake news and all, but this is such a joke! All I could hear was James yelling in my ear 26

saying that if I don’t get supplies myself he will be sending me an Amazon Pantry order. Utter ridiculousness. That’s the last thing I need. And I had just been at the store earlier this week. Regardless, I just went to get some more food supplies today, all to please James. The shelves were ransacked.

It’s absolutely absurd! I got some fruits and vegetables and tried to get protein. I also got a few things to snack on like nuts and things. Anyways, that’s not important. I coughed a few times when I was on the phone with James and I think he shit himself. Coughs can’t travel through the phone, honey. He heard me cough at the end of the call and ripped me a new one.

“You need to get tested. Ugh. You need to isolate. I’m serious. Mhm, okay, James!" As if I was really going to lock myself in my New York apartment for two weeks because of a cough. A cough. Fucking ridiculous. It’s spring, probably just some allergies that's all. Right? I mean what’s with these uptight people obsessed with a virus. Covid’s just a hoax and so is social distancing.

133 N95th Street 81D, Tyler Long - When I tell you that New Yorkers are the worst people on the face of the Earth, believe me. Don’t ever come to the Upper East Side if you plan on “loving” New York.

I can’t stand this whole Coronavirus thing. Apparently I’m an “essential worker” or some B.S. like that. Because working in an empty grocery store is really benefiting the people! It’s bad enough I work in a Whole Foods, let alone in the Upper East Side with all its nasty residents.

I said it once and I’ll say it again, I’m. Not. Your. Servant!!! And the worst part of it all is that now I have to work during a global pandemic.

Customers keep coming up to me asking questions. How hard is it to really find one of the five items left in a ransacked grocery store? One elderly woman came up to me to ask me where she could find toilet paper. And at this moment, I knew that shit was about to get real. I felt my sneeze coming 27

on! Welp, that’s it. There go my 26 years on this goddamn Earth. I hadn’t even touched anything directly since that one woman knocked down the boxes of gloves. I did everything not to sneeze, but out it came. I tried to sneeze into my elbow, but Lord knows that some of it escaped. There I was, an “essential worker,” spreading germs one by one.

That night I started to get a cough. I was really nervous so I woke up really early and drove to one of those makeshift testing centers. All I had to do was wait twenty four hours.

Well, those twenty four hours passed. Staring into my soul was a bold and capitalized POSITIVE. I had Coronavirus. You always think people are lying when they say that they feel everything at once. But there I was, feeling every emotion. Part of me was happy that I didn’t have to go back to work, part scared shitless that I was going to die, part disgusted and angered that some woman had the audacity to knock things off the shelf and not pick them up! I had probably given it to that poor woman who asked about toilet paper. Let alone every other person I helped this week! Goddamnit. Being an “essential worker” and giving up my right to socially distance gave me Corona. What a fucking joke! This is the last thing I need.

New York City, March 21st, 2020 - Nearly eight thousand deaths in New York City along with over one hundred ten thousand confirmed cases.

Mandatory quarantine for sixty days has been issued. One member of the family may leave a residence once per week to food shop. All other errands are prohibited.

133 N95th Street 81E, Jesse Wright - Day 13 of self-isolation.

Rory’s been tested for the virus. Positive. Goddamn positive! My thirteenyear-old daughter has Coronavirus. Meg started to get symptoms too. The only one relatively okay is Charlotte. She’s only nine. How do you expect a nine year old to take care of themselves because their parents have been 28

struck by a deadly disease?

I thought I was okay at the beginning, but my symptoms kept getting worse and worse. I’ve had a hefty cough and a high fever. I’ve been so tired I could’ve slept for a year. Rory keeps screaming, “I’m on fire, I feel like I’m on fire.” It has to be her fever. Meg has lost her taste and smell, but that’s all so far. I’m sleeping in the guest room to try and stay away from everyone. I don’t want to get Charlotte sick.

We got a call from Anna’s parents today. She had been brought in to the hospital a few days prior. She was placed on a ventilator, but it wasn’t enough. She passed away on March 13th, 2020. I’ve never felt like this before. I can’t breathe! Not because of the virus, but because I killed her.

Why did I have to touch her damn laptop? I could’ve asked Meg to move it!

What do I tell the girls? Why isn’t our healthcare enough? My friends and countless others are working their asses off to save the lives of thousands.

They put themselves at risk every day, and for what? So some stupid teenagers can run around and not take social distancing seriously? Three fourths of my family are sick, my nanny died, and who knows who else I could’ve infected! This is war! We’re at war with a godforsaken virus. What did we do to deserve this?

133 N95th Street 81A, Catherine Black - I never thought this would happen. I’ve been confirmed as positive for Covid-19, Goddamnit! James got so mad at me for not taking this seriously that he called the fucking authorities and told them I was sick! I hadn’t even been tested at that point.

And now I’m positive! I was so wrapped up in my work that I didn’t even care that I might have been exposed. I don’t even have any symptoms yet.

How can I be positive for a virus that I don’t even have the symptoms of?

I called in to work to let them know. Little did I know, half of my team had tested positive. Three were in the hospital on ventilators, two 29

were home in isolation, and one had died. If I had just listened to the announcements, James, the guidelines, and the regulations, my team might still be healthy. I killed someone. How can I let that go? I’m the reason she’s dead. Me. Catherine. I. Killed. Her. Oh, God!

New York City, March 22nd, 2020 - Whole Foods employee Tyler Long found dead in his apartment following suspicion from his boss. Tyler had been M.I.A. for three days when he was finally found in his apartment on the 81st floor of 131 N95th Street. Cause of death: lack of oxygen due to Covid-19. NOTICE: If you or anyone you know has been to the Whole Foods on 57th Street, self-isolate as soon as possible and get tested for Covid-19. You or someone you know could have been exposed.

These testimonies from Catherine Black, Jesse Wright, and Tyler Long have hopefully inspired you to remain in quarantine and take Covid-19 seriously. We all want to win this war, but cannot do so without properly social distancing and taking the regulations and guidelines provided by Dr. Fauci and President Trump seriously. It should come with great relief that both Catherine Black and Jesse Wright, along with their families, have recovered from Covid-19. Although Tyler Long, Anna, and Catherine’s anonymous employee passed, many have survived. We will win this war together if we stand as a united front. For now, wash your hands, stay home, and please, please remain six feet apart.

30

Escape

Olivia Telemaque

“You go first ...”

I started walking, deadly aware of the silence as Conner’s voice reverberated off the thin walls of dirt we were descending. Zion trailed behind him, followed by Maya. Mother Nature could do better. The scraps of muck held together for an excuse of a staircase barely supported the four of us, let alone any other victims who chose to be here. In the span of just five minutes, I went from wondering what this room would look like to planning out my police statement once I reported this scam. The light from the matchsticks edging out of the walls created a tunnel vision of terror I didn’t want to feel. I put one foot in front of the other, feeling my vessels pulsate to the beat of my own panic. I don’t like the dark. And I really don’t like silence. Registering what Conner said, my horror quickly turned into anger as I processed how pissed I was that my friends were making me go first.

“How gentlemanly of you,” I spat back.

So this is how it was gonna end.

The space became increasingly narrow as we climbed down the staircase to what looked like a steel-reinforced door from the nineteenth century. The realization of how screwed we were left my heart feeling suffocated and my mouth dry. I got us into this mess. The stupidity of this idea was profoundly obvious as I realized none of us have our cells on us.

Not that we’d have any signal anyways.

No help.

No way out.

The only way out was to get through. The sketchiness of this whole ordeal would be comical if it wasn’t just plain sad. My vision, now spotty from our scarce source of light, triggered intense dizziness and 31

disorientation. My brain felt heavy and cloudy as my vision blurred. My feet started to sway to the convulsion of my legs.

“C’mon, Isa.” Zion stabilized me and edged me forward. I started contemplating how fulfilling my seventeen years on this Earth really were.

Seeing my friends mirror my expression of faintness and terror, I resolved that I would not die in this piehole we once called “fun.” This wasn’t fun.

This was just plain cruelty.

With a quick prayer to God, I put on my brave face and wrapped my fingers around the door handle. It was time to focus. Or at least fake it.

“C’mon, there’s no other way. Go in,” I said.

The website said this was the right spot. “Maximum difficulty for the smartest and open-minded,” it said in a bold font, but of course, “No outs” was inscribed in a font size that my poor eyesight couldn’t catch. Guess I was too cocky. Two Benjamins I’ll never get back.

We entered a very large room that appeared to be an underground bunker. There were a couple of bunk beds that Maya immediately jumped on. A couple of metal organizer shelves with books that were stacked on top of each other. A radio on a table. Some labeled boxes. I finally exhaled.

“Isa, are you sure this is the right place? There’s no one here,” Maya said. There was no indication I could find that said we weren’t at the right spot. But at the same time, there wasn’t any indication that we weren't going to die here either.

“Nah, this is the right spot,” I said as I focused on the alarm clock at the side of the bed.

The clock marked one hour exactly, that would start any minute now.

We were unfortunately at the right spot. As we all crowded into the room, we shook out our shoes next to a shallow pail of water on what appeared to

32

be a doormat.

“Y’all really need to calm down. Let’s just chill here and wait it out, we’re probably fine,” Zion drawled while spreading out on one of the beds.

Great.

Denial. Deadly.

“Are you for real right now? Seriously? So you’re not even a little worried at how sketchy this place is? We’re trapped. Point blank. Trapped.

No Escape,” Conner deadpanned. His eyes kept flying for places to exit, but the only door in this claustrophobic room was the one we entered. Conner and Zion engaged in their usual bickering when Maya suddenly stood up with a curious expression. The guys stopped mid-sentence when we saw what she was walking toward.

It was a typewriter. That was typing. On its own.

Choo Choo.

“What the ...” Zion started when a whistle broke through the air. It was such a full sound, and so piercing, I could’ve sworn it was the purge. Except there was no one else here. Our heads all snapped to the chugging sound closing in on the room. My eyes caught sight of a toy train.

Let the games begin.

So now the four of us stood there dumbfounded while staring at Thomas the Tank Engine making his rounds. Are you kidding me? I did not have a panic attack for this. That is, until good ol’ Thomas summoned his friends, and other toy cars started mindlessly working their way around the room. Some Hess trucks here, some Hot Wheels there; what a joke.

“Do y’all smell that? Isa, what’s happening,” Maya asked, backing into a corner. Pungent was an understatement. The cars started emitting a dark smoke. The train soon followed. Something smelled burnt. No. It was more like rotten eggs. Recalling some basic chem I learned freshman year

33

in our gas unit, I recognized the smell. Oh no. In a burst of sheer terror, it hit me. We were in for the long haul. This smoke was poison.

“Guys! Hey. GUYS!” Snapping out of their trance, they all blinked at me. I explained my guess at what was happening. Conner started hyperventilating. I could have sworn I saw a teardrop. Zion stared at nothing while pacing the room, clearly in denial. And Maya just gaped at me. Great.

Incompetence at its finest.

“Now’s the time where we do something,” I spat. So in these kinds of rooms, they usually give clues. I looked toward the typewriter for some hints. What do people do when the air is too dense to breathe in? Oxygen. I ordered the buffoons to look around for some kind of tank, or something to cover our mouths. The air got thicker, and that’s when we started coughing.

Oh, this was bad. Really bad. In a heap of jittering movements, Zion jumped up to the typewriter.

“It’s, uh, typing again,” Zion announced, drawing his collar to his mouth. Standing as tall and confident as he could, this kid was terrified. His shoulders suddenly slumped, and the blood left his face. This was real. Very real.

Follow the biggest footprint.

Looking at the walls for any drawn footprints I came up with nothing.

“Isa, c’mon think. What could it be?” Maya demanded.

“How about you guys stop relying on me and actually think for yourselves,” I said. Clearly, dire circumstances were not a good look on any of us. Looking on the ground, I realized that the dirt staircase we walked down must have left a trail. Our footprints must have tracked in. So, who has the largest foot?

“Zion, where were you just pacing toward?” I asked, earning blank looks from all of my friends.

“Just toward that box over there,” he muttered while lifting his collar 34

to come up for air, and then clearly regretting his choice. After another coughing fit, he got out a couple of shocked words. “I think that’s an emergency kit. Follow the footprint ... and how does this typewriter thing know where I was walking?” He quickly realized, following his tracks across the room, “Someone’s watching us.” I don’t know whether that made me feel safer or more scared.

We all rushed to the box labeled “Emergency” in black lettering, and ripped apart the duct tape seal. And of course. Inside were masks labeled N-95. Four masks exactly. The second we saw them it was all hands in, scratching at the strap to fit them over our reddened faces. All of us inhaled deeply, choking out the excess polluted air, now thankful to have a blockade to the poison that tried to take our lives. Correction: toys, cars, and trains that almost killed us. Won’t ever live that down. As soon as the masks were all fastened, the vehicles stopped expelling their pollutants, allowing the gases to seep into the dirt ceiling slowly.

“They’re tryna kill us,” Conner said, looking around for cameras.

Nothing. Who in their right mind would want to kill us with toy cars?

A silence filled in the thoughts we were all thinking. We all keeled over catching our breath. Our shared adrenaline took the form of goosebumps.

The alarm clock struck out the time stamp: fifty-two minutes left.

We were trapped.

And probably going to die.

Without a word, to spare our energy, we all scurried around the room looking for some kind of shortcut to get out of this death hole. But where do shortcuts get you? Well, for us, even deeper into this mess than originally planned. Angered with my helplessness and my friends’ feebleness, I finally straightened when I felt a dry heat slam into my form, leaving me unbalanced yet, quite frankly, unsurprised.

35

Round 2.

“Y’all, I thought it was just me, but it's really getting really hot in here,” Zion said.

“Can you take anything seriously?” Conner ripped. His attitude would have won him an Oscar if his ineptitude didn't outshine his own talents.

Seriously. This wasn’t a time to overreact. It was time to do something.

Emotions were our biggest distraction. How hard was it to focus on what’s right in front of us?

“It's called compartmentalizing. Those fossil fuels wronged us ... for real. Isa, why is it so hot?” Zion said warily while sweat trickled down his neck.

“I’d say it was from Thomas the Train, but I have no idea,” I said, hoping humor would fill the void of my emptying hope. Looking up, I had no idea what was happening to myself. The temperature kept rising, my intuition falling. Maya kept staring at me, expecting someone else to fix this mess. That’s the thing about people assuming someone else will fix their problems. She’s been my best friend since fourth grade, but right now she’s also part of the problem. Just about to call her out on it, I was rudely interrupted by the clacks of the typewriter. No. Let’s call this contraption Greta. Seems like a Greta. Tripping over the leftover toys, and kicking them aside, we stumbled over to it, eyes bulging out of our skulls as our sweat commingled between the keys.

“You guys thirsty? Thought so.”

Okay, so water. Or something liquid.

Think. Water. Water. Where is there any water in here other than what’s dripping down my face?

“The Bucket,” Zion stated very matter-of-factly. Thank God.

“Genius,” I said, quickly making my way over to the pail of water I saw when we first got here. Except my eyes met a surface of muck from 36

when we kicked out our feet. Great. Can’t drink that. Well, we could. But, gross. The faucet above the bucket was as dry as this joke being played on us. Too much heat. Too little water. Whoever designed this knew what they were doing. Call it “noble” warming if you will.

“I don’t think that’s what Greta meant. We can’t drink this.” Met with looks of pure bewilderment, I quickly and nervously explained my personification of our little helper. I didn’t need any verbal responses for me to know they thought I had lost my sanity. They weren’t entirely wrong, though.

“Where else is there water in here?” Maya whined, saying what we were all thinking. Every minute that passed meant another gallon of waterweight lost.

43 minutes left.

“Check under the beds. It looks like there’s storage over there,” Maya cooed. Being the lightest one here, she fell faint first, steadying herself on one of the bunk posts while motioning under her.

“Easy there,” I said, grabbing a hold of Maya and sitting her down on one of the beds. If she fainted, I had no idea what I would do.

“Cooler!” Conner shouted. Pulling out a box, and placing it where a comforter belonged on the bed, we all pressed our hands to the condensing droplets rolling down the sides.

Jackpot.

If only.

This piece of crap was locked. The empty key hole mocked us with its exclusivity. No bigger than the size of my thumb. No biggie. That is, if this was a doll house. This room was roughly twenty by twenty feet.

Absolutely zero chance we’d find the key before we all spontaneously started collapsing. Clearly, we were a pathetic mess, to the point where even Greta had to help us out.

37

“Find the Key to Knowledge.”

I had no idea what to do with that. I repeated Greta’s groundbreaking words, hoping it would click. My eyes darted from either side of the room, my friends’ gazes following, as I was terrifyingly aware of Maya’s wilting posture and the silent tears that followed. I’m not letting this girl die. Or any of us. Resolute on my willpower to live, my eyes focused on what I’ve completely missed from my initial scan of the bunker. A bookshelf.

Knowledge.

“Bookshelf!” I shouted, knowing Conner and Zion would follow, because at this point, even words were too tiresome to croak out. We all crawled to the metal organizer, clinging to the relative coolness of the floor.

Okay, so it had to be somewhere here. Conner started shaking out the books as if it was lodged in there somewhere. National Geographic. NY Times.

Daily Post. The Scientist. Even Time’s "2020 Person of the Year" magazine.

All household names. And nothing. The pages were each marked up like a madman went on a binge read. Zion started tearing out pages in a hurry.

36 minutes.

Clearly we just met a dead end. Scrounging around the room, we ransacked the place. Me and my nice self even had the audacity to feel bad for the fool who owned it.

I turned over boxes.

Knocked down all the stands.

Turned the tables upside down.

Nothing.

And my efforts just got slower and slower.

At some point, I found myself on the ground alone, Zion across from me bent over and leaning on a collapsed Conner, whose face was turning a shade redder than my own rage. My hand fell by my side, my mind too 38

blank to accept what was yet to come.

That is, until my eyes settled on a loose cover stuffed beneath a bottom bunk. If God is real, this is Him. Right here. In the form of some battered wilted pages. I was able to make out a cover page of a picture of the globe on fire. As if the irony wasn’t already depressing enough. I forced myself up, reaching for the folds of what was Ignorance Isn't Bliss, my fingers grasping at the magazine until they settled on something cold and metal.

The Key.

“Found it!” I croaked, as all eyes were once again on me as my shaking fingers steadied to fit the metal scrap into the cooler. It clicked open. Conner, who was cradling Maya to stay awake, took the first bottle of sweet Poland Springs and held it to her weak body to drink.

“Where’s the rest?” I said, feeling the unwanted yet familiar sting to my eyes. Salty but not sweat. Tears. A downpour I couldn’t drink. “How—” I whispered.

“We better save the rest. Ya know, for when we really need it,” Zion stated, locking away a second equally tiny bottle in the cooler.

I really did need the water. I craved the solace of my kitchen, supplied with endless access to the clean, cold, and blissful drops of dihydrogen monoxide. I sank to the ground. Finally letting the heat hit me with a dry wind of defeat. Curling into myself, I let out a sob. The cries were as real as this situation I got us into. My body started convulsing with every cry I let out. I’m too young. How did we let this happen? How did I let this happen?

Has the world really come to this point?

And I continued to cry until I felt the clammy arms of a sweaty Conner reaching out to me. Both guys circled around me as I let everything out. Maya soon joined in. This wasn't fair. This wasn't fair. This was not fair.

39

“We gotchu, Isa. It’s gonna be okay,” said Zion, as they sat with me, holding the last couple of sips up to my cracked lips after they had their own swigs. And the sweetness of the fact that I wasn’t alone was almost as powerful as the sheer reality that this might be the end.

23 minutes.

This wasn’t fair. Get Me Out.

“Hello? Anybody there? Help us! We’re dying in here, dammit!” I screamed, banging on the walls of this dump. The extra movement took out the fight in me, but I wasn’t done yet. Waving my hands in the corners of the room, hoping there was a hidden camera somewhere, I was met with nothing but silence. No typing from Greta. No one. The proctor’s messages were more than clear. But it was up to us to do something about them.

Don’t get me wrong, my friends are the epitome of emotional support. But what we needed was action. And execution. We were going to have to play by their rules. And play together.

I finally stopped crying, but more so because my tears evaporated.

Greta must have been feeling sympathetic, because I could make out her typing across the keyboard. I guess we’re technically a liability. Safe. For now.

“Need some air? Or are you already conditioned to the heat?”

By far the easiest clue we’ve had all day.

Light work.

I almost cried out, craving a remedy to this sauna.

“The air conditioner. Find one,” I ordered, once again carrying the 40

group like this was a school project.

Questioning whether or not I was experiencing symptoms of heat stroke, my vision started blurring and shifting.

Black. White. Black.

Focus.

We all glanced around the corners of the wall until we found an air conditioner stored behind the book that hid the key. In hurried motions, we all rushed to the box that would soon be our savior. My hands closed around the switch. A quick fix to our agony.

On. 19 minutes.

The next thing we knew we were met with the chill of an air so euphoric. So satisfying.

And so so cold.

We all settled in a circle on the ground. My clothes stuck to my tired body. My relief flooded as the giant rivers of sweat started drying up, but I was quickly angered again by the psychopath who designed this whole place. For kids to die here. My thoughts tapped into a facet of rage I’ve never experienced before. I almost just fainted. Could this possibly get any worse?

The answer was yes. Yes it could. And yes, it would.

Meeting the eyes of Zion, I fixated on his face that contorted into a type of crooked grin, when he looked down at me and met my eyes. This kid. The audacity.

“You think this is funny? Zion, what did I just say about ...” I stormed over to him, as the heat leaving the air fueled the intensity of my rage, ready to explode on him. Except, he just looked down at me. His expression wasn’t sly. Just scared. Terrified. Angry even. I stopped dead in my tracks.

41

“You know what’s funny?” he scoffed. “I’m seventeen years old thinking about how this might be the end for me. For all of us. And why?”

Zion barked. Talking to no one, but all of us at the same time, he continued on. “It’s ridiculous. I had the rest of my life to look forward to. I literally just got into college! I’m supposed to be going places, doing great things, ya know! Things that make this shitty excuse of a world better. We’re all trying here! This was supposed to be fun, a way to celebrate. Now I’m playing some twisted version of survival of the fittest like a punishment for something I didn’t do! I don’t know what this room is trying to prove, but I’m not about it,” Zion said, his anger now quickly turning into sadness.

“It’s gonna be okay—” Maya started.

“No. It’s not. And y’all need to accept that. This isn’t some joke.

This is freaking real life. This ain’t fair, man,” Zion said, shaking his head, cursing to himself while fighting back the tears that surfaced, finally showing his true feelings. What’s ironic is that it’s coming from him, but I would never tell him that. The thing about denial is that it’s a way of self preservation. But when reality hits, it just hurts that much more. Clearly, Zion had just realized that. Stunned silent by this very outburst, Conner and Maya offered reassurances to Zion, all of us aware that words at this point meant nothing. Not when we were facing the horrors of what this world could do. What could happen when we don’t pay attention. But this time I was alert. All the moisture in the air suddenly ceased in the manner of a swift breeze.

It wasn’t hot anymore.

But an irreversible dryness created a vacancy in the air.

I felt it too soon.

But by then it was too late.

15 minutes.

My senses were focused on the rumbling underneath my feet. The 42

ground started quivering like it shared our own fears. Huddled around Zion, my friend's eyes snapped toward me, across the room, eyes bugged open with terror. No, no no. Not this.

In the center of the room, I felt it first, a roll tide under my feet shaking me to my very core. The ground moved, carrying out the series of cracks, a weird kind of indoor earthquake.

As we were all violently jolted and jostled about, hangings on the wall fell all around us. We found a safe haven under the tables lined in the center of the room. We would ride this out. I closed my eyes. Breathe. Just breathe.

In and out.

Go away go away. We’re fine. We’re gonna be fine.

Until bits of the ground started falling.

But we were underground? Where would they fall?

Looking down below me, underneath us was an endless black hole.

The pieces of the floor fell into a void so deep, I couldn’t even tell where it ended.

Why did I look down? Stupid. Very small pieces broke off, leaving the room with weird gapes scattered.

And then it stopped. Just like that.

After waiting a few minutes, we all emerged from our solaces under the tables. Zion, Conner, Maya and I all shared looks.

A freaking earthquake. In the ground.

As we all straightened and moved toward each other, I warned to be careful to avoid the cracks that pierced the ground, or the holes that would erase us from existence if we fell. I looked around, surveying the distraught room, but something felt off. I couldn’t place it.

43

“GUYS!” Maya yelled.

Oh my gosh.

A door. A whole door. Leading us out of this hell.

Flooded with feelings of joy, I was met with the typing of Greta.

Final Round.

Slammed with disappointment, I reminded myself we were almost there. 13 short minutes. Almost there. Greta, feeling generous, began typing. But very hesitantly, like we were being let in on some secret.

Luck wins rounds, but teamwork wins games.

As if I didn’t already know that. I was desperately aware in this moment of how much I’ve done, and how little my friends have done. But at least they were trying. Conner did help get us to the cooler. And Zion found the bucket of water, even if it was just a dead end. That’s a start. We all gathered toward the door that was ajar, finally stepping through.

This new room was completely empty. The floors sloped up the ceiling, its shape resembling a skate park. No clues. Except for the ridiculous amount of trash surrounding our feet. And of course the clock. I mean there were bottles everywhere, old containers, paper, plastic, ugh. As the stench made my stomach flip over itself, I silently willed my brain not to vomit. My stomach lurched and I gagged, questioning, how my friends weren’t feeling the same way.

“Aye, Conner, you’re finally home,” Zion cracked, referencing the heaps of garbage.

“Ahaha, wow sooo funny,” Conner said, using his sarcasm as means to conceal his waning dignity. They wrestled around, like a bunch of raccoons, scrounging up trash and throwing it at each other. At least they conjured up the energy to bicker again.

The echo from the crash of the door closing halted us all still. It was 44

too quiet, no one spoke. With walls scaling up to fifteen feet at least, the depth of this room was ominous. The eerie quietness quickly became the loudest thing in the room. Observing the walls, both cement and rough, I was convinced this was the room all hell would break loose in.

And oh, it did.

My head snapped to the right, as I heard a continuous rush flow out from the top of the ceiling, too high to reach.

Water. Coming down at us a mile a minute.

The panic paralyzed me.

They were gonna drown us.

11 minutes.

Puddles of water soaked the ground of trash we stood on.

“We can stuff the source till the water stops.”

“Yeah? With what, you imbecile? The hole is too big to close.”

10 minutes.

“Hey, I’m trying here, I’d really appreciate it if you—”

“I think we should just try and get the door open.”

The water soaked soles of our shoes.

“How? There’s nothing to grip on, it’s flat.”

“Well, I don’t know about you, but I’m not trying to die right now.”

My laces were soaked.

“That’s not what I’m saying. There has to be a way out.”

Up to our ankles.

“Well maybe there is, but the longer we bicker, the less time we have until the water is above our heads.”

45

“Everyone can swim. The problem is when it reaches the top.”

Mid calf.

“I don’t think that’s gonna happen.”

“Oh, so you’d rather just wait and find out?”

“They’re not gonna kill us.”

“Y’all sure about that? I think the sauna we just baked in says otherwise.”

My jeans turned a dark shade of blue as the water puddled right below my knee. I couldn’t take it. This was ridiculous. I scanned the room, looking for some sort of drain. Scaling the walls, I ran my hand over them, trying to see something that wasn’t there. My hand grazed a scaly surface. Bingo.

8 minutes.

“Stop it! Just please, please stop. We aren’t going to die, but not because we’re gonna sit and wait, but because we’re actually gonna do something! There are drains, four, on each wall. Divide and conquer...

NOW! Let’s go, people.” I said, my voice desperately clutching onto any means of authority I had left. I had my mom to return to. Conner had his dad and his older sister. Maya had her entire crazy family of six. Zion had his little brother, and his parents. We had to get home. Just focus.

We all split up, inspecting the drains, making sure they were working.

“Mine’s clogged! What do I do?” Zion called out across from me.

“So is mine!” Maya announced.

“Same here.” Conner chimed. I looked at mine. Odd. There were little bits and pieces of something I couldn’t make out, until I fit my hand through one of the holes.

I screamed and jumped back. Bones. So. Many. Bones. Who died here? Or what died here cause these clearly weren’t human. And the stench

46

wasn’t just the trash.

These were from dead fish.

I bent over, retching up saliva, as I tried to catch my breath. I heard mirroring reactions from all of my friends.

“They’re bones.” I stated the obvious, earning displeased looks of annoyance. “Try pulling them out,” I shouted. We all got to work at our stations, bits and pieces of bones piling up around us. They were slicked with something slippery, thick, and black. Oil. I rubbed my hands against the concrete trying to get a good calloused grip, pulling them out one by one. I finished, trying to break the flow of water in order to walk over to my friends. They finished with theirs too.

“What now?”

“We wait,” I said, unaware of what else we’re supposed to do. I glanced at the clock.

Six minutes.

We just had to chill for a couple of minutes. Almost there.

“That’s it?” Maya said. “You’re seriously giving up? After all this?” she snapped. I really tried to ignore the obscenities that followed, but I just couldn’t deal anymore.

“Oh, I’m sorry,” I sarcastically snapped back. “I don’t know what else I’m supposed to be doing. It’s not like y’all have any ideas. We wait until the water reaches the drains. Period."

We’ll be done. Plain and simple. We just figured it all out faster than they expected us to, that’s all, I assured myself, feeling pleased. I mean, what else could we have done?

Zion lay afloat on top of the water doing some weird version of backstroke, clearly unbothered by the trash bobbing around him. Conner followed suit, while Maya just stood watching as the water rose up to her 47

waist. She was the smallest, so the water caught up with her a lot quicker.

Surveying the room, the walls got wider as it got higher, so we were safe for now. My hair was soaked, and my clothes were uncomfortably adhering.

Not comfy. And definitely not cute. I tried to suppress any doubts of my plan, the panic subsiding while my heartbeat stopped thrashing in my head.

Maya, now standing on her tippy toes, clung to one of the peaks of cement jutting out from the wall. I surveyed the drains, watching as the water rose to its height. The moment of truth. And the minute the water flowed through the drains, I felt myself exhale a breath I’d been holding in for way too long now. Maya was able to return to a flat footed position, shooting me an apologetic smile I quickly returned.

“See, nothing to worry about,” I said, throwing up my hands in celebration.

Turning toward my friends to devour them in a huge hug, I was interrupted by a loud crash that continued on. Our heads snapped to the sound. The water was still flowing, but faster, and with a lot more force than the drains could carry out. They were too small to save us. Maya was quickly swept up by the influx of water, panicking and paddling away, eyes wide. I quickly followed as the water level rose above my head. Conner and Zion tried to grab a hold of us, but they were soon finding themselves swimming alongside us too. I looked up. We had about eight feet before we were truly at the end. There has to be something we’re missing. I didn’t come all of this way to die.

4 minutes.

“What if there’s a drain we’re missing,” Conner said, preparing himself for the plunge underwater, as we all mimicked him. With the trash now at surface level, the water underneath was now semi-clear. I could make out what was below us in the water. Pointing underneath us, I made an ugly gurgling sound to get their attention, as we all swam to the bottom, our hands closing over what was a large metal circle covering what I really 48

hoped was a drain. The four hooks around the plate invited our hands to pull at them. Except it was too heavy. And we were running out of air. We all swam back up, the journey longer than when we swam down. There were about six feet separating us from the ceiling.

“We need to pull it up,” Zion started.

“Yeah, I saw it on one of those Navy Seal videos. We just need rope.

I saw some when we first got in around the trash.” Conner splashed around, diving until he surfaced with some rope that I could only hope was sturdy enough.

“We’ll have to tie it around the hooks,” Maya said, looking around for the best swimmer.

“Conner, you’re a lifeguard, you go,” Maya ordered, waiting for Conner to follow suit.

3 minutes.

The water was way too high now. Tears started falling down my face.

This couldn’t be it. I saw Conner dive below us, going to town on the rope, securing an Eagle Scout’s knot around each hook.

“We won’t be able to pull it up ourselves; it’s too heavy. We need a lever or something,” I advised, increasingly aware of how this plan could go south so quickly.

“What if we wrapped it around something?” Zion suggested, except nothing was large enough.

2 minutes.

“The bar on the ceiling, wrap it around there, then we all have to pull.

All of us. You hear me?” I said, thinking back to what Greta said about teamwork. We all had to buy in.

Conner surfaced, as we all pulled Zion up to wrap the rope around the bar above us. I glanced at the clock.

49

One minute.

The water gave us no more than one foot. We all put our feet against the wall. Looking down, I could see that thirteen feet below us, the cover drain started to give. We had about 4 inches of breathing room left.

49 seconds.

Keep pulling.

C’mon.

“We’re gonna have to go under, but whatever you do. Do. Not. Stop.

Pulling. Got it?” I ordered, mentally preparing myself for the possibility of drowning. The drain cover gave a little more room. I wrapped my toes around the bumps of the wall to stabilize myself. Deep breath. In and out. 1 inch of breathing room left.

And then I looked at the clock under water. 7 seconds left.

We were doing well. Until Maya let go of the rope.

The clock stopped. Not at zero, but at 1 second left. The water stopped flowing.

I swam to Maya, and grabbed her, saying what I meant through my eyes.

Don’t you dare.

She grabbed a hold of the rope again, forcefully yanking in sync with all of us.

I looked down, just a little more.

I wrapped the rope around my wrist one more time, all of us in one large grunt, giving it our all. The cover lifted, and the pressure of the water moved it over just enough for a gurgling sound to echo through my ears.

The drain. It worked.

The clock continued.

50

0:00.

Thank God for time.

We were so, so lucky.

The water level dropped down a foot, allowing us room to breathe, all of us choking out the water. I grabbed my friends in a heap for a hug, all of us still treading water, sobs and loving exchanges escaping from all four of us.

We made it.

We were going home. I collapsed with joy, as my shriveled up feet finally met the ground again.

Going back up the stairs we came from, I kept a firm grip around my friends’ hands. The four of us silently ascended back up to ground level. We emerged from the depths of the Earth unscathed and unharmed. Definitely scarred though. Who would’ve thought? The Drama Queen, the jokester, and of course the damsel in distress; my friends, my rocks, were by my side, still soaked like nobody’s business. But they were here.

With me. Right now. And freaking alive.

We made it. And together.

“What’re the odds that the clock froze just in time?” Conner pointed out, making me realize how lucky we really were.

“How though? I don’t even wanna think about what would’ve happened if we didn’t make it.” Maya chimed in.

Greta. I thought to myself, smiling, knowing that we had someone on our side. Even if it was just a typewriter. Someone had to be behind that though.

“Do you think any of that stuff was real though? I mean, c’mon,”

51

Maya deadpanned.

“I dunno, seemed pretty real when you almost fainted,” Zion cracked.

“Oh, shut up,” Maya joked, playfully pushing him, while cracking up herself.

“Oh, it was so sick though. Definitely special effects. I’ve gotta find out how they did it,” Conner added. As their adrenaline fueled their chatter, voices commingled into a buzz. I zoned out, turning in a circle at the expanse of land that surrounded us in the parking lot. No doors trapping us in. But I wasn’t focusing on what was right in front of me. My eyes fixated on a billboard to my upper left. Some National Geographic one I see all the time.

I almost forgot it was Earth day.

Time’s running out. Save our planet.

Huh.

“Isa?” Conner said, waving his hands in my face, breaking my trance.

I looked up expectantly at him. “Well? What did you think?”

“I think ... that was one hell of an Escape Room.”

52

Invisible Rules

Avidan Shah

Continued from the Calliope Winter 2020 Edition

“Wait what? You’re joking, right?”

“We had some losses today. Mistakes were made. Big clients dropped out. The CEO is livid - he went off on a lengthy tirade about people not following rules and how we’re going to have to double time it to recuperate our losses. He personally ordered layoffs for people who ‘didn’t strictly adhere to the rules and regulations of the firm.’ Your name was on the list.”

“Why me?”

“You were late five times this month. Not only that, Mike told us that you left early today. I tried to warn you, but you didn’t listen. If you’re trying to find someone to blame for this, look in a mirror. You did this to yourself.”

I couldn’t think of a response. I think my silence said enough.

“I’m so sorry, David. I tried to fight it, but he was adamant. He’s probably just making a show for the shareholders.”

“So that’s it? I’m out of a job? No severance package, no advance notice?”

“It’s listed in the paperwork you signed that they’re allowed to fire you without warning. You have three more weeks of pay. Come by tomorrow to collect your belongings. I might not be able to talk because the top brass wants me at a board meeting tomorrow.”

“Is that it?”

“I’m afraid so. I’m so sorry, David, and you’re not the only one. I’ve had to make this phone call too many times today. But hey, between you and me, have you ever thought about picking up art?”

“ ... Art?”

“Yeah … you know, as a stress reliever. You sound like you could use a break for a couple days. Also, you can do whatever you want with it. No 53

rules, nobody telling you what to do - art can be anything you want it to be. I feel like it fits your personality.”

“Sure, but I think I have better things to do, like finding another job.”

“Hey, I’m just trying to help.”

“Thanks.” I ended the call. “For nothing.”

Art. That’ll definitely pay the bills. Maybe I can paint a million dollars.

I decided that I needed to sleep, and I would figure out what to do in the morning. As I gradually lost consciousness, I couldn’t help but think about what Bill said. Art didn’t sound that bad after all. Maybe I would try it.

When I woke up the next morning, I rolled out of bed and hopped in the shower. After hurriedly changing into business attire, I wolfed down a bowl of cereal, then stopped to think when I realized the vacuity in my haste.

Why am I in such a rush? It’s not like I have work or anything.

Besides, I still have three weeks of pay, so there’s no need to panic right now about finding another job.

I kept making mental notes of what I’d need for my new hobby, but I couldn’t think.

I need to find paint or some other medium, brushes, a canvas….

I was too distraught over why they fired me.

I couldn’t follow the rules? Why didn’t I just blindly follow them like everyone else?

I had made up my mind. I gathered the supplies that I needed, then I started up my car. I drove in complete silence, not even looking at the speedometer. I was going to tie up loose ends, and there was no going back.

When I walked into the office, it was as if nothing had changed, save for a few sad faces collecting their belongings. I greeted my ex-coworkers, then excused myself and made my way to the top floor. As I strode toward the boardroom, it was eerily quiet. No pens clicking, no papers, no voices - just 54

the sound of my footsteps on the floor. Before I opened the double doors, I took out a mask from my coat pocket and slipped it on. I peered through the crack. It seemed empty at first, but then I noticed one figure still packing up.

I must have missed the meeting. It doesn’t matter. There’s still one left.

I quietly opened the door and snuck into the room. Bill was filing paperwork with a smile on his face.

“So, did you get a promotion? A raise? An extra day of vacation?”

“David? What are you doing here? Also, no, I’m just in a good mood.

It seems like the firm is going to have a great next couple of years.”

“Well, isn’t that just convenient. I just wanted to personally thank you.”

“For what? Look - if it’s about the job, I said I’m sorry. I-”

“For everything. You opened my eyes. I’m an artist now.”

“Well, congrats! Are you painting or trying something else?”

“Neither.” I reached into my pocket, then held a carving knife up so he could see. Light gleamed off the sharp edge.

The smile melted off his face. “Um… ice sculpting?”

“Nope. I think I’ve invented a new art form. Death is the medium.

Your body will be the masterpiece.”

“David, that’s not what I said when I suggested you pick up a new hobby. I said art, not murder. This is insanity.”

“Don’t try to deny it. I remember what you said, word for word. There are no rules. Art can be what I want it to be. This knife is my brush, your blood is the paint, the world is my canvas.”

I could see the fear take control of his actions. He backed up against the wall. As I moved closer, he grew more desperate. Sweat rolled down the side of his face. I could almost hear his heart about to burst from his chest.

“W-wait! Y-you realize you’re not achieving anything with this, right?”

55

I stopped walking forward. “What do you mean?”

“You’re going to kill me, right? You think you’re sending a message, but you’re not. Y-you’re not unique! You say you’re fed up with society for all the unnecessary rules, yet even as you murder me, you still follow them.”

I was dumbfounded. “What are you talking about?”

“The mask. Why would you wear a mask? I thought you didn’t care about the rules, yet you’re afraid to be caught. You’re just another nameless killer, another footnote in the news article no one reads. Nobody knows who you are, and statistically, if you covered your tracks they never will. You’re following the invisible norms you claim to be breaking with your ‘new art form’.”

I didn’t know how to respond. I almost dropped the knife.

“Silence truly is the loudest word of them all. You’re conflicted. Just walk out now, and I won’t say anything. This never happened. All I need you to do is leave this room and never come back. You can still have a life if you don’t do this.”

“You’re wrong, Bill. The only way I can have a life is if I do this. I’d rather die a free man than be confined by the shackles of society.” I ripped off my mask and cast it aside. I pulled out my phone, dialed 911, then set it on the table.

“Look, I completely understand where you’re coming from - I even agree to some sick extent, but you’ve taken it to the extreme. You were normal before. Your own weakness and insecurity has led you to madness.”

“Society failed me. I’m sorry it had to fail you too.”

I started walking forward again, raising the blade in my hand.

“Wait! No! Please don’t! Ahhh….”

His screams were drowned out by the police sirens.

It didn’t take as long as I had expected. I leaned his lifeless body 56

against the blood-stained glass, chuckling as I stepped back. It almost looked like he was trying to escape from something. It didn’t matter. I had won. As the police rushed into the room, I put up my hands and smiled.

Prison doesn’t seem to be that bad. I feel more free than I did before.

Also, it’s full of people like me - people who dared to swim against the tide, decided not to conform to a flawed society. Some of them are in there for pointless reasons. Others were driven by pure desperation. Those are the ones I feel bad for. Nevertheless, society failed all of us. Luckily, my story will change that. They let me write down everything. Hopefully it will help people realize that they shouldn’t blindly follow rules because they exist. I mean, a hundred years ago women weren’t allowed to vote. That was the law. A hundred years before that, slavery was not only legal, but heavily supported. The only reason this changed was because people acted against society’s “rules.”

I think we all-

“Excuse me.”

I looked up to see a guard standing outside of my cell.

“Excuse me, are you Mr. Moran?”

“Yes, that’s me.”

“I have orders from the warden that you’re changing cells. He said he just read your weird little story.”

All of my suspicion quickly washed away for excitement.

Maybe I’ll be getting better treatment from now on.

“I hope he liked it! Where am I going?”

“Solitary.”

57

58

59

Mirika Jambudi

60

61

Carolyn Coyne

62

63

Emma Barrison

64

65

Isabelle Sheyfer

66

67

CALLIOPE S P R I N G 2 0 2 0