Warrior Voices Vol. 1 Issue 1

Vol. 1 Issue 1

June 2nd, 2022

- Mission Statement There are many talented writers and artists here in our very own school. It’s time for our scholars' work to be seen!

Warrior Voices is Western’s first literary magazine, and it’s focused on getting student work recognized. Our literary magazine’s leadership team will work diligently to publish student work including but not limited to short stories, essays, poems, jokes, comics, and art. It is our top priority to ensure that student creative expressions are represented adequately and given a place to be celebrated by our community for generations to come.

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Walkout Reflection Written by Lourdes Garza

If it’s not recorded it did not happen… These words were repeated several times throughout the film Walkout. MexicanAmericans, also known as Chicanos, have faced their challenges throughout the years along with many achievements in society.

However, many of these events have not been recorded which causes many to forget they even happened or claim events to be untrue. Unlike the unrecorded, the Walkout movements from East LA high schools have been seen and will forever be seen in the eyes of many. These Walkout moments paved the way for how Chicanos are treated in schools along with opportunities provided for them.

An achievement as grand as the walkout does not come easy, many obstacles were faced along the way. Faculty, school board members, and even law enforcement officers were dominant opposing individuals who advised strongly against the walkout.

These individuals made it very difficult to obtain the victory these LA high school students accomplished. Based on the film Walkout Scholars were advised strongly against starting the walkout in the first place. However, when the students persisted with the walkout, law enforcement officers would not only arrest students but beat them as well. The scholars of these walkout movements did not give up and continued with the walkout, however this time they got their families involved and made sure their walkout was peaceful so they could be seen in the best manner. Local media coverage was recording this movement so it would forever be known in history.

In previous years many aspiring scholars have yearned for just an education in general. Times have changed along with the opportunities I am given. My education is precious and has come a long way from not having education, to the chicano movements, and up to where it is now. Before watching the film Walkout I thought I had a clear understanding of the reality that students had faced when it came to racial inequalities in schools and the victory that came at the end of their protests. However, I was proved wrong. When watching the film Walkout I gained a new sense of emotions that didn’t exist within me before. I realized that one can understand a desolate topic but only to a certain extent. If one does not feel the emotions along with the topic they would never be able to fully connect with the topic. I kept referring to “one” because I am that “one”. I would hear stories of racial inequality even those who are similar to myself yet I lacked the connection. After watching the Walkout I gained a new side of me that wasn’t there before. I was able to truly care. This film allowed me to recognize that I have to live my education to its fullest to ensure that the movements these scholars performed were not done in vain.

Lastly, in the Maryvale community there are several students who don't see the importance of a further education because parents lack the ability to motivate them. Parents who didn’t go to college or lack money rather not motivate their child to pursue a further education. In addition, with everything that has happened the past few years, everything is online now and many parents don’t know how to connect online and many are undocumented so they are afraid to ask for help. Schools should have classes to teach parents college tips, scholarship opportunities, tech skills, financial aid, etc to those who need it. My mother is taking classes online regarding these topics and she tells me the stories of other parents that shared experiences like the ones mentioned above. With the help of the classes provided, the rate of scholars attending college would increase.

In conclusion, the movements made by East La high school Chicanos, allowed new opportunities for Chicanos in districts today. Even though these scholars felt like the whole world was against them, they pushed through. These movements were very touching to the point that an emotionless person like myself could look past everything and see a new side to injustices that I hadn’t seen before. Although they paved the way, our work is not done yet. Classes given to parents could ultimately help continue to strive for college in many Chicanos hearts. In the end, they were finally recorded and they were seen, but the work is not done yet!

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Anora Mendez Hernandez

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Written by Alex Castaneda

Me levanto y mis padres ya no están I wake and eat breakfast with my parents Camino a la escuela I drive my car to school Recibo grados altos para mis padres My parents don’t care about my grades Tengo que trabajar para cumplier mis metas My father’s business will go to me Soy una minoria People say I have white power Al final del dia yo voy a usar la cuerda para sobrevivir Y le doy gracias a mis padres Por enseñar me cómo usar la.

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Hands

Written by Abigail Mendez (n. -The end part of a person's arm beyond the wrist, including the palm, fingers, and thumb.)

________________________________________________________ Those hands of yours.

Especially the right one.

The one that picks up a pencil.

A nicely, sharpened, and clean, pencil.

And you make shapes.

Shapes that have been draw by other people, With the same. right. hand. ________________________________________________________ Your hand creates something.

Something that makes you happy, when you see the sunset on the beach, or the lovely scent of citrus in the woods.

Your hand creates a drawing. something real.

Something that stares deep into your soul, and makes you wonder, “What are the limits in life?” ________________________________________________________ Those hands that are used to hold a phone.

And put in earbuds.

And listen to something breathtaking similar to those drawings of yours.

You walk around blocking out humanity, and society.

Society is a mess.

And I walk around in that mess.

So you block me out too. ________________________________________________________ But my hands.

They can do stuff as well.

Especially the right one.

It can also pick up a pencil, And it can create something breathtaking.

Nothing that can stare deeply into your soul though; ________________________________________________________ It can create those familiar shapes you have seen, And hold a phone, pick up earbuds, And listen to something beautiful.

Beautiful enough to block out humanity and society.

But not enough to block you out, and those hands of yours. ________________________________________________________ But what about my left hand?

Well, Your left hand is as perfect as your right.

But, mine? Well, it is as the right too...

But you know something else that the right hand of yours can hold?

My left hand.

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Art by Victor Ortega

Art by Sonia Castillo

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The Running Train Written by Arianna Leyva

Being alone, Standing still, Watching the world go by, Like a train on the railroad In an underground subway, With no stop ahead.

Then suddenly the train finishes passing by.

On the other side you see them.

You take a glance of them, Then the whole world seems to stop.

They make the world stop.

When around them, There’s no tomorrow, There’s no future, There’s only a present.

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I Written by Alen Arredondo

I stand alone in an ever evolving world, Lost in murmurs of this worlds muddled concepts, Bewildered by the transformations of values, Frightened for what lies in front of me, That which is hidden by only a seemingly thin cloth waiting to be revealed, Ready to be pulled off by those who are fattened with their corruption, Only to reveal a frightening mass of darkness, A pit so profound that it can only conjure fear and panic when looked at, A seemingly pitch black which envelopes all destroying even the strongest will, Yet, In all that is to come what shall aid me in this darkness where my eyes fail me?

Where my will flickers obscured by the ever consuming darkness, Where nor my intelligence nor strength will carry me forth, What shall I do when my mind is ravaged by the unending onslaught of the tenebrous thoughts, What shall I do when my voice is drowned out by the noise of this corrupt world, Where shall I find peace in this restless world, Whom shall I turn to when all else has failed?

Shall I call out to him, The bringer of peace, He who makes all things right, Or shall I allow myself to be drowned by this world unable to call to him?

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Written by Isaac Licona

Cold breeze, Blue skies, Empty fields, Two eyes, Clear mind, Sun shine, Fine as wine, No words spoken, As one lies, Birds fly, Bottles by his side, He closes his eyes, Lips like sand, Head feels light

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Art by Anonymous

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IX Written by Alen Arredondo

Oh glorious stars you stand tall with your never ending light, You live high above me and mock me, You with everlasting beauty ]and life always fading giving me relief, Yet, you once more arise showing the rash difference between you and me, for you are forever restored, and yet I wither with every passing day, the years pile on my back, the weight so grand I feel my body buckling under the immense pressure, for my frail body is nothing like the angles that are above me, and to you I scream, pleading and imploring, for you to give onto me the gift of eternity you poses, yet you stay there, motionless to my screams, for they fall on deaf ears.

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A Horror Within Written By Alen Arredondo

As I awoke, finding the strength to open my eyelids, mumbling a random set of words while coming back into consciousness, I find myself not lying in my bed, but rather awakening on a gray speckled carpet which was worn and full of unknown stains. I see flashing colored lights filling the room; the walls decorated with crazy 80’s themed wallpaper, and there is a rink that has been worn down by the wheels of roller skates leaving distinguishable marks on the glossy wood floor. The aroma of freshly sprayed shoes suddenly took over my olfactory senses, completing the atmosphere and allowing me to locate exactly where I was. When I finally came to my senses I realized that I was in a roller skating rink.

The sound of the wheels hitting the glossy wood floor and the disco music in the background perfectly complemented the childlike laughter coming from the people in the roller skating rink. As I finally stood up I began to search for an exit in order to locate exactly where I was. I turned round and round like a frantic child searching for his mother at the store, when finally my eyes were met with the first glimpse I had seen of natural light. The doors, which were mostly glass, were letting in the only natural light within the roller skating rink. In that instant I felt relieved; I rushed to the door in search of some answers. I began approaching the door and as I was within five feet of the door, I was cut off by this old man. He was wearing a worn white button down shirt; he had a stained black tie and he was wearing some black dress pants which were all wrinkled. He then spoke to me in a very agitated tone and said, “Where do you think you're going!” I was very much confused but for some reason I also started to feel agitated, and I responded by saying, “I am just trying to step outside sir,” to which he responded by saying “You cannot exit without purchasing something first!” Instead of me even attempting to answer the old man, I tried to pass by him. All of a sudden I felt his hand being placed on my chest as he tried to stop me from leaving once more. I suddenly snapped and violently shoved him on the floor. I could hear the sound of my heartbeat pounding in my head and I began to breathe more and more rapidly. I stared at him intensely as he was down on the floor with his back on the stained carpet. As I stared at him, he stared back at me not in fear but rather happily.

Art by Habbib Bundu

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He had a great big smile on his face almost as if he was pleased with my actions. This only infuriated me; more of my thoughts started to get louder and louder telling me “Kill him, Kill him, Kill him!” I brought my hands up to cover my ears, and I proceeded to clench my eyes and teeth tightly while beginning to bring my head closer to my abdomen as if trying to quiet my thoughts. Suddenly the thought of Brilla came to mind and with that, my thoughts disappeared. As I straightened myself out once more and opened my eyes, I saw a wall instead of the door and the man who was just on the floor was no longer there. So once again, I searched for a door and in my panic to find the exit, I bumped into a very presentable young man. He was very well dressed. He had a red t-shirt on with some baggy jeans. Yet, he was wearing a very high quality leather jacket. The leather seemed brand new, as its semi-shiny leather reflected some of the disco light and the inside seemed to be lined by fur. I looked at him in such a pristine state, then I looked down at myself and I saw my dated attire with a wrinkled old shirt and some worn out jeans. Then I looked at him and asked him if he knew where I could find an exit, but with every passing moment and every word I heard him utter, I only envied him more and more. I thought: “Look at him with his nice clothes. Look at him with his well combed hair and perfect smile.” I could feel my envy only growing more and more and I began to hear my thoughts getting louder and louder .They said, “Take his jacket; take his clothes, even if you have to kill him! Do It! Do it!” Again I felt my hands pressing against my head with a great force as I dashed in an unknown direction trying to hush these thoughts which tormented me. I ran until I saw light. I ran even faster hoping it was the outside world, yet I ended up running into a restroom. A poorly lit restroom, where the incandescent lights shine a bluish tone. In the shadowy parts of that room I saw a man who was frightfully pale and bone skinny.

I watched as he faded in and out of consciousness, murmuring jumbled sentences in his delirious state. On his lap was a pair of needles and a spoon with a brownish substance on it. The longer I watched,the more I became tempted to join him. I thought to myself, “He wouldn’t mind, I would only use a little. I just need to leave this place. I can't withstand these thoughts anymore. I need it to ease my pain.” I began to approach him slowly hoping that in his state he wouldn’t notice my actions. Yet, when I was about to reach for the needle he grabbed my hand weakly and stared into my eyes. With a maniacal smile he said, “You're back at it again? “ I suddenly fell back. I questioned how he knew that and why his words seemed to penetrate the depths of my soul. I felt a chill run down my back as I sat with my hands on the floor behind my back holding my body up for I felt weak. I suddenly got up and sprinted out of the restroom full of dread. I ran while looking back to ensure he wasn’t following me, yet in the corner of my eye I saw the slender man weakly walking towards me and when I turned to face forward, I saw the old man standing one foot away from me on my left hand side. I moved to the right and started running faster hoping, praying, pleading with he who reigns supreme. Yet, my shout for help fell on deaf ears. As I continued to run, I saw that young man once more. I ran and ran until my legs couldn’t carry me anymore. Once I stopped, my heart was pounding in my head. I felt drips of sweat down my face. I placed my hands on my knees and hunched down trying to catch my breath. As I looked back, all three of them were right behind me, glaring at me. I fell back and sat on the floor, looking at them, feeling their eyes piercing into my soul. I couldn’t bear it so I closed my eyes and curled up hoping they would leave and suddenly I felt relief; as I opened my eyes, my vision was once again blurry. All I saw were blurred figures speaking to me saying, “You're going to be okay son”. I looked down wondering why I couldn’t move my hands and feet and I saw myself tied down to a bed. I became anxious and started to shout and struggle wanting to be released. I suddenly felt a slight pain in my arm. As I looked over, I saw what seemed like a nurse injecting me with something. I started to fade, and I knew I was going back to the rink once more.

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Him

Written by Fernando Quezada I am him, The one in the photo, Always smiling, always frowning, In constant turmoil, In constant joy, I am him, The brave and the coward, The fearless and the fearful, I am that man, I am him, The protector, And the tyrant, Fair and prejudiced, I am him, The universal man, I am him, The one who sins and grants miracles, I am that man, I was that man, My old body but my young soul, Full of receding life, Crawling towards the grave.

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Art by Anonymous

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Beauty In The Eyes Of The Beholder Written by Valeria Ortiz-Reyez For a time in my life, sleep never came easily. I would spend hours upon hours tossing and turning, developing headaches from how tight I was shutting my eyes and it went on like that for years. I pondered that I might have insomnia something that is genetic in my family and with two siblings someone had to get the short end of the stick but one December night, I fell asleep quickly by just studying the reflections in the light that poured through my curtains, looking at the way they glimmered like artificial stars no piece the same as the other. The next morning I awoke refreshed and to my family's surprise with a burning ache to paint.

From that day onwards I have never seen the world the same way. The landscape changed right before my eyes. As someone with dodgy vision I had just unlocked a greater possibility to see beyond my restrictions. Simple things were cut into lines, dissected and maneuvered; they fit like a puzzle piece in my mind. For many the curves on their clothing or the alignment of their bones or muscles aren’t truly a concern but to me it’s all I see. It's vivid in my mind like an ink stain living in a world of white.

Brushstrokes sit on the canvas but the pigment lays truly otop the mental image.

Observation was my gate into the art world, and to learn the trade, I had to study the masters. Many pieces to me were lackluster, some were void of all emotions but the one piece that has stuck with me was Dante and Virgil in Hell. Hands held together softly, Dante is dressed in blood red robes and his follower Virgil is shrouded in white, a complex gold laurel sits on his auburn curls, damned souls shout for their attention as they sit confined in the cracks of an icy world of nothingness, a stark contrast to the usual depiction of hell. Dante and Virgil showed me the fundamentals of color. People aren’t just simple tones, they're a combination of primaries blue, yellow, and red. These make up everyone and it truly makes people mesmerizing. If you start to look at the little things you can extract the pure beauty of a person. Almost like their charm has been pasted onto a fresco the plaster is still wet but the paint is glossy with life. Observation showed me that there is much more to learn from others just from sheer appearance.

Before I started painting, I had troubles not only sleeping but being social. I didn't know how to take hints or read the room but painting came naturally so emotion followed quickly in suit. It now allows me to see true emotion from expression. I developed a strong sense of empathy. I can read eyes from the crinkles at the inner corners and the pupils, skin is reactive to emotion so blushing is a factor of strong feelings, body language is easiest to read, every movement your brain commands is on purpose so liars are the first to show their true colors. The paintings that once were a hobby for me, transcended into much more; it flooded my mind with complex thought with the visions of my peers and simply with content for my surroundings. A mixture of Pigment, oil, and binder, a pricey item for a lifetime of gratitude.

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Frankenstein: Episode 1 Written by Enrique Delgado

I don’t remember too much. I never knew why I was created or born. Maybe my creator was lonely, so maybe that's why I was created, but I never was told anything. He died before he could welcome me into this world.

I couldn’t speak the language “English”. I was scared of these fragile creatures. They held sticks with a flaming sun and sharp tools to boot. I was horrified, but these creatures seem more scared than me.

They looked at me as if I was one of the devil’s soldiers sent to finish his job. I didn’t know what to do, so I ran but destroyed everything that appeared in front of me. I dashed out of the small town the creatures lived in and fled into the woods.

It has been four winters since my creation; I still live in the forest which I force myself to call home.

Yet, something has come through my home. Something that doesn't belong in this nasty forest. It was one of those creatures I saw four winters ago, but this one, this creature was different from all the rest.

It was humming a beautiful melody, as it was picking a bright, red fruit from the trees. I fell into a gaze. A long deep stare. This creature was beautiful. It had long, golden, slik hair, and bright red lips moving as it continued its sweet melody. I couldn’t control myself. I hid between the trees and just stared. As the creature continued picking the red fruit it dropped one, but it didn’t notice that one fell from its grasp. I didn’t know what to do. I wished I could have told it that one of the red fruits fell, but I didn’t know how to speak. I walked silently towards the creature.

I stood still for a second. It started moving. Waving its arms back and forth. Yet, it was still humming, and still moving. It hasn’t caught me yet, so I continued to ascend to the creature. I was like a snake moving silently through the ground. I kept on moving, but the forest ground where the leaves and twigs call home wasn’t working in my favor. It stopped humming, and it stood there without making a sound, but I didn’t stop moving.

I didn’t stop a single bit. I had something inside me that just wanted me to keep on moving forward. A steady beat was going. Bathump. Bathump. Bathump. Bathump. As I continued moving, this thing inside, it beat even faster. Bathump. Bathump. Bathump. But everything stopped. Like if the universe froze time between me and this creature. Everything was slow. From the fall, and when it looked at me.

Eyes both touch each other from a far distance, as the sun shined creating a wall of light between me and the creature. Its eyes were blank as if it saw death rising from the grave. It screamed a horrifying yell. Dropping the basket of red fruit as it ran to the light that showed the end of the forest, and left me in darkness.

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Wonder Written and Art by Lizzy Perez

Wonder is the color of your eyes.

It's bright with a bit of sadness. It has hope and enlightenment.

Wonder has true beauty. It holds the theory of love. Wonder only awakens with compassion. Wonder gives off a warm feeling capable of making me cry an unending feeling of sorrow. Wonder heals the unbroken but never fixes what was broken. Wonder makes me forget my worries, thoughts, struggles. It gives me aspiration and hope. It’s the place I feel at home; my safe place where I can disappear and dream of a never-ending world.

Wonder is with you. And without you, I can only imagine of wonder.

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Her Brown Eyes

Written by Fernando Quezada

Her eyes are wonders, Dark brown labyrinths which have imprisoned me, Full of love and lust, Mystery and just a hint of innocence, Her eyes are stars, And when mine meet hers, They both sparkle like the night sky, Fueled by wonderful sentiments, Our eyes never lie, A stare so profound, I lose track of time, I would give it all up, Just to admire your hazel eyes,

Art by Kimberly Arredondo

At first glance they are brown, When the light hits them they turn to amber, But when I look deeply into them, I notice the pure honey that surrounds the iris,

Truth be told, I am lost in paradise, With your eyes accompanying, I am deeply in love.

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Temptation Written by Abigail Mendez

The burning flicker of a candle flame, Hot as the wax.

You light me up.

So use me, and burn me out.

I can enlighten your night, and incense the air around you.

The fiery heat, doesn't It feel like the sun to you?

What I give, is more than this.

Beyond life and death, you'll hasten my feelings.

I won't burn quick I promise you, I'll last.

Long.

Hours, and hours on end together.

When I melt, you'll see the wick.

That's when it's most vulnerable. But I trust you.

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Sonia Castillo

Michelle Mendez

Dulce Lopez

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Poem VIII Written by Alen Arredondo That which now exists will one day disappear, That which is before us now, shall one day be no more, Oh youthful love, to you I cry, That love which we perceive with a rose color lense, That love which we believe encompasses our whole world, That which brings new meaning into our existence, That which fills our world with splendid colors, Those colors which were in front of us yet we never perceived, For our lives were so monotone till this “Love” began, Oh you, youthful one, this is but a momentary pleasure, Much like the seasons, Or the rising and setting of that golden orb which warms us, Or the youthful summer's warmth, With time they give way to the somber and frigid winter, A winter which frost over the beautiful roses we hold dear, A frost that forms ice which divides even the hardest and strongest rock, For all it takes is one crack in that rock, For it is not truly as fortified as it appears, For all its strength is but on the outside, because if we were to pere inside, We would see the grand divided that has formed, This youthful love is but a mere front an act of desperation, A scapegoat for our loneliness for that reason it fails, Fails holding us together and fails being called love, For love is much more than mere excitement and feelings, It is that which can bare it all

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This Feeling Written by Anonymous

I like it, This feeling, It's warm Like I’m dreaming I hate it though, This feeling, Making me feel weak And as if I'm needing, But there's nothing to do, This feeling will always be here, It is all true And it won't disappear.

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Una Carta de Amor Written by Fernando Quezada Basta con verte una vez al día para que mi mente sea invadida por tu rostro. Ligeramente y con la sensualidad de una flor en primavera, andas por mi cabeza, creando un hermoso caos y dejando atrás solo tu aroma. Con las puntas de tus dedos recorren mi piel, y se convierten en puntos al percibir tu calor. Es con tu sonrisa que sueño todas las noches. Solo en mi habitación, solo con mis pensamientos de ti. Me duermo con una gran sonrisa porque sé que al despertar, vere tus ojos de color cafe, y tu sonrisa brillante. Iluminas mis días como si fuese tu el mismo sol. Me abrazas con una inocencia que me hace enloquecer, el tenerte cerca me hace el hombre más feliz. Y cuando tú me besas, me elevas al cielo, y juro que hasta veo un arcoiris decorando el horizonte. Tus labios de sabor miel son más dulces que los caramelos, y más suaves que la piel de un bebé. La verdad es que yo te amo, te adoro, y te aprecio. Y ojalá que tú y yo lleguemos a la vejez juntos. Viviendo un sueño en la vida real. Y que nomas nosotros tengamos las llaves para abrir el corazón de ambos.

Written by Lizzy Perez First glance, the sound of rain hitting the ground, birds chirping, cars running. An ear full of sounds, people laughing, yelling, rambling. The warm and fuzzy feeling of joy in every corner of the room. Somehow my eyes are set on you. My sounds are shut down, but yours are so loud. I stare from afar and pretend I don’t care but my rhythm follows you. My thoughts are lost, and I keep thinking of you. The bell rings and I’m hit with reality. The realization that I truly love you…

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Next Spring I Wait For You Written by Melani Alvarez The long weary winter has passed, Taking with it my soul.

With the new rebirth and fresh start, I still feel cold.

The flowers that were supposed to bloom never appeared, For which I gave my all in the Fall, And never felt so small.

As everyone blooms, I continue to give my last petals to you, Knowing you would only accept them if they were from someone new, Maybe during the next vernal season, my fluorescence will attract you.

Art by Sarahi Murga

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Existing Love Written by Anonymous

I never knew what love was until I met you, Like an angel that fell from heaven, When life threw me dirt you helped me grow flowers, You were the reason to always have a smile on my face, Brighter than any other star, Time would manage to stop when our eyes collide together, You were like an addiction that wouldn't get off my mind, Every second I would take for granted, From our ups and downs I'll always stand by your side, Knowing without you I'd be priceless.

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Her Written by Jimena Zapien

Art by Dulce Lopez

She was a hopeless romantic She would read romance books to fill in the void in her heart She only wore light shades of color, wanting to be seen as pure She would spend hours getting ready for a boy whom she had to beg to see He just ignored her; she was never noticed Yet she would do anything to impress him She would put in her everything into something that was doomed from the start She would pretend to be oblivious to all the signs Having the mindset of, “ He only messed up once and everyone deserves a second chance,” Because all she truly wanted was to feel special, cared for And yet he left her for another Because she was always the second choice She would cried herself to sleep because she couldn’t convince him to stay And then she met him, she built a friendship with him, connected with him She got called pretty in private, her hopes rising Only to end up watching the person she loved fall in love with someone else She would end up helping him get the girl he desired most, pitying herself Knowing she couldn’t do anything, knowing she was never a choice She’d sit and cry in the mirror wondering what isn’t enough about her She would watch everyone in their relationships, wondering why it can’t be herh She gave up on trying; she accepted the fact she would always be the other woman

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Art by Anonymous

A tiny mushroom in a big forest, But I never bloom and I never flourish, I see the flowers nature chooses to nourish, Big bright yellowy orange, I’m fungus flaccid spotty old spores, Moseying flatly on a mossy forest floor, What I would give to be something more, Something that’s pretty, Something to smell, Something to pluck then maybe sell, An expensive thing, From a local florist, Not an ugly tiny mushroom In a big beautiful forest

Written by Anonymous

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Written by Anonymous Making my head go mad and aching My body feeling like my tongue no matter what I do I can never get rid of these feelings Even with you.

You make my head spin faster like a top Making me want to scream nonstop!

Soon I’ll be happy with me Not with you, not with him, not with anybody.

I’ll be happy no longer feeling unbalanced Without having a care, not giving one.

That's what I wish desperately So so so many nights repeating this thought.

To one day be truly happy.

Am I a fool for thinking that, Do I wish for such things that aren’t understandable?

Egotistical to want to be happy, Happy with my body, with my brain.

Am I like the devil to want to fix myself, For being ungrateful for this body, But it doesn’t fit, not at all.

If I were paper I’d tape and paste things I’d like to have Hair I can change without a second thought, Eyes green, brown or yellow, Skin so far or fill with proud scars, Adding height until I reach the clouds.

Being who I want with no restrictions, No one saying no.

Until that day I remain A fool.

Art by Anonymous

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Art by Camila Navarro

Grasp

Written by Milagros Hernandez Love, Was like walking on a tightrope Little white lies, but there was hope Keeping quiet to keep you Success overlooked, what did I do?

Questioning my every move Paranoid, relationship disapproved My love was unconditional Their love was fictional Never thought I’d be betrayed There I lay afraid To leave, move, denied the truth, forced to move on Time to restart, trust blindly Exciting, supportive, yet doubtful However, sincere.

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Remember Me? Written by Abigail Mendez

We were broken.

I fixed you up.

When you were fixed, you grabbed my pieces and shattered them to bits.

Now all that's left is sand.

I was your angel.

I brought you light.

But now, I will be your devil.

And I'll bring you darkness.

I’ll make you remember me.

From the sky, you’ll go into the ground.

From matches, you burn.

From knives, you’ll bleed.

From my hands you’ll suffocate.

From me, I’ll make sure you suffer.

Suffer worse than before you were fixed.

Suffer being broken a million times more.

Suffer being nothing.

I’ll grind you up.

I’ll make you sand.

I’ll make sure you remember me.

Remember my halo, turned to horns.

Remember my hands, turned to claws.

Remember my teeth, turned to fangs.

Remember my eyes, turned to black.

Remember my heart, turned void.

I’ll make you remember me.

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Written By Natasha Quinonez

Whenever you leave, I remember, Your wrinkly hands holding a rosary, You pray I’m safe, Everywhere you went, we followed, Until you couldn’t stay, Whenever you leave, I remember, Your hair, the purple grape that suited your tone of skin, Feeling lucky with your touch, Everything that you did influenced me, Until you couldn’t stay, Whenever you leave, I remember, Your way of laughter, that blasted through the wind, The smell of cooking that me your way, Meddling through your jungle of herbs, Until you couldn’t stay.

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Art by Isabella Pacheco

Written by Fernando Quezada At the end of a dark corridor, a dim candle slowly burns, illuminating the surroundings with tremendous effort. As he made his way past the candlestick, he turns back. He observes what looks like a person, but he cannot decipher it yet. When he reaches for the portable light, the dark shape vanishes with the swiftness of a summer breeze. He thinks nothing of it, must be his mind messing about up there. He makes his way up the stairs to his quarters, only to turn back and see the figure again. Only this time, stuck to the walls, so as to avoid detection. The man charges backwards, only to find nothing but his shadow decorating the stone floor. Is he paranoid? Has he gone mad? Questions flood his mind, but he dismisses them with a scoff and continues up the stairs.

When he finally reaches his bed, he submissively lays on it, embracing the warmth of the covers, and the feather-like surface of the mattress. As soon as he is about to doze off, he sees the same dark shape tracking his every thought.

It comes over him, and stares deeply into his soul, as if analyzing his entire life.

The man is not able to move a finger, nor scream for help. All he is allowed to do is stare into the lifeless eyes of this uninvited guest, which lingers over him like a rain cloud. Through the endless torture of the night, the sunlight finally breaks through the window, and shines upon the man’s face. However, that man is no longer the same, no longer able to sleep out of fear of some unexpected guest coming to watch him dream. And so he lives sleepless days and terrified nights. Some might consider it a just punishment for the man’s sins, whatever they might have been.

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Middle School Spotlight Shutter Mind Chapter 1

Written by Yaxiri Lazcano

Today, I thought it was going to be a fantastic day, but I was wrong. As I was getting ready for the big day, my hair was cut to shoulder length, I was dressed in my finest tuxedo, and then I proceeded to paint my fingernails in black nail polish. I thought my family was going to be proud of me–for once...my best friend, distant family members, heck even strangers. For once in my life, I thought I would be someone successful. Of course, I was wrong. I was alone for the whole journey without my family. Nobody messaged me, nor called. Suddenly out of nowhere two people, who seemed to be dressed in officer uniforms for some sort of organization, grabbed my arms. They didn’t let go, no matter how much I demanded them to let me go. They kept squeezing my arms tightly so I wouldn’t escape. I didn’t even hear a knock at the door; I was confused. I was then handcuffed and put into a white van.

I did see someone in the distance as I was getting “arrested” as I assumed. It was somebody very important to me, my cousin, the only one who was there by my side, who was in shock to see me, and I didn’t know what to do or what to say. She started chasing the vehicle, yelling my name; the name I didn’t want to hear anymore, the name that I would soon remember as the name of shame and guilt. I didn’t want to talk on my way to who knows where, just close my eyes and be alone in my mind, my thoughts, and inner feelings. I wanted to listen to music; I wanted to do something to keep me distracted.

Some time passed and I saw a huge building. It almost looked like a mansion, but there was a feeling that gave me chills, and felt like something was wrong. I thought this had something to do with the big day, but it still felt weird.

That was the last thing I remember from that horrible day, the day I thought was supposed to be a great one or even better.

As the sunlight wakes me up, I start to hear loud noises coming from outside of my room. The sounds I heard woke me up very early, and they sounded so annoying that my body decided to feel annoyed and angry. I hear the announcements on the speaker above my door saying, “Dear patients, sad news for today… one of our lovely patients has sadly fallen off from one of the rooftops here in our building. May he rest in peace.” I quickly started thinking who that patient could’ve been. I wondered who dealt with suicidal thoughts in this place, but I didn’t seem to come to any conclusion, so I settled to rely on the patients for any kind of answer after I leave my room for breakfast.

The uniforms we had to wear were pretty basic, to say the least. The “uniforms” were just like pajamas or robes, but they aren’t what other people think they are. The robes are what many people may know, hospital robes but the “pajamas”, however, were just a light gray shirt and pants. I like to wear the ‘pajamas’ uniform since they hide most of my body, and I can wear my favorite light pink slippers with them, and also under my gray shirt, I like to wear a long sleeve shirt where the sleeves reach my elbows when I roll them up. That’s mostly my personal preference. After I finish changing, I finally leave my room and make my way to the cafeteria.

Curious as to what happens next? Read the rest of the chapters here!

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- Meet the Team -

Moderator

Co-Editors

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Director of Design

Content Facilitator

Asistant Directors of Design

Director of Outreach

Made by: Lourdes G, Melani A, Jimena Z, Isabella P, Isabella D, Rebeca G, Alen A, Lizzy P, J Brenner

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