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Inkwell The Literary-Art Magazine of West Hills High School

2014-15 Featuring work by

West Hills High School Student Body at Large Published in conjunction with the

West Hills High School Readers & Writers Club

Student Editors Sofia Bankston, Grade 11 Kellie Brock, Grade 11 Kyle Godwin, Grade 12

Cover Artwork Clarissa Rossman, Grade 10

Faculty Advisor Suzanne Sannwald, T eacher Librarian

Inkwell POETRY My Childhood Playground Rooftops Sandy Freedom But In This House Wreck What Tomorrow Will Bring If Only One Day Away from Nightmares to New Ones Epitaph

Kai A. Juewls Bryan DarkLady Sethra DarkLady Sethra DarkLady Sethra Danya Youhanna Danya Youhanna Danya Youhanna Clarissa J Rossman

1 2 10 12 12 26 27 28 35

Last Gift A Stranger In The Snow Excerpt from “Isaac” Unrequited Love Lonesome Summer Night Memories I Will Always Remember Whispers to an Empty Wind Let Go and Give Time Full Color Fictional Excerpts Untitled Fall Asleep with a Good Book Staff Memo

Anonymous K. Kilber Kens McClure Anonymous Clarissa J Rossman DarkCheshireKat DarkCheshireKat Tanya Joseph K. Godwin Kens McClure Anonymous Clarissa J Rossman Management

4 6 7 13 15 17 17 19 20 31 32 33 35

Jenna Northum Mikaylin J. Leach Aaron Hernandez Kens McClure Victoria Baker Sharon Kwon Benafsha Mohammad Maya Martinez Megan Scott Brendan Sherwin Jenna Northum Clarissa J Rossman J. Grover J. Grover Parker Low Megan Scott Bryton Spurgeon Maria Byrne Megan Scott L Caraveo J. Grover J. Grover

2 3 3 4 5 5 9 9 11 11 14 14 16 16 19 24 25 25 30 30 34 34

PROSE

ARTWORK Over the Coronado Bridge My Dog, Fred Ink Flower Phoenix Stippling Moose Resting Sea Lion Peacock Palm Trees Open Window USMC Soldier Jason Devore of Authority Zero Couples Combat Black Box Theater Edgar Allen Poe-Nevermore Crowned Skull Knotwork Gundam READ Protected Earth Girl of Fire Flower Child 451 The catcher in the rye.

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My Childhood Playground by Kai A., Grade 10 Curled toes inside boots Playground colors vibrant Bright red and yellow slide attached to a bridge Soft, Soft the buzzing of the fluorescent light on a brick wall I waddle, waddled like a penguin My back on the bridge as eyes turned, turned up to the sky crying, crying anger toward blood, for offering no assistance, but expecting forgiveness but thoughts like these are forgotten in a child’s mind shifted bodies search for warmth the singing of sorrow surrounds me...as my eyelids flutter close to the lullaby………… ………only to open years later

others...

the

words

only

record

the

inside

the unspoken

tale

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Over the Coronado Bridge by Jenna Northum, Grade 12

Rooftops by Juewls Bryan, G rade 11 He takes off his mask and lays it on the low concrete wall. His forehead glistens with sweat, his eyes full of fear and pain, fighting back tears. He hears his younger brothers laughing at him, crying with him, he hears his older brother’s disapproval in his father's tone. He is indecisive, it haunts his every waking moment. He slams his fist into a wall, enjoying the hot pain shooting through his knuckles. He feels the warm breeze and ponders the effect of his actions on those around him, how he would still be there if not for him. He breathes the polluted city air, he is filled with nostalgia and sways with the wind, dangerously close to the edge of the building.

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My Dog, Fred by Mikaylin J. Leach, Grade 10

Ink Flower by Aaron Hernandez, Grade 9

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Last Gift by Anonymous, â€‹ Grade 10 He flew up to the cliff side and, his claws kicking up dust, he looked down and saw that the land was dying without her life force. He walked into the once bright and luminous grove, now lit with a solitary weakly growing flower. He collapsed onto his side and a billow of dust rose up from the dead grass and collapsed bushes. He moved his snout closer to the flower and inhaled, crooning softly at the scent of his dead lover and mate. The wind picked up and started slightly. The dust picked up and started blowing off, leaving the bare earth. Some of the remaining trees fell over and the last living thing in the grove, the flower, began to fall. He shuffled forward and wrapped his body around it, shielding it from the wind. He laid there around it, tears running down his face. He raised his wings and his body started glowing from the inside, until his scales burst with light in a dancing twisting green magic fire that enveloped his body and ran off into the ground. The flower righted and grass sprung out around from it. He lay in a circle around it, trying to keep the memory of her alive. The dust off in the distance began to swirl and turn back toward the no longer dying grove. The swirling dust took the shifting shape of a female dragon, and as it flew behind a standing tree, where its claws hit the tree, the bark regrew and the leaves regrew or righted themselves and filled out with a bright glowing green. It flew from tree to tree without opening its wings, as if swimming through the air. The green picked his head and neck up and looked at the swirling dust approaching. Tears left his eyes as he recognized the form of his dead mate. It burst apart and stayed as a mass of dust spinning in the wind in front of him, as if being carried from far away. He heard a faint voice speaking in dragon tongue, then the dragon reformed standing regally in the sky above him. Her voice spoke in his mind sharp and real. My one last gift. The dust shadow leaned down and touched her snout to his and, the moment they met, the dust blew apart as the green felt a shudder run through his body and he collapsed.

Phoenix by Kens McClure, Grade 11

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Stippling Moose by Victoria Baker, Grade 9

Resting Sea Lion by Sharon Kwon, Grade 10

Artist Note: Hi, my name is Sharon Kwon and I'm 16 years old. My birthday is March 5, 1999. I love art because it's fun, but I'm not very good at it, haha! This took a lot of time and patience.

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A Stranger In The Snow by K. Kilber, Grade 10 Silent flurries falling. Waiting, I find him leaning against the building. He turns to me, I find my cheeks grow warm against the freezing air, my heart begins to race. A stranger, yet I belong to him. I yearn to know him; in fact I yearn to spend my life with him. Emotions flood my mind: I love him. Nervously, I examine the face of my stranger. My stranger. He does not seem foreign to me, I feel as if I have known him my entire life. Provided that time seems to be a useless, false sense of measurement that simply eases the human mind's curiosity and suffering, perhaps I have. Or perhaps I've never truly been alive before meeting him. Silent, I step closer. The tempo of my heart increases, yet he doesn't seem to notice. My stranger - Could he really be mine? - looks down and examines my face. My eyes widen as he closes the space between us, his breath gently fanning against my skin. He reaches out to move a strand of red hair from my face. Gently, he rests his hand on my cheek and searches my discolored eyes with his brown ones. Forgetting how to breathe, I will him to kiss me. He laughs before our lips finally lock. And he is kissing me, with silent flurries falling.

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Excerpt from “Isaac” by Kens McClure, G rade 11 Isaac felt warm; he felt completely secure, a feeling of safety wrapping around him in great, serene waves. He drifted in and out of consciousness, the darkness ebbing, and the strange warmth grew. Abruptly Isaac considered the thought that almost all unconscious people strangely and yet unmistakably always came to; he thought, was he was in heaven? Or at least dead; he must have been. On no other place on Earth at any other time had he felt so comfortable, so at peace . He kept on pondering over the subjects of his state of death or life, and whether or not to keep lying where he was in peace—which seemed the better, r easonable option—or to open his eyes and find out where in the world he was right then and there. Apparently the latter happened, the act unconsciously slipping from Isaac’s control and, unfortunately, snapping him back to reality; for not a moment passed before his senses were back in function, bright sunlight met his eyes, and the songs of melodious birds met his ears, and his nose embraced the homey smell of what he most assuredly hoped was food cooking. He looked around, observing the scene before him. Around twenty meters to his right, water fell from the top of the cliff behind him and a wide, swift river ran away from it. On the other side of the river, the tall cliffs ran along the river’s bank, and stopped to drop down a half-mile away where the river once again fell as a waterfall, passing out of Isaac’s sight into a distant lush, green valley. On his side of the river was a clear, open area of flat, black rock, and in the very middle, a fire was burning inside a small and neat circle of stones, with a couple skewered salmon cooking within the flames. To the left, a thick forest of pine trees began, and wild flowers spread throughout the shaded grasses underneath. The pines’ boughs and needles were held bristling in their deep green sea up to the high and endless blue one above. Isaac wondered, after a general feeling of awe and confusion, how he came to be there, wrapped in a layer of woolen blankets, with, as he gasped at, nothing underneath. Attempting to hide from the empty, eyeless expanse, he pulled the blankets around him as much as was possible even though he had already been cocooned in the wool from neck to toe. Isaac grew terrified, anxious, and panicky, turning his head about him as he heard even the slightest chirp of a bird, murmur of the river’s current, or snap of a twig under footfall. Wait, Isaac thought, what was that? 7

Inkwell Excerpt from “Isaac” (continued) Twisting his body towards the looming woods on his left, he looked just in time to see a hulking figure beneath the shade of the trees that was grunting and laboriously staggering towards the rocky clearing Isaac presently sat in. Scrambling on all fours, Isaac struggled to cover the distance towards …anything. He found himself trapped between a massive wall of stone and what he presumed to be the last living creature his eyes would ever see, and he prepared for death. Curling up against the cliffside and squeezing his eyes closed, Isaac trembled and shook, waiting for his attacker to make their first move. As a hand grabbed his shoulder, he cried out in fear, covering his face with his arms. But nothing happened. He heard a series of sounds that didn’t quite register in his head. He was frozen. “Hey, can you hear me? I said, are you okay, buddy?” A surprisingly sweet, non-threatening, not-murderous, human voice fell upon Isaac’s ears and he slowly, ever so slowly, lowered his arms so he could view his potential assailant. What he had assumed to be an enormous, towering heap of muscle or fur or anything resembling something dangerously strong was really just an assemblage of boxes, pots, pans, tins, jars, merchandise containers, blankets, vases, and a collection of other large packaged items, all strung up and tied down for transportation. And what he had assumed to be a sinister, impending being appeared to be the owner of the whole compilation and the one remarkably carrying it all upon her back.

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Peacock by Benafsha Mohammad, Grade 9

Palm Trees by Maya Martinez, Grade 10

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Sandy Freedom by DarkLady Sethra, â€‹ Grade 11 The loud crashing rings in my ears My eyes flutter open, Feeling drying wetness of tears I slowly raise myself. A lonely gray shoreline greets my eye As faint salty smells fill the air. Placing my hands onto the new earth The sand feels fine beneath my touch. A faint ray of sun shines on me. I lift my weary head, Exposing my face to new light I bid my past adieu. The little joys I had are long gone Great loneliness encompasses. Along with this sadness comes great joy For pain I endured is no more Elation! Freedom! Cloudless sky above me! And the dark of night is dark no more, For stars have come with light. My lungs inflate with stench-free air. No chains bind me to my brothers. The cursed ship fades into a dream, The ghost ship of my fathers. No shackles, no whip, no cotton rows in a line. The horizon is clear, the world is mine.

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Open Window by Megan Scott, Grade 11

USMC Soldier by Brendan Sherwin, Grade 10

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But In This House by DarkLady Sethra, Grade 11 Grey stormy eyes appear and haunt my dreams. A strong jaw, fine black hair. Hands’ solid weight on my shoulder. His mouth moves but I hear no voice. When I wake, I wish I were back there, but in this house, it cannot be. As he passes by, my eyes linger. Long fingers, straight back, handsome face. Every now and then I feel his eyes upon me. Then the ill-fated night as I wake, my hazy mind recognizes him. But then the fog clears and I jump away. The door is open and Alfred stands there. I act in shock, don’t want the shame. As I yell I see the pain in his grey eyes. And in my mind I pray, “I’m sorry.” But in this house, such things are not.

Wreck by DarkLady Sethra, Grade 11 The crumpled figure on the ground The ache and throbbing of my soul What made you jump? What made you fall? Stand I now within our flat The silence so profound. And all the memories within this place The joys we had, the pain we shared Reflects in tears upon my face My heart is ripped in two. Seasons pass, And here you stay within your mound. So cold, so silent,... gone No solace have I found That will bear me through this wreck you’ve made of me. You’ve left me all alone, Yet haunt me still within the walls Of our abandoned home.

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Unrequited Love by Anonymous, Grade 12 To whom it may concern: 1. I will never be able to wear the color green without remembering it used to be your favorite. Yet you will probably never think twice when you encounter the color red. 2. The way you looked at her was a constant reminder of the love you were capable of giving. You were just never willing to share that with me. 3. I still regret that night you asked if I wanted to leave with you, and I said no. The possibilities of what could have been, had I said yes, haunt my mind every day. 4. You probably never realized I cried that night. The night I found out how you felt, and the night I realized I could never feel the same. I was already devoted to him. 5. I can see that there’s something more to your soul, and I wish you’d open up to me. I wish you’d open up to someone. Anyone. 6. Trying to figure you out is the most toxic, yet exhilarating thing I have ever partaken in. You are an intriguing mystery to me that I have been trying to solve for far too long. 7. I’ve always wanted you for my own. I don’t know why you are so interesting to me. But I deserve someone who sees that in me. Someone who sees that I’m capable of loving. Someone who finds me just as captivating as I’ve always found you. I’m not sure if you can give me that. Or if you even desire to. I will never know. And that’s alright.

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Jason Devore of Authority Zero House of Blues San Diego by Jenna Northum, Grade 12

Couples Combat by Clarissa J Rossman, Grade 10

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Lonesome Summer Night Memories by Clarissa J Rossman, â€‹ Grade 10 The air was hot as she lay melting on her bed. The summer heat prevented her from feeling the drowsiness necessary for entering the realm of sleep she knew would be needed for her to be able to function the next day. As she lay in the giant oversized t-shirt all she could think of was him. His voice, his words, his face, his love. Despite the sweat she could feel on herself from the lack of cool air, she was able to imagine him holding her. Running up to her and picking her up in his arms then holding her tight. She thought of the many conversations they had shared, especially the ones in which he had been sweet-talking her. The ones where he had promised her the moon and shelter from the fiercest storm. The ones where he had described in great detail what their actions would be if they were permitted to be with each other, rather than 2 hours apart. She played his voice over and over in her head like one would play their favorite parts on a CD. His laugh, his excitement, even the way he simply said "yeah." She recalled how he used to look at her when they were physically together for those 2 weeks which seemed to last for more like 2 months. The way his eyes gleamed and how his mouth smirked sometimes or softly smiled other times. She thought of all this from the time they were merely two insecure kids to their last conversation a few hours ago. These thoughts made her both joyful and content as well as lonely and heartbroken. It was hardly fair, in her opinion, for two people so clearly meant to be with each other and who so plainly cared for and needed each other, to be unable to enjoy the common pleasures of looking into each other's eyes or holding hands. But then a memory struck her that filled her with excitement. In about a month, they would be able to see each other once a week, after not seeing each other for about 2 months (which was after not seeing one another for a year). She would see his adorable dorky grin, his bright blue eyes, his blonde hair, his tall body, his caring and funny personality once again. It would almost be as if they were back when they first met again. As all these thoughts swam around in her mind, she came to the realization that her fan was on....just not pointed at her. She stood up off her bed and walked over to adjust it. As she settled back onto the blankets, she felt the cool air flowing and thought more of the joy she felt with him than the pain she felt without. For when you truly care for and know someone...they never really leave you at all.

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Black Box Theater by J. Grover, Grade 12 Artist Note: I was inspired to make this piece out of my love for the theater. It represents how much acting in the plays at this school has changed my for the best. I hope people see from this piece that acting isn't just people performing, but also a way to challenge oneself.

Edgar Allen Poe-Nevermore by J. Grover, Grade 12 Artist Note: I made this piece to show off two of my favorite things in the world, literature and art. The piece shows Poe and icons from some of his well known works. There is the creature from his best poem, “The Raven,” with its ominous word: Nevermore. I also show icons from “The Tell-Tale Heart,” “The Pit and the Pendulum,” “The Premature Burial,” and “The Cask of Amontillado.”

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I Will Always Remember by DarkCheshireKat, â€‹ Grade 10 The you I saw in my dream last night, for some reason, was laughing very hard. So I felt very happy. Truth is, I still think of you everyday, and in every one of those moments, my heart aches. To the point I feel empty. Those vivid moments that fly by. Until the day I disappear, those memories of you and me come to find me again. It was as if time has stopped. The feeling of the whole world collapsing. Something that should have never happened. When you saw me for the last time, you vanished. "Robert." "Hey, Robert." "Where are you?" I keep calling. When did this all begin? Whose fault is it? Why did something like this happen? For what reason? Why? Why are you doing this to me!? I should have never met him. Goodbye to the boy from the baseball team who sat in the seat next to mine. With today, my first love is over. Let's run away together, weren't you the one who said that? Why aren't you here with me now? You lied. You promised to be by my side no matter what. You lied. Countless days pass. Seasons come, and seasons go. These tiring days pass by slowly, and the world keeps turning. I feel like crying, but no water escapes my eyes. But even if I feel like giving up, I still will live on. If I were to die, the memories of you would die with me. As I go into adulthood and continue my life, my soul will never forget the times you and I shared. And I will continue to wait patiently until the day I can see you again. But for now, I will continue to live for both you and me.

Whispers to an Empty Wind by DarkCheshireKat, â€‹ Grade 10 Horror. Helplessness. Sadness. Hatred. Anger. I experienced these emotions that were difficult to handle as I continued to search for the light. I thought if I could reach the brilliant light that most people seemed to have, that I used to have, then I can go back to the times before I had my problems. Back to the times when real smiles came easily to my face. But when I found that light, I realized that I could never go back to the past. Even if I extend my hand towards the light, I would no longer be able to bask in its warmth. I started a band. I think I did it to help that person out, yet it could have also been to escape. Escape the illusion surrounding me. It was fine if it was only for a moment, I wanted to escape the road my father made for me. And just as quick as it had started, it ended. The clouds that smiled from bright sky that day were too cruel for me. It seemed they were looking down and mocking me. From then on, I continued to lived the way my father wanted me to live. I did not demand anything. I did not grumble. I did not cause any trouble. I studied hard. I let my father lead my life because I didn't want to remain as a little child.

Inkwell Whispers to an Empty Wind (continued) I hear the clock ticking. I also hear the sound of pencils taking notes. Everyone is writing down sentences they don't understand, as if they are robots. Silent and not breathing. When I get used to the silence, a voice asks me from far away. "What are you doing right now?" "I don't know," I answered the voice. And again the voice asks me a question. "Are you happy right now?" "I don't know" "Are you alive right now?" "I don't know" To me, the classroom is a place I can't breath in. "You're wrong, learn how to breathe in there." "I can't" "I am a fish who can't breath in water." I don't even have the energy to face the immediate sadness right now. I can't hear any words. The sound of rain has stopped. Nobody needed me. Nobody cared about me. I was lonely. I was always alone. It was always tiring for me. I thought that if I died, nobody would be sad for me. I thought I had nothing to lose. But, no, there was something. The chance to accomplish my dream. "You're wrong, Everything will go back to the way it was. Don't do anything foolish. You can never run away." "Why are you acting like such an idiot?" "You're not an idiot." A voice whispers. Because of the tears and my sunken throat, my voice trembled a lot, but clearly, one at a time, I let those words slip out of my mouth. The words I could not say before. Then the thing tormenting me and suffocating me....Disappeared. At the same time, the first person who understood me. The first person who listened to my dreams. The first person who told me I am not an idiot. I realized that they had left my side. The kids who adapt to the classroom, walk the path of majority and receive the support and help of many people. But the kids that can't adapt are merely seen as strange people that can't fit in. And very few understand them. What they think about. What they worry about. What they want to know. What they want to be. People will admit that everyone is different, yet contradict themselves by declaring that these kids are wrong. One day, if I meet someone who is worrying about the same things I did, I'll go, â€œYeah, it happened to me beforeâ€? and laugh remembering what happened today. And I'll tell those people, "You aren't an idiot..." "Show them that you aren't wrong..." "Cheer up." I'll become a person that can cheer them on.

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Let Go and Give Time by Tanya Joseph, â€‹ Grade 11 I know, it's beautiful, the way it shines brighter than the sun in the morning, and it shines into your heart. Seemingly in an instant, after the sun kisses the hollow areas that have since been filled, it grows dim. Things get dark and it looks unlikely that the sun will come back. Let go, dear. Give it time. You are merely seeing the moon, the half of the situation, halfway until the sun kisses you again. Be careful, though, for you need to let go of the dark before the light returns. It may not kiss you like before, but you have erased the past, thus letting go. Everything remains, except for the desire. Simply, let go and give it time. Things will work themselves out.

Crowned Skull by Parker Low, â€‹ Grade 12

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Full Color by K. Godwin, Grade 12 There was a slight glimmer on the horizon. A faint gleam of yellow, barely visible through the morning gray, rested atop the dark silhouettes of southern Californian mountains. Slowly and carefully, the shining plate rose. Golden rays forced their way resolutely through the impudent clouds, chasing away lingering vestiges of the cold night with their warm embrace. All seemed to glimmer slightly in the pale winter sun that illuminated the world on a cool November morning. Silky strands of yellow light wrapped people, buildings, and cars in their translucent web. The sidewalk along Adams Avenue, imbued with a faint gray glow in the morning sun, was empty but for two figures. Both were bundled up against the Californian winter and striding toward the corner. The shorter of the pair stopped in front of a small courtyard, taking in the rod iron tables and brick planters that stood in front of her, before venturing into the shop beyond. Her companion took several steps down the street before turning back and following her into the small front marked Red Mug Coffee. Though the sun had only ventured into precious little of the morning sky, the inside of the coffee house was busy. The woman removed her beanie revealing a mass of cinnamon hair falling to her shoulders in tight ringlets. She inhaled deeply, taking in the rich aroma of coffee mingled with the smell of pumpkin spice, and let out a small contented sigh. A small bell chimed behind her, barely audible over the murmur of the Red Mugs’ patrons. She turned to see her friend step through the door, shake out his chestnut hair and look around. Hazel eyes glanced around the crowded room, taking in the usual sort of things one expects to find in a coffee house. “It’s cozy,” the brunette mused, eyes glancing over the room once more, before settling on chalkboard menus mounted above the counter. “What’s good here?” “Everything,” she replied, “but normally I get the iced mocha with extra chocolate.” “Really?” Hazel eyes fell questioningly on his friends face. “Hannah, it’s like sixty degrees.” “Not in here,” Hannah retorted. “And besides, it’s the best thing on the menu.” The brunette chuckled slightly, “Maybe I should get the hot chocolate. What do you think, Hannah?” Hannah shot a withering look at her friend, “I think that hot chocolate is gross, and you should not subject yourself to such things, Fletcher.” A smile spread across Fletcher’s face, “Fine, we can be polar bears together. I'm going to go find us a table.” “You do that,” she replied as a smile tugged at the corners of her mouth. The rising sun seemed cold and distant to Fletcher, as if missing part of itself. Even inside, cradled by warm air, he felt the distant stars’ lonely and destitute cold. He pulled his coat tightly around himself, and forcing his attention from the bleak star, looked once more around the Red Mug Coffee House. It really was a nice little place, carrying the tantalizing aromas and eclectic atmosphere that all good coffee shops have. It was the sort of place that Niall would have taken him. They would have sat together in a table just like this, talking and laughing like a normal couple would. In spite of himself, Fletcher let out a small sigh and studied the heaviness in his chest in a detached sort of way. He just needed to forget about him. They didn't work, plain and simple. It still hurt though. “Hey, so my Mom called me immature yesterday,” her voice broke the chestnut haired boy out of his thoughts.

Inkwell Full Color (continued) “Did she?” Fletcher asked, eyes shifting to the woman taking a seat across from him. “What happened then?” “I told her to get out of my pillow fort,” Hannah said matter of factly . A smile spread across Fletcher’s lips, but never quite made it to his eyes. His eyes returned to the window as he ran through a string of bitter memories. "You okay?" Hannah asked, voice suddenly somber. Fletcher gave a weak smile. "Yeah, I'm fine," he lied. Hannah gave a small sigh, "I know that you cared about him, but he's he's not good for you. Fletcher, you were a different person when you and Niall were together." "Yeah, I was a happier person." "No, it just seems like that because you're upset now. You and Niall were together for a long time. You just need some time to readjust." Fletcher opened his mouth, then finding nothing to say, remained silent. Directing his eyes back to the window, he once again examined the cold, distant sun. "I don't know what to do with myself." He let out a small sigh. "Everything just feels sort of empty." “I know that it sucks right now,” she told him, “but it’ll get better. You’ll find someone else, someone who is good to you, and you’ll look back and wonder why you were so upset about Niall.” But what are the chances of that happening? Fletcher thought cynically, I mean, it isn't like I have a lot to offer. He glanced balefully at his slender arms. If only he were a little more muscular. “What if there isn't someone new?” he asked his friend, “What if Niall was it, and now I’m going to die alone and be eaten by my thirty housecats?” Hannah stared at the brunette, dark eyes aglow with conviction. “Nothing that happened with Niall was your fault,” she told him. “He cheated on you.” “I just feel like I should have done something.” “And stay with the guy who does that and then has the balls to break up with you because of it?” Fletcher fell silent. Hazel eyes drifted once again through the window, examining the pale light shining down from the rising sun. Hannah studied his face and placed a reassuring hand on top of her friend’s. "I’m sorry,” she said in a quiet voice, “I just want you to know that I'm here for you, you're not alone." Fletcher pulled his eyes from the outside world and pulled his lips into a grateful smile, "Thanks, Banana." Hannah rolled her eyes, but an amused smile hung on her lips, "Our drinks are here." Sure enough, a plastic tray, laden with coffee was gingerly placed on the edge of the table. A pair of hands, slender and elegant, removed two glasses full of ice and dark brown liquid. Fletcher's eyes studied the pair for a moment, before quickly traveling up their owner’s arms, stopping when his eyes were met with a shock of stark white hair streaked with faint traces of red, like this barista had just walked out of one of those animes that Fletcher liked. Thick white strands framed a thin face, making those mocha colored eyes seem dark by comparison. Chocolate eyes met hazel counterparts, and despite the chill of his coffee, Fletcher felt a warmth spread through him. A slight pink tint spread over the barista’s face. How long had he been staring? Suddenly self-conscious, he pulled his eyes away from the barista, to find Hannah staring at him almost questioningly. “Thanks, Cale,” Hannah said bringing the glass to her lips. “Yeah, absolutely. Can I get you anything else?” Cale asked. “No, I think we’re good.” “Okay, enjoy,” he said, with a lopsided smile, before gliding away. 21

Inkwell Full Color (continued) “You’re blushing,” Hannah said, an amused smile played across her face. “What?” Fletcher said "Nothing, you have that test in marine biology today, right?" "Oh my God, don't remind me," Fletcher said, running fingers through chestnut locks. "It's in what, three hours and twenty-seven minutes?" Hannah said, chuckling slightly at her friend’s anxiety. "Who gives a test this close to finals anyway?" he asked, hands dropping back to the table. "Maybe he'll let you out of it, if you bring him a cappuccino," Hannah suggested, voice shifting into a vaguely Peruvian accent. Fletcher smiled, "Yeah, or maybe a nice scarf.” Hannah was saying something else, but he wasn't listening. Grey orbs had caught sight of the white haired Barista again. Fletcher watched as discreetly as he could, enthralled by the way that Cale moved, weaving swiftly through the crowded coffee shop. “Fletcher?” Hannah said, snapping his attention back to the present conversation. “Sorry, I’m just a little tired,” he replied, taking a sip. “We're you studying all night?" He nodded, savoring the chocolaty liquid and the caffeine that it brought. "Your test can't be that big. Flores isn't crazy enough to have it matter this close to finals." “I think you underestimate how crazy that man can be.” “Yeah, well don't freak out too much. You’ll be fine,” Hannah said quickly before taking a large swig from her crimson mug. “I’ll be right back.” “Maybe bringing cappuccino would be a good idea,” Fletcher mused to himself. Why not put Flores in a good caffeinated mood before he grades tests? With that, Fletcher stood and made his way back to the counter. The line had all but ceased to exist since his last order, so almost immediately, he faced a small blonde woman. Penny the manager, as her name tag called her, smiled up at him. “What can I get you?” “Cappuccino, please.” "Of course, that'll be $4.75. For here or to go?" "To go." Fletcher handed his card over to Penny the manager. She fiddled with the register for a moment, before smacking the machine squarely on its left side. "You know, you remind me of this guy I knew in college," Penny said anecdotally. Fletcher had stopped listening though, his eyes drawn inexplicably to her counterpart. Thin fingers flew deftly over buttons and levers that covered the large brass coffee maker behind the counter. "...had a few classes with him. I think he was an English major or something..." Creamy brown liquid dripped out of the machine into small red cups, filling the already aromatic shop with its tantalizing aroma. Hazel eyes watched, spellbound, as Cale's practiced hands topped each mug with steamed milk and foam, drawing leaves and hearts in the velvety froth. "...so he comes in, on the day of the final, wearing this huge red hat..." Steam rose off of bright red coffee mugs, as Cale placed them one by one onto a tray and carried off into the shop. Fletcher snapped himself back to reality. Uhm, what just happened? He thought, fighting of the pinkish hue that threatened to cover his face. "...and I told him, 'I don't want any of your pie,'" Penny the Manager said laughing. “Your cappuccino will be right out.” Fletcher smiled appreciatively. He turned around quickly, running straight into something. He caught a glimpse of white hair, and surprised brown eyes, before they both fell. The tray slipped out of the barista’s hands and clattered to the floor, spreading shards of red pottery and creamy brown liquid across the tile. 22

Inkwell Full Color (continued) There was a brief moment of silence, followed by the indecipherable whispering of the Red Mugs patrons. “Oh my God!” Cale exclaimed, untangling himself from the brunette. “I am so sorry!” “No, don't worry about it,” Fletcher replied quickly. “It was my fault.” Cale retrieved his tray and began filling it with shards of the red mugs. Following suit, Fletcher picked crimson pieces of pottery out of the foam. The barista drew a small towel out of his apron, and as quickly as it was made, the mess was cleared. Fletcher, hands dripping with mocha, picked himself up off of the floor. “I’m really sorry,” he said, pulling helping Cale up. “Are you okay?” Cale smiled appreciatively. “Yeah, I’m fine. Thanks for helping me clean up.” Fletcher smiled meekly back, trying to ignore the feeling in the pit of his stomach. The barista’s hair was even more interesting up close. Streaks of red snaked vibrantly through stark white and fell across his face in thick strands. “Well, I should probably throw these away,” Cale said quickly, before disappearing behind the counter. “How are you doing?” Hannah asked as Fletcher sat down at the table. “Did you make a new friend?” “Oh yeah,” Fletcher replied slumping into his seat. “I think I’ll curl up into a ball and die now.” Hannah smiled passively, “It wasn't that bad. Penny didn't even charge you for all that coffee.” Her eyes drifted down to Fletcher’s scarf. “That's probably going to stain.” “What!” he nearly shouted pulling the beige cloth from around his neck. Sure enough, there was a large coffee colored spot. Fletcher remembered when he got it. It was a two-month anniversary present from Niall. Funny how a strip of cloth could bring about such a response. “Hey, I’ve been meaning to ask you something,” Hannah said changing the subject. Hazel eyes wrenched themselves from the stain. “Yeah?” “For my final in Psych, I have to track the mood and behavioral patterns of people and make connections to stuff that’s happening in their lives,” she explained. “Do you think I could use you as one of my patients?” “Patient?” Fletcher questioned. “I didn't realize you’re already a doctor.” Hannah smiled, “I’ve always been a doctor, school is just a formality.” A thin smile spread across the brunette’s lip, but was quickly drawn back. “Sure,” he decided, “As long as you don't use shock therapy.” Hannah smiled, “Whatever the patient is most comfortable with.” Cale appeared by the brunette. “Your cappuccino,” he said, placing the red to go cup on the table. “I promise not to drop it this time.” Fletcher looked up. “Thank you,” he managed. Cales eyes darted to the scarf in Fletcher’s hands. “Oh, that was my fault, huh?” he asked gesturing toward the stain. “It hasn't set yet, let me wash it for you.” “Really?” “Of course,” Cale said tucking his empty tray under his arm. “I live in the loft upstairs. You can come by later to pick it up.” Fletcher blinked surprised. “That would be great, thank you,” he said, handing the barista his scarf. “Of course,” Cale replied, tucking the scarf into his apron pocket. “Enjoy your cappuccino.” Cale slipped away and Hannah studied her friend’s face. What was a minute ago mournful and gloomy, was now different. Fletcher seemed lighter than he had when he walked into the Red Mug.

Inkwell Full Color (continued) She glanced at her phone. “I should go,” she said, knocking back the rest of her mocha. “I have to be in class at ten.” “Okay,” he said. “I’ll text you after my test.” Hannah smiled, “ Yeah, have fun.”

Author Note: I've always loved reading and writing. Literature for me is synonymous with oxygen. I write mostly romance, which considering that I'm asexual, I personally think is super ironic. This piece is the first chunk of a novel that I've been writing these last few months. I chose this part because I like the small progression from somber to lighter and more hopeful. I think that's something we could all do with. This isn't for everyone. Some people might love this piece while others hate it. That's what all writers should strive for, though, to elicit an emotional response from our readers, regardless of what that might be. Also, the character Penny is based off of Mrs. McDowell.

Knotwork by Megan Scott, Grade 11

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Gundam READ by Bryton Spurgeon, Grade 10

Protected Earth by Maria Byrne, â€‹ Grade 9 25

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What Tomorrow Will Bring by Danya Youhanna, Grade 10 I feel like a soldier marching down green lands, Knowing that sooner or later I will hear cannonballs Shooting through my homeland, my dear heart and my years, Knowing that sooner or later I have to face my future and my fate, That sooner or later there would be a war to be fought. No, I feel a bit less than a soldier with a gun by his side, For he would go to war and would know the outcome of what lies ahead. Me. I still have a life ahead of me, sitting there to be uncovered, The outcome that would be hard to know or figure out, That cannot be read on my palm or in my coffee or in the skies above us all. There, a fox who runs up and down the hills with a juvenile enthusiasm, Not caring about this world and not knowing what life really means, Just knows to go where the wind carries him, Maybe to even wrong paths and obstacles, but who knows where? Did he ever think about Tomorrow or the next, That he'd find his friend’s fur hanging from a woman or in a room full of humans, That one day he would feel sad and lonely and all by himself? The flowers in the vase are laying there, motionless; They were cut from the back garden, their scent anew. Did the roses know where they would be taken next, And where Tomorrow will throw them off to? Did the soldier, ready to go to war, know he would die, Or the fox would end up like his friends, his fur hanging, a shade of shiny orange? Did the flowers know that they would be picked up And torn apart by kids or put in vases with others of their kind? Did they know what Tomorrow will bring? I wish for once that I would sleep And wake up to a day where no wounds are found, Where there is no tomorrow, just today, A place where no worries are found. Today, I am not suffering. Tomorrow, please don’t dawn on me. The courage in me is not enough to face you, nose to nose, Not like the soldier who gets shot and still rises to the horizon, Though wounded in the leg and in his heart deep down. After how hard I try, there still will be Tomorrow and time will tick by, But I have to face it all, like the soldier, like the fox, like the flowers, Like everyone else in this world. With Tomorrow dawning on mountains and grounds,

Inkwell “What Tomorrow Will Bring” (continued) I have to face it all, eye to eye. Time will move on and Tomorrow will come. Suffering will be found in my land, but standing tall is all I can do.

If Only One Day by Danya Youhanna, Grade 10 If only one day the sad bird would wake up To the moon crying its way through the mountain tops. The bird would skip from branch to branch, Looking around for the life long gone. He would skip from branch to branch, Still looking through the dark clouds and the dim sky, And the field that never bloomed of roses For it never knew what it meant to be smiling. The bird would stand tall, ready. He would breath, steady. He would open a box inside his heart, A box filled with songs, oh! so many! He would carry the tone from one tree to the next, Waking them up and making their leaves turn bright, Just when the sun is starting to bloom With the countless roses in the fields. They would rise and dance with the wind That whispers poems and endless odes. The sun would share its warmth with the mountains And everything would feel warm once again, Being all free and painless. That is if it happened one day. If only one day... If only once... And when will that day be? For the sad bird will remain sad, And the moon will cry his heart out to no one. The sun will not come, no more. The flowers nor the wind will whisper or dance. They will not know how, they will not. So will remain this heart. It will never find warmth Nor songs to sing the nights that grow deep.

Inkwell “If Only One Day” (continued) My heart never learned them. It will never rise and skip Across the grass where the roses grow and the fields stretch. My heart never knew where to look for them. It will remain that way, alone, Crying the many tears in nights so spooky, so chilling. Melancholy knocked on my door and I opened it. I had wrong thoughts about the guest. It stayed for long, so long. So where would I get my old heart back? If only one day the sad bird would wake up To the moon crying its way through the mountain tops... If only one day, just one... If only one day the bird of my heart will find the treasure of happiness once more. If only one day.

Away from Nightmares to New Ones by Danya Youhanna, Grade 10 Take my hand, dear, Don’t be frightened. I will take you with me To places away from your nightmares, The ones that haunt you for years at night, The ones that destroy you everyday, The ones that hold your past. I know all about it. I know all about your past. I also know the crimes that once were revenge, I know them all. I will take you, I promise, To a place with no harm, Away from wicked dreams. Though still there will be punishments, But let’s not consider that now, dear. My little angel, You know I will harm you none. Your soft hair,

Inkwell “Away from Nightmares to New Ones” (continued) Your bright, wondrous eyes, Your blood that flows through you without purpose. They are so wickedly gorgeous. My dear, now take my hands. To a safety net I will throw you in, And then you can be mine. Now don’t you be afraid. There is nothing to fear but fear itself, And there is something else, But now don’t worry about that. Just come with me to new lands. You will feel comfort. You will feel free. And maybe you will feel nothing when it comes to sleep. Though first of all, dear, Come with me, Into my cage, Where birds cry and moan, not sleep, and starve, And they will never escape. Now don’t withdraw from me. Come closer to my embrace. After all, past does follow you in your shadow, And then it kills you dead. I told you to not be afraid. You will have no more nightmares.

Author Note: I started writing after my sixth grade teacher read aloud one of my poems in class. She inspired me and until now I am thankful for her help, because without her I would not be where I am. With the encouragement of my family and teachers, I keep writing, trying to piece together words and figuring out metaphors. Poetry has shaped my life, and through poetry, I describe what I feel and what I see. - With “What Tomorrow will Bring,” the speaker explains how they wish that tomorrow would not come, because they know they would feel pain or sadness. The speaker explains that they feel like a soldier, a fox, and a flower in different types of situations. - In “Away from Nightmares to New Ones,” the person is speaking to another, telling them that they will help them escape the nightmares they have. This poem is contradicting, and the opposite is truth. Words were chosen to pull the reader into two different directions and for the reader to pick out the truth from the lies. - With “If Only One Day,” I tried to explain how the person wishes there would be a day where happiness would be back to them, and the bird would sing and make everything happy and awake once again.

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Girl of Fire by Megan Scott, Grade 11

Flower Child by L Caraveo, Grade 11

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Fictional Excerpts by Kens McClure, G rade 11 Stranger His colours were so calm and earthy, his tone so mild and subtle, that to look up in his face and notice his eyes to be a bright and shining blue was truly startling. Set deep in the chiseled stone of his face, they gave him the appearance to have knowledge beyond the norm and wisdom surpassing anything I'd ever known. He frightened me. The man stepped gingerly over the greens, carefully scanning the newly tilled earth so as not to damage anything on his way across the garden. I respectfully stood up and set aside my rake and shovel to acknowledge his presence amongst my peppers and petunias. "I heard footsteps passing by," the man greeted, squinting at me against the sunset, "and I would never have guessed that they be yours!" --------------Simeon On one boisterous autumn evening, the edges of the evening sky were a rosy cream that faded into smoky violet atop silhouetted mountains. Crickets and cicadas click-clacked their nighttime melodies, and the trees waved to a slowly rising moon. The swaying grass grew as cold as death's fingertips. The city started closing its eyes. Creatures of the night stretched their limbs as their day began; and in the midst of the city, high above the heart of it in an empty clock tower, a boy named Simeon awoke with a start. His day was beginning too. -------------- Sick In my head, my brain is an inflamed, raw, heavy mass pounding against the inside of my skull. My nose is a sticky, useless mound with a dam inside, all liquid stored behind while any air is kept from flowing through. My heart is a fluttering bird with broken wings, teetering on the edge of existence. My lips are bleeding grubs that have been split open over and over every time they try to spread apart. My chest is a mere canyon, jagged and shuddering when wind attempts to blow through it; my throat a dry ravine that has been cut by too many sharp torrents. My eyes are narrow red windows lined with rain; their lids rusty, crusty shutters. My stomach is a dense sack of cotton and my ears are echoing chasms filled with air and stoppered with wax. I really don't think I'll be eating today.

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Untitled by Anonymous, Grade 12 After the funeral, I dragged my feet around our studio apartment, wearing his shirt. I turned on his favorite song, Asleep by The Smiths. I felt a pain in my chest, like all of the air was being sucked out of my lungs. I couldn’t breathe. Tears started to fall. I grabbed my chest and fell to the floor sobbing uncontrollably. Breathing became harder and my whole body started aching. It became unbearable. Memories of him occupied my thoughts. “Stay still. I want a picture,” he said focusing on his camera. I stuck my tongue out while pulling my hood over my face, “No. I look gross today.” “You look beautiful. As always.” “You’re just saying that so I’ll pose.” “Yeah, I am.” My head fell back as I laughed. I heard a click. “Jase!” “That’s a great one. Babe, you look amazing. Please.” He stuck his bottom lip out, doing his famous puppy dog face. I couldn’t say no to that. “I love you, babe.” “I love you too.” And he flashed me his smile that made my knees weak every time. I didn’t know which one was worse. Thinking of the good times or the bad. Both hurt. When the song was over, the whole apartment fell to silence. The apartment was never quiet. Jase always wanted his music playing while working. Without his music playing, the apartment was lonely and empty. It didn’t feel like our home anymore. I slowly pulled myself up and headed over to his desk. Photos of me, our bookstore, the once wonderful city we lived in, and various others were spread around his desk. I twisted my finger around the bottom of his shirt, admiring his wonderful work. Photography was his life. His passion. His love. I sat down in his chair as I continued looking. Then something caught my eye. A little black box not carefully hidden under some papers. I took it into my hands and opened it. Inside there was a small diamond ring. My mouth fell open and tears started to build up again. The ring was small and beautiful, with its silver band and its single square diamond in the middle. He was going to propose. I slid the ring onto my ring finger and it fit perfectly. “I love you, Jase,” I whispered as I admired the ring. I wished he was actually there to hear that. I imagined over and over how it happened. Jase was on his way home when he was attacked. The cops told me that it was a mugging gone wrong. Mugging became murder. The man tried to take his camera and his wallet. Jase fought back. But what Jase didn’t know was that the man had a gun. The bullet went straight through his chest. Odd thing was, his camera and wallet was left there. The cops say he must’ve gotten scared after he shot him and left. The jerk hasn’t been caught. I felt sick to my stomach that Jase hasn’t gotten the justice he deserves.

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Fall Asleep with a Good Book by Clarissa J Rossman, â€‹ Grade 10 She brushed her bangs out of her eyes and settled on the ground against a couch with the book on her lap. The golden sunlight streamed through the windows and fell upon the word-filled pages at her fingertips. She fell away from the world around her and into the one of the book. The adjectives describing every little detail made her feel as though she were there, and the adverbs explaining just how everything was carried out gave her the impression of actually being part of the adventure. From the dangerous duels to the sweet moments in between, this was her paradise. The words captivated and charmed her as well as played with her emotions and put her in suspense at parts. She stayed happily like this for minutes, and those minutes stretched on into hours. The sunlight that once poured through the window was now fading. She turned on a lamp to permit her to see, and her husband kindly brought a plate of dinner to her, and she managed to pull herself away from her world long enough to say thank you. She read on and on for quite some time. As she read on, though, she barely even noticed her eyelids drooping. Her head began to bounce slowly, as she fought to continue reading. Her body begged for a rest, but her mind begged to know the end. Her eyelids grew increasingly heavier, and she fought to keep them open. Her words swam by the page, without her really ever reading them correctly. Words swam by, without her ever, really ever, really ever reading them, them reading by the page, page without her, mind begged....swam by the the page....ever.....really, really, ever really.....everrrrrr.....read, reading, read ever...... Without her entirely realizing, her eyes closed for a few seconds and her head fell back against the sofa behind her. Though she had no way of knowing whatever came next in her book, her mind went off into its own story world as she began to dream. The book fell limply at her side, still mostly in her slumbering grasp. Her breathing grew slow and steady, and she was asleep. Her husband looked up at the clock on the wall and wondered if his wife was still engrossed in her novel. The hour was late, and according to the yawn that escaped him just then, it was about time to head to bed. He headed over to the room where he had last left his wife, and upon his arrival, discovered her sleeping on the floor against the couch with the book at her side, a finger still marking her place. He looked at her for a moment, taking in her image there, the classic picture of "falling asleep with a good book," before grabbing a bookmark to replace her finger in the book and then setting it on the couch. He knelt down and easily scooped up his wife in his arms. As he stood up, her unconscious head fell gently to rest on his chest. He could feel her deep breathing, as he carried her off to bed. He managed to somehow get her under the covers gently and safely without waking her, then he brushed her hair out of her face and gave her a kiss on her forehead before whispering goodnight and heading to bed himself.

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451 by J. Grover, Grade 12 Artist Note: This piece is based off of the novel Fahrenheit 451. In the novel, books are illegal and are to be burned. The piece shows a book also being used as a box of matches and in flames with a quote from the book: "It was a pleasure to burn."

The catcher in the rye. by J. Grover, Grade 12 Artist Note: This piece is based off an image from the book, The Catcher In The Rye. It shows the main character, Holden, smoking, wearing his red hunting hat and the puffs of smoke turning into a duck.

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Epitaph by Clarissa J Rossman, Grade 10 I’ll sing and dance and dream things no more, Because that old witch came up to my door. I should have listened and not let anyone in To kill with a dress or a comb is a sin. Now you know that one day my prince will come kiss me But until then, I know you will miss me.

Staff Memo from “Management”

Dear Staff Members: This memo is to remind you all that “blackflowing” is not a noun; it is a verb. Secondly, we do not keep the “good ones” in the back. All Inkwell editions are the same. Also, please note that whoever keeps yelling, “We are going to be late for anime school,” is now fired due to constant panic throughout the staff population. Thank you. Love, Management

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Contributors Aaron Hernandez Anonymous A Anonymous B Anonymous C Benafsha Mohammad Brendan Sherwin Bryton Spurgeon Clarissa J Rossman Danya Youhanna DarkCheshireKat DarkLady Sethra J. Grover Jenna Northum Juewls Bryan K. Godwin K. Kilber Kai A. Kens McClure L Caraveo Management Maria Byrne Maya Martinez Megan Scott Mikaylin J. Leach Parker Low Sharon Kwon Tanya Joseph Victoria Baker

3 4 13 32 9 11 25 14, 15, 33, 35 26-29 17-18 10, 12 16, 34 2, 14 2 20-24 6 1 4, 7-8, 31 30 35 25 9 11, 24, 30 3 19 5 19 5

Inkwell is a West Hills High School tradition revived this year after being rediscovered. Members of the West Hills Readers and Writers Club would like to thank: All of you, our kind readers of Inkwell Students from previous Inwell editions who paved the way Previous Inkwell advisors Mr. Acosta & Mr. Tricarico for advice Staff members who encouraged students to submit work to I nkwell Students who bravely shared work to be included in this edition of I nkwell Write Steve Montgomery for donating materials to our library about writing Santee Public Librarians Danielle Clayton & Desirae Helms for fueling our creativity Authors Maggie Hall, Stephanie Diaz, & Susan Adrian for inspiring us with their visit Mysterious Galaxy Bookstore for helping West Hills host the above authors Principals Robin Ballarin & Paul Dautremont for their guidance & support Grossmont Union High School District Curriculum Department Grossmont Union High School District Print Shop

We dedicate this edition to Ryan Willweber. You are missed.

We are One We are the Pack