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INK AND PAPER The White Mountain School Literary and Art Magazine

Tim Breen Barbara Buckley Paul Denby Promise Partner Julie Yates Katherine Desimine Payge Emerson Fiona McEnny Ross McFayden Tyler Randazzo

Issue 2

Spring 2013

Table of Contents Cover Photo by Payge Emerson ’15 Flush

Cheyenne Breglia- ’15


Until Next Summer

Tara Brooks- ’14



Cheyenne Breglia- ’15



Jonathan Berkun- ’13


The Iranian Affair

Ross McFayden ’15



Jodie Ann Clark- ’13


The Million Dollar Question

Tyler Randazzo- ’15



Elliot Murphy- ’14


Night Train

Kate Renner- Teacher


One Year Later

Promise Partner- Teacher


One Year Later !"#$%&'(!)"*+'" On November nights the trees shift breathless in shadow and I remember the world before you died. The word repose is elegant--gentle steps in a darkened room--but on that snowy day I held a bag heavy with your steel-toed boots. This was your body: long fingers and wide shoulders, a square jaw, small ears. Before fire made them dust. Then to touch you a last time, I pressed the chalk of your burnt bones against my lips. We are all veterans of darkness, suffering since we exhaled from the womb. I will live another day drawing closer to reposition, to the white-tipped feathers of my brother.

Page 14 Page 1

Night Train Kate Renner Page 13

Flush Cheyenne Breglia Page 2

Until Next Summer ,)")(-"##.&

Oregon Elliot Murphy

Coming home from another long day of enjoyment, I drag my diminutive, strained body up the porch stairs, barely making it inside before the streetlights come on. My worn out Nike sneakers weigh my feet down with every step, and my clothes cling to my back from sweat. The sticky warm air is making my curls a frizzy mess. My entire head is hot from the bundle of heat that is my hair. I ditch my shoes at the door as soon as I step inside, until I return to them tomorrow to wake up for another day filled with kickball, bike rides, and more adrenaline filled journeys. Every person needs the happiness of times like these. Early in the morning the sunshine is beaming through the window, and you can already feel the thick summer air heating up. At around ten, right after breakfast, everyone on Wilfred Road knows the daily drill. This is the start to our planned, packed schedule of the day during the summer. Kids my age, dressed in shorts, tank tops, and flip flops, begin to fill the street on bicycles, scooters, or on foot. We all pile onto each other's bicycles to race down to the park, where most of the activities were held. I’m on the back tire of Arnelle’s bike, while Tori and Kofi cruise by next to us on scooters. As we move from one activity to the next, walking down the street, the lawns become hidden, fallen bicycles and scooters covering them. First is the sidewalk chalk drawing. The sun beams down on our backs, which strangely gives us even more of a motivation to beat each other out for the most extravagant drawing. The main road is filled with scribbles and artwork ranging from first graders to fifth graders. Deep blues, pastel purples, and vibrant pinks decorate the road, complementing the colors of the neighboring houses. Then, the real play time begins. Bike races, kickball competitions, obstacle courses. If we’re too tired we’ll all sit on a selected porch on the block. Sometimes we’ll flag down the ice cream truck, raid the truck for everything he has, then enjoy popsicles at the park, while catching up on the latest news in our young lives; usually Page 3

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“Dan Greene? I’m Jamison Vandeer.” The man smiles, the kind of smile that extends itself to the corner of the lips, and never to the whole mouth or eyes. He extends his manicured hand to Dan. “I know who you are. We spoke over the phone, remember? Of course judging from the type of person you are, you probably make dozens of important phone calls a day, don’t you, Mr. Vandeer?” !Dan extends his own grimy hand, rather dejectedly. “So, since you wouldn’t tell me over the phone, what do you want? I’m a rather busy man, as you can see.” “Is that sarcasm I hear in your voice, Mr. Greene? I assure you, I won’t be wasting your time. I have a proposal. A proposal that will save your quaint little town, and possibly the futures of everyone who lives in it.” He pauses, and tilts his head to the side, pointedly, giving a look that Dan clearly reads as a suggestion to be quiet. Dan raises his creased hands, as if to say, “I’m listening. Go on,” Except for the fact that his mouth hasn’t moved, one might think he actually had uttered those words. That is the sort of effect Dan Greene has on people. Vandeer continues, “Here is my offer. I am willing to give you, and the people of the town that you so kindly run, one chance. The government wants this place torn down. And to speak bluntly, so do I. I will give every single inhabitant of this town 1 million dollars to leave. That’s right; every single man, woman, and child. All you have to do is make sure they move at least 100 miles away. This place will become a shopping center, and all traces of its past will be removed. You have 24 hours to leave. Otherwise, we will find other ways to dispose of you. And trust me, those tactics don’t involve money.” Throughout the speech, Dan Greene nods. He slumps in his chair, and sighs as the last of the maniacal words escape Jamison Vandeer’s mouth. “I guess I knew this would happen eventually. It’s been nice knowing you, Mr. Vandeer. But I’m not taking your money, and if they have any sense at all, neither will my people. I am the captain of this sinking ship; this is where I will die.” Jamison Vandeer’s mouth twists into another backwards smile. One can hear a hint of desperation in his voice as he says, “Do you understand how hard it is to clean up a murder scene, Mr. Greene? You must leave. Immediately.”

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a short conversation from Bryan’s new hot-wheels to Crystal’s ‘A’ that she got on a spelling test recently at school. After wiping the dried, colored, sticky corn syrup off of our mouths, and onto our shirts instead, it was time for jump rope and double dutch. Just learning how to jump rope, I was usually the slow one who would take the backseat, especially to double dutch. Instead, I turned the rope, with Denzel, while singing along to “ bubblegum, bubblegum, in a dish. How many pieces do you wish?” The neighborhood kids were obligated to learn this rhyme and many other rhymes if you were going to even try to keep up with everyone else. We would always make up these silly little games if we ever ran out of things to do, which was very rare. One game we made up was called soda can. The object of the game was for one of the two people to flick the tab off of the soda can first, and for the other person to prevent that person from flicking off the tab for as long as possible. Having all the time in the world at this point, intense soda can battles would be going on for minutes, and eventually hours. As the day would come to an end, we all begin to wind down as well. After having long conversations while strolling down the street, the sun began to set, and our parents began to call us in for dinner, and other family commitments. We were all having such a great time throughout the day that the most popular quote being said was “Can we have ten more minutes?”. The significance of our day was partly all the fun we were having everyday during the summer, but it was a chance to waste away a portion of that everlasting energy we accumulated during the school year. But soon it comes to a hiatus, when the fall begins to creep up on us. During those summer days we didn’t know that soon we would be struggling to keep up this summer tradition. Soon, the temperatures begin to slowly drop during the day, and we saw less and less of the ice cream man. The chalk drawing will begin to gradually fade, and more hot chocolate would end up being spilled on our clothing than popsicles. We would be wrapped up in multiple layers soon, dropping our school books, only to freeze once we step outside, and have no energy for the multiple activities we would have planned. Pretty soon, more and more parents would be Page 4

summoning their children to come back inside to do their homework, eat dinner, or to get warm; they didn’t want us catching a cold. Then we would be say our brief farewells to the disappearing summer freedom, weather, and fun. All the kids on the block would say bye to each other, “until next summer”.

Footsteps Cheyenne Breglia

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The Million Dollar Question ,/0'"(1)+2)33#

The beating yellow light of the sun rises over the sad cluster of houses. The houses are gray and worn, with a single, barred window and a small patch of dirt out front where it appears grass has once grown. The town looks like a prison community; not the sort of place excited shoppers will be bustling around come Christmas time. For now, there are yellow-brown and orange leaves on the ground, giving the dusty sidewalk and dirt street a bit of color. As the sun continues its sad descent over the place, a single car drives up the street, headlights shining in the dim morning air. Jamison Vandeer steps out of the car; with dark tufts of short, gray hair, black sunglasses and tall, lanky frame, neither his appearance nor his pinstriped suit seem to fit his surroundings. The man heads to a brick building, worn from weather and years. In his hands are a couple of manilla folders, which he waves dynamically as he talks to two men who have stepped out of the car behind him. The men, to their credit, seem more interested in pleasing their boss than their surroundings. They ignore the townspeople who step nervously out of their houses and stare. Jamison Vandeer is the sort of snooty person that never enters a worn down town such as this; in fact, no one like this has been seen here for years. Dan Greene is not the sort of person to take orders. Wearing his signature Carhartt jeans, an unshaven face, and gruff smile, he stumbles across the canvas of gray on his way to the red of the brick building. He’s relatively young, maybe 35, but years of hard work show in the creases of his hands and the lines of his face. As he walks, he smiles reassuringly at the faces, eyes wide with wonder, peeking out from behind houses, trees, bushes and sheds. As he arrives at his destination, he sighs, dusting off a bronze sign on the building. As he wipes away the grime, the words “Town Hall” come into view. He sighs again. “This place used to be special”. As if the words he just uttered hurt him too much to think about, he shakes his head dejectedly and walks inside. Waiting for him are the Jamison Vandeer and his two companions. Page 10

Bloomer Jodie Ann Clark

Sunset Jonathan Berkun

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The Iranian Affair 1#&&(456)/2'+ Communism, Capitalism Israel, Palestine It could have ended there But nothing compares To the Iranian Affair “They didn’t have them They couldn’t use them They wouldn’t dare” To end in that way the Iranian Affair Millions who don’t know Millions who can’t know Leaders abandon them Back safe in their lair Scheming to end the Iranian Affair A desert at midnight The night before With two camps asleep And none had much care for the Iranian Affair Back with the bureaucrats In their faraway lair With a long-dormant rocket An enginèer would stand, and stare He would end the Iranian Affair Page 7

He didn’t want to He didn’t need to But no one else cared He will end the Iranian Affair Ten megatons ahead “go east to start,” generals said “Only that could stop Ten million reds” A desert, blood red The Other Side readied Missiles, warheads, bombs, and men Marching off to meet their end But there was no scare They thought they would end the Iranian Affair The time had come Ragnarok’s horn was blown The missile aimed The button pressed Without remorse, they would dare To end in that way the Iranian Affair Across the world His mirror would order The end of warfare Ten million dead.

And the one at the top Thought it was fair To end in that way the Iranian Affair The enginèer Back in the lair Would finally end the Iranian Affair He got the signal He couldn’t ignore He wanted to help Not invoke hell It wasn’t fair For him to end the Iranian Affair The other side Withdrew their commanders More soldiers could be stolen From their friends and kin But those at the top Knew they belonged Away from warfare They needn’t end in the Iranian Affair

“Their” side launched Two armies vanished Twenty million dead millions more later everything, everyone gone. In the end, it was fair The even Nuclear end to the Iranian Affair Fifty years And 4 billion lives later What was Eurasia !!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!! A series of craters A world of warfare Fifty years after The Iranian Affair !!!!!!!!!!!“And what of our engineer? He refused to do it. He was expendable, and thus expended, and another Hero would press the button, ending the Iranian Affair.”

In the air The soldiers stared As atoms split in two Their energy gone But to poison for years to come Then, both sides dared To finally end the Iranian Affair “Our” side launched Page 8

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