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Inkwell The Literary-Art Magazine of West Hills High School
2015-16 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 12 Kellie Brock, Grade 12 Clarissa Rossman, Grade 11
Cover Artwork Clarissa Rossman, Grade 11
Teacher Editor William Dudley, Volunteer
Faculty Advisor Suzanne Sannwald, T eacher Librarian
Inkwell POETRY “You may now take the floor” Four Poems Flickering I Thought Dreams Untitled It’s Like Of Monsters or Of Men Poems City of Umbrellas The Treasure Unforeseen By the Candlelight How Lovely You Do Look I Will See You Again
Julia Bryan Julia Bryan DarkSeth DarkSeth Anonymous S.M. DarkSeth Korra May Galligher Jacob Th. Henderson David Michael Denniston David Michael Denniston Danya Youhanna Clarissa J Rossman Korra May Galligher
Limwen’s Peril Do I Know You? 39 & 46 How long does it take to fall out of love. Masks A reminder
Clarissa J Rossman PurpleSky E. Fugate Zara Zara Zara
1 8 14 14 16 17 18 21 23 24 25 26 30 31
ARTWORK Unnamed The Pacifist Celtic Angel Phantom Man Falconer Drawings Caysi (2012); Bryn (2012) Hi Always Thought I’d Float Away Attack (2013) Crowe Drawings Perception is Reality Balance Cecek Photos and Origami All the Stars are Laughing When You’re Tame
Ashly Robinson Allie Dopp Megan Scott J.P. Cobb Jose Ramirez Elisabeth Wood Glenn Glenn Ally Sapiano Glenn Ashly Robinson Glenn Jolynn Skinner Jolynn Skinner Benafsha Mohammad Magno Mateo Megan Scott
3 6 11 13 15 19
2 2 4 5 5 10 12 16 17 18 20 22 24 25 29 30 32
“You may now take the floor” by Julia Bryan, Grade 12
I breathe in the applause The cheers The screams My makeup has already begun to sweat off I walk onto the floor Rifle goes here Sabre goes here Flag goes here I look towards the crowd I give them a “I got this” smirk I got this I stand My body facing the 45 Head down Hands in fists
“Is the guard ready?” “5,6,7,8” snap The floor is mine
Character Design by Ashly Robinson, G rade 12
Mechanical Typewriter ASCII Art by Allie Dopp, G rade 11 2
Author Note: A short story depicting the
by Clarissa J Rossman, Grade 11
adventure of a fairy caught in a storm.
The rain splattered down as the wind howled fiercely. Limwen struggled to return home as the powerful gushes of air forced her backwards. Her wings were no doubt soaked by now, so she had no hope of flight. Even if she could fly, the wind would surely carry her off into the unknown. She trudged forward, digging her heels into the ground that was turning to mud. She continued forward with all her strength, but it was no use as the wind was much stronger than she. Slowly they began to overcome her until she found herself airborne and spiraling helplessly in the wind’s clutches. She was tossed and thrown against her will in the storm. Limwen soon noticed that the wind was propelling her closer to the human dwelling. She could not allow that, she might be seen! She redoubled her efforts in an attempt to get away, but the house appeared to be coming closer by each passing millisecond. In a panic she curled up, squeezed her eyes shut, and covered her head, bracing herself to collide with it. A mere second later, there was a pain in her head and the hand covering it. Then all went dark. She awoke slowly to a strange smell, it almost reminded her of a squirrel...or perhaps a chipmunk.....but no, that wasn’t it either. She cautiously opened her eyes only to shriek in terror at the large furry face before her. She scrambled to stand up and fled to a nearby chair, then hid underneath the flaps of fabric that hung from it and touched the ground. It was dark beneath the chair, which was immensely huge in comparison to her own four inches of height, but she hurriedly made her way to the far leg of the chair. She clung to it desperately as she caught her breath. From the outside of the fabric, she heard barking from the hound that had greeted her upon awakening. Limwen heard the sound of sniffing as it searched for her eagerly. She held her breath in the hope that it would not hear her, but she was betrayed by the mongrel’s acute sense of smell. It sniffed its way around the chair until it was just next to her with only a flap of fabric separating them. As the dog’s nose found its way under, Limwen ran to the other side of the chair and out from underneath it, over to a nearby table. But the pup, for the dog was quite young, scampered over on its large uncoordinated paws that he had not yet grown into. In a panic, Limwen continued to run, but the dog was much quicker on longer legs. He towered over her as she found herself cornered into the wall. She held her breath. Closed her eyes. Prepared herself for an untimely demise. She waited, then to her surprise felt a sticky wetness across her arm. She opened her eyes to see the puppy was licking her. She remained frozen, but he appeared to have no intent of devouring her. Slowly she began to move, unclenching her muscles, then walked around to the side of the dog’s continued on next page 3
Limwen’s Peril (continued) muzzle. Hesitantly she raised her tiny hand up and began stroking his snout, then feeling encouraged, went on to scratch behind his ear. Realising that she was in no immediate danger, Limwen looked around the room she was in. It was a human room no doubt, everything in it was so large to her: The couch, the table, the chairs, the shelves, even the thick carpet took some climbing to get on top of. Then as she looked about, she saw an open window with drapes flapping gently in the breeze. Sun shone in through the window and Limwen realized that the storm had stopped and she was free to leave. She went to stretch her wings so as to fly off, but found that they were damp, too heavy to fly. She looked about for a way to get to the window ledge. Then she looked at the pup, he was young, but perhaps on his hind legs he could be tall enough. She saw a stuffed toy sprawled on the floor across the room. She ran to it and lifted it, for it was rather light in weight. Then with all her might, she tossed it onto the window ledge. The dog, who had continued watching the small winged girl eagerly, saw her toss the toy and quickly turned to retrieve it. Seeing this, Limwen ran and jumped onto him, clutching his short black fur. As he ran, she used the fur to climb up to the top of his head. So when he leaped up to snatch the toy she’d thrown, she made a mighty jump of her own onto the ledge. She stumbled about, then tottered off the edge and into the grass outside. She stood up, straightened her dress, then set off across the field to her own little home in the trees.
By Megan Scott, Grade 12
Phantom Man By J.P. Cobb, Grade 12
By Jose Ramirez, Grade 12
Do I Know You?
Excerpt from longer work by PurpleSky, Grade 12 “You do not want to go that way, boy, travellers have been known to disappear off that path,” the old man warned. James looked down the path. The dirt was slightly worn as if only a few people had walked along it. “I need to. I need to find my sister. A few days ago, she went for a walk in the woods and she never came home.” James started toward the path. The old man grabbed his arm. “If I cannot keep you from going, then at least heed this bit of advice: the trees tell tales to those who care to listen. If you ask, they may be able to tell you something about your sister.” He let go of James’s arm. “Good luck. You will need it wherever you go. Especially down that path.” James took a deep breath and started down the path. The old man’s footsteps were suddenly silenced. James looked back sharply. The old man was still walking away, but it was as if there was an invisible barrier separating them. James sighed. Luck. Our ever so ironic last name. I have a feeling that this is not going to go well. The woods were quiet. Not silent, but nothing out of the ordinary. He wandered for a little while longer before he remembered the old man’s advice. A sk the trees. James looked around him skeptically. “Hello?” he called out. At first, nothing happened. Then slowly, very slowly, the leaves began to rustle. Rough whispers could be heard. “You are the first asker in many centuries,” the trees said. “What is it you wish to ask?” “Have you seen my sister? Do you know what happened to her?” “Does she go by the name of Amber Luck?” “Yes. She is my sister.” “Amber did come down this path four days ago. She seemed distraught for an unknown reason.” James frowned. “Do you know why?” “She said she wished to live a life of her own, not one destined by her parents.” “Our parents only want what is best for us. We are but an average peasant family.” “Amber said what she said. The shadows heard her plea and gave her the option to have another life. They sent her to another world.” “What?” James was bewildered. “The shadows were able to open a gate and take her to a different world. A new place, a new continued on next page 6
Do I Know You? (continued) identity, a new life.” “Can you send me to her? Please?” “We can. Take this.” The leaves rustled again and a round pendant attached to a cord fell out of one of the trees. “When you wish to return, tell the pendant you wish to return home. You are able to bring Amber back as well.” Suddenly, a wind rushed along the path James was standing on. A doorway appeared in the middle of the path. “Walk through and you will be in the world your sister is in. Best of luck to you on your journey.” James bowed his head. “Thank you. You do not know how much this means to me.” He turned and walked through the portal. “I will find you, Amber,” James whispered. There was a rushing noise and color as he walked through. When everything settled around, James looked around him. “What in the name of the king?!?” The dark woods of Medieval Europe were gone. In its place was a bustling city that he later learned was in the 21st century. How am I supposed to find Amber in a place like this? James shoved the pendant in his jacket pocket, but something didn’t feel right. He looked down and gawked at what he was wearing. His simple, well worn clothes were replaced by slim fitting pants made of a stiff material, a loose shirt, a jacket made of cotton, and shoes with ties on them. What am I wearing? Well, at least I will not stand out too much while I am here. James started walking around the park where he landed, looking for Amber. Come on, Amber... I know you have to be around here somewhere... James saw a boy and a girl sitting under a tree. It was her. James composed himself and walked over to the couple. “Amber? Is that you?” he asked. Startled, the girl looked up. She looked exactly the same as James remembered, just in different clothing. But something was off. The look in her eyes didn’t make any sense. “I’m sorry,” Amber began. “Do I know you?”
The first one Dear I shouldn't call you dear by Julia Bryan, Grade 12 Not after what happened I wish you weren't still dear to me I wish we had never tried to be more I wish I had never fallen I wish you had I wish I had been good enough I wish I didn't care still I wish that every time I hear your voice I’m not pulled into the memories of what we were Of what I hoped we would be I wish I could forget the taste of you The second one I wish I could forget the feel of your hand in mine This is wrong I wish I could forget all the bitter sweet memories This is perfect! I wish you cared more This is not gonna end well I wish you had loved me I wish I could stop loving you This could end wonderfully! I miss being your friend I don't want to ruin things Friends, lovers or nothing Nothing bad is gonna happen I wish we were what we were before I don't think this is right I think it's perfect What if we are nothing after this What if we are something after this What if they find out What if this is like last time? Confusion What if I fall? What if I let him in? What if he lets me in? Wait what Kylo Ren kills Han Solo Well then Hey we should head to the car Bye CJ Oh no what's going to happen? AHG Why am i like this Well that's over Han Solo is dead continued on next page 8
Four Poems (continued) The third one I see you in posts I see on Facebook I nearly tag you I forgot I had to block you. Dang I thought we worked But then again you probably thought you got away with it, huh? Hate game, not the player, right? The player should know the rules Learn the rules before you play I know the game I should You know so many games, but you can't figure this one out You pulled me back in I really didn't think you would But I was expecting it A little bit The fourth one You really tried to break me It’s raining. You didn't break me though My internet went out. You don't play a player My service is unavailable. I almost felt bad for you I can't talk to you. You let me slip away I hope you don't think I'm ignoring you. I should feel bad for you I'm not. You still think it’s a game I wish you were here. I'm 3,000 miles away. I just want you next to me. We could fall asleep. Close our eyes and synchronize our breathing. Let's get lost. Lose consciousness. Give into sleep. Allow the dreams to take us away. We are young. We can still dream for a little while. I want to wake up next to you. I want the cliche romance. My internet is still out. I can't tell you goodnight. Goodnight. Sweet dreams.
by Elisabeth Wood, Grade 11 Stroke of a Pencil
Stroke of a Pen
39 & 46
Excerpt from a longer work by E. Fugate, Grade 11 I can still remember it perfectly. You were leaning against the wall in the coffee shop reading your book in a highly clichéd yet biblical way. With one hand on the book and the other holding a to-go cup, steam billowed out the top and created a fog around your chiseled face. I could almost feel my pupils dilate as I stared at you from my spot in the outrageously long line. But the wait for once didn’t bother me. Watching you was distraction enough. Every few seconds you would flip the page or sip your drink, your eyes never leaving the page. “Oh! Hey!” A barista I had come to know as Marty smiled widely bringing me back to reality. “Do you want your usual?” His smile would usually force me to smile as well but I couldn't speak. I was lost for words because the beautiful man had muted me. I nodded and stepped out of the line attempting to find another spot where I could watch you from afar again. My peach tea was up in seconds, though I found myself wishing the service was slow. I can remember the loud sigh I let out when Marty screamed my name into the warm coffee shop air. I reluctantly walked to the counter and scooped up my cup, nodding in thanks to Marty and slipping a bill into the tip jar, forcing a smirk as I did so. When I turned back to where you -the gorgeous man- had been standing, you were gone. I rolled my eyes and sulked back to the parking lot. The cold brisk February air from the sea claimed my body quickly even though I wore a tight pink short sleeve shirt under a jean jacket I had decorated with the pins I collected from campaigns, tours, and even some that Ross had found in flea markets for me. I blamed my freezingness on the slight showing of my midriff as I kicked the dirt. My jeans felt tighter than they had inside the cafe once I had stepped out into the moist air. Everything seemed terrible after I burned my tongue on my tea as I searched for my car. The wind picked up and my short blonde hair blew furiously blocking my sight for seconds. When I finally had settled the mess down, I was standing in front of the pale pink slug bug I called my car and there you were, leaning against it, effortlessly, but now you were looking up at me with the most magnificent smile I had ever seen. “I figured this one was yours.” I hated the fact that I bit my lip when you spoke that first time. Can you blame me though? You were English. I held my ground, “Wha-wha-what are you doing?” continued on next page
Excerpt from 39 & 46 (continued) Not. “Waiting for the pretty coffee shop girl to make a move.” You were making your way towards me now, even the way you walked made my knees weak. You had left your book and coffee on the hood of the pink bug I had named “Alfie.” I caught a glimpse of the title when I pulled my eyes away from you reluctantly. “The Beautiful and The Damned.” I loved that book. I could see the copy was worn and torn like my own was; I hoped that meant you loved it as well. “But what if she’s waiting for you to make a move?” I looked back up at you, I hadn't realized how tall you were, but you were so close now that I couldn’t think about that, or your black curly hair that flowed in the ocean breeze as mine was. I could smell the coffee on your breath, and oh man, was it distracting. Your eyes were so blue, bluer than the water behind us. “What then?” I sassed trying to feel confident. “Whatever you want, Specs.” A deep blush had taken over my cheeks and a smile dimpled them as I pushed up my large framed glasses. “Well, Specs wants a walk on the beach.” “Then a walk Specs gets,” you said and took my hand in your own. When we reached the sand, you introduced yourself to me, but I couldn't hear your words over the sound of sea. God I missed that when I look at you now.
by Glenn, Grade 12
by Glenn, Grade 12
How long does it take to fall out of love. By Zara, G rade 11
They say it can take three seconds to fall in love with someone, but how long does it take to fall out of love? A long time right? Maybe it's better not to fall in love. But then I see all these happy couples and I am afraid I won't find love again. Sometimes I feel afraid that there is no one in this entire world that would be able to understand me and love me for who I am, like you did. I am afraid to fall in love, in fear of being hurt again, but I can't help but long for love like the one we shared. Why can’t I make up my mind? It's human nature to long for love, right? But why does it hurt so much? How do I get past my fears? How can I make a life for myself now that you're no longer here? Why did you have to die? It's not fair. Then again, life's not fair. It hurts so much not having you by my side. I know everything happens for a reason, but I wish I knew what the reason was to have you taken from me. I feel so alone without you. You're gone. There is no more us. No more hugs. No more forgetting about our problems and just staying in each other's arms. No more late nights talking together. No more plans on running away together. You are gone and never coming back. I know that, but it is so hard to accept. How do you let go of someone you can't live without? When will my heart no longer ache like this? I know it's best to move on, but I am scared to. I am scared to let people in again, scared to be hurt again. Before I met him, I felt that it was much better to be alone than to take the chance and let someone in. He slowly took down all my walls piece by piece. He promised me that he would never leave me, but he lied. I don't hate him for it, I could never hate him, I love him with all my heart. But that doesn't take away the pain I feel or make it easier. It does not fill the hole that he left me with. My biggest regret is not telling him I was in love with him.
Author Note: This piece is something I wrote quite a while ago, but I still would like to share it.
Love is fleeting, and you will regret it if you never confess to the person you love.
by DarkSeth, Grade 12 I keep screaming and crying, Sighing and dying, Not knowing who I am. Your voice, it surrounds me, Holds me, it binds me, Yet I never see your face. I keep reaching and searching, Grasping and looking, To get a glimpse of you. But you run and you hide, You fear, and you lie, Afraid of the world. My light it is fading, Flickering, dying, Alone in the dark. Your heart, it regrets me, Remembers, forgets me, And crying it lets me go. But I grip and I hold, I will never let go, Of the warmth of your life. Your caress I remember, To your tears I surrender, At the last close of my eyes.
by DarkSeth, Grade 12 I thought I told you I did not care, I thought I told you to get out of there. My mind is screaming, I don't hear a word. Does it hurt now that you know? Does it twist inside your soul? My heart is breaking, I don't feel the cracks. I thought you heard and fled, I thought you gone and dead. My hands are reaching, I don't have the strength. Does it sit well with you? Does it drag you down?
By Zara, G â€‹rade 11 I am sure that everyone has a side of them they don't want others to see. People tend to wear a mask, to hide what they don't want to show, to hide who they truly are. Just because you see it, doesn't mean it's true. Seeing is deceiving, every word is a lie. No one is who they say they are. That's why life is like a masquerade. And that's how me and him went about our separate lives, deceiving everyone, even ourselves. Until that one fateful day when our two broken souls met on a street corner. It was like we were drawn together, there in the pouring rain, in front of a small cafe. We had a great time together but it was short lived because soon I was the only one that was still broken. Things don't just fall apart. People break them. Our short lived relationship was proof of that. We hurt people, we get hurt, and sometimes we just stand and watch as people hurt others. And someday when we grow up, we'll forget it, or regret it. "I hate you!" I screamed at him, itching so badly to throw something, anything. I wanted to break his heart, his soul. He didn't deserve to be whole, because I still wasn't, and could never be. That thought alone, made me so angry and afraid. I was afraid that if he was no longer broken as I was, he would leave, and I wouldn't be able to deal with that. I was afraid I would be alone again, scared that this happiness was going to end when it just started. I was scared of him betraying my feelings. I felt that if I lost him, I'd lose everything. We both tried so hard to hold on, but the end finally came. The two of us got silent when we were parting. We murmured to each other. "See you." "Thanks. "Sorry." "Goodbye." It's all over now, but I won't cry. No matter how much I want to, I won't. Because somehow I knew. I knew somewhere deep in my heart, that this was bound to fall apart, but I wasn't expecting it to end like this. And in a moment I was alone once again. I hate being alone. I felt like crying, but even if I did, nothing would change. I have to be strong. I will give up on him. One day, it will become just a small pain in my chest when I think of what we had. One day, my whole body won't ache from sadness, and I won't be sad anymore. I don't want to say goodbye, but I let him go because I know it's for the best. Author Note: â€‹ Parting can be painful, but sometimes it's for the best 15
Author Note: This writing is about how dreams can
turn to nightmares that overwhelm and change how we act as people.
by Anonymous, Grade 11
Occasionally I will dream. Vivid images will flash ceaselessly across my brain, captivating my mind with sea creatures to comets meandering throughout our unimaginable and unexplainable solar system. Nevertheless, these dreams turn eerie as the peace of the sea drains and glimpses from the past immerse the cavern of curiosity within me, replacing the barricade that once repelled all nightmares, forcing me to slowly go insane.
by Glenn, Grade 12
Author Note: I have never really
by S.M, Grade 11
written poetry, but I read it all the time. I jotted this down a few months ago & I've found I'm very proud of it. This very short poem helped me express some struggles I was going through a little while ago.
She was not… She could not… She did not… She was a knot of nots that could not be unraveled
Always Thought I'd Float Away by Ally Sapiano, Grade 12
by DarkSeth, Grade 12
Author Note: A short poem reminiscent of a panic
attack. This is not a representation of every panic attack, but is based on the experience of the author.
It’s like there’s a physical pain in your chest that you feel on a soul-deep level, that just burrows and burrows and burrows , and gnaws and gnaws and gnaws. It’s like being torn to pieces, scattered into the wind and lost forever. Like you're constantly screaming in your mind and you can barely hear the real world, but at the same time it’s an overwhelming silence in your head that you want to go away. It’s feeling like your limbs are shaking but they're actually steady and you don't know which is the reality. It’s like feeling too in pain to breathe and surprised that you haven’t passed out yet. It’s feeling like everything hurts so much t hat all you want to do is curl up in a small corner and forget everything, to not move because you physically can’t, to not care what happens anymore but knowing the inaction will be even worse than pretending you're ok.
by Glenn, Grade 12
Author Note: I wrote this kinda a while ago, as a
way to express myself. The past can make you stronger and you learn from your mistakes.
by Zara, Grade 11
Today I was reminded. A friendWait, no not really a friend. More like an acquaintance. In fact we never really talked. We only met once, but I could tell she was like me. She worked in the same place I did and went to the same school but we never talked. It was back during a time where I could still smile even if my world was falling apart around me. And she too, had her world caving in on her, and easily saw through my false smile. She came up to me once and asked"Why do you smile, even if you're broken on the inside?" she asked like it was the strangest thing in the world. “Well I can't do anything else,” I found myself replying. "Wouldn't it be better to cry?" she asked. “Well then I would be miserable, wouldn't I?” I asked her. "Well personally, I think that acting like you're okay makes you more miserable," she replied. And it was the strangest thing, for the rest of the day we mostly sat in a comparable silence, only making small talk here and there. The next day she disappeared off the face of the earth, and I never saw her again. And I wished I would have listened to what she said, but instead I was foolish. I dismissed her words and soon forgot them. I continued to bottle up my true feelings, hiding it all behind a smile. And one day it all became too much, I couldn't take it anymore. I felt like I was drowning, and I couldn't get out no matter how hard I tried. And with each day that passed, it got harder and harder to hold on. I stopped eating. Food became the enemy. I didn't have an appetite. Even if I did eat, it made my stomach burn like I swallowed hot coals. I stopped sleeping. My nights became haunted. The once peaceful nights became fearful. I used to love sleeping, it was a way to forget your pain and sorrow. It was a way to forget stress, to forget about my problems. It was a way to forget about everything, even if it was only for a short time. I stopped caring about things and spent more time in the house, when I used to love the outdoors. It became hard just to get out of bed. And I hated myself. I wallowed in self-pity and then hated myself for feeling sorry for myself because I know that people have it worse. I wanted someone to come and make it all better, but I knew that would not happen. I continued on next page 19
A reminder (continued) had to want to be better and I was the only one who could fix me. It was long and slow and I fell many times, but I somehow found the courage and strength to pick myself up. I didn't do it alone, I had found help. I still struggle today, but I have the memory of someone that keeps me going. I find it easy to write about pain, and all the things in the world that hurt. It's easy to have people read it, to feel it, to feel understood. There is beauty when people have connections. It's also easy to forget that there is beauty in this world. There is beauty in life and being alive even if it gets painful. There is wonder in freedom and feeling, even if those feeling are bitter. There is beauty in love even if it can be the most painful thing in the world. Today is one of my up days, I feel happy. And the suffering feels worth it. Although I know that I will hurt again, but that's just life. The pain I feel is proof that I am alive. I am still alive.
by Ashly Robinson, Grade 12
Of Monsters or Of Men by Korra May Galligher, Grade 9
Take care dear child, as not to be fooled by the glamour of sin. Listen to your mother and your father and lock yourself in. Immerse yourself in all that is righteous and true before the monsters come to seek You. They will show you no mercy, no kindness, no heart; so my dear child, you must keep away from their wicked art. The world is cruel and unforgiving, lo as we the sons and daughters of Adam and Eve have made it so. Escape from the evil be it by the sword or by the pen for in this world, you are either of monsters or you are of men. The choice is yours my child, as only you can choose your fate. You may choose the path of love or the path of hate. That is the only worthy advice I can give you for now, and how to choose your path, my dear, I don’t know how.
Author Note: My name is Korra Gallagher, I am 14 years old, and I am a ninth grader. I have loved poetry
and books since I was little, especially fairy tales and period novels. I love to write as well. It's always been an outlet to express how I feel, or sometimes I'll have some wacky idea for a character and write a story about them. This poem is about choosing your path in life. I know there are a lot Seniors and Juniors, even Sophomores and Freshmen, who are apprehensive about making the right choices and starting their life as people. This poem is from the point of view of someone who has already made these choices and is giving advice to someone who is about to go down their own path. I hope that this poem can help those who are confused as to where they should go. You're not alone.
Drawings by Glenn, G rade 12
A Dragon (2013)
Sure why not (2013)
Not a Dragon (2012)
by Jacob Th. Henderson, Grade 9 God’s Water: A god’s water is water, We have limited our water, The water to quench our thirst, To keep us hydrated, but now with our greed we devoured it all So now we call it God’s water. Mortal Men: Men are many things; Speechful, teaching and different every time, But they are also stubborn, deceitful, and negative, Gods are the same, from every religion, there is no difference from immortal and mortal, But only men can choose to grow famous or to melt away into obscurity. Fail: Humanity does not fail, it prevails 〰〰〰〰〰
Shall I stand up to the man, or shall I kneel before him. 〰〰〰〰〰
Knowledge is an open door, as is the mind; open both to reach enlightenment. Plastic: Upon the factory lines I was made, with my millions of plastic brothers and sisters, our jobs are simple, we are bought to quench thirst, after that we are either Recycled or dropped and forgotten, to rot away, Now we have something else to do, We can release our plastic caps into the air. Knowledge: When searching for knowledge, do not give up looking for it or those who forget It shall try to start searching for that abandoned knowledge to take it for themselves. 〰〰〰〰〰
With this feather and ink, I write, But why do I do this? For the people who need it, like when I needed it in the before. 23
City of Umbrellas
by David Michael Denniston, G rade 12 Crowded, huddled, marching; The mass of black keeps on trekking. The rhythmic step keeps to its own beat As the people retreated into their foliage of darkness. Droplets adhere to the membrane And in the next moment slip onto the pavement. Leering from underneath, Humanity peeks at the aeonian rainfall And scoffs at its passing. Dancing, laughing, singing; The man of filth releases a cry. The former member sprints into the street As his perceived lunacy invites more joy. Life coalesces with his garments And drives out the death fastened in his pores. Floating above the road, His spirit abounds in this euphoria And embraces the heaven’s downpour. If the community could conceive What the dirty man felt, Then maybe they too will dance And be released from slavery.
Perception is Reality
by Jolynn Skinner, G rade 11
by Jolynn Skinner, G rade 11
The Treasure Unforeseen
by David Michael Denniston, G rade 12
Along the road broken hearts lay. One heart into many pieces. In the dry heat of the day they crumble, Signifying all the hurts of past, Yet they still smolder with pain Amongst the grains of dirt and rock. Who could toss away such value? Though it is the reality of each day I walk through the result of it all. Through tragedy, through heartbreak, The curse; it always grows back Only to return to ashes along the wayside. “When will I find her?” I ask me. The answer never finds its way. Each time it grows back, the heart grows stronger, Somehow dying each and every time. I have stopped letting it grow for now, For once it does, it will only die, Except in such case that it is indeed her. Then maturation begins and the heart becomes whole. Only one who is worthy, who is willing, Whoever is kind, whoever is, will be. Under these conditions will it thrive; The others will never find the wealth inside its store holds.
By the Candlelight by Danya Youhanna, Grade 11
The candle flickered, almost gone. His eyes widened, carving the final words with the tip of his ink pen. His eyes were trying to stay open, but the sleepiness crept in like a shadow. His eyes were tired from the many nights and the many mornings that watched the hand move over the page. The night was calling in for bed, but the mind kept shouting words of poetry and memory. The moon was brightly lit, more than the candle for him to write his last words. The stars were in choir, singing the ultimate song of the night. His windows pushed the cold away, but the sound of the rain began to pound, at first soft droplets of tears, but then buckets of long-lasting showers. Listening to the orchestra of the storm and the thunder, and knowing that the approaching winter will be harsher, he shaped together his last lines, “And a beauty approached my door, a sun so bright it pushed the clouds afar, and a smile so large it wiped away war, with eyes so majestic, artists could not perfect.” He sighed, reread his lines, and sat back, reimagining the scene in his mind. What if a beauty did approach his door, once on a sunny day? What would she be like, how would he visualize her to be? She would be like a blooming garden, like the rhythmetic rain, continued on next page 26
By the Candlelight (continued) like the shallow waters of the creek. She would knock on his door, one rainy day such as this night, frightened and in need of help. She would say, “Oh, dear sir, my carriage broke, my driver is wet to the waist, my dress is soaking wet, and I am in need of shelter for one good night.” A beauty has swept through the doorsteps, he would think and would welcome her in, would wrap her in blankets and in his arms, would sing her lullabies until her eyes flutter shut. In the morning, she would wake up to the sun, and he would let his servants prepare food for twelve nights and dozen guests, and his large castle will no longer be lonely, now that she would be here. He would think to himself as she ate, it’s as if the pink roses brushed along her cheeks, dropping their pigment off, as if the stars decided to shine not in the sky, but in her eyes. “Oh, my dear lady,” he would say, “Please do not think of me wrongly, but you, out of all the women I have met, and perhaps in the whole known universe, are the most exquisite one of all.” She would blush and look away silently, her delicate smile hidden from his sight. She would stay, one or two days, would say she has been a burden on him. She would stay, three or four days, would say she has to go to some business. She then would leave, would say good-bye, forever. continued on next page 27
By the Candlelight (continued) She would not return to him, never. His heart would ache and break, would grieve and cry, while she is far and away. He would get old and his hair would grow white. He would age and his body would become fragile. She did not return. Now, by the candlelight, he is writing his last words, remembering the day she came to him. “And a beauty approached my door, a sun so bright it pushed the clouds afar, and a smile so large it wiped away war, with eyes so majestic, artists could not perfect. . .” She had promised to return, someday, but she did not. Now, by the candlelight, his wrinkles grew. There were none when she was with him. Now, by the candlelight, his eyes grew black. They used to be glistening when she was with him. Now, by the candlelight, he slept on his deathbed, envisioning she was there, and she has returned, like she promised. She came back like she said so. He closed his eyes on the rainy day, his last words written and finaled. Now, by the candlelight, he was alone; no breath awoke in him. Author Note: Ever since I started reading books, my interest in poetry blossomed and I began to write
intensely in middle school. I continue to always improve my skills and to entertain the reader with a twist. This poem is a sad yet a hopeful story of man once in love.
by Benafsha Mohammad, Grade 10
Artist Note: Born in Russia. From Afghanistan. It’s been 6 years of living in America.
3 years in California. This is a simple drawing done by pen, henna inspired.
How Lovely You Do Look by Clarissa J Rossman, G rade 11
How lovely you do look just sitting there, That gives me tales which I will always need. Your cover so divine and grandly fair, Just begging me to take a peek and read. Your pages strung with words said so divine, A tale far off yet you are lying near, How lucky I do feel that you are mine, Allowing me to go away from here, I pick you up and find that I can fly, Through the words I swiftly now can soar, I love it all and yet still wonder why, I drink it up but still am wanting more. Then once the story’s done and all is said and told, I shall recall its wonder it ‘til I grow to be old. Triplets
Photos and Origami
by Magno Mateo, Grade 11
And Another One Appears
I Will See You Again by Korra May Galligher, Grade 9
Someday I will see you again. I may not know when, but I will. Telling you this is something I cannot refrain from doing, as breaking promises is not my skill. Do not despair my friend, be it in this life or the next my word is something on which you can depend. I only pray you will not be vexed by the coming desperation that I will feel at our separation for which I will have to turn my heart to steel. Your friendship, to me, has been good and it has been kind and it gotten me through our childhood. It has been a treasure of which I may never again find. Someday I will see you again. I may not know when, but I will. Telling you is something i cannot refrain from doing, as breaking promises is not my skill.
Author Note: This poem is about goodbyes. It is also about promises. When you say goodbye you might
say "see you later," but you don't always keep that promise. That's what this poem illustrates.
All the Stars are Laughing When You’re Tame by Megan Scott, Grade 12
Contributors Allie Dopp Ally Sapiano Anonymous Ashly Robinson Benafsha Mohammad Clarissa J Rossman Danya Youhanna DarkSeth David Michael Denniston E. Fugate Elisabeth Wood Glenn Jacob Th. Henderson Jolynn Skinner Jose Ramirez J.P. Cobb Julia Bryan Korra May Galligher Magno Mateo Megan Scott PurpleSky S.M Zara
2 17 16 2, 20 29 3-4, 30 26-28 14, 18 24, 25 11-12 10 12, 16, 18, 22 23 24, 25 5 5 1, 8-9 21, 31 30 4, 32 6-7 17 13, 15, 19-20
Inkwell is a West Hills High School tradition showcasing the creative works of students. Members of the West Hills Readers and Writers Club would like to thank: All of you, our kind readers of I nkwell Students from previous Inkwell editions who paved the way 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 Santee County Librarians Danielle Clayton & Desirae Helms for fueling our creativity Grossmont Union High School District Curriculum & Instruction Department Grossmont Union High School District Print Shop Principal Robin Ballarin for guidance & support
We are One We are the Pack