Stanford Anthology For Youth: Volume 20

“Wait...” I butted in. 51
“Listen,” he snapped back, “they do speak to each other,
just not to animals. But they do show their kindness by giving
fruits to the animals. Among all the living beings, the plants
are the most patient ones, waiting for the sculptor to return.”
He coughed, and closed his eyes. He became cold as an
icicle. I was sure he died. Then he flicked his eyes wide open,
gasped, and was warm again. “He is coming,” he croaked.
“The sculptor. He is calling to me.”
“Wait!” I shouted, “I want to know more! Don’t leave me
here alone.”
“Don’t worry, human. He gave me time. Time to tell you
what really happened, to tell you the truth.” He coughed. We
had arrived at a park. It looked crowded although no one was
there. We sat down on a bench. Snow began to fall like the
tears of angels. All around, the trees seemed to be staring at
us. Listening.
“It’s weird,” I said. “Today is Sunday and for a moment I’ll
be here alone. Then tomorrow will come, and everything will
be back to normal.”
“Ah,” he croaked. “Time, the riddle that no one has solved.
No, not even the crows. We will always look back at time, but
time never bothers to glance back at us. Only the sculptor
has the answer to this mystery.” We paused.
“Is the sculptor even real?” I asked, doubtfully.
“How predictable!” He laughed mockingly. “You, doubt-
ing, like all humans do. It’s in your nature. Behold, I am here,
a crow, speaking to you. What lies can you humans come up
with to explain this. Evolution? You see, we all have flaws. That
is why the sculptor gave me the chance to speak to you. He
is leading the humans back to him. He is using you, and me.”
“Well,” I said remorsefully, “I’m not quite sure what to
say.” More snow fell from the foggy sky. I felt like a moron,
making the same mistake that he had pointed out earlier. He
coughed harshly. Blood came out.
“Red,” he said “my least favorite color. Human, please
bury me in soil, not snow.”
“Why?”
“Because it all started with soil, dust and clay. That is
where I want to finish.” I picked him up with my left hand. He
screeched in pain as I picked up my shovel with my right. I
felt a knot in my throat. I had no clue how he was so calm. I
spotted a small, thin tree with dirt underneath it. I walked to
the tree and started digging, still holding him in my left hand.
“What is your name?” I asked.

“They call me Gabriel. And what should I call you, hu-
man?”

“ Zach.” I answered. He was breathing hard. His body
looked weak, but his eyes were filled with strength and wis-
dom.

“Zach, I want you to tell everyone the truth, but I want
you to wait three days first, so you can have time to think. For
three days you shall not mention anything about what hap-
pened today.” I had already dug a hole about one foot deep.

“Okay, Gabriel.” I said, my voice cracking. “Now it’s time
for me to be alone.” I lowered him into the hole, feeling pow-
erless and weak.

“Zach,” Gabriel croaked. He was grinning. “When in doubt,
look up. You will never be alone. And please, watch out for the
speeding cars.” He closed his eyes, and I felt my tears drip-
ping from my chin. With his last breaths, he said, “I will see
you in the sculptor’s hut...” I covered him with mud. I knelt
down, closed my eyes, and started to cry.

But then I heard something. The sound of birdsong, and
wings beating the crisp air. I opened my eyes and saw a
feather. A dark feather, falling gently from above. I lifted my
head. The trees were filled with crows, singing a mournful
52 tune. They had blotted out the Sun, surrounding me in a hazy
ambience. One of them flew down and landed in front of me.
He dropped something from his beak, like a piece of glazed
clay. I looked closer. It was a miniature sculpture of a crow,
perfectly crafted. I lowered my head again. And amidst the
chilly air, I felt warm, connected, and alone no more.

I remained there for hours.
Anyway, that was three days ago. Here I am, telling you
the truth.

LIZA KOLBASOV

A Cup of Friendship Tea 53

Once upon a time, in a land far, far away, there lived a
girl by the name of Scarlet. She was really far better known
as Little Red Riding Hood, but she did not like that name
very much. She quite prefered Scarlet. Now, on the day our
tale begins, Scarlet was sitting in the garden in front of her
little house, staring out into the woods, and daydreaming.
She could often be found this way, thinking of this and that.
Today, she was wishing for a friend. Ever since that adventure
with the wolf, Scarlet had been cautious about talking to new
people. She had never been shy, but suspicion had prevented
her from making friends. For many years, her only comrade
had been her twin sister, Bluebell, sometimes called “Little
Blue”. When they were young, Bluebell and Scarlet had been
inseparable. There was nowhere one would go without the
other. They were the friendliest siblings that ever walked the
earth. Then, one day, when Bluebell was in bed with a cold,
Scarlet went off on her own to deliver some goodies to
her dearly beloved grandmother, and got lost in the woods.
There, she encountered a wolf, who tricked her into telling
him where her grandmother lived, and blah, blah blah, blah
blah. You know the tale. Of course, the whole story with the
wolf had not been at all pleasant, but it earned Little Scarlet
fame. And it turned the friendship sour. Bluebell, who had for
her entire life been a sweet, innocent girl, had the seeds of
jealousy sown in her heart. A few years later, she caught sight
of the beautiful Prince Charles the Charming and fell madly
in love with him. Her jealousy was now quite driven away by
adoration, but Bluebell was far from being friendly. She spent
every day sighing and wailing by the window. Scarlet now had
not a friend in the world, and was too suspicious to find one.
A good deal of a mess for one to be in, I should say. So, there

Liza is an eighth grader at JLS Middle School. She loves to read, write, act, and
bake. You will most often find her with her nose in a book.

came the day when Scarlet decided it was time she let go of
her suspicions and found a true friend.

Now, Scarlet was thinking of ways to go about this plan.
She was just deliberating on going off to town, when a tall
girl, with dazzling fair tresses flying about in the breeze, a tat-
tered dress, and only one shoe came flying out of the forest
as if the wind itself was carrying her.

“Good... Day...” she panted.
“Good heavens, what are you up to?!” Scarlet exclaimed.
“Well, you see, I was running away from a prince...”
“What?!”
“It’s... a long story. Could I possibly... Come inside? You
have no idea what a glass of water could do for me right
now.”
Now, when it really came to it, Scarlet was unsure if she
wanted to make friends after all! Her old suspicion was just
coming upon her, as she began to mumble, “Welllll, I’m not
really allowed to talk to strangers...”
Suddenly, the door burst open, and her grandmother
stepped into the garden.
“My dear! What is going on here? Oh, my darlings, step
inside! Only pray tell, are you quite alright?”
54 “Perfectly, Ma’am, perfectly alright. I’m only a little tired,
and distressed. Nothing more, I assure you!”
“Very well, then. Come in. I’ll brew you some strawberry
tea, and you’ll tell the tale.”
Before Scarlet had the chance to collect her wits, she
found herself at the dining table, sipping her grandmother’s
famous strawberry tea.
“I would ask Bluebell to join us, but I’m afraid she won’t
come. You know how she is these days... Never stirring from
her room.”
“What is it? Is she sick?” the girl asked.
“No... That’s a fable Scarlet can tell you a little later. Now,
it’s your turn to talk. Tell us who you are and how you turned
up on our doorstep.”
“Well,” said the girl, sipping her tea, “It’s kind of a long
story. A very long one.”
“It’s okay. We have time.”
“Alright then. My name is Ella, though you may know me
as Cinderella, for that’s the nickname my kind sisters gave
me.”
“Wait a moment,” Scarlet’s grandmother interrupted,
“Ella? Certainly not... Not Ella Goldentress?”
“The very one!”

“Why, I knew your mother before she... The two of us 55
were very good friends. I always hated your father for marry-
ing that step mother of yours. Excuse my saying so.”

“No, it’s quite alright. My step mother... She’s really not the
kindest lady. Well, you know the beginning of my tale, then. I
lived as a servant for my stepmother and sisters. It was not a
good life, but I bore it well. Two weeks ago, I heard that the
prince was having a ball, and that my ‘family’ was planning
on going. Of course, I was not invited along, but that was not
my problem. In secret, I sewed myself a dress, and created
a carriage from a large pumpkin. Then, tonight, as they were
getting ready to go, I snuck away too. I was just about to roll
away towards the palace, all beauty and splendor, in my new
carriage, dress, and these very slippers. Just then, my fairy
godmother appeared.”

“How very wonderful!” Scarlet exclaimed. By this time,
she was getting very much into the adventure, which she
found much more interesting than her own.

“Nothing wonderful about it. I had done everything
myself already, and was perfectly content to just go, and my
godmother always has such strange ideas. Well, she insisted
on doing something for me. She disappeared for a moment,
and soon appeared again, looking immensely content with
herself. She had cast a spell on the prince! Now, at the mo-
ment, I didn’t care much about it; I simply wanted to be off.
So, I left my godmother to revel in her accomplishments, and
went off to the dance. Little did I know what kind of a spell
the kindh­ earted fairy had cast on the prince. A love spell! The
moment I got to the ball, the prince fell madly in love with
me, and followed me around for the rest of the evening. At
midnight exactly, he took me aside, and began to mutter how
much he adored me. It was simply insufferable! At this point,
I felt I could bare him no longer, and ran down the steps and
through the forest, ripping my dress and losing a shoe along
the way. And a whole lot of trouble I’m in now! This tea is deli-
cious, by the way.”

“Wow. That... That’s horrible!” Scarlett muttered, baffled.
“Well, you’re with us now, so there’s no need to despair.”
Grandmother said cheerfully, pouring Ella another cup of tea,
“Drink up! You’re welcome in my house for as long as you
wish to stay here.”

And so Scarlet met a friend. At first, the two were not
very close, as Scarlet was timid and suspicious where her
grandmother was open-­hearted and welcoming. Slowly but

surely, though, the two became as inseparable as two girls
ever were. For a long time, both ladies were extremely happy.
There was nothing in the world to distress them. Grandmoth-
er loved and cared for them, and the two suited and enter-
tained each other perfectly. Soon, however, Scarlet began to
feel once more that there was something missing from her
life. Ella felt sorry for the poor prince who had loved a vision,
and so she was often sad about the pain she had caused him.
Scarlet, too, often wished that all those around her could be
as jovial and blooming as she herself was. It distressed her to
see Bluebell crying at the window, and Ella sighing at her side.
She began to feel that something must be done. So, one day,
Scarlet came to her grandmother, and asked for a talk.

“Yes dear, what is it?”
“I wish to help Ella feel at ease! There must be some solu-
tion to this prince problem!”
“Yes, darling, I’m sure there is, and it’s up to you to find
it. I suggest you travel to the palace, and have a talk with the
prince. Then, you will surely find a solution.”
And so Scarlet set off. There were many tears shed
upon her leaving, and even Bluebell was heard to sigh at the
window, though that may have been her usual state. Scarlet
56 walked through the woods, swinging her basket, humming a
tune. Never was a more self-­confident lady seen in the land.
The wild animals themselves were too scared to approach
her. Three days and three nights she walked, and on the third
day she reached the field of announcements. There, a little
girl approached her, mumbling and whispering.

“Please, Ma’am help me out! A young princess, the beauty
of the kingdom, has pricked herself with a needle, and fallen
into an eternal sleep. Only a prince can save her! Perhaps you
know one around?”
“I will try, my girl,” smiled Scarlet, and went on her way. A
little while later, a second little girl approached her, as con-
fused and nervous as the first had been.
“Oh, my lady! Could you do me a favour? Would you be
so kind as to deliver this message to any prince in the neigh-
boring lands?”
“But of course!”
“Well, you see, a beautiful princess famed for her sweet-
ness and gentleness, who has for the past few years lived
with some kind dwarves in the woods, has been poisoned by
an apple! It is rumored that a gallant young prince can be her
remedy.”

“I know just the one,” Scarlet assured her, and continued 57
on her way. In a few moments, a third young girl approached
her, looking just like those who came before her.

“Kind, gentle friend!” she pleaded with Scarlet, “My sisters
have told me how gracious you have been to them. Perhaps
you could help me too? You see, a beautiful girl, come from
a faraway land was at Prince Charles’ ball. It so happened
that he fell in love with her. But as soon as the clock struck
midnight, she was off and running, so fast that none of the
guards could catch her! No one has seen her since. Could
you perhaps help us find her?”

“Now that,” Scarlet said, highly displeased, “Is something I
can not help you with. And I suggest you leave off this search
at once.” With that, she walked briskly away, and left the girl
staring after her.

Soon after, Scarlet arrived at the palace. She turned to the
sleepy guards at the gates, asking them to allow her to speak
to the prince. However, the answer was not in her favour.

“Certainly not, my lady.”
“Absolutely impossible. You see, the prince is currently in
mourning. You’ve heard about his love, I suppose. The myste-
rious lady of the palace, who had the heart to run away from
him. So sad...”
“Yes, well, I...”
“So,you see, there can be absolutely no way for you to
see him.”
“Ah, but I bring him news of his love! I thought he might
wish to her that. But if not, I will gladly go away.”
“Tell us, and we shall deliver the news.”
“Absolutely impossible. I shall tell him, or no one at all.”
“Very well. I will tell his royal highness that a lady wishes
to speak to him of the princess.” The guard bowed, and Scar-
let smiled at her own cleverness. She had prepared a speech
to deliver to the prince, and was about to go into the palace.
All was going according to plan.

When the guard returned, Scarlet was conducted to the
Royal chambers. The doors were opened for her, and before
she knew quite rightly what was going on, she was standing in
a long, beautiful room, with a throne before her.
“Your Royal Highness Prince Charles the Charming,” Scar-
let said, curtseying as low to the ground as anyone had ever
gone.
“Speak, Madam. I will gladly hear the news you bring.”
“Ah, yes, sir. But you see, I can not speak while they are

58

59

here,” she whispered, nodding towards the guards.
“You, guards, are dismissed. We shall talk in private.” The

guards cleared the chamber with a bow, and Scarlet found
herself alone with the prince. Now, for the first time, she had
a chance to examine him. He was a tall youth, lavishly attired,
with long brown locks falling on his royal forehead. Really, as
far as looks went, he was all that could be desired in a prince.
But when Scarlet examined his face a little more closely, she
found there very little true grief. She doubted he could be
truly in love with Ella. The spell had made him fancy himself
so, and that was all. However, in his princely features, Scarlet
quickly saw something that made her want to help him. A hint
of neglect, a want of love hung about him. What he needs
most, Scarlet thought to herself, Is a kind woman to love him.
Well, she would try to find him one, but it would not be an
easy job.

So, Scarlet began her tale. She told the prince she had
heard of his tragedy, but that she thought he had misinter-
preted it. She told him that his love was really unworthy of his
attentions, and that they would never be happy together. He
would wish for someone who could love him more than the
beautiful lady ever would, and she, in turn, would be miser-
60 able in her inability to make him happy. All in all, it would be
a very unfavourable match for both parties. Why should he
continue on his search?

“Very well. Perhaps you are correct. Perhaps I was truly
mistaken in my love for her. You see, I’ve been considering.
This lady, she was so elegant, so gentle, so elusive... Almost
like a vision. I felt like some unbeatable force was making
me love her. Now, though, I perceive its effects beginning to
wear off. Your presence has made me question what I have
mourned for. But tell me, it has come time for me to marry.
You say it shall be wrong for me to wed this lady. My heart
yearns for her, but I see now that you may be right. Who,
then, shall I take as my bride?”

“This, too, I have thought of, Your Highness. Along my
travels, I have heard of a princess. A beautiful young girl,
sadly put into an everlasting sleep. You will find her in the land
of Dormiria. What do you think of going off to rescue this
lady? You could then take her as your bride.”

Maya Hirano (previous page, “Fishing”) is a quizzical 8th grader at Central Middle
School who is convinced that her drawings will someday come to life and haunt
her dreams. In her spare time, she likes to draw, write, read, and prance around
the house for fun.

61
“I, too, have heard of this Sleeping Beauty. I do not think

she is the one for me. You see, I do not enjoy the thought of
going against a witch’s spell. Besides, whatever shall I do if I
do not end up loving her? I will be forced to wed her. Do you
have any other options?”

“But of course! In the faraway woods, at home with some
nice dwarves, lives a kind, gentle girl, poisoned by an apple. It
is rumored that a prince can save her. Could you rescue this
beauty­of ­the ­woods, and have her as your wife?”

“Well, uh, you see... I’m not, ah, how should I put this, the
biggest fan of quests. I find them... Just a little dangerous, you
see. A bit. I want a wife that will love me unconditionally, wor-
ship the very ground I walk on, and yet be glad to be loved by
me, and be my fellow ruler of the land. I do not wish to work
for her. Quests are not my cup of tea.”

Scarlet thought for a minute. She had expected the prince
to be cowardly, but not to this extent! She hardly had an idea
of what to do with him. Suddenly, something came to mind.
She knew the perfect girl, one that would suit him exactly.
Someone that would be completely infatuated with his Regal
self, and would love him unconditionally. Scarlet smiled to
herself, and once again addressed the prince. If only Prince
Charles would agree to her plan.

“Your Majesty, I believe I have just the girl for you. If you
lean down for a moment, I will whisper in your ear the name
of that who you seek.” So she did, and as a wide smile spread
over the princely face, she continued, “If you will be so kind
as to meet me on the morrow, all alone on a sturdy horse at
the entrance to the woods, I shall take you to her. Be prompt
and bring no man with you.”

“Kind lady, do allow me to give you room and lodge for
the night?”

“Unfortunately, I have an aunt in the land to whom I must
deliver my regards. We shall meet tomorrow, before the sun
rises. Do not forget what I have told you!”

“But please, my lady, is there anything else I can do for
you?”

“If you are so anxious to help, do bring a horse for me
too.”

“The best horse in the royal stables shall be yours.”
“I thank you, Your Majesty. And now, good day.” And with
a bow, Scarlet was out the door and on to her aunt’s house,
extremely pleased with herself. She had accomplished her
goal, and, if she was not mistaken, come up with a wonderful

plan. All in all, she was very happy with her performance as
the mysterious hooded figure.

“Wait! Young lady, do tell me your name!” Prince Charles
shouted into the distance. However, no answer came to his
cries. Scarlet was gone. So, the prince was left to think over
the events of today, and what the future held.


It was near dawn on a cool summer morn when Scarlet
stood near the entrance of the woods. It’s been over an hour
that she’s been standing this way, and she was beginning to
get irritated. Could it be that the spell was too strong for
Scarlet to break? Perhaps, she thought, the cowardly prince
had been too scared to make the trip. Or, maybe he had
overslept? Just as all of these thoughts began to invade Scar-
let’s calm, the prince appeared, all expensive gallantry on his
beautiful cream­colored mare. Along with him was another, a
chocolate brown pony, galloping quietly by his side.
“Good day, Your Royal Majesty! I hope you are ready?”
“Quite so, fair lady. I trust this ride will be safe and calm?”
“I have reason to hope that it will. One must exercise
common sense in the woods, I have learned, but really when
you do they are quite safe. Think of this trip as a joy ride. Af-
62 ter all, you are going to meet your future bride!”
“I... Yes. I have been preparing for that. What shall I tell
her, do you think? I want a woman’s point of view in this. I am
thinking: ‘My lady, shall you do me the honour...’”
At that, Scarlet let him chatter on, and concentrated her-
self on the beauty of the woods. All around her, flowers were
blooming, birds were singing, and the world was waking up.
Before long, they reached the trail towards her home. The
mares were quick-­footed, and in the morning breeze it truly
was a joyride. Not a single wolf would dare approach them at
such a beautiful time. Scarlet was at ease.
As the horses approached her home, Scarlet stopped the
prince.
“Your Royal Highness, you must stay here while I go and
warn my friends of your coming. I will come and get you
when the time is right.”
“Wouldn’t it be better to spring upon them by surprise?”
“Certainly not. Your bride might faint from the shock of
your handsome face appearing so suddenly! No. Stay here
while I go on ahead. I won’t be gone a minute.” She galloped
off, leaving the prince to pace impatiently.
The first one she saw as she approached the hut was
Ella. She had been waiting impatiently for Scarlet’s return, and

had hardly left the garden since the start of her absence. 63
“Scarlet! What is the news?” she yelled after hugging her

repeatedly.
“I have found a bride for the prince. Now, listen to the

plan,” and with that she whispered softly into Ella’s ear, so that
only little bits could be heard.

“...into the house... lead her out... after it’s done, come out
again and offer them tea...”

And then, aloud, “So we shall see whether my plan was
successful, or no. I have a feeling it will be. Hurry, dear, and
get them ready! I do not wish to keep the prince waiting. Not
a second can be spared!”

A few minutes later, Scarlet and the prince gallopped up
to the hut. The prince stepped up, and Scarlet sat down in
the background. She had done her job, and had only to wait
and see how her plan turned out. The door opened, and out
stepped Bluebell, in all her beauty and glory, pale skinned,
with magical clear ­blue eyes. Upon seeing her immense
beauty, the spell wore off completely, and Prince Charles fell
immediately in love with her. Her sweet face served as an
antidote to the godmother’s magic. The prince had planned
a long speech, but now could only mutter, “Dear... Love...
Sweet...”

“What he means to say, dearest Bluebell,” Scarlet laughed,
“Is ‘I love you dear Bluebell, will you love me eternally and be
my royal Queen?’”

Bluebell looked like she might indeed faint, and demand-
ed, “Is this some kind of prank? Might this be true?”

“Yes... I... That is, if you love me. If... Oh, fair dame, I love
you more than it is in my power to state. If you agree to be-
come the Queen of Fairytale land and rule with me forever, I
will be the happiest man ever to walk the earth. I have fan-
cied myself in love before, but never have I had this feeling.
Please?”

“Nothing would make me happier,” smiled Bluebell, the
first real smile that Scarlet had seen from her for ages. Just
then, Ella flounced out, and offered the couple some tea.
Prince Charles didn’t even flinch, and walked inside, never
suspecting who was pouring his beverage. So, Scarlet left the
Prince with Bluebell, and Ella to recover from the shock, and
went inside to talk to her grandmother.

“You have done well, my child. This shows that friendship
can be the best gift in the world, doesn’t it? It has been for
Ella and Bluebell.”

“And for myself, as well. Thank you, grandmother, for

your counsel. I am extremely grateful.” “You’re very welcome,
my dear. Now, go and party. I shall join you soon.”

And so the wedding took place without a delay. The
Prince was infatuated with his bride, and she, with him. It was
the happiest marriage ever to be held in Fairytale land. They
lived together peacefully and joyfully. A few years later, Blue-
bell bore Prince Charles three sons. The first went off and
and rescued Sleeping Beauty from her endless slumber, the
second saved the poisoned girl. Both went down in history
as smart and brave lads. The third son became a professor,
and wrote down many a tale he had heard around the land. All
of them were true, and went on here, in Fairytale land. As for
Scarlet and Ella, they continued to live with grandmother, in
the little hut in the woods. As time bore on, Ella met a clever
prince from an adjoining kingdom, who fell madly in love
with her, and married him. Scarlet continued to be her most
trusted friend, and became the main advisor for both Fai-
rytale Land and Ella’s kingdom, Magicville, for even the great-
est rulers sometimes needed some help and guidance.

All in all, Scarlet had solved every problem that could
cause them pain, and all the friends lived happily ever after,
with nothing to worry or depress them to the end of their
64 days.

ASHLEY GUO

The Dandelion 65

In a neat little garden stood a dandelion. It wasn’t as
beautiful as the roses or the azaleas and felt unwanted and
out of place. As it stared at the passing clouds, it wondered
what it might be like to travel so far and see as many things
as the clouds had. The dandelion promised before its end that
it would find some good in the world.

One day, a woman with sturdy gloves interrupted the
little dandelion’s peaceful state. As she yanked its roots out
of the ground, the dandelion scattered its seeds into the wind
in hope of being able live out its dream of finding proof that
there is goodness in the world.

Most seeds landed only a few yards away from where the
dandelion once stood, but some rode the wind far out and
saw many things the dandelion never thought it would see.

One seed flew for quite a while and was swept into a tall,
dark building. In a room sat several children on bunk beds. A
stern woman came in.

“We are having visitors tomorrow,” she announced, “so be
on your best behaviors because one of you may be adopted.”
The children all began to chatter amongst themselves as she
left the room.

“I hope they adopt me. How nice it would be to have
someone to care for you first and foremost,” a girl said. Sev-
eral children laughed.

“Why would someone care for us?” a child pointed out.
“What have we done to deserve their love and concern for
our well-being?” The other children murmured their agree-
ment.

“Yeah! Why would anyone care for a child for no reason?”
another child called from the corner.

“Nobody gives things to anyone without receiving any-

Ashley Guo is a 8th grader at JLS who loves to read and write. She enjoys competi-
tive swimming at PASA, plays the piano, and dances ballet.

thing for themselves. We are orphans and have nothing to
give,” a child said.

“You are right,” the girl said, “it would be a miracle for
anyone to want to love us.”

What is love, the dandelion contemplated as it was carried
by the gentle breeze away from the orphanage. A while later,
it landed on the windowsill of a small house.

A little boy was running around and dragging his toy truck
behind him. He had a toothy grin and dimples on his cheek.

“Mommy look at me!” he cried as he ran around the
room. He giggled and looked back at his mother, who was
smiling and rocking in her chair. The little boy then fell and
started crying.

“It’s okay,” his mother said, “Mommy’s here to help you.”
She brought out a little bandage and placed it on his scraped
knee. She then kissed the top of the little boy’s head.

“I will make sure that I am always there for you,” she
whispered to him. She swept up the little boy and placed her
on her lap in the rocking chair.

The dandelion seed was then swept away by the wind,
comforted by the scene it encountered. Ah, it thought, that
was love. The dandelion seed flew upwards towards the sun
66 and reached for the clouds.

As the seed surveyed the ground far below it, it nodded
with satisfaction. It had seen the power of love and what
would happen without it. The dandelion seed decided that
without familial affection, the world would be a bleak place.

How lucky, the dandelion seed thought, that some people
have at least one person in the world that provides them with
unconditional love.

ALICE GODWIN

A Debt to Pay 67

My windshield wipers swung back and forth, clearing
my view as I drove down my town’s snowy Main Street. The
storefront windows sparkled with Christmas decorations
and holiday warmth. I pictured my kids at home, helping my
husband with dinner; soon I would be there to join the holi-
day fun. I glanced around the town square. What a beautiful
scene--sights and sounds of holiday cheer and hope every-
where. Everywhere except beneath that public Christmas tree
that stood alone in the center roundabout. Using the branch-
es as shelter from the snow, I almost didn’t notice her as she
crouched above the frozen ground. Her short breaths left
ephemeral clouds in the brisk air. Her clothes were worn thin.
No color left in her, but a dull, lonely grey. Her short, faded
blonde hair capped her aged, bleak, grey face. A torn tarp
covered a shopping cart filled with her few belongs. Poor
woman with no one to help her.

I’m not sure what overcame my desire to be home with
my family. It must’ve been imagining not having a family, no
husband, no job, no house, nothing. I pictured spending my
days sitting alone, having no other option but to wander and
beg. I knew giving money was not the answer; give her some-
thing more useful.

I pulled over and parked my car in front of the conve-
nience store across the street. I kept my eye on her, mak-
ing sure she hadn’t left as I quickly climbed out of my car
to avoid the cold. The store was empty except for one man
slumped behind a checkout counter. The overstock on Christ-
mas items made me hesitant. I could be home, starting my
holiday break with a movie, or maybe baking cookies. No, no,
no. Imagine if I were in her position. She needs help. I created
a mental shopping list: layers, food, and something to drink.

Alice enjoys playing soccer and basketball. She also plays the oboe and guitar.

I weaved through the store to the aisle titled “Winter”. She
looked almost frozen in place. She needs layers. I fondled the
fleece blankets and socks, picturing their warmth surround-
ing her with some comfort. I hurried to the window, barely
seeing through the fogged pane and snow but relieved to see
she was still there. She didn’t expect anything from anyone;
no sign sat in front of her explaining her story.

I turned around and headed to “Beverages” and grabbed
three bottled waters. My last stop was the quick meal section
for a turkey and cheese sandwich, no, two sandwiches.

“Did you find everything alright, ma’am?” my cashier
asked in slothful manner.

“Yes, thank you.”
“Your total is $27.93. Will that be debit or credit?” He had
no interest in my answer; it was as if he was reading from a
script.
“Debit,” I swiped my card and bagged my items for a
quick exit.
I walked back out into the frigid air glancing anxiously her
68

way to see if she had noticed me, but something in the op- 69
posite direction had captured her attention.

What do I say to her? How do I present myself? I hurried
back to my car to buy myself some time to think and orga-
nize myself. You can do this. She’ll be grateful. Imagine having
nothing but a cart full of things you found on the street. I
climbed out of my car, energized to give her my care pack-
age and feel the buzz of someone’s appreciation for my help.
As I looked for her beneath the tree, to my surprise, she was
gone. Vanished. Nowhere to be seen.

I stood there cold, stunned and deflated as I visualized
how this could have been me. Just nine short years ago I was
hounded by endless credit card debt and then I lost my job.
There was no one to help me find a way out as I spiraled
deeper into loneliness and defeat. Then, a woman I barely
knew from down the hall introduced me to a support group
for women. I joined WWS, Woman With Support, and what a
change they made. They helped put my life back together. I
got a job and over time was able to pay off my debt. With re-
newed self confidence and hope, I changed my life storyline.

But now, I realize, I still have a debt to pay, and it can’t be
bought at a convenience store. Nine short years ago, I re-
ceived guidance, support, and care from someone who really
recognized and understood my needs. I need to get involved
to understand the needs of women like this in my community.
Now, I felt a true warm glow inside; this is my real opportu-
nity to help. I can be somebody else’s supporter in a time of
need.

 

Emily Tankeh (opposite page, “Pollen Up Close”) loves all mediums of art and
enjoys being on a competitive dance team. Her favorite subject is science, and she
loves her adorable dog, Spritle!

SARAH STAMPLEMAN

Deep Recesses

Catatonia is cold, and unforgiving. Desolate, and dry. It
has pushed me to limits I believed far beyond the capabili-
ties of man. I cannot predict what comes next, for it is like
the sea, always changing, with new challenges around every
corner. Few have conquered this barren tundra, but for those
who have, it is seldom spoken of. Going that far only to be
pulled back to reality, takes its toll. However, this place can-
not be set foot on, or be travelled to by means of car, bus
or plane. Yet, remains to be very much real. Welcome to the
depths of my mind.

Lost, I experience life as I never have before. I live, but
only just. I live a half-l­ife, one full not of laughter and joy, but
70 of questions unanswered, and the need to remember. Always
to remember. I became obsessed with trumping any and all
thoughts that derive from my ideal of a happy life. Before,
I led a life that could be described as normal. I was actively
social, I had loyal friends, and I was on a track for success.
But then, I began to see the flaws in my life. My friends no
longer had flaws, they became them. My future didn’t seem
as concrete as I had imagined and hoped. I consumed myself
trying to fix everything. I focused on nothing else, and as a
result, I have driven myself mad. I have receded into myself.
I do not speak, and I do not move. They call it Catatonia, not
dead, but not nearly living.

My name is Milo, and I am a mere ghost of a person.
A memory, trapped in the body of my most recent self.
Trapped, because I am not physically here. My mind is some-
where far away, somewhere that moves further and further
away from reality as the days wear on. Day after day, week
after week, people come and go, and watch, for the response

Sarah would like to live in a world where slippers are the only acceptable shoe to
wear and where it is perfectly normal to wear pajamas to school on a regular basis.
She wants to travel the world when she is older and set foot on all seven continents
and a variety of countries within them.

I can never give them. But nobody ever stays long. I am of 71
no substantial company to them, and rather like an art instal-
lation. When it is first put in a museum, it’s the main attrac-
tion-- what people flock here to see; but slowly, it fades from
people’s memories, cast aside for something newer and
more interesting.

I’m shoved into drab gowns, and even with my little
regard to fashion, they’re hideous. The same goes for every-
thing else. I’m “groomed” if you could so much as call it that.
I’m combed, washed, analyzed and notated. Talked about but
never talked to.

“No, come back. I really am here, I promise,” I yearn to
call, “Please stay.”

No one hears my voiceless pleas.
 
Time spent in my eternal purgatory, ends only when my
awakening carries me away from this lifetime of oblivion.
Feeling like a caged animal, I am looked in on, never left alone
for more than a couple hours. Not watched upon for amuse-
ment, but instead by those donned in plain white coats, only
observing, and jotting notes on their clipboard. They remain
to be simple murmurs conjured by my own imagination, yet
their presence is as concrete as the sidewalks created by it.
I picture them regarding me as hopeless, yet dutifully
recording my “progress” as they are told to.
“Any signs of movement?” one will ask.
“Nothing ‘cept breathing” the other will sigh.
And then they will leave. Like they always do.
People attempt to figure out and diagnose me with a con-
dition. But, this cannot be placed into a category, nor treated
with any medicine in this world. This struggle began internally,
and should be ended as such. They ask me questions:
“Can you hear me?” and “ How are you feeling today?”
Are they idiots? I’m catatonic! Do they really expect me
to pop up and answer?
“Gee whiz I’m doing swell today pops!”
I am held prisoner in my own body. I ache to run a hand
through my hair, scream at the top of my lungs, simply wave
to a loved one. Yet, here I lay. I fear it has been too long,
that me becoming alive once more, would shock them into
oblivion. I have receded into myself, and it seems it is my only
option, for the sake of others and myself. Stuck, and flat, it
seems to the bland piece of paper my life has become.
They say you have five senses. I disagree. I say you can
never really tell. Unless you’re blind or deaf, or something

else weird, you can see, hear, smell, taste and touch. But how
often are you looking rather than really seeing? Hearing,
instead of closely listening? Are you blandly touching, and not
feeling for everything beneath your fingertips? I don’t taste,
and I don’t touch. But, I have learned to see, and to listen. Like
everything else I experience, I do not sense like the rest of
the outside world. I picture people rather than see them, and I
hear only flecks of sound. I have taught myself to conjure and
infer what they are discussing, and then turn them into fully
fledged conversations in my mind.

“Any...move..a...ye..” becomes “Any movement at all yet?”
The further I strain myself, the more painful it is, and the
harder it is to try to come back. Each time I try to wake up
I end up going further back, and the harder it is to try each
time. Maybe I should just give up. I try once more, a— what’s
this? Everything is getting brighter. A blinding white light. Hold
on, I could actually see the glow. I only picture, not see, so
why is this happening? Am I dead? Murmurs get louder. I go
into a panic. All of a sudden a face stares down at me. It is
hard to make out at first, for my eyes are still clouded. I look
around, then at myself. My clothes, not as ugly as I pictured
them, and people, not regarding me with uninterest, but genu-
72 ine care. My perception of what the outside world would be
like, completely derived from my past as part of the “living.”
I’ve arrived.

SARAH BOBICH

A Different Kind of Family 73

So many people have broken their promises to me, it
seems likely that Katherine will too. “I’ll take care of you!” she
said. Yeah right! Just like my mother took care of me, before
watching her latest boyfriend give me a black eye. I don’t
bother letting myself start to hope that maybe this time will
be different. Hope only leads one place: disappointment. I
have learned to save myself the trouble.

I look over and see the peaceful look on Katherine’s face.
She almost looks happy! I can’t imagine why she would be
pleased to bring a beat-­up, practically-­orphaned, 10-­year-­old
girl home with her. It isn’t exactly a joyful scenario. But her
expression is definitely different from the one she wore back
at the Foster Care Office.

A flood of images force themselves into my mind. I re-
member watching her through my good eye as Phoebe, my
social worker, shared my file information.

“—missed at least half of her classes this year, and is
expected to have to retake 5th grade.” Phoebe read, without
looking up. That wasn’t what shocked me, I mean why would
it? It is my life after all, I already know everything in that file,
I’m not even ashamed of my grades anymore. They’re just
not something worth worrying about! No, it was the look on
Katherine’s face when she received the information. I couldn’t
tell if it was surprise, concern, or disappointment. But did it
matter really? That moment, I remember thinking, “There’s
no way she’d actually foster me.” Not after hearing all that.
Her expression said it all. But I was only slightly disappointed
when I came to the conclusion. I mean, I wasn’t expecting to
be assigned my foster home, only a few days after the inci-
dent. That’s why the shock hit so hard as I heard the conver-
sation continue.

Sarah is a girl who loves sports, especially softball and basketball. In school, she en-
joys English and Math. And at home she enjoys watching movies with her brothers-
-her favorite is Harry Potter.

“You do realize how much Lily’s mother has exposed her
to, don’t you? There is a reason the police brought her here.”
Phoebe continues, finally taking her eyes off the file, to see
Katherine’s expression, now twisted with emotions I couldn’t
name. “Are you sure you want her for your first foster child?
Are you sure you’re ready?”

“I understand she’s had a troubling past” Katherine re-
sponds, “but that is just the more reason that she needs me
to foster her right now”. She said it so matter-­of-­factly, like it
was the most obvious thing.

A honking car snaps me back into the present. The sun
had set hours ago, when we were back at the Foster Care
Office. The sky had quickly turned a dark shade of blue that
could easily be mistaken for black. Ever since the funeral,
evening been my least favorite time of day. Eating dinner
alone, while mom was out drinking and partying was no fun.
She didn’t arrive home until hours later, accompanied by her
“boyfriend”. That’s what she calls them, but they aren’t like
the nice gentlemen in the movies. They only stay one night,
before they disappear forever. And not one has failed to ig-
nore my existence entirely. Not until Jeremy.

“Okay, so I am super excited that you are joining my fam-
74 ily, Lily. But I don’t know anything about you! Why don’t you

tell me a little about yourself.” Luckily, Katherine distracts me
from my thoughts. Jeremy isn’t someone I like to think about.

“You know everything about me. You read my file.”
“Your file is facts about your past, and about the people
you used to know. But your past doesn’t define you, Lily, I
want to know anything you want to tell me. Whether it was
in your file,doesn’t matter.” I didn’t know how to respond
to that. Surprise is the only word to describe my feelings. I
opened my mouth, but nothing came out. I’ve never been in
this position before. Usually being put in a position like this
would upset me, it feels as if I was picked up and dropped
into unexplored territory. But weirdly, I’m glad for what Kath-
erine has said, I think it’s something I’ve been needing to hear,
but never had anyone to tell me.
“Why don’t I ask you some questions, and you answer if
you want. If you don’t want to, just say ‘pass.’ Okay?”
I nod. Then remember she’s driving and isn’t looking at
me, so I reply “Alright”. What harm can a few questions do
anyway?
“Okay. We’ll start simple. What is your favorite color?”
“Red,” I respond. She continues with a few more easy ques-
tions. I answer all of them. Then she glances over at me

before asking, “Who is your favorite person?” I freeze. I know 75
my answer immediately. Dad. But I don’t want to tell her that,
not yet. It’s too personal. I consider lying, rather than taking
the easy way out and avoiding the question all together with
a “pass.” Lying would be pathetic, but easier than admitting
the truth. With the truth comes questions. Questions that I
don’t want to answer. I am starting a new life, my past is gone.
Dead. Along with Dad. This is what I tell myself each time I
look at Katherine, it makes leaving everything behind easier
some how.

After thinking it over I make up my mind. “Pass.” Lying
to Katherine just doesn’t seem right. She seems to expect
it though, and doesn’t skip a beat before asking the next
question. We’re back to the easy ones: favorite food? Cats
or dogs? Favorite movie? But then she glances over again. I
know a hard one’s coming.

“Do you want to tell me how you got all those bruises?”
“Pa—” I stop. She didn’t ask me how I got the bruises, she
asked me if I wanted to tell her. That gets me thinking. I really
consider the question and realize, yes. I do want to tell her. I
don’t know why, but something inside of me told me to trust
her. No one at the Foster Care Office asked me about it.
They just read the file or got the information from the police.
Looking at her, I become aware that I want to talk to some-
one about it. No, I need to tell someone. And now that I know
that, the words can’t spill out fast enough.

“It was Jeremy. He was Mom’s boyfriend that night, but
he was different. He was meaner. The rest of them just ig-
nored me, but not him. When he saw me, he got in a real bad
mood, real fast. I don’t think he likes kids much. He and Mom
disappeared into the bedroom. ‘Playing games’ is what Mom
calls it, but I know that’s not right, adults don’t play games.
I don’t remember everything, but he said something about
ruining his fun with Mom. Then he hit me.” The tears started
then. It was weird, I never cry, especially not in front of oth-
ers. It was embarrassing; a sign of weakness. But this time
I didn’t mind the tears, and didn’t care that Katherine was
witnessing them either. I was just glad I finally had someone
to talk to. And I was even happier knowing it was Katherine.

“I woke up in the hospital, speckled head to toe with huge
multicolored bruises, and my left eye swollen shut.” I contin-
ued after a deep breath, “They told me the neighbors heard
Mom screaming and called the police.”

She looks over at me, her expression is one I haven’t seen
in a long time. It’s the one Mom wore before Dad died. There

is so much I miss from before Dad’s death. So many happy
childhood memories. That cancer robbed me of so much
more than a father. When he died, so much more died with
him. Mom’s happiness disappeared too, it seemed.

The expression Katherine wore was one of someone
who cared about me, maybe even loved me. It made me cry
even harder.

“You’re never going to have to worry about Jeremy again.
Now that I’m here, you don’t have worry about anything.” I
could tell she really meant it. The way she looked at me, so
seriously. Her words were as far from sarcasm as any I’ve
ever heard.

I’ve always told myself not to rely on others, that I could
protect myself, that I was strong enough. But now, I realize
that I can’t protect myself. Not alone. Jeremy taught me that.
I decided to trust Katherine. Trust her to take care of me, to
protect me from other Jeremy’s, and trust her to love me. It
was then that I realize, I’ve already started loving her in return.

I smile up at her, “I believe you.” The tears still streaming
down my cheeks, but now for a different reason, this time,
they are accompanied by a smile.
76

ALEX CHUANG 77

The Droplets

Droplets plummet
Falling aimlessly
Plunging from their home in the clouds
descending from the sky
Not knowing the whereabouts of
their next resting spot
Falling.
Rigid concrete, getting closer within every second
As they crash towards their fate.
A puddle forms
They crash into the puddle with a splash
Circular patterns overlap with each individual impact
The puddle expands ever so slightly
As each drop gets consumed
Light shimmers through the darkness of gray
The sun shrinks every last puddle
Until nothing’s left, but a mark.
The droplets evaporate into the air
Where they float
back up
To their home in the clouds.

Alex Chuang likes to play basketball, baseball, and football. His favorite subjects
are Math and English. He lives in San Carlos, California and goes to Central Middle
School. He has a dog named Mei Mei and has two younger sisters.

CAITLIN GARCIA

Dull Roses Haunt Us Forever

Speechless, only my eyes, full of tears, show any emotion.
Standing still, I had only woken up a few hours ago, every-
thing a blur. Still, I was completely aware of my surroundings.
Wondering why this happened so soon, only my family rests
alongside the burial ground. Side by side. Without those bright
eyes and radiant personality, the joy that would usually fill
the air was missing. Leaving us all empty. Everyone felt his
absence like a never-ending pit that we kept spiraling deeper
and deeper into. We all know we are missing someone that
has a special place in all of our lives.

The harsh wind wafts over the open field, covered with
tombs secured deep in the ground. Some quite extensive,
78 others small and washed over with grey depression. My arms
and legs, exposed to the crisp January air, are layered in
goose­bumps. The rest of the family, flushed in sorrow, stands
around the large hole in the ground as light grey sky rests
upon us. Our faces puffy from tears of grieving the last few
days. We try to keep in tears, but more keep dripping out. The
car motors faintly rumble as they speed down the street be-
low us, but the crunching of the small plastic tissue packag-
ing in our hands are even louder. Surrounded by tall, emerald
treetops swaying back and forth, we wait for this dreaded
day to end.

The hour before had felt slower than expected, all of us
sitting in the quiet indoors waiting to be released. Friends and
family flooded the large room, tighter and tighter. Soon the
room was full, as countless voices quietly ache in despair.
One man delivering the ceremony as others cannot help but

Ashley Guo (opposite page, “The City”) is a 8th grader at JLS who loves to
read and write. She enjoys competitive swimming at PASA, playing the piano,
and dancing ballet.
Caitlin is a dedicated, hard-working student currently attending Central Middle
School. With her free time, Caitlin plays both club volleyball and travel softball.
She most enjoys writing about her life experiences.

cry. I sit second row from the front, hoping nobody tries to 79
comfort me, as all I wanted was to be alone. I did not want
the sympathetic comfort. I did not want to hear about his joy-
ous life before he died. I wanted to know what was to come
in the future, as I already knew what was happening now. This
loneliness was my only way to deal with grief, my conscious
talking to me. Do not let them play with your emotions.
Slightly peeking to my left, I spot my brother and cousins be-
side me, anguishing in emotional pain, giving me something
even more to cry about. I listen closely as “Somewhere Over
the Rainbow” is softly playing in the background. The grace-
ful song reminds us of his life, so happy and well-spirited, but
the song only saddened me more. I knew this only meant
this melody would stick with me forever, representing a bit-
ter day, one no one could forget. A day only experienced by
those who recognize pain.

Shivering outside again, eyes tired, I have given up with
the suffering pain of his death, the pain so harsh, so shock-
ing, so soon. We wish we had gotten to see him sooner, more
often, to know how much he really loved us, how much we
really loved him. We are gently handed beautifully exquisite
red roses. Grasping the thornless stem, running my fingers
over the silky petals, praying we could keep them forever in
commemoration of him; I lightly toss my blossoming flower

onto the casket, wishing him a happy, well-­spirited afterlife.
The sight of the roses representing our goodbyes shatters
my heart knowing he is physically gone. None of us could
have done anything to save him, as the heart attack was so
severe, and only at thirty-­eight years of age.

His older brother seems to be most affected by the
death. He forces himself to stay strong in front of the family,
only he is suffering. He wants to hold his younger sibling in
his arms one last time, he comes to the sense he cannot, his
brother is gone now. The sight of this kills me. I have never
seen my family so weak. Knowing what the lightly wooded
casket held only breaks us down more. We know this is the
last time we will get the chance to say goodbye before he
goes deep down under. Mourning, the case lowers into the
ground, right above my grandfather who had been buried
there years ago. I see the once bright, vibrant roses turn dull,
getting concealed under thick layers of muddy earth.

As of today, our loved ones lie beneath the earth’s rich
soil while we stand on the bright green grass upon the sur-
face. I felt as if the world was melting away by the second,
drooping into space as it expands away, along with my heart,
and my feelings. When the time came, and all of us have
80 had the chance to tell him how much we love him, both my
family and I, in tears with swelling hearts, slowly thanking the
mortician and funeral director as we make our way off of
the grass. I tried to get away from the pain as fast as I could.
Stepping into the cars, leading us away, away from my uncle.
The pain never filling the ever lasting hole in our hearts.

ELAINE HAN

The Earrings 81

Lightning flashed across the sky as an army of soldiers
slowly approached. The thunder violently crashed as if
foreshadowing all the terrible things that would happen to
our family. Quickly, our father told us to hide ourselves, and
those were the last words we would ever hear from him. The
Japanese were looking for my dad, who had been a spy for
the Communists. He had uncovered the Japanese’s new plan
to cause chaos to the community, but had no time to escape.
A single bullet shot through his head left him dead. I mumbled
a cry, but Sorrow and I held our breaths. The cabinet door
bursted open, and Sorrow shivered. The harsh hands of the
soldiers tied her with ropes and brought her with them. I, in
the other cabinet, was about to scream, but then silenced
myself knowing I wouldn’t be able to save my sister.

Why did it have to be her? What did she ever do to de-
serve this fate? She’s nothing but an innocent girl. How could
they? I clutched the earring, the last thing my mother had left
for me before she died, to my chest. Regret washed over me
as tears streamed down my face. No matter how hard I tried
holding them back, they wouldn’t stop. I sprinted outside. The
powerful wind almost knocked me to the ground. The cold
air felt as if thousands of needles were stabbing my skin and
penetrating my flesh, but I didn’t care.

“SORROW!” I yelled anticipating a reply, but there was
only an echo. I felt torn. It was as if my mind went blank. I
tried walking back inside, but I slipped on the muddy path.
I think I banged my forehead into a rock. The sound of the
pouring rain sounded so distant, so peaceful as if nothing had
happened. My vision blurred and darkness clouded my eyes,
and I couldn’t recall what happened after.

Elaine is an eighth grader at JLS Middle School in Palo Alto who loves to play vol-
leyball and the piano. When Elaine is not performing, she loves to read, write, and
draw.

It was a winter morning. It had snowed heavily that night.
The snow was so thick it covered up the pavements. That
was the day my sister was born. But soon after she had let
out a cry, our mother shut her eyes forever. That’s why her
name was Sorrow. Because of the death of our mother, I had
always been a mother in Sorrow’s eyes. However, I always
knew, deep down in her heart, Sorrow had a hint of jealousy.

Fifteen years had passed since the Japanese had taken
Sorrow away from the last bit of warmth in her life.

Beep beep... Beep beep beep... Beep beep. The code that
would determine the life or death of my country lay in my
fingers. I cautiously glanced around my surroundings, afraid
someone will discover my existence. I stood up and brushed
my dark long hair out of my face. It was time to go. I paused,
and my body stiff. I could barely make out the low rumbling
of a Japanese truck. I jumped as the door suddenly burst
open. I could faintly see the outlines of a man, a man I’ve
known almost my entire life.

“Come on, they’re coming for you!” he whispered. I gath-
ered my coat and hid the machine in the dark room.

“Yeah, we better hurry,” I replied, following him out the
82 door. We ran down the stairs and into a clearing. I could al-

ready hear the muffled steps of the Japanese.
“They’re over there!” a man’s deep, rusty voice shouted.

My husband and I quickly changed direction, and ran away
from the voice onto the streets. The crowd swept us away,
letting us slowly blend into it.

“Hurry! He’s waiting for us!” I was about to ask whom he
meant.

“We have to discuss about what to do next!” My husband
continued. We hurriedly reached the door of the room that
was the only safe place to discuss about our next mission.
It was the only place I could relax and drop all the heavy
weights I carry on my back. I lifted my hand and firmly
knocked once on the large wooden door. I could hear the
heavy footsteps approach the door.

“It’s about to rain,” a voice from inside said.
“It’s not raining today, but there will be a storm tomor-
row,” I replied. There was a pause.
“Do you have a place to hide from that rain?’ the voice
started again. I hesitated, trying to remember the rest of the
code.
“Yes, but I would prefer a bowl of cold soup,” I finished.
After a second, the door creaked open and the old wrinkled

face of our commander peaked out. Making sure it was us, 83
he nodded once and motioned us to come in. The command-
er looked left and right, checking no one was following us,
and closed the wide-open door.

“I was expecting you guys,” he said sitting down on the
worn leather couch. My husband nodded.

“Is there a mission for us regarding the annual Japanese
masked ball?” he asked.

“Yes, I would like you two to go as a couple and poison
the Japanese commander. When that’s done, break into his
office and bring back the documents. This is really important
to our victory,” our commander added.

“Here are the passes to get you guys inside the ball”. My
husband and I nodded understanding as we each took our
passes. I held it gently in my hands. It was made of expensive
paper and was decorated extravagantly with intricate golden
lines spiraling around the border of the paper.

“You will also need these,” he said as he handed us a pic-
ture of the commander and a package wrapped in paper. My
husband examined the features of the commander as I slowly
unwrapped the packet. Inside of it was loose powder.

That night it was hard to sleep. I twisted and turned for
what felt like forever until my weary eyes shut.

Finally the evening of the ball came. My husband dressed
up in a fancy dark blue suit with two pockets on each side
to add a hint of elegance. I prepared myself a silky light blue
gown with detailed decorations around the waist that draped
lightly by the shoulders. The flexibility allowed me to move as
much as possible. My mask was sparkling purple with a tinge
of blue to go along with my dress. Three pieces of light blue
bird feathers stuck up at the top to cover my scar— the scar
had always been there since the day they took Sorrow away.
Detailed golden lines spiraled towards the center. It was the
most gorgeous mask I had ever seen. I slid a gun into my
purse, which was the perfect size for a handgun to sneak
past the guards. I pinned up my hair into a bun leaving out
my bangs. Automatically, my hand moved to my ear making
sure the back of the single earring was secure. I slipped into a
pair of crystal blue high heels that matched my dress almost
perfectly.

My husband helped me off the car and we walked in, my
arm strung through his. My heart pounded in my chest, but I
reminded myself to stand up straight and look forward. We
anxiously handed our passes to the guards standing on either
sides of the door. One of the guards took the passes and

motioned us to enter.
“Ma’am,” with suspicion in his eyes, the other guard said,

stepping to block my way. He patted me down, and once he
got near my purse I screamed. The guard looked confused,
but everyone else got the right idea.

“How dare you!” a woman behind me scolded. “A guard
should never take advantage of a lady!” My husband and I
slipped through the commotion and into the battlefield.

People were dancing already, and the room was filled
with colorful masks and bird feathers. The dance floor looked
like a cloud of color, mixing and unmixing. I shook my head; I
had to focus. I scanned the room, a few masks occasionally
caught my eye. Finally I saw it, our target, he was wearing the
most delicate and intricate mask I’ve ever seen. The feathers
seemed to have a mind of their own, dancing and floating
along with the music. His mask was definitely made of pure
gold. It twinkled when the light hit it. The eyes—our target’s
eyes— were dark and dangerous; the exact opposite of his
waltzing feathers. My husband nudged me and we nodded at
each other.

I ripped open the poison packet, my hand shaking slightly.
My husband was standing behind me, guarding me.
84 “I didn’t want you to come with me, it’s dangerous,” he
whispered. I smiled.

“You should know I’m capable of this,” I replied. He
laughed gently.

“Of course I know.”
I picked up the champagne glass and swirled it around a
few times to dissolve the poison. I put my hand on my hus-
band’s shoulder as reassurance.
“I’m going to be okay, don’t worry,” I said, even though
I wasn’t entirely sure myself. As I was about to go confront
the commander, my husband reached out and held my hand.
I stopped, and slowly turned around. He looked nervous and
caring. Suddenly, it turned into a look of horror.
“Give me your gun,” he whispered harshly. I didn’t ask
why, and handed him my gun silently. He slipped it into the
holster hidden under his suit. I nodded and walked out to
the dance floor. My blue gown flowed out behind me, and I
smiled as I neared the commander. He stopped dancing and
stared at me with those cold eyes. There seemed to be a glint
of warmth for a second. He kept staring as I walked up to him
and his ever-frowning mouth curved up into a crooked smile.
“Would you like to dance?” he said casually, extending his
hand. I smiled as I held out the drink.

“Sorry, but I need to finish this first,” I replied, swishing 85
my champagne glass. The commander, knowing women
have a delicate and slow way of drinking took the glass out
of my hand and gobbled it down. I smiled my fake smile
that I perfected for these situations. The commander took it
as a grateful smile and took my hand, swiping me onto the
dance floor. We glided along with the music. I glanced past
the couples dancing and my husband caught my attention.
He was dancing with another girl. Confused for a second,
anger rose inside of me. Suddenly, he turned towards me and
I caught a glimpse of a black handgun—my handgun. The end
was pointed at the girl’s abdomen and the girl was trying to
hint “help me” glances at the people around her.

I pulled away from the commander. It was about time for
the poison to take effect. I quietly headed upstairs. My hus-
band should be waiting there by now.

I reached the second floor, and it was dead silent. My
high heels clattered against the wooden floor; annoyed, I slid
them off and held them. I turned the corner and was met by
my husband, holding a gun to my face. I backed away, but I
knew he wouldn’t shoot.

“You’re a little late,” he said, walking. I ran to catch up with
him.

“I wanted to leave more time for you with her,” I replied
with a hint of jealousy. “So where is she?”

“Resting,” he shrugged. I knew what that meant. It meant
she was dead.

He held his gun up, ready to defend us. I knelt down near
the office door. A lock was tightly wound around the two
doors. I took out the pin from my bun, letting my hair fall
neatly down to my shoulders. We could hear the distant foot-
steps coming from the other side of the hallway. Knowing
I needed to hurry, I quickly turned the pin. The lock clicked,
indicating it was open. We slipped inside, just as a soldier had
appeared in the hallway. My husband held the gun high, his
pose ready and determined. I motioned him over to the safe
the documents would be in. It was a two-lock safe, which
meant we both had to turn it for the safe to unlock. My hus-
band and I spun the lock once trying to identify a click. Finally,
a light click caught our attention. We looked at each other;
it was successful. Suddenly, the march of a dozen soldiers
could be heard. The thumping of their boots matched my
pounding heart. There was no time for us to escape from the
main entrance. The soldiers would be searching this room in
no time. The only option now is to climb onto the roof. The

soldiers marched into the room, rifles pointing in, cautious.
The room was empty, but the safe was wide open and the
documents were gone.

“Search the area,” one soldier commanded. They left the
room and went to search elsewhere. My husband sighed.

“Hold on,” my husband said, holding my hand tighter. I
was dangling from the side of the roof, the stars twinkling as
if they were mocking me. I squeezed his hand.

“I’m trying,” I said. Suddenly, the sound of high heels trot-
ted our way. I looked helplessly at my husband. I shot him
a “what now” glance. He grunted as he used the last of his
energy to pull me up right before the woman commander
looked up at the roof. But I had forgotten about the purse I
was clutching in my left hand, and it slid right down the roof.
At the last second, I caught it with my foot.

“You scared me,” my husband mouthed to me. My intense
face turned into a smile.

The sun rose shining onto my face. It was morning. I
slowly opened my eyes, blinking a couple times to get used
to the bright light. We had spent the night on the roof, and it
was time to head back. I looked up at my husband. He was
already awake. We nodded at each other. I glanced down, and
86 no one was there. It was oddly quiet. My husband slid down,
landing with a light impact. I followed after.

We cautiously headed towards the entrance gate back-
to-back, glancing around constantly. A woman suddenly came
out of nowhere. She had short and dark hair. I ducked away,
but not before I caught a glimpse of her earring—the single
earring that dangled from her left ear. I caught my breath;
it was the same as mine. The hand carved orchid flower
dangled from that pearly white earring that I had kept since
that fateful day. I crept out from where I was hiding. I glanced
at my husband wondering what we should do next. He knew
everything about my sister. He was the only person I could
trust with my story. The clicking of her boots was coming
at our direction. My heart thudded against my chest and my
hands were sticky with sweat. I grasped the handgun tighter
in my hands.

Isabelle Bravo (opposite page, Vietnam”) is an enthusiastic girl who enjoys acting,
singing, sketching and reading Edgar Allen Poe’s stories And poems. Her favorite
story by Edgar Allan Poe is “The Tell-Tale Heart.” She has done more than 11 shows
in her life including Annie where she played Miss Hanigan, Peter Pan where she
played Peter Pan and now Aladdin Jr. where she plays the genie. When Isabelle
grows up she wants to be an actor. Isabelle enjoys listening to 60s and 70s music.
Some of her favorites are Jimi Hendrix, AC/DC, and KISS.

How could I shoot my own sister? I thought. My husband 87
knew exactly what I was thinking. He put a hand on my shoul-
der and I calmed down. My husband and I quickly sprinted
towards the other end of the wall. Each step painfully remind-
ing me that I was running away from my sister— the one that
I hadn’t seen for fifteen years. The sound of the footsteps
stopped, and I knew she had found us.

“I suggest you guys stop running. You are just wasting
your time,” a cold voice said. We paused, almost breathless.

“Save your energy. It’s useless,” she continued. There
wasn’t a single bit of warmth in her voice, and that sent shiv-
ers down my spine. Her words as if piercing through my cold
body. For a second, I could sense something was different.
Through her eyes, I could see she was starring at my earring
and suddenly her face relaxed, and the harsh aura around her
disappeared, replaced by confusion and recognition.

“Faith?” her unsure voice started. I glanced up at her.
Tears filled my eyes as I took her all in. This was the moment
I had been waiting for my entire life. I had found her again,
and this time I would protect her well. No one would be able
to hurt her again.

“Sorrow! Why are you here? What have they done to
you?” I choked out. Sorrow shook her head.

“I’m not sure myself, but I didn’t know what I was do-
ing these fifteen years until I saw your earring,” she replied,
“They would have never thought that I still remembered.

“I’m sorry, Sorrow. I’m sorry I didn’t save you,” I said
glancing down at the ground. These words finally came out.
She took me in for a hug. I couldn’t have asked for more.

Oh God! Please don’t take her away from me again.
“Why didn’t you escape? You should have joined the
Communists. The Japanese killed our dad,” I said as I backed
away from the hug. Hearing my words, she fell to the ground.
“I had always thought the Communist killed our dad
because they were worried our dad would tell the Japanese
their secrets,” her puzzled voice replied.
“It’s all over now,” I comforted her as I pulled her in for
a tighter hug. Suddenly, her eyes filled with terror. Following
her gaze, I glimpsed a soldier holding his gun high, pointing
straight at my head. My hand instinctively moved towards my
gun, but the soldier locked his finger in the trigger. I froze
where I was and slowly held my hands up. My husband’s eyes
searched for what he could do, but it was too late. The soldier
pressed the trigger, and the bullet ripped the air. Sorrow
screamed and pushed me away; the force knocked me to the
88 ground. When I looked up, the bullet hit her in the chest and
she toppled over. With her last breath, she threw her handgun
to my husband. My husband caught it single-handed. He point-
ed the gun at the soldier, and the bullet burst through the cen-
ter of the soldier’s forehead as he toppled over next to my
sister. I rushed over to Sorrow. Blood rushed out through her
mouth, but she kept a faint smile on her weary face.
“Don’t worry about me. You guys should go.“ she man-
aged to say.
“NOOO!” I screamed. This feeling was so familiar. It was
as if I had gotten used to it— used to them taking Sorrow
away from me. I hesitated and looked back, tears stinging my
eyes, but then I reluctantly turned around and darted towards
the gate. I wouldn’t let Sorrow die for nothing.
I was ready to give up everything for you, but how could
you leave me by myself again? I missed you all these years,
and you didn’t give us a chance to get to know each other.

MONICA JEON 89

Evaporate

All people fall back, all people fall down,
but all people should be more like rain, which
Inevitably, of course, hits the ground.
Onto bitter clouds some drops barely hitch,
and the drops that can’t eventually fall.
Determination must always prevail.
Those poor droplets crawl on windows and walls,
others fly without wings- they never fail,
until they finally reach the vast sky.
Shouting in small whispers, at last, at last,
they then gather majestic cloud kingdoms, lie
waiting ‘till the dusty summer has passed.
All people, of course, will fall with the rain
but some of us know we’ll rise up again.

Monica is an eighth grader at JLS Middle School in Palo Alto, California. She loves
to read historical fiction and dystopia, as well as poems. Monica is considering the
possibility of pursuing a career as journalist or an economist.

YAEL SARIG

Existing

I scraped my fork against the plate, breaking the ongoing
silence that had only been interrupted by the rare clinking of
silverware. The yellow tablecloth, despite the many alcohol
stains darkening it, was still brighter than the dreary weather
outside. California’s weather was always unpredictable, and
even in the summer the trend continued as the summer sun
submitted to rain clouds. I cleared my throat, hoping for
some reaction from Aaron that would contradict the gloomi-
ness of the tired house, and the even more tired weather. He
sat across from me, eating in silence as he always did. He had
deteriorated over the years, I knew in the back of my mind,
but looking at him now was still a shock. His once clean-­cut
90 appearance was gone, greased hair falling into cold eyes as
he ate. The only thing that brought life to the dullness was the
hot steam wafting up from his meal.

I shifted in my chair. There was palpable tension, and I
tried, “Are you eating that?” He didn’t respond. I wasn’t sure if
he had heard me through the alcohol clouding his mind.

“Aaron,” I repeated, more harshly, “look at me.” He
clenched his fist now, and I backed down. Aaron was sweet
when sober, but I didn’t know how powerful he might get
when intoxicated; I’d of course faced many nights of his
glazed-o­ ver eyes, but had never faced violence from him. As
my eyes moved to the fist that he still held tightly, I wasn’t
sure how much longer it would be before he snapped.

“Alright. I’m taking this away now.” I kept my voice neu-
tral, lifting the plate out of his way and heading towards the
dishwasher. He didn’t object, and I cleared the plate and sat
back down. My eyes locked on the beer bottle still sitting on
the table; habit had conditioned me to ignore whatever alco-
hol he had on the table, and let him take care of it. I was to
remain a good wife and leave him to drink his life away; those

Yael has been writing since she can remember. She is an avid lover of writing and
reading, music, good people, and good times.

were the unspoken terms and conditions of our marriage. I 91
took another look at his empty eyes and hardened my re-
solve. Sheer impulse and adrenaline powering me, I grabbed
his bottle off the table and drained it in the sink. The gratifica-
tion I felt at completing my mission was quickly overpowered
by fear, and I refused to turn around. This was new territory; I
didn’t know how Aaron would react.

I silently spun around to see Aaron’s eyes, bloodshot and
clouded, yet still focused on my brown eyes with a razor-­
-sharpness that instilled dread deep inside of me. I had always
had anxiety; it had become a part of my life, and I had learned
the ways to deal with it. Now those techniques flew out of
my head, and I felt bubbling panic rise up in my throat, bitter-­
tasting like bile in my mouth.

“I’m sorry...” I squeaked, suddenly hyper­aware of how
he was twice the size of my small frame. I had known that
Aaron had had a history of deception and damage in past
relationships. I knew, and yet I had been a naive girl, con-
vinced that he would change; convinced that I would be the
one to change him. The marriage had started off just as any
other, with two people happily in love, but now, looking into
his unsympathetic eyes, I couldn’t find any single part of the
man I had fallen in love with. He stepped closer to me, and I
became conscious of my surroundings; if he continued his
advancement, I would be pushed into a corner. That was the
last place I wanted to get caught in around Aaron right now.

I had no place to run. Did I even have reason to run? Was
Aaron so far gone that he would cause physical harm to me?
I told myself that he wouldn’t... but as he continued towards
me, I became more and more uncertain. I had been in abusive
relationships before; that was part of the reason I had stayed
with Aaron, even as I saw his situation worsening. I was told
repeatedly that I would never find love, and yet here was
this beautiful man, and he wanted me! And he had skeletons
in his closet, but I could ignore those, because he was here,
and he wanted me. All this I remembered as Aaron continued
on his straight path towards me. As he finally reached me,
his body inches away from mine, the doctor’s pamphlets, my
mother’s warnings, and the abuse hotline’s advertisement in
the daily paper flashed in my mind like a slideshow. The signs
of an abusive relationship, that I had pushed away into the
far reaches of my mind, were all being exhibited by the man
standing a miniscule distance away from me.

“I’m so sorry... I’m sorry I’m sorry! Aaron!” I screamed
in blind panic as he raised his fist and lowered it full-­force

onto my jaw. The pain was blinding, white flashes before my
eyes as I tasted metal in my mouth. Blood. He hit me again, in
my stomach this time, and I doubled over in pain, just barely
stopping myself from hitting the floor. The room spun, and
I distantly saw the stairs leading to the upstairs bedroom.
Tripping over my feet, I used my last ounces of strength to
push past Aaron and stumble up the stairs. With each stair that
I passed, Aaron passed two, his pounding footsteps up the
stairs reverberating in my ears like banging drums. I had had
a head start, but I was weak, and he was gaining on me. My
mind was separated from my body, my conscious floating
somewhere above my physical self and watching me crash
into the bedroom and just manage to lock the door as Aaron
reached it.

I slumped against the door, catching my breath and clos-
ing my eyes to let the nausea­-inducing dizziness pass. The
light show behind my eyelids was just as vertiginous, and it
wasn’t helped by the fast­-paced rams of Aaron shoving his
body into the door, attempting to break it down. I assured
myself that I could wait it out; that Aaron would eventually
tire himself out, and I could run. I could escape, far from this
house with its critical walls, watching with disapproval as I
92 tore myself apart from the inside for the sake of a desperate
idea of love. The wall was a witness to all, and as I lay against
it now, I promised myself that it would never observe another
fight. I would be long gone before it ever had the chance to
object. This is what I told myself as I drifted into a dreamless
sleep, grey storm clouds in my mind as powerful as those
outside my window.

I awoke confused. I was aware of the room I was in, but
I didn’t understand the pain in my jaw and stomach, or the
relentlessly pounding mallet behind my eyes. It took me a
minute to remember the events of the previous day, but in
that splendid, sweet minute I basked in blissful ignorance. It
didn’t last.

Lifting myself up from the crouched position I had drifted
off in, which had roughened my neck and spine, I surveyed
the bedroom. There weren’t any potential weapons I could
use — not even a heavy object that I could throw at Aaron,
although I prayed I wouldn’t need to. I carefully stepped out
of the room with only my phone in hand, and the number 911
already entered, ready to dial at a moment’s notice. I glanced
down the hallway, but Aaron wasn’t there, and a stream of
relief washed over me. I wouldn’t have to face him immedi-

ately. The faint smell of bacon registered, and I realized that 93
I had been smelling it this whole time, but pushing it into the
background. So Aaron was in the kitchen, I reasoned, and the
reassurance that I had felt was gone in the span of a second.
I made my way to the kitchen, swiftly this time. This wasn’t a
confrontation that I wanted to prolong.

Seeing Aaron standing over the burner, humming and
softly swaying as he flipped the pork, I nearly laughed with
shock. It was a sight so contrary to what he had looked like
just hours ago, and my fear diminished slightly when he
turned his eyes to mine and I saw some of the light back in
them.

“Allison... oh my god, Allison, I’m so sorry...” Now I saw
tears glistening in his eyes, but his apology brought me right
back to the scene yesterday. I had been pleading with him,
begging him, and hadn’t I apologized so fiercely as well? He
leaned towards me, and on instinct I flinched back away from
him. His tears intensified when he saw me backing away, and
he cried out desperately now, “Alli, you can forgive me, right?
It will never happen again. I love you so much; I’m sorry, I’m
sorry!” He was a broken man yet again in front of me, but in
such a different circumstance this time. I tenderly touched
my jaw, which was still screaming with leftover pain, and
then looked back to Aaron. Wasn’t he also screaming with
pain? Pain that he brought upon himself, my stubborn sub-
conscious reminded me. But seeing him in front of me... this
was the man that I had met in a small suburban coffee shop,
who had used a corny pickup line on me that he admitted to
being overused. The man that stood over me yesterday, with
a threatening fist and a cold dominance in his eyes, seemed
like a distant memory. They never change. Don’t do this to
yourself. I reached over and touched his shoulder gently,
albeit gingerly. He’s addicted; he can’t stop whenever he
pleases. “Aaron, you have to promise to never lay a hand on
me like that ever again.” You’re walking into a trap. “I won’t,
Alli. I promise.” You’re making the biggest mistake of your
life. “That’s not it, Aaron. I need you to promise me that you
won’t ever drink again. Never, Aaron.” You’re smarter than this.
“I don’t think I can promise that, Alli...” He is waving red flags
before your eyes! “Aaron. Promise me, or I leave, and I’m
not coming back.” Open your eyes! “Alright, Allison. I prom-
ise.” You know what you’re doing. We embraced, and I finally
released the stress I had been holding inside of me out in an
exhale. What have you done?

I had gotten dressed in a rush, headed to work in a
rush, and rushed through the 9­to ­5 hours of work. That day
seemed to have been all about rushing. What was I anticipat-
ing? What was I hurrying to? These thoughts I pushed away.
I had become exceptionally good at selectively picking and
choosing which thoughts would be allowed through my steel
wall and which would not. Thoughts relating to Aaron were
in the “not” category today. Instead, I projected my pent-u­ p
feelings of who k­ nows w­ hat in my work, and however rushed
it was, I got much more done than I had in months. I trusted
Aaron to keep his promises... but memories of earlier prom-
ises that he had flippantly made and then broken kept rising
to the surface. I told myself this was different.

I noticed getting out of my car and walking up the drive-
way to the large white house that the front lights were on. So
Aaron was home — not necessarily a good sign, my subcon-
scious reminded me anxiously. He had a job, a stable one,
despite his alcoholism, and his shift ended at 6. He has early
days; that doesn’t mean anything, and I shouldn’t jump to con-
clusions, I mentally conditioned myself. Despite this, my heart
rate sped up alarmingly, and even as I took deep breaths as I
opened the door, my heart refused to calm down. I crossed
94 the threshold of the house and, seeing lights on in the dining
room, I stepped into the room. Aaron was sitting at his seat
around the table. I smiled at the familiar yellow tablecloth,
but the smile disappeared when I smelled the familiar eye-­
watering stench on his breath. He had apparently been smart
enough to clear the evidence from the table, but I had been
married to him for over a year, and he was more naive than I
if he thought I wouldn’t recognize the liquor that condemned
him.

“You didn’t.” I whispered softly, and I myself wasn’t sure
if I was accusing him, or berating myself for trusting him. He
didn’t answer me, and I raised my voice. “AARON.”

Now he glowered over at me, and an eerie sense of deja
vu that raised goosebumps on my skin overtook me. This was
exactly what had happened yesterday, wasn’t it? And I had
ignored the signs yet again for the sake of love. Every time I
thought I had matured, I disappointed myself yet again... but
not this time. I was sick and tired of submitting, and settling
for, and generally being the very wifey that I had always
wanted to avoid embodying.

Gabriela Jimenez (opposite page, “Fish Out of Water”) enjoys art and math. She
likes to spend her time drawing, shopping, reading, and sometimes writing.

I turned to Aaron with the cold eyes that he once saved
for me. Every ounce of love that I could have felt had been
torn away by this betrayal, and I spoke my words with all the
gentleness of a calm psychopath: “Aaron, I’m leaving now. I’m
going to walk upstairs, pack all of my things, and I am going
to leave. And you are going to sit in your seat and let me go,
and drink yourself to death for all I care.” All this I said as I
made my way upstairs, and froze when he spoke.

“Alli.” He still used his nickname for me. He didn’t have
any right to that nickname, but I refused to waste my breath
correcting him. I slowly spun around to face him. He was
slouched in his chair, but sat up straight when he made eye
contact with me. I didn’t know what he was going to do, or
say, but nothing would change my mind now. To my surprise,
he didn’t attempt to convince me to stay with him, or even
threaten me. He just gave me a small nod. Of approval? Of

95

acceptance? No... his nod was proud. Proud of me for leaving
him. What a twisted ending to an even more twisted relation-
ship. But his nod provided closure, at the very least, and it was
what I held in my head in the taxi on the way to the airport.

I bought a last-­minute ticket to New York. It was on the
other end of the country, far from Aaron, so it was appealing.
But I knew that Aaron wouldn’t chase after me. He had shown
me a dark side of him that I suspected had always been there,
but he wasn’t psychotic enough to go on a wild goose chase
around America for me. Despite all of his behavior, I knew
that in his heart he could be a good man. He just chose not
to, and for right then, that was fine by me.

The flight was rough. The hormonal nature of a pregnant
woman seemed to have been instilled in me with this sudden
split. Divorces, paperwork and legal actions weren’t anywhere
near the entry to my mind. All I was thinking about was get-
ting away.

I chose a small apartment to live in. I didn’t need extrava-
gances. That wasn’t the point of my leaving. The apartment
was miniscule compared to the home that Aaron and I had
shared. That was fine. I wanted to distance myself from that
96 marriage as much as I could. Any differences in my living
style were welcomed.

Scouring newspapers for jobs was an unsavory task. I
didn’t consider myself desperate, but my standards were con-
siderably lowered. All I was looking for was something that
would pay the rent. And I found that in a babysitting job, not
too shabby, not too decent. “Nothing special” seemed to take
precedence as the motto of my living style for quite a while.

No — “nothing special” hadn’t been the motto. It had been
“exist”. I hadn’t cared for living. I just wanted to exist. To sur-
vive. The need for living would come later.

And it did come, the need to live. It slowly developed, as
my scars healed, and I became accustomed to my new life.
Existing was no longer satisfactory. Now, I wanted to live.

And I did.
I lived.
He existed.
He exists.
I live.

ISABELLE SIMON

A Fortune Favor 97

I pat my belly as the last of the Chinese food goes into
my mouth. “Check please!” I call pleasantly to a nearby waiter.
She blinks, then scurries away. I look outside and notice what
a wonderful day it is. Perfect for a nice stroll through the city,
I think as the waiter nervously walks to my table. She places
the receipt in front of me along with a fortune cookie, then
hurriedly jumps to the next table.

I have always liked fortune cookies. Their cheesy little slo-
gans on strips of paper, make the day so much more cheerful
in the shadow of the hard world. I hoped I would get one like,
“All your plans will succeed” or “Take a nice vacation. You
deserve it!” I crack open my fortune cookie and slide out the
paper. It reads, “Your life is in danger. Get out of the city now.
Don’t let anyone follow you. Do not speak to anyone.” I look
up, smiling, because surely it’s a joke! People play jokes like
this all the time. After five minutes, though, and no one has
popped out with streamers and party hats, I change my mind.
I turn it over in hopes of finding more information, and I read
the lucky numbers: “Go: 2, 15, 15, 11, 19, 20, 15, 18, 5.” Okay, I
think, now what? I slowly get up. I walk out the door, still star-
ing at the paper in my hand.

“It looks like a cipher.” I unknowingly say as I walk away
from the Chinese restaurant.

“Cipher?” I hear someone say. “I love ciphers! You say
you’ve got a cipher?” A woman quickly walks up to me, smil-
ing. “What’s your cipher?” she asks.

“Umm, it’s nothing.” I stutter, remembering the fortune
cookie’s advice. Do not speak to anyone, it said.

“Come on! Is it on that paper?” She grins, snatching the
paper from my hands. I stare in shock at her as she reads
the fortune. “Mmm-hmm, this is pretty easy.” She nods, “See,
since it says “Go,” it’s obviously a place. And since it has to

Isabelle is a sixth grader who enjoys reading, writing, drawing, and animating. She
also plays violin and likes school.

do with letters, it’s probably a Number Letter cipher. You’ve
heard of that, right?” I stare at her, dumbfounded. “No? Okay,
well, it’s probably an easy one. Let’s start with A=1.” She pulls
out a pad of paper and nods as she scribbles with a pen. “I’ve
got it!” She says triumphantly.

“Uhh. Ok. Great. That was fast.” I say flatly.
“I’m the best!” the woman laughs. “It says to go to the
bookstore. Probably the one with the yellow duck on the
front? Anyways, if you need anything else, call me! My name
is Angela. Here’s my number.” Angela hands me my fortune,
and a paper that looks suspiciously like a another fortune.
“Thanks,” I mutter as Angela hurries across the street.
While walking to the bookstore, I look at the paper she gave
me. “Angela: 620-677-6784.” Underneath are the words “Pick
the book that’s my favorite hobby! Ask and you shall receive.”
Hmm, I think, Angela was extremely quick to help me, AND
she gave me extra info. Could she be in on this whole thing?
I swing the creaky green door into the bookstore and a bald
man with horn-rimmed glasses greets me.
“Hello! How can I help you?” He asks roughly.
“Uh, maybe a book about ciphers?” I reply, unsure of
what the result will be. The man squints at me, then reaches
98 behind his desk and pulls out a battered copy of Brain Brawn.
“Page 24.” He grunts at me, then pushes me towards the
door. “Bye, and thanks for buying.” He frowns as he slams the
door and changes the sign to closed.
“But I didn’t pay for it!” I say, annoyed. I huff, and sit down
on a nearby bench. I flip the book to page 24, hoping it isn’t
more codes, but I’m out of luck. On the paper, written in fine
print are the words, “Og ot drayevarg 4-7”. After staring at it
for five minutes, the answer hits me square in the face. “Go
to graveyard 7-4!” I shout triumphantly, ignoring the dark
glances that look in my direction. The code was so easy, and
the fact that I figured it out on my own made me want to
laugh. I quickly head towards the graveyard, almost skipping.
When I get there, I look for row 7 headstone 4, because that’s
what I figured the message meant. There’s nothing else in a
graveyard other than graves, after all. Suddenly, I feel that I’m
being watched. I turn around, searching for a pair of eyes. I
spot a tall man in a black trench coat, walking briskly towards
me. I feel my heart beat faster, adrenaline coursing through
my body. I remember what the fortune cookie said, “Your life
is in danger”. I start running, counting the rows, then turning
into the correct one. I reach the headstone, glancing behind
me. The man was gaining on me, very close. I search the

headstone, looking for whatever it is that I am supposed to
find.

“Stop! In the name of the Government, stop!” He shouts
in a deep voice. The proclamation just made me search
faster. I brush my hand against a lump, and a panel starts to
slide open behind the gravestone. I jump through as soon as
I could fit. The man dives for me, clutching the end of my
sleeve. I yank on it, and my sleeve rips. I stumble, the man
curses, then starts shouting. The panel starts to close and I
can hear the panic in his voice as he calls for backup franti-
cally. The panel shuts with a bang, leaving me in silence and
complete darkness.

“Welcome, Amax” speaks a voice behind me. “We have
been waiting for you.” I slowly turn around. “We are the Soci-
ety, designed to take down the corrupt Government. And we
need your help.” I pause, then speak.

“I’m in.”
99

CAMMY KURTZMAN

From the Corner of My Eye

“Here, I hope this helps.”
As I walk past CVS pharmacy with my mom, a soft, faint
voice of a woman comes from somewhere ahead of me.
I’m not thinking much of it though; I am too sucked into my
iPhone to give it any attention.
“God bless you.”
There is now a much deeper, raspy voice coming from
the same direction. Still, I don’t pay much attention.
As I continue to walk toward the direction of the voice, I
suddenly notice something from the corner of my eye. It is
something I can no longer ignore and I finally poke my nose
up from my screen. I can’t yet tell what it is, but as I get clos-
100 er, I begin to understand what is happening. A young woman
with shiny bouncy brown curls and stylish, expensive-looking
clothes is handing someone a $5 bill. She smiles at him and
looks him in the eye. Just then, an overwhelming feeling of
sadness completely rushes over me like a gigantic bucket of
hot water dumped onto my head. This bucket is a mixture of
50% sympathy, 47% guilt, and 3% tears.
Now, my moist eyes are fixed on a filthy, greasy bearded,
torn up person wearing a dark red beanie. He looks to be in
his mid­-thirties. There, in front of CVS, he swallows the last bit
of dignity he has. Along with it, his last bit of hope; hope for
someone to care and someone to help.
Sticking the $5 bill in his tattered coat pocket, the expres-
sion on his scarred and weathered face looks as if he had just
won the lottery.
I want to hide my phone because I feel like it was mock-
ing him in some way. I feel guilty. My clean clothes, my clean
hair, and my sense of place in this world, are in sharp contrast
to this person I see. Compared to him, I have everything and
he has nothing­unless his rusty shopping cart full of dirty old

Cammy is 13 years old and loves art, dance, running, surfing, cooking, and food.