Literary Magazine 2017

MIRABILE SCRIPTU

LITERARY MAGAZINE

Ottoson Middle School
63 Acton Street

Arlington, MA 02476
June 2017

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Student Editors 2017

Lauren Bain
Tessa Connors
Julia DaSilva
Ella Ford
Eleanor Freed
Lauren Geise
Meghna Gite
Daniel Gorbunov
Elizabeth Gromfin
Rebecca Kalik
Caleigh Lyons
Liam Nokes
Hannah Nyren
Halle Snell
Sarah Stone
Ellie Vail
Isabelle Schramm von Blucher
Ann Marie Vaudo
Sofia Westerhoff

Cover Design: Hannah Nyren

The student literary and art works in this publication are the result of process writing and drawing in
Ottoson Middle School classes. Each published selection represents individual creativity and critical
editing by students and teachers through several revisions. The final choices for the magazine were
made by a diligent group of seventh and eighth grade student editors. The selections therefore re-
flect themes that are of particular interest to early adolescent students, as well as their stylistic eval-
uations of the written and artistic expressions. The authors’ personalities unfold in each work, and
readers will enjoy satire, fantasy and realism as well as a glimpse into the lives of middle school stu-
dents.
The student editors and I congratulate all of our contributors for their achievement, and extend our
sincere thanks to the many more who submitted work. We’d like to give special thanks to the Otto-
son faculty, who promote excellence in writing and the visual arts.

Mrs. Duke, Ottoson Literary Magazine Advisor

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Table of Contents

Creative Writing
Writer’s Block ……………………………………………………………………………………………..…..8

By Gemma Conway
Handbag Hazard…………………………………………………………………………..……………………9

By Sean Hart
The Mask…………………………………………………………………………………...……………...…..12

By Elsie Coleman
Pigtails……………………………………………………………………………………….……………...….13

By Keziah Schober
Where I’m From……………………………………………………………………….………………...…….14

By Halle Snell
Where I’m From…………………………………………………………………………...……………..…...15

By Oliver Leventhal
My Past………………………………………………………………………………….…………………..…..16

By Devin Norman
Names………………………………………………………………………………...……………………..…..16

By Aubrey Jensen
Everything’s Okay……………………………………………………………...………………………..…….17

By Anonymous
I Am a Man…………………………………………………………………...………………………….……...18

By Tessa Erbe
My Mind is like a Squirrel……………………………………………………...……………………….…….20

By Aubrey Jensen
My Mind is like a Peaceful Night Sky………………………………………...……………………….…...20

By Linda Zhou
Lights…………………………………………………………………...……………………………..………...21

By Anonymous
Waiting………………………………………………………………………………………..…………..……..23

By Tessa Erbe
Alone…………………………………………………………………………………………..…….…….……..24

By Anonymous
Lighthouse………………………………………………………………………………..……………….…….25

By Isabelle Schramm von Blucher
Forgotten…………………………………………………………………………………………….…………..26

By Maren White
Untitled………………………………………………………………………………………………..………….27

By Sofia Westerhoff
Falling…………………………………………………………………………………………………………..…28

By Anonymous
I’m sorry! Please, forgive me!...............................................................................................................29

By Alexine Wey
The Beauty of Friendship……………………………………………………………………….……………..30

By Mia Maxwell
Futures Past Present Smile……………………………………………………………...…………………….32

By Louisa Szaraz
Cherry Blossoms…………………………………………………………………………………….…………..34

By Chiara Smith
A Flower Sprung…………………………………………………………………………………..……………..35

By Daniel Gorbunov
Sunset………………………………………………………………………………………….…………………..35

By Anonymous
Sea of Flames………………………………………………………………………………………...……… ...36

By Greta Billingsley
Beat of the Cheetah…………………………………………………………………………..…………………..37

By Chiara Smith
Woods………………………………………………………………………………………...…………………….38

By Maren White
One Eerie Night…………………………………………………………………………..………………………..39

By Anonymous

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Sailing Memory………………………………………………..…………………………………………………..39
By Mari Averill

Sunday Morning………………………………………………………..………………………………………….41
By Emma Davison

Are You Afraid…………………………………………………………….………………………………………..42
By Emma Davison

The First Day of School…………………………………………………………………………………………..43
By Alexine Wey

Eraser………………………………………………………………...……………………………………………...43
By Tina Zou

Poem……………………………………………………………………...………………………………………….44
By Anonymous

Truth……………………………………………………………………...…………………………………………..44
By Laura Davies

Summer Witching Hour…………………………………………….……………………………………………..45
By Audrey Loeb

The Apple Man…………………………………………………………………...………………………………...47
By Louisa Szaraz

I’m Thankful. And I’m sad. And I love you………………………………….………………………………….48
By Lauren Bain

Never Forgotten…………………………………………………………….……………………………………...50
By Robbie Khazan

Barbecue……………………………………………………………………….…………………………………...51
By Anonymous

Crash……………………………………………………………………..…………………………………………..52
By Robbie Khazan

The Man Who Colored Lives……………………………………………………………………………………..53
By Aliza Kopans

I Will Never…………………………………………………………………………………………………………..55
By Aubrey Jensen

When We Were Young…………………………………………………………………………………………….56
By Tess O’Shaughnessy

Trip…………………………………………………………………………………………………………………….58
By Oscar Kardon

Evolution……………………………………………………………………………………………………………..58
By Trinity Choroszej

Reading………………………………………………………………...…………………………………………….59
By Gemma Conway

Hope…………………………………………………………………………………………………………… .…...60
By Aliza Kopans

Home………………………………………………………………………………………………………………….60
By Tina Zou

Rabbit Holes……………………………………………………………………………………………………… .60
By Louisa Szaraz

Time………………………………………………………………………………………………………… ……….61
By Alexine Wey

Reflection………………………………………………………………………………………………………….....62
By Lulu Magee and Tessa Erbe

Dream………………………………………………………………………………………………………………….64
By Aliza Kopans

Trees…………………………………………………………………………………………………………………..65
By Anonymous

Rappelling Memory………………………………………………………………………………………………....66
By Anonymous

Conquering Fear…………………………………………………………………………………………………….67
By Callie Coleman

Women’s March……………………………………………………………………………………………………..69
By Tessa Erbe

Why? By This Giraffe……………………………………………………………………………………………….70
By Anonymous

Walk Home…………………………………………………………………………………………….……………...71
By Anonymous

Mind……………………………………………………………………………………………………..……………..72
By Sofia Westerhoff
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He Likes You…………………………………………………………………………………………………………..73
By Olive Eng-Canty

It’s Time……………………………………….………………………………………………..……………………...74
By Sofia Westerhoff

Perfect………………………………………………………………………………………….……………………….76
By Allison Rodger

The Compass………………………………………………………………………..………………………………...77
By Milo Kiely-Song

Finding Clara……………………………………………………………………….………………………………….78
By Julia Simon

Grin…………………………………………………………………………………..………………………………….80
By Anonymous

The Dune Grass………………………………………………………………………...……………………………..81
By Anya Brewer

An Excerpt from “Vera City’s Newest Member”…………………………………………………..……………..84
By Anonymous

An Excerpt from “An Unnamed Story”……………………………………………………..……………………..86
By Eleanor Freed

Winter……………………………………………………………………………………………………..……………..90
By Elsie Coleman

An Excerpt from “A Very Dagny Summer”…………………………………………………….………………….92
By Halle Snell

An Excerpt from “H-G-C”……………………………………………………………………...……………………..96
By Camille Maxwell

An Excerpt from “Bacon and Eggs”……………………………………………………….……………………….98
By Maren White.

An Excerpt from “No One Cared But Him”……………………...……………………………………………….101
By Greta Billingsley, Jiya Iyer, Ellie Carney, Ella Barker, and Brynn Elverson

An Excerpt from “Warrior Princesses”…………………………………………………………………………...104
By Laura Davies

Art

Finally Free…………………………………………………………………………………………………...………….7
By Giovanna DeStefanis

Imagination…………………………………………………………………………………………….……………….10
By Ines Kacemi

Broken………………………………………………………………………………………………….………………..11
By Annie Liggett

Josh Dun………………………………………………………………………………………….…………………….19
By Anoushka Oke

Window to the Soul……………………………………………………………………………………….…………..21
By Eliana Lehmann

Better Together……………………………………………………………………………………….………………..22
By Alice Dewees Stone

Brother……………………………………………………………………………….………………………………….29
By Alice Dewees Stone

The Gang……………………………………………………………………….……………………………………….31
By Ines Kacemi

BFF……………………………………………………………………….……………………………………………...32
By Toni Mueller

Blossoms Abloom………………………………………………...…………………………………………………..33
By Julia DaSilva

Eternal Circle…………………………………………………..……………………………………………………….36
By Rosemary Raughley

A Tree……………………………………………………………………………………………………………….…...38
By Michelle Pan

Captured………………………………………………………………………………………………………….……..40
By Giovanna DeStefanis

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Origami Crane………………………………………………………………………………………...………..41
By Tess O’Shaughnessy

Night Sky………………………………………………………………………………………………………..45
By Ines Kacemi

Untitled…………………………………………………………………………………………………………..46
By Maisha Afia

Morning Tea…………………………………………………………………………………………………….54
By Tess O’Shaughnessy

The Celebration………………………………………………………………………………………………...57
By Giovanna DeStefanis

You Had One Job……………………………………………………………………………………………...61
By Meghna Gite

Hel………………………………………………………………………………………………………………...63
By Olive Lawrence

Awakening………………………………………………………………………………………………………64
By Anahad Sharma

The Downfall of America……………………………………………………………………………………..68
By Olive Lawrence

Strength………………………………………………………………………………………………………….74
By Sylvie McMaken-Marsh

Deadpool Variant……………………………………………………………………………………………...75
By Anahad Sharma

Tyler Joseph…………………………………………………………………………………………………….83
By Anoushka Oke

Untitled…………………………………………………………………………………………..………………89
By Jeannine AlAttal

Alone……………………………………………………………………………………………………………..103
By Lillian Forney

Lies……………………………………………………………………………………………………………....107
By Eleanor Freed

A Note Regarding the Significance of the Title “Mirabile Scriptu”
The word “scriptu” is a Latin supine in the ablative case, which is a very unusual Latin grammatical con-
struction. The author who used this particular construction most prominently was Virgil, writer of many works
including The Aeneid. The Aeneid is the story of a hero, Aeneas, who flees the destruction of Troy and em-
barks on an adventurous journey that eventually ends with the founding of Rome. During this journey, Aeneas
lands in North Africa and enters the court of the ruler of Carthage. It is at this point in the epic that Virgil writes
the famous line “Infert se saeptus nebula mirabile dictu/ per medios, miscetque viris neque cerniter ulli,” or “He
(Aeneas) had entered swathed in a cloud - strange to relate (or a wonder to tell) - among them, mingling with
men, yet visible to none.” (Robert Fitzgerald, translator)
“Mirable Scriptu,” or “A Wonder to Write,” is a direct reference to Virgil’s innovative use of the Latin lan-
guage and his skill in crafting unique and memorable poetry. This phrase has been the title of the Ottoson liter-
ary magazine for at least fifty years. We no longer know who originally composed the phrase, but the choice
of this creative and informed reference is an apt reflection of the Ottoson’s long history of commitment to so-
phisticated literary and artistic expression by its students.

(contributed by Ms. Rachel Kirtley, Ottoson Latin teacher, and Ms. Amy Duke, Ottoson A.C.E. teacher, 2012)
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Creativity

Finally Free
By Giovanna DeStefanis
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Writer’s Block
By Gemma Conway

Writer’s block.
The stop, of thought.
Nothing to put down.
No new words come to mind,
You are invisibly bound.
You want so much, a great idea,
That has you up, all night.
You want, so much,

A simile,
Something to touch, a heart.
You want so much, the perfect rhyme,

Like a party on a beach.
You want so much, two perfect words,

Perfect as a peach.
You want so much a nice,
New poem, the jewel of your collection.
But it just can’t be, there is no topic,
For writer’s block guards ideas:
An impossible deck of cards.

Writers’ block.
The stop, of thought.
Nothing to put down.
No new words come to mind,
You are invisibly bound.

Oh please, idea.
Come find me. Writers’ block,

Smuggling me.
Writer’s block! That’s it! The jewel of my collection!
An idea so bold, like the ugly duckling’s swan reflection.

A simile! A rhyme! Oh the perfect poem!
Not much pattern, I’ll admit,

But a perfect topic to show ‘em.
Writer’s block.

The stop, of thought.
Nothing to put down.
No new words come to mind,
You are invisibly bound.
Oh thank you, writer’s block,
For this fabulous idea.
I just wish now, however chic,
I had this idea before:
The deadline was last week.

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Handbag Hazard
By Sean Hart

“What did the ghost say to her husband?” asks Apple excitedly.
I sigh of boredom. “What?”
“You’re EERIEsistable!”
I force a chuckle. Apple, The Keys to Success, and I are hanging out in the left pocket with Flip
Phone, trading jokes. Well, not really trading, considering the fact that Apple is doing about ninety -five per-
cent of the talking. I am about to stand up when The Hand reaches into the pocket without warning. All of us
immediately fall silent. The giant fingers of The Hand grab at the air a few times before easily snatching up
Flip Phone. With a yelp, Flip disappears from view.
Apple, Keys, and I are caught off guard, but not concerned; things like this happen regularly in The
Handbag. No more than ten seconds later, though, The Hand does something unusual. It reaches back in-
side the pocket again, dropping Flip on the floor with a thump. We all rush to meet him and see if he’s okay.
When we get to him, however, it isn’t Flip on the ground: it’s a stranger!!
I leap forward, jumping on the intruder. “WHO ARE YOU?” I scream. “WHO ARE YOU AND WHY
ARE YOU HERE?”
“Stop, stop!” coughs the man. I ease my grip. “I’m Mr. I. Phone. I come from California, and I don’t
know why I’m here.”
California. It doesn’t ring a bell. Not to mention, his name sounds phony.
“What’s it stand for?” I ask.
“Huh?”
“The name. I. Must stand for something. Isaac, maybe. Or Ian?”
He pauses. “I don’t know, just…. I.”
Oh, come on. This is ridiculous. “Don’t lie to me!”
“Listen, you don’t want to push my buttons!”
The backlash catches me off guard. I stumble backwards. He jumps on me, wasting no time. “I’ve got
more applications than you do brain cells!” he shouts.
I’m about to fire an insult back when Apple starts to giggle in the corner.
“What is it?” I ask, furious. “What’s so funny about this?”
“It’s just…. Well… he said he has APPLE-ications! And look! He has a giant tattoo of me on his back!
I peek around his shoulder. Sure enough, there is a giant image of an apple.
“I have a tattoo?” asks Mr. I. Phone. “I’ve never seen my back before.”
Sure. “And why is that the case?” I inquire suspiciously.
“Well… exactly that. Because of my old case.”
Now I’m just outright confused, but I have to keep questioning him. If there’s one thing this life has
taught me, it’s that purse-everance is key.
“Why do you keep on lying? You got a chip on your shoulder or something?” I ask, doing my best to
sound intimidating.
“Well, a microchip, yes….” he responds, sounding confused. I glance over at the Keys of Success.
Car Key and Shed Key are somehow sleeping, but House Key and I share a look of puzzlement. Then I
catch a glimpse of Apple. She is eying Mr. I. Phone dreamily. Being scissors, my senses are very sharp, and
I can tell when someone is in love. Which Apple is. Her feelings toward our intruder are making me feel a
little edgy, I must admit.
“Cut it out!” I yell at Apple.
“That’s what you do, Scissors!” she responds. Clever. Real clever. Suddenly, a look of horror
spreads across Apple’s face.
“What is it?” I ask.
“It’s him! Mr. I. Phone! He’s dead!”
I turn. Sure enough, the man has turned completely blank. He is lying on the floor, motionless.
I have a lot to learn.

9

Imagination by Ines Kacemi
10

Identity

Broken
By Annie Liggett
11

The Mask
By Elsie Coleman
Everyday when I come home from school
I take off my mask.
I wear it because everyone knows who I am in it.

My friends,
my teachers,
and my enemies,
they would not recognize me without it.
Sometimes I feel guilty about wearing it.
The mask a lie to my true self.
I have tried to not wear it, but everyone thinks I'm better off wearing it. When I look in the mirror
I look at how ugly I am, my eyes are dull and foggy, my lips cemented in a permanent scowl,
so I put on my mask
and I am beautiful.
My mask is like a shield,
keeping in the good
and blocking out the bad.
I don't know where it came from.
Just found it on the sidewalk,
laying there, waiting to be picked up,
so I put it on and walked away without a single question.
At night, I stare at it for a long time,

thinking.
I dream about a box
With locks and screws, it’s shut so tightly.
I am inside the box.
I like it in there and I don't want to ever come out, for dangers lurk outside.
I have everything I need in there.
No need to come out for fresh air because I don't want it.
When I wake up in the morning,
the first thing I do is put my mask back on and admire its perfection in the mirror.
It digs into my skin and doesn't fit me well,
but it’s far better than showing my face.
Sometimes, when I am not paying attention, it starts to slip off my face,
but I always put it back in place.
Nobody notices that I am wearing a mask except the closest of family members. At school, people
like me. I do however, often ask myself if it’s me they like
or the mask that I wear.

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One day after school, I took off my mask and looked in the mirror again.
I suddenly realized

how ugly my mask had become compared to my face.
The mask was pale,
emotionless and
cracking.
My face was
colorful and natural.

For the first time in years I smiled at the look of my face.
I walked back to the sidewalk where I found it.
I rested the mask down on the pavement
and walked away.

Pigtails
By Keziah Schober
I doesn't seem like I have a lot going on
because my hair’s up in pigtails
And I'm singing a stupid song
No one seems to see
What's happening to me
‘Cause I hide my pain in glee
That somehow you believe
It doesn't seem like I have a lot going on
because I wear a smile

All day long
No one seems to see
What's happening to me
‘Cause I hide my pain in glee
That somehow you believe
My hair’s up in pigtails
And I’m singing that song
Soon enough you'll learn
I have a lot going on

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Where I’m From
By Halle Snell

I’m from the soft, yellow fabric of a duck laying on the crib
An itchy red velvet jumper reluctantly worn on Christmas Eve.
Riding my pink butterfly bike around the court and bloody, aching knees

From June Byrne’s lively kindergarten class.
I’m from worn out black clogs with a hole in the toe,

Floppy, brown Ugg slippers lying on the floor.
The picturesque cottage in Bridgton, Maine
I’m from bowls with popcorn kernels lying on the table overnight.
I’m from Wesley and Buttercup, in love on the screen
Barbies wrapped in toilet paper clothes thrown across a purple bedroom.
From my childhood friends and all our adventures together
Harry, Ron, Hermione, Percy, and Annabeth
I’m from sticky pink lip gloss, hurriedly swiped on in the bathroom
Sickly sweet sea island cotton lotion- a grandmother’s gift
I’m from the twinkling lights on a Christmas tree- the only radiance in the living room
Seeing my distorted reflection in that one shiny red bauble.
I’m from the pain in your toes after taking off your ballet slippers.

I’m from trying too hard,
Following the crowd and perfectionism

From bossiness, the only neat room
Saying mean things, tears, anxiety- my head held high, blocking everything out.

I’m from the good, from the bad, from the in between.
I’m from nothing, but also everything.

14

Where I’m From
By Oliver Leventhal
I am from everything forced.
From tied down and fatigued dawn to dusk.
I am from the group of what better be nothing peculiar.
(Eyes stay on the expected,
Don’t you dare glance up.)
I am from acton st.

The act in heat.
Whose invasive roots I trip over
When they are trying to keep me back,
Because they are scared of what I can do.

I'm from stand down,
Because they smother anything sharper than themselves.
From “watch your attitude!” And “that's not MY problem!”.

I'm from be yourself,
I'll show you how,

I am from just you wait,
And I'LL show YOU.

I'm from no more questions,
Why didn't you ask?

From memory is celebrated,
And knowledge is frowned upon.

I'm from I'm sick of this,
And I'm done with this excuse of a life,

From I'm rising up above it all.
“I don't give a damn what you think,

I'm doing this for me”
My hands are strangling life's thick disgusting neck and never letting go.
I'm from “I told you that all you had to do was try, and now you're doing well!”

You didn't help,
I'm from you can go to hell

15

My Past Names
By Devin Norman By Aubrey Jensen

Old friend Names.
My hero Names can be anything.
Marriage
Gifts from God Rude,
Courage and Patience Kind,
Kept me alive Mean,
Lovely,
Riots Or You.
And They can be You.
Protests They can be the thing that mushes up your
Integration and traits, history, and life into a word.
Invisible people A word to call You.
Dream A word that signals:
Special gifts I am different,
From God I am special,
Kept me alive This word is me.
Namasté So treat this word well,
(the God in me sees and honors the God in you) Don’t say it in sharp, hard sounds.
I want soft smooth sounds.
Sounds that signal me.
That tell me to come.
That tell me who I am.

16

Everything's Okay
By Anonymous

Nobody
Sees the pain
It's locked away
There's no one around
To hear her cries for help
She comes to school
Every day
Paints a smile
On her face and says
Everything's ok
And she asks herself why
Do I just wanna cry
Why even try
Why even try
And if you ask her
How was your day
She'll look you
Straight in the face and say
Everything ok
And she asks herself why
Do I just wanna cry
Why even try
Why even try
And I ask myself why
Do I just wanna cry
Why even try
Why even try
And I'm sick of hiding behind that broken smile
Sick of hiding it away I'm
Sick of hiding all the pain
And I'm sick
Of holding back my tears
Of wiping of my face
Pretending everything's ok
But
Why
Do I just wanna
Cry
Why even
Try
Why even try?

17

I am a Man
By Tessa Erbe
I am running, panting
Forcing the hot air out of my

Limp body
Kicking up large clouds of dry soil
Beating heart and stomping feet

Aligned and steady
Until the foul roar of my cursed name

Booms into my aching body
Sweat is a trigger warning
When it pours out of my palms
Signaling my legs to weaken
Then everything falls from beneath me

Throwing my body
Across the caked ground

My head rattles
Like a marble inside a plastic ball
I force myself to pry my eyes open
Above me stands a tall, ominous figure
Disgust and anger flash in my eyes
Looking down at my sweaty, bloody, ripped up hands
As my wrist slides into the sack
Grasping for the commanding knife

But no hope lies in my heart
The knife in my hands is useless

Like a perfume without scent
I am no man

My face falls to the surface of the Earth
Surrendering myself

Then my true voice calls
Shining a light for me to follow
A flash of fear sparks my body

But I shove it away
And just glare into the dark, heartless eyes

I may not be that man
May not scowl from those eyes

But I am a man
Because I said so

18

Josh Dun
By Anoushka Oke

19

My Mind is like a Squirrel My Mind is like a Peaceful Night Sky
By Aubrey Jensen By Linda Zhou
My mind
Is one of a kind My mind is like a peaceful night sky
The color of a black void
It’s like a squirrel, but streamlined. Mysterious and infinite
Independent, you will find.
With who-knows-what inside.
An introvert, avoiding mankind.
I store “nuts” to remind My mind is like a peaceful night sky
Of what I leave behind. With many twinkling stars
Smiling upon everyone
I’m not quite a mastermind, With a twinkle in the eye
“Nuts” are usually confined,
Although some get left behind Always happy and always there
But I’m well-meaning, a bit refined, Sparkling in the dark
And energetic, when unconfined,
My mind is like a peaceful night sky
I fly blind With a bright, full moon within it
From branch to branch, my path designed. Glowing like a far away dream
Too distant to grab
Undefined, Trying my very hardest to seize it
That’s my mind. But never managing
If only it would come closer
But it never will

My mind is like a peaceful night sky
With many shooting starts
Racing across the black sky
Like sparks of inspiration
Flying as fast as lightening
Starting new creations

Always different from each other
Never two the same

My mind is like a peaceful night sky

20

Lights
By Anonymous
Do you think about me
the same way I do?
Am I really older now?
Or am i just doing the same things once or twice
You and I both know
We’re not getting any younger
We’re not going back
And I don’t want to tell you
To close your eyes
But inside this place
It won't matter what you do
Its pitch black because of you
I've been waiting
And I've been searching
For someone to come and see
The light in me
It's small and dull
It's hard to see
And sometimes I wonder
Am I still looking at me
When will I know when I’ve crossed the line
From just a little sadder
To just a little grey
To closing up in hiding
And completely losing light

Window to the Soul
By Eliana Lehmann
21

Relationships

Better Together
By Alice Dewees Stone

22

Waiting On the edge of a breakdown
By Tessa Erbe I can't control
Fingers tap, tap
Want her back in my arms
Tapping I need to see her face
On the torn black chair
Sweat beats from my anxious head Feel her soft touch as she speaks
The minute seems endless The girl rested on that metal bed
A bottomless, repetitive loop
Of agony, distress and fear With the white sheets
My mind helplessly gropes Is not my sister
For a small light of hope
The ambulance stole her
It is quickly muted Replacing the innocent child
Loud shriek that echoes in my mind
With a frail girl,
From across the long hallway Tethered to a new life
Static energy buzzes She is like a stranger you catch a glance of
Through every being In the middle of the street
Hustling and bustling And instantly need to meet

Holding their clipboards, sleep deprivation I can't see her
Worried expressions But I need to
Beeping of machines There is a strange
Roar in my ear But beautiful creature
Sending fearful sparks Asleep in Room 102
Throughout my body And I need to meet her

Possible outcomes invade my brain
Flushing out any sense of happiness

Or peace
I have never felt this disconnected
Even though she is right across the hallway

Unaware
The doctors are performing

Whispering
Taking notes
I can not hear what they are saying
So every time
They say her name

I jump

23

Alone
By Anonymous

I walk with the books They roll their eyes
Not the people And tell me to stop
I state the facts
They call me genius
And not the slang But
I am happy.
They are the true geniuses
I sit alone at lunch For knowing how to
Dining and hearing the tales Find and keep
Of the interesting main characters Friends

Instead They ignore me
Of the boring small talk and Or shove me out of the way

Gossip of my neighbors I retreat to my books
I am satisfied. My characters
My friends
I am Spock not McCoy And block out
I am calm and correct Their world
Their friends
I am logical. Their words
I sometimes wonder if
The bullies pounce
I could be McCoy The bystanders stare
Be Rory
I hold my head up
Be Sheldon Trying not to care
Be smart and have more friends than bullies
They think I am stuck up
Or even just But I am only
One friend
I am lonely. Hiding my despair
That nobody cares
T
h I am lonely.
e
y
t
h
i
n
k
I
a
m
s
t
u
c
k

24

Lighthouse
By Isabelle Schramm von Blucher
My feet sift through the soft, grainy sand.
The low, rhythmic pattern of waves is calming,
Like a mother soothing her baby with a lullaby.
An astounding array of reds, oranges, and golds flare across the sky,
Fanning over clouds as paint radiates across paper.
A beam from the lighthouse sweeps the churning waters of the ocean.
A salty taste fills my mouth as seawater jumps onto my lips.
The thick scent of smoke envelopes us.
The bonfire blazes, burning tendrils flicking through the air,
A molten hand, grasping for something just out of reach.
Your hand is firm in mine, grounding,
Tethering me to the grim bareness of reality.
Pulling me back to the ways of the world,
A repetition of black and white frames,

Never changing and evolving
Just stuck in a endless loop.

But I’m fine,
Keeping your hand in mine.
You are my portal, my lighthouse,
My gateway between worlds.
Transporting me to a place with no burdens,
No debts, no pain, no fear,

No reality.
Only light and love
With a single touch.

So please,
Don’t let go,
Or I will be left

All alone.

25

Forgotten
By Maren White

she’s walking toward the bus the bus pulls to a
she’s climbing the stairs stop

she’s stepping into the aisle. i make my way
i see her. down

i stand up and call the aisle
but i see them
at the front of the bus.
she doesn’t hear as i pass them
she sits down with head down
i wonder
someone if her eyes
else are on my back

forgotten if she
i sit on the bus remembered.

alone i step
forgotten down
i stare out the window the stairs
at the swirling snow slowly.
deliberately.
gray i walk home
like ash head bowed
from a bonfire in the sky. feet plodding
i hear the calls against the pavement
of happy children. like two robots
step
but i after
am step
forgotten after
watching them step.
together behind me i hear them
their mouths upturned the sounds of
their hands waving in the air happiness.
animated then
like characters from a cartoon their laughing, their chattering
that i is wisped away
don’t watch on a gust of wind
and now all there is
is silence
for i am
forgotten.

26

Untitled
By Sofia Westerhoff

My memories aren’t warm and fuzzy Finally Ms. G
They return occasionally With soft grey hair
The screaming A nest on her head
Ringing in my ears And her quiet voice

The scent of vodka filling my nose A soft wind
The shattering sound of glass A pyrex bowl slipped
Into a million pieces Miniscule crystal of glass
Like my family Tears built up in my eyes
Then somehow A dam waiting to break
Everything stopped
Muted Instead
She picked up a soft wooden broom
I woke to crisp sheets hugging me Sweeping away the glass and my sadness
A social worker
With a pantsuit And the flowers
Her garden
And permanent smile
The first house didn’t last long A buffet of scents
A glass jumped out of Ms H’s hand Warm and sweet and sober

Clattering on the floor It been ten years now
Memories attacked me That flower garden is ours

I howled back Ms. G is mom
Mr. U I do not belong with

With the smiling eyes Vodka
But a painfully familiar nose And glass
And screams
A nose that twitched I belong with
Head tilted back Flowers
Chugging Absolut And brooms
And hushed voices

27

Falling
By Anonymous
Just because you were gone, doesn't mean I stayed strong
Just because you care, doesn't mean I'll be there
Just because I'm hurt each day , doesn't mean you should stay
And I've tried to break it to you
I see the faces of a crowd
The truth can't come out
And I'm starting to see
There's too many people
I'm trapped and alone
Down and falling nowhere to go
No one’s pulling me further
No one’s pushing me back, and
Everybody’s fighting with me
Everybody’s taking with their eyes
They try to help but, they’re digging my grave
I say one thing and mean another
I call your name expecting an answer
The curtains are closed
No light will come in
Why can't they hear me, I'm the howling wind
And I've tried to break it to you
I see the faces of a crowd
The truth can't come out
And I'm starting to see
There's too many people
I'm trapped and alone
Down and falling nowhere to go

28

I'm sorry! Please, forgive me!
By Alexine Wey

I‘m sorry for all I've done,
I'm sorry for hurting your heart,

But now my time is done,
Of hurting hearts so close to mine.

I know I did do wrong,
I know it wasn’t right,
But please, forgive my wrongs,
And see what I've done right.
Now all I ask of you,

Is to be forgiven,
All the good i own,
I promise, will be given.

Brother
By Alice Dewees Stone
29

The Beauty of Friendship
By Mia Maxwell

Maryanne was ambling along the street with her favorite book of Greek lore tucked under her arm.
It was the only one that she thought would be credible since it was a translation of the original Greek tales.
It was around 3 in the afternoon, and the sun was burning in the sky. She had finished the book yesterday
and was heading to the library to find another story to jump into.

Maryanne could hear her classmates voices echoing in her head, teasing about her zeal to read,
saying “That isn't the cool thing to do.” Yet Maryanne wondered why they thought putting their entire life on
social media was “cool.” One day they would all regret putting what was happening in their adolescent
years onto the internet. It would never go away, and if someone looked them up they would find the myriad
of pictures that her classmates posted for every stupid thing that they ever did.

Rounding the corner, Maryanne walked into the library and slid her book into the return bin. She
smiled to the librarian behind the desk, as always, because of the respect she had for them. Their job was-
n't lucrative and they themselves must be indefatigable to make sure the entire library was in order. Every-
one came here, if they liked books or not. It had the biggest selection of literature in the area. Some visitors
had no respect for all the knowledge and fantasies that lived in the library, and the librarians had to tolerate
them. Maryanne wouldn't be as kind in their position.

In the teen section, Maryanne saw that there were many new books lining the New Books rack.
This library had connections with some publishing companies, so new books were always available. Mar-
yanne didn't like reading the new books, not because they were new, but because they weren't original.
She could find the same plot in another, older book, probably with better writing. Also, the only thing that
seemed to come out these days was Romance. Not all teens were into that sappy stuff, and authors need-
ed to learn that.

Browsing the shelves of books, her fingertips rested on Vault of Dreams, a sci-fi/mystery novel.
Reading the inside cover she found that the book was about a school that was televised and supposedly
maximized creativity, with the main character discovering a secret the school tries to hide. Maryanne slid
the book from the shelf, knowing that the it wasn’t going to read itself, and that this certain piece of literature
wasn’t going to be found again easily if desired.

After checking the book out, she went to the café across the street. Maryanne bought a mug of
warm mulled apple cider and sat down at a table next to the window. She flipped open the cover to the first
page and was just about to dive in when a “Hey!” caused her to look up. In front of her stood Sebastian, the
“most popular” boy in school. Maryanne didn’t really care about that, all she thought was that his attitude
was infuriating.

“What do you want, Sebastian?” questioned Maryanne. “I have things to do, so please make your-
self quick.”

Sebastian frowned slightly. “I was just going to ask if you wanted to hang out Friday,” he told her,
then smirked. “I know you’re going to say yes, so-”

“Actually, I’m saying no. I wouldn't want to go out with someone whose ego is roughly the size of
Pangea,” Maryanne interrupted.

After a second of shock, Sebastian stalked out of the café. It was only a second later that clapping
was heard.

“That was AMAZING!” commented Cassandra. “Seeing Sebastian knocked down a peg is some-
thing I would pay for.”

Sitting down, Cassandra sipped her black coffee, which was supposedly “like her soul”. Both girls
had little care for popularity, so they became fast friends a few years back. The time spent together was
fun, even though they had warring personalities.

“I know,” Maryanne replied. “But I just couldn't stand for an arrogant ignoramus to get away with
something like that.”

A minute later, another girl walked over with a mug in hand. She looked nervous, with her feet pi-
geon-toed and eyes darting around behind her glasses.

“H-Hey, I’m Angela, and I was wondering… could you teach me to do that?” the girl asked.
“Sure! I’m Cassandra, and the bookie over there is Maryanne,” Cassandra responded.

“Just because you only read when it's forced in front of you doesn't mean that I, who avidly reads,
am a bookie,” Maryanne shot back jokingly.

Laughing filled the room, and Angela noted that with these girls, she had finally found a
place to be herself.

30

The Gang
By Ines Kacemi

31

I
Futures Past Present Smile
By Louisa Szaraz
I stumble down the dark hall
Lined with doors that lead to
Somewhere i never want
To go
Suddenly
She is leaning on my shoulder
Holding my trembling hand
She giggles like a ripple
In the ice
I try to look away
Somehow i glimpse her face
Her pale freckled face
Her bright smile
The magenta button up sweater

She pulls me down a crowded hallway
She grabs my other hand and spins me

I struggle to pull away
My cheeks blushing scarlet
Everyone turns and stares at us

Our clumsy steps
My untied converse high tops never seeming to

go where i want
Suddenly i understand
The corners of my mouth turn up

Into a small smile
She disappears
And in her place i see

My future
But i cannot see her face

I cannot see
Her flaws

I can only see her smile.

BFF
By Toni Mueller

32

Reflections
On

Nature

Blossoms Abloom
By Julia DaSilva

33

Cherry Blossoms
By Chiara Smith

The nature gift from Japan
Flourishing here, and there
A part of nature that defines their country
Soft fragile blossoms drift down from tree’s
Falling with beauty and grace
Like drops, and drips of fallen rain
Little florets floating in the breeze
And gliding down from great height
Possessing a sweet fragrance
Creating tiny waves as they land
Perfect pastel pink flowers with special gowns

Ready to go to the ball
Each and every flower,
Dances in the glimmering pond
Always sailing along and moving forward
Looking ahead past the horizon
Spreading new seeds along the bank of the pond
In hopes that a new tree will bloom and grow

34

A Flower Sprung Sunset
By Daniel Gorbunov By Anonymous

Peeking under, Purple,
Amidst the snow, yellow,
A flower sprung, orange,
and pink.
Alone and shy. Sunset wisps the sky.
Buried so long, Blue seeps in,
Week and feeble, takes over the space,
A flower sprung, small flashes of white,
Quivering cold. streaks of black.
Fractals of red, Night seeps in.
Rose, and orange The moon dangles in the air.
A flower sprung, Small light
Stark amid pale. at the corner of the horizon
It did not know, grows slowly and becomes nearer.
Spring had not come. Yellow rises
A flower sprung, Bleeds through the sky.
Through solemn snow. Swept with orange,
It was not spring, soft with pink,
The flower knew, the cycle repeats.
Waiting too long,
It grew eager.
Despised by snow,
A wee flower,
Harming no one,
So snow killed it.

35

Sea of Flames
By Greta Billingsley
Along the frosty winter path
I see the dragon's powerful wrath.
With fire galore, along the flaming shore,
With all the glistening scales he hath.
The beauty in power is glory and fame,
Like the sun and the dragon are one and the same.
My heart is conflicted with terror and awe,
For the dragon's fury is not just a game.
His glorious wings beat the blistering air,
And even for enemies tis hard not to stare,
Alas, now I see my meaning is wrong,
To hurt him is truly, completely, unfair.

Eternal Circle
By Rosemary Raughley

36

Beat of the Cheetah
By Chiara Smith

Village of people A pounding
Dressed in gauffered robes Rumble

Signs of culture Ground shaking
Chief stating proclamations about Stampede of Buffalo
Cheetah’s misgivings
Dangers of the wild Showed slim chance of survival
I simper and scram
Spurt to a log
I detect bushes Stampede now suppressed
Filled with sloe
Cheetah
Berries Moving toward his snack
Littered on patches of grass Holding vengeance toward the buffalo
Plucking a tart, acidic berry Almost taking cheetah’s life
Sugar cane, making it taste sweeter
And mine
Beat Beat Beat He is shrewd
Sound of a heart Quick strides, pause, kill
Pound, pound, silence Sensing I should leave
Swish swish swish Curiosity kicks in
Dry, yellow grasses sway
Ebony speckles, I halt
Dust a golden figure Run
Run
Saffron eyes
Twinkling mystery Run
A voluptuous face Pounce
Steps, strides, inaudibly Growl
Broad shoulders Scratch
Creep up along the spine
Mighty buffalo is down
Out of sight Cheetah nearing me
I pulsate in fear Dropping a beast before me
Wind whisks past me
A warm frame skins me Beat, Beat, Beat
The sound of a heart
Blinded,
Sun blazing down on my flesh Cheetah’s heart

Bang! Weight upon me
Hair wisped out
Prickly grass
Stinging my legs

I gape, not a tiger but
A veritable cheetah

If I scream
No one will hear

37

Woods
By Maren White

Sunspots speckle down The sounds of the woods fill the air
through leaves so emerald green the papery-soft rustle of leaves
scattering specks of golden light, the trickling plip-plop of a stream running down,
bathing the ground in morning-glow sheen. the cheery whistles of birds among trees.
Pine needles coat the forest floor You're never alone in the woods
like a blanket of summery snow, for animals scit-scatter here and there
muffling sounds of feet on the ground the scampering dash of a chipmunk
and giving warmth to creatures below. or the soft wingfall of a bird taking to air.
A stream bubbles swiftly over hills and rocks
making mini waterfalls wherever it passes
sometimes as shallow as a puddle of mist
sometimes deep as a bonfire’s ashes.

A Tree
By Michelle Pan

38

One Eerie Night
By Anonymous

The moon’s soft gaze upon the eerie night
With all the bats that will take flight
Drinking silently over the water
Biting the bugs; a big slaughter

They catch 3000 bugs during nighttime hours
But some prefer the nectar from flowers

Big humans will come, destroying the bats
Who clean themselves just like cats

Bat saliva may help humans with a heart problem
Some bats can double their size in the autumn

Due to the fact that they’re preparing to hibernate
Though other bats decide to migrate
What bats use for navigation
Is also known as echolocation
Around bats, the busy bugs buzz
On their bellies, there is fuzz

Their leatherlike wings and really soft fur
Bats fly so quickly they seem to blur
But when the moon begins to fall
The little bats say goodnight to all.

Sailing Memory
By Mari Averill

I can feel the warm yellow rays of sunshine heat the back of my neck and shoulders,
but I am immediately cooled off by the splash of cold waves lapping softly against my legs. A
big wave comes and small, cold, refreshing pearls of water splash lightly up onto my face.
The large sailboat heels over a little more as a big gust of wind approaches the sail. My heart
immediately jumps as the boat tips more and my legs are getting further and further into the
water. I grip the rough line of rope to keep me from falling. As I look down, my stomach flut-
ters with fear and joy. As the gust of wind passes, the boat levels out and my grip loosens
from the rope. I see the green island coming closer now and the rocky shoreline is visible.
The green island is embedded with wildlife and I can see goats slowly roaming the shore. An-
other gust of wind hits the sail and the boat surges forward. I am used to the constant speed-
ing up of the sailboat now. I can hear the ship’s wheel squeak as my Dad turns it and the
boat heads toward the tip of the island. I look down and see the bluest water I have ever
seen. Then I look back forward to see the bow of the boat. The wind blows my hair out of my
face and the boat tips my feet back into the water as we go faster. I hear the rest of my family
talking and laughing as we approach the island. One last surge forward from the wind and the
boat slows down. It glides smoothly across the turquoise water. I feel my feet dragging in the
smooth blue water and everything becomes silent. All I hear is the slow lapping of the waves
against the side of the boat. The sunlight is gone as we glide into the shadows of the small
island. I look back down at the turquoise water and see the reflection of my face and the sails
behind me.

39

Moments
In

Time

Captured
By Giovanna DeStefanis

40

Sunday Morning
By Emma Davison
She sits in the corner
Soft music curls around her like a blanket
The drops of sound like the raindrops
Softly pattering the window.
The outside world is slate colored
Gray clouds are smeared across the sky
But the room is warm.
A soft glow is emitted from the lamps
Slippers warm her feet
A book warms her soul.
From the kitchen, soft laughter is lightly tossed
It skips down the hallway and drifts into the living room.
All the cares of the world are outside
Pounding the earth as raindrops.
But nothing can disturb her golden-colored peace
In the warm corner
On a Sunday morning.

Origami Crane
By Tess O’Shaughnessy
41

Are You Afraid?
By Emma Davison
Come on, hurry up!
In front of her, her friend turns around. She saunters forward, hair whipping in the
wind, a tornado of locks. Her eyes are wild and brazen, piercing.
Are you afraid? She cocks her head, a smile playing across her lips.
She can’t let her know that she’s frightened. She doesn’t even know what she’s
frightened of herself. All she knows is that there’s something wrong. She can’t place her
finger on it, but a ball of apprehension is writhing in her stomach, working it’s way up her
throat and choking her.
No, of course I’m not afraid.
She sees her friend’s mouth moving, but her words are lost to the wind. She fights
her way forward, gusts of wind swirling around her, pushing her back. Trees loom over
her, the branches like bony arms reaching down to envelop her in their grasp. Shadows
dance in the moonlight, growing tall and ominous then shrinking down into nothingness.
Out of the corner of her eye, something moves. She draws back in alarm, tripping over a
root of a tree and thudding to the ground. She realizes that the movement she saw was
only the shadow of a branch flitting across the ground. She pushes herself up, wincing at
the cut on her hand. She turns around, and glances for her friend.
She’s not there.
Her breathing becomes faster, and she scampers forward.
Hello? Where are you? Come on, this isn’t funny.
Her heart pounds in her ears. Her chest is tense with fear.
Listen, I know you like teasing me, but this is dangerous. Please, just stop. Stop!
A figure emerges out of the shadows. It glides forward, growing bigger as it nears
her. Her heart is thumping furiously, and she stumbles backward. It comes to a stop in
front of her. She can feel it’s presence, the way that the air around it is darker, more de-
void of life.
Hello.
She can’t breathe. The fear is thick in her throat, and she garbles her next words.
Y-y-you’re not her!
The figure moves so it’s just inches away from her. That’s when she notices its
eyes. They’re wild and brazen, piercing.
Why? Are you afraid?

42

The First Day of School
By Alexine Wey

Your mom turns on the light,
You wake up with a start,

Your room is nice and bright,
And there's a flutter in your heart.

You get up and see your outfit,
That you picked the night before,

You don't really feel fit,
So you lay down on the floor.
Your mom tells you "get up",

It's time to eat your cereal,
You ate too fast your cereal,
You've got a case of hiccups.
You're rushing to get ready,

You bump into your lamp,
You hold it till its steady,
And now you've got a cramp.
You rush and get your stuff,
You hurry down one floor,
You grab your pack, you're out the door,
And now you've missed the bus!

Eraser
By Tina Zou
With a gentle rub
The skin falls off
It slowly shrinks
The pieces living on a desk
Laying there with holes
In the dark
Now that it’s ugly
It gets replaced
By a brand new eraser

43

Poem
By Anonymous

Spiralling
Imitation, failure
Feign happiness,
Perpetual discontent,

Spiralling
To what end?
What drives it?
What stretches

The cycle
grotesquely
Ad infinitum?
Spiralling.

Truth
By Laura Davies
The beginning of the end
The end of a beginning
Always snatching
Always stealing

Never caring
Never healing
The only truth is loss
And every lie is life
Silent as night
Yet wailing through flight
Where darkness breeds
And darkness gnaws
You will never escape its claws
(Answer: Death)

44

Summer Witching Hour
By Audrey Loeb

The only noise is our own
The only light is the stars

The only time is now
As we all sit there, looking up. There like a pile of glitter, there are so many.

All five of us, stare up at the blackened sky.
Laughing, looking, living
is all that matters.

Everything is dark, but beautiful.
Peaceful, but loud.

Nothing matters but how wonderful the moment is.
Nothing to worry about,
now that day is behind us

just lying there, looking at the glitter in the sky
enjoying the moment and just glad we get to see it.

No pressure. All stress can leave you.
At one time though, it will become light.
No more glitter in the sky. No lying peacefully with our friends

Until the next darkness comes.
Even though it's gone for the next few hours,

The only noise is our own
The only light is the stars

The only time is now.

Night Sky
By Ines Kacemi
45

Memories

Untitled
By Maisha Afia

46

The Apple Man
By Louisa Szaraz
I see him at the bus top
I see him at the square
Each time he changes
Like the leaves in fall
Never quite the same.
He leans against the brick and concrete
His bags across his lap
His eyes are older than the Milky Way
Wiser than the moon
But kinder than the suns sunshine
And bluer than the sky
His smile as young as a child.
When my footsteps pass by
I don't always know what to expect
Sometimes I don't see them
I only see shadows of who they were.
This time I smell something

What is it
It smells sweet
I can't grasp it
A bus passes
Swift sound in the wind

He's gone
Disappeared
Evaporated in thin air
But his smile remains.
I know what I smelled

Apples
I remember the orchard
With the fruits hanging from the trees

Big and round
Sweet with the afternoon sun.

47

Dear Daddy, I’m thankful. And I’m sad. And I love you.
By Lauren Bain

Thank you.

Thank you for wanting me.
No,
For needing me.
No,
For loving me.

Thank you for completing me, and then not.
You knew you were going to, well, you know.
Die.
You let me live without that knowledge tucked
Inside my porous mind.
“It’s in one ear, and out the other with that girl!”

You let me scream and cry and kick and punch,
When I’m sure you felt like doing that too.
On the inside.
You knew.
But you never stopped living for a second.
God!
You knew.

People say that “it” took you away.
That “it” killed you.
I nod, in agreement.
But a small grimace tugs at my cheeks because I know they’re crazy.
“It” didn’t kill you.
In fact,
Nothing did.

As far as I’m concerned,
You’re as alive as
My eyes dance-dance-dancing,
Busy questioning, asking, and learning,
Just like you,
Dad.

The length,
The billowing muscles that rippled across your body,
That’s gone.

The strength,
Being a grown man but not afraid to shed big, watery, slobbery tears,
Unapologetically so.
That’s gone.

The laughter,
Never failing to jumble up a few words, a few sounds, a few faces, a few names,
Just to reveal my roaring giggle, that filled the room, and filled your heart.
That’s gone.

48

The love,
Letting my head cuddle up to your holey t-shirt,
Feeling your chest rise and fall,
Rise and fall.
That’s gone.
The person,
The healthy, happy, strong, wonderful man I once knew,
Decayed into cancer infested,
Drugged,
Sick man. Someone who I didn’t recognize.
But you?
Your legacy is like an eternal flame that will never burn out.
It’s a roaring fire that enveloped anyone and everyone you met:
Entering as strangers, leaving as family.
I read something once,
And when I read it, I realized
That I’m not sorry for how my life turned out.
It read, Pain demands to be felt.
You taught me that brain cancer was not a defect of the brain,
But a defect of the mind.
Thank you for teaching me to feel pain.
Thank you for letting me suffer.
And, most importantly,
Thank you for allowing me to feel love.
Will there ever be enough words to describe how thankful I am for you?
No.
Will there ever be enough tears to express how sad I am that you’re gone?
Nope.
Will there ever be enough heart-shaped emojis to tell you how much I love you?
I love you l love you I love you.
I aspire to be like you, because you left this world without regret.
You lived with a purpose,
and you were determined
to create the life you
wanted others
to remember as worth living.
Even throughout your hardest test,
your purpose was never defeated.
As I write this,
Along with everything else I do,
It is because of you.
I have lived.
I have laughed.
And I have loved, all because of you.
I’m thankful.
And I’m sad.
And I love you.
Sincerely, Lauren

49

Never Forgotten
A TrueStory

By Robbie Khazan
Deep down, in the parts of his mind he wanted to ignore, Sam knew what was happening.
Maybe it was the urgency in his mother’s voice as she called him over. Or the one es-
caped tear that had slowly begun to trickle along his father's sorrowful face.
But whatever it was, without any words, his parents had told him what had happened.
In a way, Sam knew this was coming. He thought he was prepared, knowing that this was
going to happen eventually, but he really wasn’t, no one can ever be.
As his barrier of defense crumpled, an undeniable shock took Sam over. Suddenly he
could hear the soft sobs coming from the upstairs of his home. He could feel his heart beating
furiously, pumping throughout his body. The want for all this to be one everlasting nightmare.
For it to all go away.
But it wouldn't.
On impulse, Sam raced up the stairs that lead to his grandparents’ dwelling, the one that
he had enjoyed so much of his life in.
He started to remember all the times he and his grandfather had played long, thoughtful
games of chess, both knowing that Simon would win, but still trying their hardest to overtake the
opponent.
He remembered how on the nights his parents went out, Simon would scratch his back,
sing lullabies and tell stories until he had gone to sleep.
But now he knew it was all over, and he knew that it was inevitable.
Simon had been diagnosed with lung cancer around three years before that day, even
though the doctors had predicted only a week. Simon had seemed in control for the first two
years, but then the cancer spread to his brain and everything got much worse. On Yom Kippur, a
Jewish holiday, Simon had his first seizure and was rushed to the hospital, leaving everyone in
despair. He started losing his memory of people, and his own abilities, such as walking and talk-
ing. But the one thing he never lost, no matter what was happening, was his want, no need, to
never give up. Simon had always lived life to the fullest, no matter what condition he was in. I
mean he would still continue his tradition of going skiing down black diamonds, he still went to
work, and did all the amazing things no other person would or even could do in his position.
But now, as Sam burst through the doorway and into Simon’s room, all the noises, all of
time, all of everything except his grandfather stopped.
Sam felt as though he was in his own bubble of time, trapped in space, alone.
Sad, scared, angry, alone.
All his emotions were set free, in one large stampede.
His grandfather was lying peacefully on his large bed, his eyes closed and his face re-
laxed.
Everything was slowed down. The world spun as Sam tried to accept this new reality.
He looked around.
He saw his grandmother, Sima, with her hand covered over her mouth in horror as she
stared at her husband on the white bed, horrified and inconsolable. His dad was standing at the
doorway, looking endlessly at Simon in complete despair. His mom and brother were running
restlessly up the stairwell, both of them crying.
There was nothing to be done.
Sam just stood there, trying to keep everything away, but failing. He wept softly as hope-
lessness filled him, the truth that his beloved grandfather now only existed in his and his family's
hearts.
He went to Simon’s bedside and kissed his forehead, holding the sides of his face,
and said, “I love you, all of us do, and you will never be forgotten.”

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