marginal. Volume 8 – 2023 101 CHLOE BARIL Poetry I’ve mistakenly written poems about you too many times to count I forget where you were born and the colors and fruits and languages in my brain lead me to you I raise you to a holy position before I remember who I’m writing for neurons fire blues and oranges and french and you become my fiction I try to recreate you I long to live behind your eyelids your breath and your blinking consume me you come alive in a sentence and you become a little less human and a little more soul and purpose and I remember you before the poem ends
marginal. 102 Volume 8 – 2023 Arise From the Ashes by Neha Ninan (digital)
marginal. Volume 8 – 2023 103 KAVIN PRASANNA The Rutgers Collins Hill is a very small and private neighborhood; large grass fields cover the majority of the town and separate the space between the mansions. Only six or so families live in the town, all of whom have family money going way back to British rule. Mr. Winselworth was not one of those people. He was born into a poor family and grew up in a violent neighborhood, but he worked hard for every penny he earned. Mr. Winselworth has been through a lot in his life; from seeing the birth of gang wars to fighting in a war, he was not naïve. But he never expected the next few weeks of his life to play out as they did. Mr. Winselworth, a New York #1 bestseller for seventeen years running was an old man just following his love for writing. All his books are filled with mysteries, murder, and twists. One of his fondest memories was his 8th birthday when he got his first notebook. As a child, he yearned to learn all about books and writing techniques. All he did was spend time at his town’s university library. He loved reading, but he loved writing more. Very often, you could find him sitting in on writing classes at the university. His strong interest in literature paved the road to success in his future writing career. He recently moved out of his city home for a change of scenery and to find some new inspiration and ideas for his upcoming series. He found a wonderful estate in a small town in upstate New York. It had only been a week since Mr. W moved into his new home, yet he was already regretting it. He had lived in a city his whole life; being born in Chicago, he was natured to its streets, loud and rambunctious. As a teenager, he lived in a Jersey neighborhood that had a better living environment but was still inappropriate for a child. In his younger years, he could tolerate chaotic living atmospheres, but growing gray hairs by the minute, he just wanted some peace. The Rutgers, even though they might be next door, were spaced acres away. Throwing loud parties every day, Mr. W was bound to hear all the noise especially if they had dozens of concert-type speakers. Every day he could hear their music, every day he could see the cars
marginal. 104 Volume 8 – 2023 pulling into their driveway, every day he was distracted from his work. Mr. W could not sit down and write for more than ten minutes before being annoyed. Mr. W, stressed and angry, decided to take a little break from writing for a while. When he first moved in, Mrs. Rutger came over to introduce herself. His first impression of her made him think she was a daddy’s-money-rich-spoiled-girl-who-doesn’t-take-no-for-an- -answer type of person. She wore a leather brown dress with jewelry covering every inch of her neck and wrists. Her ivory high heels added 6 inches to her height and grabbed every eye because they were so polished and shiny. She had a Chanel purse and a little tiara on her head with diamonds and stones lining it. With her, she brought a welcoming basket that included freshly harvested strawberries from Mexico, pure chocolate from preserved cocoa beans, and a Cheval Blanc 1947 wine bottle. She invited herself inside and requested some snacks. Mr. W walked to the kitchen wondering if she was trying to be nice or showing her riches, maybe I’m just misinterpreting her. Trying not to show his discomfort, he fulfilled her request and brought back a plate of Swiss cheese and crackers. She took a quick glance at the plate as Mr. W set it on the coffee table and decided to change the topic and ignore the snacks she just received. She started talking a lot about the town and the people in it, mostly about how they all got their money by laundering it. She went on and on about how she and her husband were the wealthiest family in town and that they got their money through legal activities and ‘hard work.’ Eventually, Mr. W came to his senses that she would never stop rambling about herself, so he interrupted. “Perhaps I better start settling into my bed, it’s getting quite late Ma’am.” “Well, it is a good idea to get rest, especially for you.” “Yeah, I’ve had quite the day.” “You know when I get old, I don’t know what I’m gonna do, life will have no spark and therefore no purpose.” “Ok.” “Alright well, take your rest. You’ll miss it soon.” “Wha-” “See you later.”
marginal. Volume 8 – 2023 105 Mrs. Rutger, obviously shocked and annoyed that she was cut off, stood up, scurried over to the door, intensely unlocked the door, and left without a farewell or gesture of gratitude. With the deadline for his first drafts coming up, Mr. W had to get to writing, so finally, he decided it was time to be proactive about this situation. Remembering back to the interaction with Mrs. Rutger, Mr. W realized he has an excuse if he got caught snooping around their property. He wanted to find out why they threw so many loud parties, so on a Thursday night, he drove over to the front of their driveway and parked a couple of hundred feet down the road from the entrance. Their driveway was long and steep enough that they wouldn’t be able to see anything from the house but the ten-foot bushes lining their property also helped him hide. As Mr. W climbed up the driveway, he cupped his ears because the music kept getting louder and louder. Cars were parked along the driveway, over the grass. Mercedes, BMWs, Limousines, and Rolls Royces covered their driveway and front yard; there were at least 15 cars there all worth millions of dollars. Once he got to the circular driveway with the fountain in the middle, he noticed that the doors were locked shut. He ducked over to one of the windows on the side to take a peek. Oddly enough he saw no one inside except a set of speakers pointing at every window. Mr. W started imagining why the speakers were set up like this. He thought maybe they served a sole purpose just to be loud and annoy their neighbors, but something didn’t seem right to him. He’s been suspecting the Rutgers of something mischievous ever since he met them, but this just added to the list. He imagined they were doing some type of unlawful activity especially since that was all Mrs. Rutger talked about mentioned in their chat. Trying to find a way in without being noticed, he worked his way around the side and finally to the back, peeking through the side of their house he came to find an amazing view. The backyard held an enormous garden worth acres with a cliff behind it over endless woods. Mr. Winselworth snuck onto the porch and eventually into the backdoor. As he entered through, he stayed low to the ground and close to the walls with his head on a swivel. He suddenly heard a loud bang coming from downstairs. He rushed over to what he thought was the door to the basement but instead was the winery. The peculiar part was there was no wine on the shelves. It was just a room full of empty barrels and shelves. Once he inspected the odd
marginal. 106 Volume 8 – 2023 area, he left the room and closed the doors ever so quietly, and as he did, he heard footsteps get closer and closer. Shoes clicking, he heard someone climbing up the stairs from the basement. He quickly opened the door to the winery again and hid behind one of the shelves. The door was more of a panel with glass that you could see through. He couldn’t really seek details, but he was able to make out that it was a middle-aged man with a red suit on. That’s odd, the Rutgers only wear white and black. According to Mrs. Rutger, it ‘complements’ their skin. As the man walked past him, Mr. W hurriedly exited the winery and stepped into the doorway the man had come out of. The stairs spiraled down so it was hard to see if someone else was in front of or behind you. Unfortunately, just as he went down a few stairs, he started to hear steps behind him. To avoid being caught red-handed, he rushed down the stairs, only to find something that would put him in shock. Something that would take him back. Suddenly a burst of nightmares flooded his head, he heard choppers flying over his head, the crunches of leaves, and the feeling of the wind soaring through the rice fields in Vietnam. Suddenly he felt a sting in his back, the part of his back that was stabbed back in 1965. Suddenly he felt like he was at war again like there was no order or peace. Like there was no humanity in the world. Before his eyes, a completely harvested skin of a human being hung with clips from all four corners. Mr. W stood in shock as his head spun in all 360 degrees. His body felt numb, and his brain felt trapped. His thoughts went to every corner of a track like a racecar, That has to be fake, they have to be decorating for Halloween, that’s just a prop, that cannot be real, but it’s February, why would they have this now? What am I going to do? Do I have to do something? I have to get out of this place right now. He stumbled over to the trash can, barely keeping his balance. Vomiting into what was the remains of that person, he started hallucinating and imagining back to the war; he saw the throw-up as blood. This only worsened his normalcy. At this instant, his mind gave up on trying to find an escape and started battling with itself. Mr. W lay on the ground, sick and helpless. Barely being able to see through his eyes, he caught a blurry glimpse of the red suit over his face.
marginal. Volume 8 – 2023 107 Bittersweet by Alia Ohira (ceramics)
marginal. 108 Volume 8 – 2023 PIYUSHA MAJGAONKAR Just Another Spider My ears ring like church bells on a Sunday. Does the color of my skin scare you? I ask the man towering over me, is being black like being a walking weapon? Your eyes are absent as if you’re simply crushing a spider. The spider wasn’t bothersome. It simply scared you So you crushed it. Should you be able to kill something just because you are frightened? Should you have the power to end someone’s life just because you are scared? So, I ask you again, Does the color of my skin scare you? After all, We all breathe the same air, Yet mine gets choked out. We all bleed the same color, Yet when the world looks at you, they see an “All American Boy” that Can do no wrong. A pristine white rose that never wilts. But when they look at me, they see a thorn on that rose, A smudge on your dazzling reputation. The difference between me and you is simple: When I crush a spider, it is murder, When you crush a spider, it is protecting the community.
marginal. Volume 8 – 2023 109 For you, ending my life would have been just as easy as crushing a spider. But I won’t let you crush me. The difference between me and the spider is simple: The spider is helpless in this situation, it can’t fight back, But me, I have a voice, and I’m going to damn well use it.
marginal. 110 Volume 8 – 2023 A Solar Sight for Sore Eyes by Kaylee Steir (digital)
marginal. Volume 8 – 2023 111 KAYLA SAWYER Depth of the Eye “I didn’t mean to! I’m sorry! Please stop!” I scream at the top of my lungs, praying he will stop. “You asked for it. You can’t just say one thing and change your mind,” he responds in a low growl about two centimeters from my ear while gently brushing my light brown birthmark below my lobe. A mark that I used to love, but now I wish was non-existent. The stale smell of beer from his breath, coupled with the dry air of the bleak bathroom made me painfully aware of my surroundings, and of how much of a contrast it is from the vibrant atmosphere we were in minutes ago outside. Now hysterical with tears running down my face, terrified for the moments that will succeed this one, I grab at the edge of the toilet for support and raise my knee in defense. “Ow! You bitch!” he shouts, now placing a firm grip on my lower back. In a moment of brief eye contact, his brown eyes show a level of hunger and hurt that scares me. I squeeze my eyes shut refusing to let him see the terror he puts in them. He makes his way up to my shoulders, sliding my hot pink party top off of my squirming body. And then reaches underneath my tight white skirt, pulling down the garment which had been stopping him from completely having what he wants. “NO!” I say in defiance, crossing my legs, trying to hold in my stance. But without much luck, because as soon as I cross my legs, he has me pinned against the bathroom wall with one hand, while the other hits and moves and pinches my legs until they are open enough to his liking. I woke up gasping for air, my hair a thick knotty mess from all the hairspray I had put in to perfect my “messy” bun, and my legs sore from dancing all night at the club. Desperate for a Sunday reset, I start picturing my day: go to the gym, catch up on schoolwork, and meet my sister at my favorite lunch spot in downtown Portland.
marginal. 112 Volume 8 – 2023 Smiling, I roll my white comforter over and jump out of bed. The smell of alcohol still lingers in the air, but the typical cleanliness of my small dorm room makes up for the lack of a clean smell. Turning back to make my bed, I stumble back in surprise. Blood. Blood everywhere. Blood on my sheets, blood on my comforter, blood on my skirt, blood on my legs. Memories are triggered and I squeeze my eyes shut trying to forget the nightmare I so vividly remember, but I thought it was just that, a dream. “No, no, no, no” I mutter, taking small steps backward in disbelief. My heel hits the bed frame, and I fall into my roommate’s unmade bed. Remembering I’m covered in blood though, I quickly stand up. “No, no, no, no, that didn’t happen, it couldn’t have happened,” I tell myself repeatedly. I turn to walk to the bathroom, except with each step, I find myself experiencing a tremendous amount of pain, like an elephant stomping on my abdomen over and over again and a knife stabbing the space between my legs. Finally making it to the bathroom, I find the courage to look in the mirror. The innocence of my childhood and the optimism in my once vibrant green eyes are gone. I see myself staring at a woman, just like all the others. The ones you see in the news, magazines, or the media. I can already picture the familiar news lines: “Her Clothing Was Asking For It,” “Claims She Was Assaulted, But She Was Drinking,” and “Another Fake Blonde Trying to Look For Attention.” Onlookers may or may not have sympathy for them, but regardless they can never fathom the true depths of those women’s traumas. Trembling, I lower myself gently onto the toilet. I pull my skirt down but fail to find my underwear. Thoughts racing through my head, images of the night whirling around my eyes, noises of the club filling my ears. It all becomes too much, I quickly cover my ears with my hands and place my head between my too-bruised-to-berecognized-as-mine knees, rocking back and forth. I sing the song that my mom used to sing to me before bed every night: “ally bally ally bally bee...”. I try to imagine the simultaneous scents that arose from my childhood kitchen, one of raisin bread and oatmeal raisin cookies from the hours my sister spent baking in the evening.
marginal. Volume 8 – 2023 113 After some time, I find peace in the song and memories of my childhood engulf my brain, distracting me. But only for a few blissful seconds. “Bang!” My dorm door slams closed, and I hear my roommate, Hope, drop her bag on the floor, making a mess per usual. “Oh my god, Molly! Are you in here? Are you ok?” Hope screams with a tinge of urgency. The sounds of her knuckles rapping against the door bring another intense flashback of twelve hours earlier. I remember the sound as clear as the summer ocean. The sound of rescuing was so near, yet I wasn’t strong enough to scream. My lungs had failed me, and my lips were immobile. Twelve hours ago, my body was in shock, and I was a victim of it. So when Hope’s insistent knocking is followed by asking if I am ok, the simple answer is, no. And I don’t know how to tell her that, or even to explain why when I feel like a victim of my lack of actions. Eventually, I gather enough strength to reach for the door, tall and daunting, the only obstacle shielding me from acknowledging the truth. I stand up and unlock it. I immediately fall into Hope’s arms, losing all the strength I just gained, and crying it all out in the comfort of her shoulder. “Please, Molly, tell me what happened?” Hope begs silently into my ear, the same one he growled in last night, the same one he so delicately touched, in contrast to the rest of his actions last night. If someone said to make a wish, I would wish for a time machine. I would go back to last night before I ever accepted a drink from an attractive stranger. I would go back and never leave my friend’s side. I would go back and still have my innocence. I would go back and be stronger. “I think, I think” I stutter, unable to form the words around my wild thoughts, “I think, I was assaulted,” I say in a whisper. Quite enough for Hope to comprehend, but not loud enough for me to accept it. The one thing I couldn’t tell her was how traumatic the experience was, and how I was equally terrified of how this will affect me mentally. Fighting for my breath, I say to Hope, “My sister, Hana, please call my sister.” Hana is the type of person who could look at the angelic Maine sky for hours, and instead of wishing on every shooting star she sees, she says something she is grateful for. My
marginal. 114 Volume 8 – 2023 sister keeps me grounded and reminds me of the amount of love around us. She has seen me through every stage of life, and as comforting as Hope is right now, Hana is where my home is. The sound of the phone ringing startles my sister awake, and groggily reaching across to the nightstand she picks it up. “Hello? Hana? Is this you?” Hope questions frantically. “Uhh, yeah, who is this?” My sister asks, still half asleep. “This is Hope. We’ve met a few times. You need to get to the Mid Coast Hospital, something happened to Molly.” Hope tries to say calmly. Now in panic mode, my sister replies, “I don’t have my car, but I can get someone to drive me, I will be there as soon as possible. Is she ok!?” “No, but you being there to support her will help,” Hope replies. Rocking back and forth, Hope walks back into the bathroom and with gentle hands, she reaches down to me and says, “Let’s get you to the hospital.” I had only ever been to the emergency room when I was eight, I broke my arm climbing a tree, and the whole time the nurse was putting on my cast, I told her about my wild Tarzanian stories of where I would swing from tree limb to tree limb, supposedly immune to injury until this fall that would ruin my chances of starring in the next movie. But this time, the emergency room was scary. A familiar stale smell filled my nose, but this time it was of rubbing alcohol combined with saltines. The nurses began touching areas of myself that gave me flashbacks of the night before making me flinch. The hospital walls were painted in a shade of white that seemed to come closer together as I recognized how similar they are to where I was last night. I was squeezing Hope’s hand as hard as I could, attempting to release all the bad memories that invaded every inch of my mind. “Molly!” I turn my head toward the source of the exclamation to see my sister running toward me. Instantly, I begin crying, partly because of my excitement to see her, but also because of the sad way she is looking at me. Behind her trails a man, but my eyes are too clouded with tears to make out the face. It wasn’t until he was right behind my sister who was by my hospital bed that I could see his face.
marginal. Volume 8 – 2023 115 The same dirty brown eyes from the night prior were now burning a hole into my face. And as if he didn’t recognize who I was, he stuck out his hand and said, “Hi, I am Hana’s boyfriend, she needed a ride here. It’s unfortunate to meet you under these circumstances, but it’s nice to finally meet you.” It can’t be the same person. This one looks so clean and genuine. I think to myself. No, it is him, the eyes, the hair, the voice...that terrible voice. It has to be him. My mind races. But my sister would never be in a relationship with someone of such demeaning character, she would know his true values, right? Finding no closure from my thoughts I sit up extending my hand at the same time I brush the hair on the left side of my face, revealing the birthmark. His eyes trail to that movement and he sees the birthmark. Resignation finally sinks into his eyes. Clearing his throat and retracting his hand he asks, “Why are you in the hospital?” Fervently staring him dead in those brown eyes I say, “I was raped.” 5 years later “Come on! Time to go, you don’t want to be late!” I yell. Bounding down the stairs with enthusiasm, Ethan comes jolting into the kitchen. “Can you help me tie my shoes, mommy?” He asks me. “Of course, honey, come here,” I motion to the entryway. Bending down to tie his sneakers I look up into his gorgeous green eyes that he got from me, and I smile. I smile in part because his happiness is contagious, but also in part because he didn’t inherit those piercing brown eyes that still haunt me to this day.
marginal. 116 Volume 8 – 2023 Waves of Fire by Cecilia Dauphinee (photograph)
marginal. Volume 8 – 2023 117 OWEN FITZPATRICK I Might Have a Mullet I don’t have muscles like He-Man Or drive a Little Red Corvette. If you want to hear my ringtone, Some Van Halen’s what you’ll get. For you, I’ll hold my boombox high Before I lay it on the ground. Say Anything in front of me, It doesn’t matter who’s around. When Lloyd Dobler gave his heart, All he got was a pen I can be your Jake Ryan If you would just let me in ‘Cause I got the heart of LaRusso With the looks of a McFly. I’d fight for your honor. I’m an ‘80s kind of guy.
marginal. 118 Volume 8 – 2023 Bath Time by G Lambert (oil painting)
marginal. Volume 8 – 2023 119 AVA PAPPALARDO Man’s First Act [Inspired by William Golding’s novel Lord of the Flies] It had been hours since the boys had been taken from the island. They had been led on the boat, wading in the cool, clear water until they stumbled aboard the vessel. They were sent to get clean, ceaselessly scrubbing the grime from under their nails and tending to their bleeding scratches. The savages hastily rubbed the paint from their faces, a trace of their crimes still remaining on their skin. The scraps of paint caked in the boy’s hairline hinted that the savagery that had occurred was real. The boys bathed, washing away what the island had done to them, but no matter how hard they tried, the feeling of cleanliness eluded the boys. They had been given oversized clothes that clung to their thin frames. For Ralph, the cloth wrapped around his shoulders and legs made him uneasy. He felt trapped. The ship was very ornate inside; velvet cushions lined all of the seats, mahogany furniture was displayed throughout the cabins. To Ralph, it all seemed rather garish. One of the staff working on the ship called the boys to dinner and there was a mad dash to the dining room. When brought the steaming food, even dressed in proper clothing, the boys had to suppress the urge to grab it with their hands and shovel it into their mouths. They cautiously piled the beef, mashed potatoes and corn onto their plates and goggled at the feast in awe. Their amazement soon passed, and the boys began to eat. Some of the littluns couldn’t resist the temptation and devoured their entire meal in a matter of seconds. Their clothes were stained from the juice of the meat and their hands were messy with mashed potatoes. Ralph paced himself, savoring his food and his freedom. They were saved! The fire worked! They were going home, and he’d get to sleep in a proper bed tonight. “About how long do you reckon you were stuck on that there island?” The Officer asked. “Hard to say,” Ralph said, swallowing another spoonful of corn. The boys were quick to pipe up.
marginal. 120 Volume 8 – 2023 “Weeks-” “Months-” “Years maybe-” “A while,” Ralph concluded, drowning out the others. “I see,” the Officer said, his brow creased. The boys had not asked for his name yet and Ralph wouldn’t either. “And you’re sure that no one’s missing?” The Officer asked again, nodding towards the window. Through the glass, the island stood looming over the boat. The crew of the ship insisted that they stay at least overnight to make sure that no one was left behind. They were tired of war and thought that a brief break wouldn’t hurt. Every hour or so, they would blast a loud sound from the ship in hopes to draw more children out of hiding. Ralph shrugged at the Officer. Even in the great room with the bountiful food, there seemed to be less kids than Ralph had thought there were. Back when the boys first arrived on the island, there seemed to be an endless supply of people scampering from the forest onto the beach. However, that number seemed to lessen every day. Could they have died? Or maybe Ralph had just become accustomed to their existence? There was no way to know for sure. That first day when Piggy took their names down – Piggy would know who’s missing. Ralph felt a pang of guilt sweep through his chest. He pushed thoughts of his friend away and went back to observing what remained of the boys. There seemed to be only a few dozen of them left. He heard the Officer scoff, clearly fed up with how little everyone knew, but Ralph couldn’t aid the Officer any more than they could. The man leaned back in his chair and took a smoke from his pipe. The tendrils of the smoke reached their wispy claws towards the ceiling, thickening the air. “I would’ve expected better from proper, young British boys,” the man repeated, almost to himself. So would I. Ralph conceded to himself. Simon is gone because of us. We killed him. Piggy too. The only ones with sense, and now they are gone. The Officer’s disappointment did nothing to quell Jack’s smirk though. He had been quiet since the Officer appeared and he consistently shot fleeting glances towards Roger and some of the others. “Well, you boys best be off to bed now,” the Officer huffed, waving them away.
marginal. Volume 8 – 2023 121 The boys cast precarious looks at each other and carefully retraced their steps back to the rooms they would be sleeping in. Ralph lagged behind the rest, for he was still on edge and didn’t want to leave his back exposed. He felt a sore on his foot protesting to the hard floor of the ship. Ralph welcomed the pain, as it reminded him that he was still alive. He had found a jagged piece of shell lodged in his foot while he’d been cleaning up and even though he’d taken it out, his foot still throbbed. In his crazed run to get away from the savages, he hadn’t noticed its presence. He knew the shell wasn’t a part of the conch, but sometimes he liked to pretend it was. He had stashed it into the baggy pocket of his pants, and now Ralph turned it over carefully in his hands. The white shard was small and broken, but if anything, it would be a reminder of what he had done. Ralph knew there’s no way he could ever forget. He walked towards the small room that most of the younger boys share. He had volunteered to watch over the littluns so that they didn’t cause a ruckus, but really, he was just being cautious. Even if the boys might pretend none of this ever happened – that they didn’t go savage, that they didn’t try to murder him, they did. The threat of that can’t just disappear now that they’re in civilization again. The crew of the ship had laid out blankets and spare cots for the boys and Ralph took his place in the corner of the room. That way he was protected on two sides. Through the small window, he could see the island’s dark shape lurking in the water. He shook his head and laid down, his guard receding with it. He was exhausted. He heard one of the crew shout that it was ‘light’s out’ and soon the ship was enveloped in darkness. Ralph heard the littluns shuffle amongst the blankets. He shut his eyes and tried to drift off to sleep. The grotesque smile of the skull overcame him. He saw it laughing at him and felt the sharp tremor of terror travel through him. His eyes burst open and suddenly the blackness around him seemed ominous. The ship was suffocating in his blind panic. The only light source now was the faint glow of the moon from the window outside. The moonlight illuminated the island, making it seem safe and familiar. Only hours ago, he was being hunted on that very beach. Ralph couldn’t help but gaze at it. It seems like a lifetime ago. He forced his eyes away and attempted to sleep again.
marginal. 122 Volume 8 – 2023 Again, the skull flashed in his mind’s eye, but Ralph ignored the fear this time. He pushed into the dream world and found himself back on the island. Everything was fuzzy, like some fever induced vision. On the island, he was alone. He walked along the beach and found the broken pieces of the conch strewn everywhere. Piggy’s specs were among the wreckage. Then he was in the forest, running from a pack of wolves. In front of him was a floundering pig. Ralph found that a spear was clutched in his hand and with newfound determination, he chased after it. The wolves scrambled to chase the pig as well, seemingly having forgotten their original target. Ralph gained on the pig, screeching with delight. He threw the wooden stick at the pig just as he had before, but it struck the pig’s stomach instead. Blood gushed from where the spear was buried, and Ralph smiled. He looked towards his wolf brethren, but they were gone. Ralph was alone again. He turned back to his kill, only to find Piggy’s decrepit remains. Ralph reeled away in shock, falling back into the dirt. He pulled himself from the earth and sprinted away from the carcass. Ralph’s path was blocked from Simon’s mutilated form. He jumped over the body and stumbled until he found the clearing in which the skull of the sow had been skewered. To Ralph’s horror, the skull was intact, grinning broadly as usual. The sun seemed to beat down on him more heavily now, stealing his breath. He was falling, falling– Ralph woke with a start, gasping for stolen air. He was drenched in a cold sweat and unsettled. He wondered what time it was. Darkness still consumed the ship with no hope of sunrise in sight. He heard muffled giggles and the light footsteps of the littluns. He squinted into the blackness, searching for the tiny bodies. After a moment, his eyes adjusted. He was alone again. How had he not noticed them slip out? Ralph followed the whispers out of the room, and down the hallway. He carefully found his way to a room where he presumed the rest of the boys were staying. He looked through the doorway and saw the boys all huddled together in a sort of meeting. Something wasn’t right, he knew that. Ralph stayed still, hoping that the group would ignore him. “And he’s going to hold us hostage!” Jack whispered hurriedly to the boys. “He’ll kill us-” “Oh no-”
marginal. Volume 8 – 2023 123 “What do we do-” “We’ve got to escape!” Jack finished, his smile growing. His eyes met Ralph’s, and for a moment, Ralph felt like he was the prey again, walking straight into the predator’s den. Roger glared at him, and Jack’s gaze hardened. Ralph wanted to run away – to safety, away from their murderous eyes, but it was no use. He was stuck on this ship with no escape. Jack stood up and approached Ralph who wished desperately to have some sort of weapon to defend himself. Jack suddenly placed his hand on Ralph’s shoulder and chuckled. “Welcome Ralph,” he said, a hidden snarl in his voice. The other boys looked mildly surprised but smiled at him nonetheless. “Uh, thank you,” Ralph stuttered. “What’s going on?” “We were just discussing the man that runs this ship.” Jack recalled simply. “The Officer?” Ralph asked, perplexed. “He’s a war criminal, fighting against the British!” Jack complained. “There’s no way – what are you talking about?” Ralph questioned, backing up. Jack’s grip on his shoulder tightened. “We’ve found evidence – besides, why would he be all of the way out here if he wasn’t trying to attack Britain?” Jack yelled. “Why would he rescue…” Ralph trailed. In the depths of Jack’s gaze was a challenge to defy him. Ralph couldn’t help but feel the reignition of the fear he had felt while he was being hunted. Ralph grew silent. Jack cleared his throat and walked back to his position in the center of the crowded room. “It’s settled, we’ll have to free ourselves from this threat,” Jack concluded. Against Ralph’s better judgment, he stepped forward into the room. “How?” He said. Jack smiled malevolently. “Well, that’s easy…We’re going to kill him,” Jack proclaimed, brandishing a knife with a serrated edge. He must have swiped it from dinner. “Kill him?” Ralph echoed in disbelief. The boys shouted with glee and excitement, resembling the savages they once– and possibly still– were. Ralph took a step back, trying to subtly escape the scene. Roger caught him and alerted Jack. Jack stared at him with such ferocity that any facade of companionship melted away. The boys saw his look and immediately quieted.
marginal. 124 Volume 8 – 2023 “Now see here Ralph, you’ve got a decision to make. Are you with us?” Jack said, extending his hand. “Or against us?” He asked, a graveness in his voice that hinted of consequence. Ralph’s mind was spinning. “I-I-” “You don’t have to decide now, tell us at breakfast. I know you’ll make the right decision,” Jack interrupted, stowing his knife back into his trouser pockets. Ralph nodded and walked back to the littlun’s room, hardly controlling his desire to race down the hallway. He wanted to warn someone, but he knew that to survive he had to play it smart. Sure, the hunters aren’t hunting him now, but it was foolish to believe that it was because they came to their senses. No, they have a new target, and that will only quell their interest in Ralph for so long. A selfish voice inside of Ralph was grateful that it wasn’t him. He was out of danger for the time being. Jack’s eyes kept flashing through his mind. He had never lost trace of the wildness within them. He still looked at living things like they were his prey. He was ever dominant no matter what Ralph may have claimed on the shore. How long had it actually been since he was immersed in civilization? All of the boys had changed so much. Some even looked regretful as they boarded the ship that was set to rescue them from the accursed island. Ralph still remembered Jack’s hesitation to step off of the beach. He clutched his spear until the very last instant, and even then, he didn’t seem happy to wash the paint from his face. Jack had taken everything from Ralph, and now he wanted to kill the one person who could save them all. Jack had stolen Ralph’s civility, his friends, his tribe– Ralph was not going to let him take his freedom away too. Ralph passed the entry way to his room and continued down the hallway. He recalled the short tour he took around the ship and found his way to the kitchen. His eyes had adapted to the darkness, peering into the night like a nocturnal creature. Ralph felt the cool tiles of the floor under his feet, and he reached for a cabinet. His fingers found the handle and he slowly pulled it out. He heard the clatter of metal as he reached into the drawer. A sharp edge punctured his fingertip, but he grabbed the serrated metal cutlery anyway. He withdrew it from the cabinet and pushed the drawer back into place. If Jack was going to be armed, so would he. Cautiously placing his weapon in his pocket, he hurried back to his room. He
marginal. Volume 8 – 2023 125 laid down on his makeshift bed and fell into a dark, dreamless sleep; his hand kept firmly on the handle of the dagger. He awoke in the early hours of the morning to a chant. As he walked towards the hallway, the faint buzz of it began to take form. “Kill the beast, slit his throat, spill his blood,” the boys said, repeating it over and over. Whispering in hushed tones, but still together. A throbbing beat. “Kill the beast, slit his throat, spill his blood.” Again, and again. Ralph’s breath caught in his throat. “Kill the beast, slit his throat, spill his blood.” Ralph was back in the forest, hiding for his life. “Kill the beast, slit his throat, spill his blood.” He had nothing; Piggy was dead. Simon was dead. The conch was destroyed. “Kill the beast, slit his throat, spill his blood.” The chant pounded in Ralph’s ears. They were hunting him again, and this time, he couldn’t escape. “Kill the beast, slit his throat, spill his blood.” They’re talking about the Officer. Ralph realized, sagging with relief. Fearfully, he wandered down to the dining hall, his heartbeat in his ears. Boys trickled in after him until Jack finally came through the doorway. He smiled as he surveyed his loyal survivors. He even made a point at nodding to Ralph. Ralph nodded curtly back and thus, breakfast began. The savages were still starving, as they always were, and piled the food onto their plates. “No one came out of the forest during the night,” the Officer reported. “We shall depart this evening.” “Alright,” Jack acknowledged, full of bravado. He beamed at the others, clearly believing that Ralph was among his tribe now. Why shouldn’t he, after all? Ralph hadn’t mentioned anything to contradict that belief. He hadn’t said anything at all. The confrontation would be inevitable and there, Ralph would choose his side. Safety under a deranged murderer, or next on the hunter’s list of victims? Ralph caressed the side of his hidden knife for comfort. It was his secret. The one thing that might give him a chance if he chose to disobey Jack. For now, he would meet the disconcerted stares of his peers with confidence. Everyone awaited his answer. Breakfast ended all too soon and the threat of his decision loomed over Ralph’s mind. The adults dispersed, leaving the boys to walk about the ship unobserved. Ralph waited for the boys to leave and then left himself, starting for his bedroom again. He crossed into the hallway and stopped. Jack and his savages stood at the other end of the space.
marginal. 126 Volume 8 – 2023 They were at an impasse, waiting for the other to make a move. Jack decided to speak first. “So, Ralph. Made up your mind?” He asked, his voice reverberating through the hallway. Ralph swallowed and nodded. “I’m with you, we need to rid ourselves of this…enemy,” Ralph answered promptly. Jack grinned. “Good. Right before dark, meet here.” Jack delegated. Ralph nodded again and the conversation was over. The boys explored the ship for the rest of the day. Ralph tried to avoid Jack and the Officer, even at meals. Ralph took laps around the ship until he noticed the sun dipping behind the horizon. He rushed back towards the hallway and saw Jack waiting for him. His knife glinted in the sun’s rays as Jack motioned for Ralph to come with him as he strolled to the Officer’s cabin. “I’ve sent the littluns to bed early so that they don’t get in our way,” Jack explained. “Our way?” Ralph asked. “Yes, ours. Roger so desperately wanted to come, but he’s already proven he can vanquish beasts. Besides, you’re much better company than he is. He’s a bit off, that one,” Jack remarked. “Okay,” Ralph said. “So, what’s the plan?” “Well, I saw the Officer go into his room, so he should still be there. I’ll distract him and you’ll stab him,” Jack informed. “Me? Ss-stab him?” Ralph asked. “Yeah, with your knife. I know you have one,” Jack supplied. Ralph’s face contorted with shock. “Don’t look at me like that. You honestly thought you could hide it? I was going to grab one for you, but since you have your own, that means less work for me,” Jack shrugged. Ralph nodded, taking it out of his pocket. “You’re not angry?” Ralph asked timidly. “No. Afterall, you need to protect yourself from the enemy. It’s good you have one,” Jack clarified. Ralph grinned. He had not jeopardized his position as Jack’s ally. Jack flung the door open. Ralph was right behind him, knife brandished. The Officer was facing the window, staring into the sea. At their entrance, he sighed. “Can I help you boys?” He asked without turning around. Jack motioned for Ralph to attack. Ralph stared at the knife clasped in his fist. Jack launched his assault, striding towards the Officer. He
marginal. Volume 8 – 2023 127 raised his own knife and again, signaling for Ralph to kill. The twisted feeling bubbled up inside Ralph. The same one that had overtaken him during the feast on the island. It had helped him kill the beast. Simon had died that night. The feeling Ralph had repressed for so long gnawed on his insides, waging war with his mind. Ralph became aware of only his breath. Desire to use the weapon in his hand. To feel it wedge itself into flesh and have his victims blood spill onto his hands. His pulse quickened and his eyes focused. Ralph let his soul lead him and with an excited breath, he used all of his force to stab his prey. It cried out in shock and part of himself recoiled, but that small part of him was outweighed by his victorious achievement. He withdrew his knife and the animal fell backwards. Ralph stabbed it again, and the pleasure of its blood on his hands made him smile. The creature stopped struggling and Ralph knew he had defeated it. His mind cleared, the all-consuming fire within him receding. He looked at Jack with pride. “You…crybaby,” Jack wheezed, failing to stop the blood pooling on the floor around where he lay. “I’m the chief,” Ralph whispers, watching the life fade out of Jack’s eyes. He stood from his crouched position over the corpse and turned to the Officer. Appalled, the Officer wouldn’t meet Ralph’s eyes. He grumbled something to himself. Ralph stalked forward, Jack’s blood dripping from his fingertips. “You’re savages, all of you!” The Officer stated fearfully, backing away. From the window, Ralph could see figures diving into the water. One of the boys must have seen Jack’s demise and told Roger or Samneric. The boys’ heads bobbed in the water as they swam back towards the island. Ralph looked at them for a moment too long and didn’t hear the shot from the Officer’s rifle. A pain swelled in his chest, and he was vaguely aware of the blood drenching his clothing. His blood. His ears filled with noise, and he couldn’t focus his eyes any longer. He could hear someone screaming and desperately wanted them to stop. His head pounded as he realized that he was the one screaming. The overwhelming pain made his eyes water and brought him to his knees. He collapsed onto the hard, slippery floor. And the beast died along with him.
marginal. 128 Volume 8 – 2023 Cinque Terre by Emerson Foster (photograph)
marginal. Volume 8 – 2023 129 How to Submit Marginal accepts submissions from any HHS student, and we accept work throughout the year. Students may submit any original writing or artwork to Mr. Lally in the English hallway or to our email address: [email protected] There are no limits to the number of submissions an individual student may enter, although the advisor retains the right to trim the selection of any large number (10+) of submissions from a single student. We ask that students consider keeping their written submissions shorter than five full pages, double-spaced, although longer pieces will be considered. Artwork should be submitted digitally, with a high-resolution image of the artwork. Around January of each year, we close submissions for that school year’s magazine, but will still accept submissions from any non-seniors for the following year’s publication. Due to space constraints, we can only accept 15-25% of all submitted work, depending on the number of submissions. How to Join All HHS students are welcome to join our editing staff. We generally meet after school once a week (the day of our meetings is an annual choice made by the returning staff). Regular attendance is not mandatory. Students can assist as frequently as they are able. Once a student attends his or her sixth meeting, that student earns the title of Assistant Editor. Once a student attends an eleventh meeting, that student is promoted to Editor. Our Head Editor positions are generally selected by the departing staff or returning staff in years when we do not have many seniors, in collaboration with the advisor. Students do not need to submit original work to be an editor. How We Work Marginal’s main goal is to provide an avenue for the school’s writers and artists to receive a greater audience for their work. Student submissions are made anonymous by the advisor and are graded by the student editors, with the highest cumulative scores earning a place in our magazine. To prevent overvaluing any student’s artwork or writing, students may not have more than two written or two artwork submissions printed in the magazine, excepting contest winners or pieces that work in tandem.
marginal. 130 Volume 8 – 2023 Extinguished by Alexa Feldmann (photograph)