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Stuck

in the
Elevator
(No Subtitle (Shocking, Isn’t It?)
(Although, the Mere Fact that We Allude
to a Subtitle, by Saying There Is
No Subtitle, May, Legally, Constitute a Subti-
tle, (Which is, Admittedly, Considerably Less
Shocking))

Cover Illustration by Violet Pena


Stuck in the Elevator

Anthology of Poetry and Prose


Volume XV

Western New York Writing Project


Writing Workshop for Teens
July 10th - 21st, 2006

WNYWP Director....................................Dr. Suzanne Borowicz


Writing Camp Director..............................Jenn Meka Ratka
Lead Teacher..............................................Joel Malley
Mentor Teachers........................................Franklin Aquilina
Frank Flis
Matt Pavlovich
Assistant Teacher......................................Alixandra Krzemien
Anthology Design and Layout..................Joel Malley
Audio Anthology Engineer.........................Joel Malley

* * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * *

Published by The Western New York Writing Project at


Canisius College in Buffalo, NY.

For more information about the WNY Writing Project,


enrichment opportunities for students, and professional
development for teachers, call (716) 888-3134 or go to
www.canisius.edu/wnywp.

Copyright 2006 by Western New York Writing Project. All rights re-
served. Individual authors and artists retain all ownership rights to
their respective works. Printed in the United States of America.
Writing Camp Staff
Jennifer Metka Ratka teaches at Canisius College
and works for prominent educator Ruby Payne.
She has been involved in the Writing Project since
the age of seven when she attended the young
writer’s camp.

Joel Malley teaches English at McKinley High


School. As new father, he hopes to help his son
develop a similar passion for sun drying tomatoes.
Joel’s other interests include dirt, 3-D movies, and
songs about heartbreak.

Franklin Aquilina teaches English and Theater at Clarence


Central High School. He is honored to sit on the Execu-
tive Board at the Western New York Writing Project, and
returns to its Summer Writing Camp for a second year.
A graduate of both Syracuse University and Canisius Col-
lege, Franklin also teaches playwriting, directing and act-
ing at The Studio Arena Theater School.

Frank Flis teaches Senior English at Lackawanna


High School. As a newly married man, he now be-
lieves in the immortal power of love.

Matt Pavlovich is a St. Bonaventure graduate and


teaches at Lancaster Middle School. He has at-
tended 24 Dave Matthews Concerts and is an avid
New York Yankees fan, even though it has been
mathematically proven that both of these entities
are corrupt to the core. Matt fancies the quote
“We’re on a mission from God” from the film, The
Blues Brothers.

Alix Krzemien is an alumna of the Teen Writing Work-


shop. She is a junior at Canisius College and majors in
English. She is also the poetry editor of The Quadran-
gle—the Canisius literary magazine—for this coming year.
Alix loves the countryside and spending time on the lake
Ontario shore—it is from such places that she draws the
most inspiration for her poetry and songs. She is cur-
rently working on a paper through the Canisius Earning
Excellence Program exploring reader response theory
and the role of the reader in five pieces of literature by
women writers.
Introduction
A woman sits alone on a trolley skills. Celia White shared her poetry,
in San Francisco. Around her the city and, amongst other things, shared
hums and sways as the cable car works her wisdom about self-publishing.
its way up the steep hill. The woman This year we also took our yearly
sits quietly contemplating a recently jaunt to witness the beauty of the For-
plucked cherry branch. She rubs a est Lawn Cemetery, and Derek again
blossom between her thumb and fore- regaled us with a clever poem which
finger. No passengers look her way. would not be out of place outside of Dis-
No one questions. No one disturbs. ney’s Haunted Mansion. This poem ti-
This image was shared with this tled “Cemetary Symphony Movement
year’s WNYWP Teen Writing Work- Two” appears on page 30. We also
shop by the poet Celia White of the produced an audio anthology (which
Just Buffalo Literacy Center. It sub- you will find glued to the rear cover, )
tly demonstrates much of the writing to give people a chance to hear these
life. It shows the isolation, the quiet stories from the lips of the students.
contemplation, and the recognition On a lighter note, there were
of transcendent beauty in every day many other unrelated yet momen-
objects. It also quietly celebrates tous events. We escaped phantom
the role of the writer as the lone elevators. we travled alot, and fi-
voice in the wilderness of our world. nally escaped the ubiquitous sweaty
This year we managed to gym sock smell that hung like death
gather many of these voices to- in room 203 of the Churchill tow-
gether for a two week period. Some er. It was enough to make anyone
of our area’s finest middle and high “cuckoo for Cocoa Puffs” (ahem).
school poets, storytellers, and es- The pages that follow are a col-
sayists gathered together on the Ca- lection of our efforts over the past
nisius campus in order to share tales, two weeks as we have all worked hard
offer and receive constructive criti- developing our ideas. Inside you will
cism, explore new genres and writing find students celebrating personal mo-
modes, and open minds to new ideas. ments of truth and beauty, weaving
There were many highlights magical tales of honor and glory, and
to this year’s camp. Mick Cochrane, exploring elemental questions of in-
author of the novels Sport and Flesh dividual existence and responsibility.
Wounds, shared a short story and a We hope you enjoy the sto-
memoir with the group. He stressed ries that these students tell so well.
the importance of writers creat- We hope that you gain from their
ing from what they already know, insight. We know that we have.
and shared helpful exercises to help
students develop inventories of per- - Joel C. Malley
sonal knowledge. Genevieve Web- Lead Teacher
ster led a clinic on public speaking
6
2006 Western New York Writing Project
Teen Writing Workshop

7
Patricia Burdukov is a thirteen-year-old student in Starpoint Middle
School. Born in Sisters Hospital on May 21,1993 she adores koalas,
tiger cubs, raccoons, puppies, kittens, birds, panda bears, fox, dear,
cheetahs,wolfs and jaguars. She loves singing, reading, making web
sites, writing, and playing on the piano. She believes that “she has not
lived in vain, who leaves behind her ... a child better educated morally,
intellectually, and physically than herself.”

The Fiesta

Sarah Montatello, a 20 year old has blonde hair, purple eyed, went to Ellicott Creek
Park to set up the building that she reserved. As Sarah drove up on her Porsche Carrera GT
she seen a beauty full statue of a women holding a child is her hand. As soon a shereached
the building she unpacked all her stuff and started to set everything up for the Mexican fi-
esta. She put spoons, knives, forks, cheeseburgers, cakes,hot dogs, subs, pop, and more. As
she peered out side she seen yellow, pink, and white flowers with fluffy bumble bees col-
lecting there pollen, and huge oak trees. Then she seen expensive Convertibles, Hum-
mers, Saturns, and Ferraris. They all sounded like a heard of elephants. As they all entered
the building the aroma of cake, deserts,hot dos, cheeseburgers, and soup filled the air. The air
broke in to silence. Then every one laughter from disbelief. The party was over after 5 hours.

Patricia putting the finishing touches on her story. 8


Meredith Jones is a Sophomore at Hamburg High School, and
has, over the summer, played the flute in the Erie County Fair
Marching Band. She enjoys writing and acting, music, art, and any
type of theatre. Her dream is to one day be on a Broadway stage, or
have her work be acted out in New York City by professional actors.
She is an editor of her school’s literary magazine, MindSpeak and is
a member of the Writer’s Guild, has been in many school theatre
productions, and writes on FanFiction.net and FictionPress.com. She will be attending
the Honors English class offered at her high school this coming year.

The Boards

Raining. Does it not seem The curtain


It is raining outside. That the concept Is prominent
But once I enter, the rain Of a fine contour, Solely illuminated
Stops A complex It calls for
The light Melody My attention
From the superior Is being And I gladly give it to it.
Chandeliers
Make the warm, red velvet Lost? It is anticipant
On the old worn chairs Restless
Glow. We are the preservers Eager
And we are not ashamed. It has a secret
It smells We are proud to be Something to give to me.
Like an old book Who and what
Stuck on a shelf We are. A gift.
For decades
Unopened The chairs It now wastes no time
Untouched Are smooth In sharing its secret
Disregarded Though they are so Now that it knows that I
Since it was Incredibly Have arrived.
Abandoned Ancient. I am here
There. Like silk To receive it.
Like running your hands
It does not rain in here Through clear water. The curtain lifts
As it does outdoors. And I unwrap from it
Voices The paintings With unworthy
Are the rain. On the ceiling and walls Fingers
Sophisticated These do not hang My most delicate
Polite In an art gallery Touch,
Cautious Yet they are
Seemingly embarrassed Beauty.
Chatter. Art.
The best kind. - Meredith Jones
Though they are not em- The lights gradually fade.
barrassed.
The Jester

The blank page He thinks that I am shy I have thought.


Beneath my fingertips He thinks that I have no soul
Taunts me. He thinks that I feel nothing I must provide this page
Have lived nothing With thought.
He is certainly See nothing.
More powerful Without me, it cannot think.
More intimidating He thinks that he will remain It cannot jest.
Than the dentist In his horrid Without him, I cannot ex-
Hovering over me Pitiful state press
Clad in blue Forever. I cannot recoil
Or the stern man I cannot become stronger.
Before me He is wrong. We are interdependent
Tapping his pen on his chin On each other
Or the man I will defeat him To Live.
Behind me Sometime
Poised to quietly I shall break him I am the more intelligent
Slyly I shall write on him. party...
Push me off of the edge Until I write on him.
Of the Earth. I sit back to ponder Then, and only then, will we
Our bittersweet relationship be
This leaf Tapping my own pen Equal.
This incomplete On my own chin.
Being There is, after all, one advan- I conquer him
Claims that he knows tage And give him thought.
Why he is blank I have over this blank piece of
He tells me that it is because paper. - Meredith Jones
I have nothing to say.

Blake Holmes jotting down ideas in the Quad. 10


Monica Disare is an eight grader at Frontier Middle School. She always
has a great time playing all sports and playing outside, and is the type of
person who can’t sit inside for too long on a sunny day. She is involved
in Destination Imagination and chorus at her
school. Monica loves to travel and experience new things, which is
where some of her ideas for writing originate. She sums things up with
this quote, “the more things change the more things remain... insane.”
- Michael Fri and T. Lewis.

the snow falling and the wind shield wipers


Sunday at the Game rolling, we flicked on the radio and listened
to the pre game show. My excitement was
rising, Bills games were a special event for
I t’s funny how some of your fondest mem-
ories can come from the dreariest of days. You
me. The only way I got to go, was when the
weather was so bad my grandma chickened
know the kind I’m talking about. Those snowy, out! I was about to see the team I dutifully
heart of winter days, where you just want to studied and watched every Sunday in person!
curl up by the fire. Those days where the When we got there, we said hello to the lady
sides of the road are all slushed up and brown whose house we always parked at, and lugged
because the plows have already been by so the big bag of clothes from the trunk. Stand-
many times. It is then, that true Buffalonians ing outside I felt naked with the mere shirt,
show their spirit. It is those Sundays when my sweater, pants, and double socks I had on. It
grandpa and I would flock with thousands of was bone chilling, my breath dancing and crys-
other dedicated crazies to Ralph Wilson Stadi- talizing in the air. Quickly, grandpa and I got
um to cheer on our beloved BUFFALO BILLS! dressed. Shoving on an additional boots, win-
Grandpa would show up at my house ter jacket, mittens, snow pants, hats, scarfs,
around noon with his worn out sweatshirt that and anything else you can possibly imagine.
read: B-UFF-AL- B-LLS, and his pale blue By the time we were finished we
winter cap. ( He bought it at a garage sale for probably could have rolled to the sta-
50cents, it was probably dark blue.) “Monica dium faster than we walked, being the
your grandpa’s here!” my mom would shout. half man, half bowling ball that we were!
I would come bounding down the stairs with As soon as we entered the stadium
the latest Bills face paint styling, courtesy of the sheer size of it threw me off every time.
my brother, and a message slapped and glued I would glance around at the thousands of
onto a cardboard box cut in half. Always hop- people, enormous jumbotron flashing: It’s not
ing that maybe, just once, I could be on T.V. the chip it’s the dip, it’s Bison dip! And boom-
I would run to give my grandpa a big ing a jingle at decibels I didn’t think existed.
hug. The guy was 72 but you wouldn’t have I would cower at the number of seats,
guessed it. He insisted on being called 29, so the number of people in our small town able
if anyone asks, you didn’t hear that he was and willing to come and watch football. (Al-
72 from me! He was in great shape, running though, when I think about it, it’s one of the
5k races, and even helping my dad out with only things Buffalo is holding onto.) And the
gardening. He kept his own garden, pool and energy. The energy in the stadium before the
cherry tree, which made for a classic summer ball dropped was simply electrifying! Every-
visit. Scrounging up every warm piece of one was on their feet screaming, clapping,
clothing the house had to offer we hopped whistling, and certainly drinking beer. The
in his car and sped off down the road. With sights, smells, sounds, there is only one way to
describe the atmosphere...I loved it! security guard. I always remember them try-
As the game progressed, several things ing to make jokes and I just stood there pre-
would generally happen. At some point, I al- tending to smile while they cackled away at
ways hoped that someone would get the guts what they believed was their comic genius.
to chuck a snowball at a Ref, after a particu- Grandpa and I loved the Bills games.
larly bad call. Question: What’s black and Whether the Bills won or lost, I always re-
white and red all over? Answer: A short, fat, member the great times we had. Perhaps
cold, and extremely angry referee. The whole that’s why my grandpas minister made a sug-
scene was both quite comical and quite ille- gestion. At my grandpas funeral service, he
gal, and so the brave soul was taken away in suggested that the reason grandpa left us, was
handcuffs. Also, sometimes it had to happen to go somewhere where he could actually do
that the Bills scored. Just in case that hap- something about his beloved Buffalo Bills.
pened, they were always ready to blare: The
Bills make me want to shout! Grandpa and I - Monica Disare
would dance with everyone else, one of the
few times I saw grandpa dance. We would
stomp our feet, clap and sing when appropri-
ate. I was even allowed to stand on my seat!
Whenever I had to go to the bathroom,
grandpa would send a security guard in with
me. And likewise, whenever he went to the
bathroom, he would make me stand with the

Why?
Why?
Why, you ask.
Because.
Because I want to
Because I can
Because, I’m a free man
Dave Heinz is 17 and attends Am- Free.
herst Central High. He will be a Free to roam where I please
senior this upcoming year. In his Free to say whatever I want, when-
free time he likes to ride his dirt- ever I want.
bike and ATV. He also likes to read Why. One word with an infinite num-
on his downtime. His two favorite ber of answers.
authors at the time would be Jack
Kerouac and Dan Brown. Dave also Why?
plays the guitar and bass guitar and Because.
the violin for about 9 years. Music
is a huge facotor in his life. - Dave Heinz
12
Blake Holmes is an eighth grade student at Transit Middle School. He
obviously loves to write, but his other hobbies are playing video games
and watching movies. He gets most of his ideas for stories in his dreams.
He claims that although they are very random, this is what makes the
stories interesting to write. Blake likes action, horror, and mystery
stories, but he doesn’t like to write mystery stories. He also doesn’t like
poems. He thinks he likes writing so much because of the fact that he
can put his thoughts down on paper.

Now as the leader, he forced the FBI


The Greedy Man
agents to attack and kill the President.
Sometimes Having Everything Is Nothing
The FBI reluctantly did their job, and

T here was a greedy son of a devil who


lived on a hill. He was the greediest organism
the greedy man became the President.
Unfortunately, now everyone hated
him, and they tried to throw him out of business.
that had ever lived in the universe. He was the The greedy man was about to buy the USA
richest man ever. He was even richer than Bill army, navy, and air force, but they had teamed
Gates. The greedy man’s parents had spoiled up with Iraq. Bin Laden and surviving govern-
him ever since he was born. If he was bad he ment officials attacked the White House and
was not spanked. He was praised. If he threw caught the man. Fortunately for the greedy
food on the floor, he was praised. If he whined man, he had already bought all US Prisons. He
and talked back, there was no discipline. His couldn’t go to jail anywhere in the USA since
parents spoiled him so much, that when he he had bought all of the jail cells, so they sent
broke a toy, the parents would go buy the same him off to another country. It seemed as if the
toy for him. If the store didn’t have the toy in greedy man’s rampage was finally put to end.
stock, or it was discontinued, then they sued. What Bin Laden and the govern-
Now the greedy man was grown and in ment officials didn’t know, was that the
his thirties. Do you know why he had so much greedy man had bought all of Japan. They
money? He stole from people. He stole from taught him the best martial arts possible.
babies, children, adults, even cripple old peo- The greedy man managed to use karate on
ple. He tricked people into giving him money. the guards that were holding him prisoner on
And, he made fake money that everyone a boat. He swam away. He ended up in Af-
believed was real. He had a money making rica. He met a bunch of black women strug-
factory in the back of his mansion. The man gling to find food in the forest. He thought
was receiving so much money that he figured they were hot and asked to marry them.
that he could buy everything in the world. Of course they rejected him. He
He bought little things at first such as smelled like fish since he had swam away
cell phones, a surplus amount of beer, and from the boat. But those Africans loved and
100-inch wide TV’s. The greedy man adored needed money. They were paid one mil-
all of his treasures, but now he didn’t have lion dollars to be his wife. They all accept-
enough room to fit it all. So, he decided to ed. The greedy man had a baby with each
buy the White House, which he did, and one, but he got even greedier. He had 100
offered to buy the role as President of the more babies with each woman. The wom-
United States. President Bush refused, claim- an had given birth so much that they died.
ing the man was a terrorist. The greedy man The greedy man figured that his chil-
then decided to buy the United States FBI. dren would ruin his image if they didn’t have
money. He gave all his babies, consisting of
1,000 babies total, one million dollars each. went from having everything to nothing.
Tension was building in the world. Everyone Now despite how bad or good this sto-
was out to kill the greedy man. In a last ef- ry was, one thing is perfectly clear. Don’t be
fort to save his life, the greedy man bought greedy. It may be good in the beginning, but
the company Microsoft and worked with Bill in the end something horrible always happens.
Gates to make evil robots using Xbox 360
technology. They could store twenty GB of
information, play CD’s, and had a TV in their
chest that supported high definition quality.
The robots were released, and the greedy The Truth About Music
man began a war against all of humanity. He
succeeded, but he almost lost with most of the Music is a collaboration of
robots because of technical difficulties. They unique sounds, sometimes with lyr-
had problems with reading targets and they’d ics, and heart. When music is played
freeze in the middle of battle. Bill Gates cursed it generates a feeling to the curious
himself out complaining that the flaws of the
listener. It seems as if the varieties of
360 were transferred into the robots. This led
Gates to work hard on another project bet- music are endless, but what is truly
ter than the 360. At the world’s end, only the endless is the feeling, as said earlier.
greedy man, his children, Bill Gates, and the To me, jazz music creates a complex
companies that had been bought survived. and creative multitude of sounds that
Later in life, the greedy man was old is soothing like a cool smoothie. Rap
and near death. He sent his 1,000 grown up
music gets my legs and arms active as
kids to find a way to preserve his life. His kids
were his only hope. His companies couldn’t re- I dance around to the great beats. And
ally help, and Bill Gates was too busy working metal music makes me feel powerful
on another Xbox console. The greedy man’s as the guitar blasts and drums bang.
children traveled the world in hopes of finding But even the same forms of music can
a way to make their father live forever. They make the opposite feeling one would
never found a cure, and the greedy man died
expect. It all depends on how the
an angry man. Of course he went to hell. He
tried to make a deal with the devil. He paid the music is played. Music can be played
devil a lot of money in order to convince him slowly, quietly, quickly, loudly, crazily,
into sending him to God. When the bargain and other ways indescribable. Music
worked and he went off to see God, he asked has been here for years and years, and
God a stupid and regretful question. He asked it isn’t departing anywhere anytime
if he could buy heaven. God got pretty pissed
soon. It has a job to do. It needs to fill
off, and made his angels shoot nuclear arrows
at the greedy man. The greedy man couldn’t the world with sound, and not vile si-
die for he was already dead, so he blew up and lence. It needs to help people come up
returned to hell. By now everyone else was in with ideas. And finally, most obvious-
hell with him. All his companies were there, ly, it needs to please the listener’s ear.
and his 1,000 children were having a gay old
time playing Halo 4 with Bill Gate’s Xbox 360
- Blake Holmes
2. The greedy man was broke, and he couldn’t
get back up to heaven for revenge. He burned
forever and ever in hell. All the things he
once had were gone. The greedy man had
14
Gabriel Alejandro Fontanez was born on December 7th, 1992.
He lived in Amherst most of his life.. He was born in Amherst.
He then moved into the West Side for a short time before return-
ing to Amherst. He attends Amherst Central and is moving into
9th grade. He is 13 and has no brothers or sisters. He lives with his
parents and his dog, Punkin. He writes prose and poetry and has a

Who Am I?

Like Langston Hughes


I question is it really
That simple. It’s never
That easy
Who am I?
Who am I?
I could say that
I am 13, born and
Raised in Amherst
I could tell you that my name
Isn’t Gabe or Gabriel
But Gabriel Alejandro Fontanez
I could tell you
That my entire family is Boriquen
I could tell you that who I am
Is what stands before you
Not as a writer
Not as a Musician
Not as a Martial Artist
But as a person
No different
But so different
Just as you are
I am Gabriel
And see it isn’t so easy
I still fell as if the question
Is not answered but how
Could a question be answered
If the answer is so infinite
That it is as almost if
There was no answer at all

Drawing by Lindsay Warnes


15
Kelsey Rice is a devoted vegetarian who will be attending Kenmore
West next year. Her hobbies include drawing, swimming, and apolo-
gizing excessively for no reason at all. She is very talented at zoning
and making random comments. Her pet peeves include exposed
tags on clothing, frizz, insect cruelty and overconfident mallet per-
cussionists.

anywhere. It even seemed like the familiar

I
rustling of the trees had been silenced.
t had seemed as if the place had But no matter how hard anyone tried, they
been forgotten. Vines had crept up the never solved the mystery.
brick walls of houses that had once stood Traveling to the city only seemed to
proudly against the sky. But they did no create more mysteries- mysteries of silence,
longer. Once carefully-pruned bushes now rain, and scarlet flowers.
grew unkempt, in
scattered, haphazard ways. Windows had
cracked. Stone had crumbled. What had
happened to this little town? Many people
had sought to find out.
They would enter the town in
search of clues about the disappearance of
what
had once been a cheerful group of people.
But all they had found were scarlet
flowers. Hundreds and hundreds of tiny
flowers that grew inside the houses.
They spilled out of cupboards and
wound around banisters. They twisted
their way up chimneys and squeezed inside
new cracks in the walls. No one had ever
seen flowers quite like them. And there Above: Drawing by Kelsey Rice.
had been the rain. The town was nestled Below: Kelsey recording
in between two mountains. It had never
been a dry city, but recently torrents of rain
would come down with an unnatural fury
and
beat down relentlessly on the abandoned
city every day. Drops of water lingered on
the strange flowers after the rain ceased and
glistened like liquid rubies. No one under-
stood why the town was like this. Some
even
tried to take flowers home. But only min-
utes after they were picked, they would
crumble to a fine gray dust. Something else
seemed unnatural about this little town.
Maybe it was the silence. No birds chirped
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Os nonulpu tpationse Drawing
dolessim by Lindsay am Warnes
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vel ut velby irit Alex
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17
et et del iureetum nulla faccum zzrit nullam, vel ex ea atis ea feugait la faci blandre tat vel utpat-
Amelia Colon is currently a freshman at Sacred Heart Academy. She
is 14 years old but has only recently taken an interest in writing. In her
spare time, she studies violin and piano and is a part of the Western
New York Children’s Choir. In school, Amelia is always involved in the
drama productions and other artistic extra curricular activities such as
Chamber Orchestra and Select Choir. Through practice and inspiration,
hopefully my writing will take me somewhere someday and being apart
of the Western New York Writing Project has only positively affected
me by increasing my self-esteem and writing capabilities.

Anguish on the Front Comfort

T he frozen air in the dense rug-


ged jungle fills my lungs as I tally the total
The sounds of laughter and joy
put my ears at ease.
The smell of sweet chocolate chip cookies
number of lifeless bodies. My regiment had impatiently waiting in the oven
arrived here only two weeks before, but pleases my anxious nose.
never in my life have I witnessed such an epi- The taste and soothing effect of hot milk
demic. The once humid air now feels dry and and honey streams down my frozen throat
the once refreshing daily rain now feels like and revives my taste buds.
torturous hail on my saddened and corpse- The sight of the rising sun brings
like body. “53 deaths”, I say to hope and relief to my wide and weary pupils.
myself as I walk into the musty old health
lodge, “Twelve more than Wednesday.” It’s - Amelia Colon
unconceivable. I laugh at myself for thinking
I could make a difference in the war effort.
I now understand why women have
always been frowned upon when registering Prejudice
during a draft. The average arrogant man
would believe that a woman couldn’t han- What’s the difference between you and me
dle the effects of war but anyone who isn’t We both like sports, and we watch T.V
negatively affected by such waves of despair We like to watch movies, and like to swim
is merciless and inhuman. War doesn’t usu- We both enjoying the activities we play in gym
ally solve anything useful because prejudice So, what’s the difference?
and other unnecessary evils will always ex- Why is one better than the other?
ist after thousands of men have already died. Why do people treat us differently?
Even with all of these thoughts stream- Is it our style?
ing through my fatigued and drowsy mind, I Is it our culture?
know I have some purpose in this wasteland. I know why
I must continue to carry out my duties, de- It’s because of our skin
He’s black and I am white
spite my own feelings of hate. I can only pray
Why does he have to get the short end of the
that one day there will be no need for my
stick
position any longer. My eyes still burn from
So, I will let you figure out the rest
looking into the opaque eyes of diseased sol-
While I leave you to go fix this mess
diers, but I hold my head erect and only show
the splotches of dirt and mud on my face. - Mike Burke
19 “One Peaceful Spot” by Violet Pena
Drawing by Alex Bommer 20
Amanda Feldman attends Lake Shore High School. She is going into
10th grade. She enjoys reading, writing (obviously), and her music.
(Editor’s Note: Amanda is camera shy, and that is why there is a
picture of her beagle where her picture should be. We begged. We
pleaded. We attempted to bribe. She would not relent.)

Black and White

T he dreaded day arrives Julie has received


the call she most feared. The police have phoned
ity of trouble that her once innocent her daughter
was in. Drugs? Amber? How could this be going
on without her knowledge of this condition. It was
her to give her the news of her daughter being ar- only 4:10in the morning and her mind wasn’t able
rested. It was 4 am. The phone rings violently. to process all this in the wee hours of the day. As
Julie, a middle aged woman with auburn hair and she arrived at the police station, she debated with
hazel eyes awakes suddenly. She had waited until herself whether or not she should leave Amber
around 2am hoping Amber would call. Julie was there to learn her lesson. She decided that she
no longer able to fight of the fatigue that filled her. wanted to hear what amber had to say for her-
Amber is only sixteen years old but thinks she is self. She proceeded into the police station where
twenty five. Amber went to a party last night an officer introduced himself as officer Marleneo.
around nine and was to be home by twelve. Julie Officer Marleneo explained the Amber is still high
had no reason not to trust her. Amber was a B stu- off LSD or better known as acid. He goes on to
dent, no behavior problems at school or home. So explain when someone is using acid they may be-
the news that Julie will be receiving would devas- come paranoid. Hence breaking the windshield.
tate her. The phone call had awakened Jillie with “Hold on,” started Julie, “If Amber was para-
a start. She picked up the phone as noid, why would she call attention to herself by
quickly as she could open her eyes. breaking a windshield?” asked Julie promptly.
“Ms. Bonaz, we have your daughter Amber “When someone is high on acid the may also hal-
downtown at the station. She was brought in due lucinate. Amber claims to have had a figure follow-
to the fact that broke a windshield. We proceeded ing her and that figure jumped onto the windshield
to search her and found illegal drugs in her bag.” and in an attempt to free herself from this figure she
Julie’s mouth went dry. Her eyes became moist. tried to kill it with a baseball bat and broke the wind-
“I’ll be there in 10 minutes.” Ju- shield in the process.” At this time Julie was crying
lie stated in a state of shock and disbelief. profusely. As Julie opened her eyes and looked to-
As Julie returned the phone to the receiver, she felt wards her daughter again, she saw her daughters
as if her black and white world had turned to shades head fall suddenly. Julie panicked and in desperate at-
of gray. As Julie looked around her living room her tempts ran full speed into the room at which Amber
leather couch no longer felt the same. The pale blue was located. Julie screamed “Amber!” There were
walls had an eerie sense about them. The hard wood no movements. Not even the opening of an eye.
floor that she once adored now just annoyed her. Julie repeated this hopeless attempt.
Julie fumbled clumsily to find her glasses and “Amber!” still nothing. Julie began to shake
keys. Once she had her glasses on remotely right, Amber and there was no response. Julie’s
she held tight to the keys for these were the tools mind was reeling. She reached down for Am-
to get to her daughter quickly. Julie walked swift- ber’s wrist searching for a pulse, although her
ly across her maple hard wood floor to her similar findings were dismal. Amber had no pulse.
door that also happened to be maple as well. She
proceeded down her stairs and across her sidewalk
that cut through her suburban lawn to her drive-
way. As she started her car she realized the sever
Mike is an outgoing, funny 14 year old who en-
joys playing sports, mostly baseball and hockey.
He attends school in Amherst. When asked
about his audio anthology piece which professes
a hatred for all genres of music, he admits that
he had a difficult time developing rhymes for lik-
ing music, so he went in the opposite direction.

Learning from the Dead Then a year flew by


There was no reason to cry
You can learn a lot from the dead The year was great
That’s what my grandfather said There was love not hate
When I was thirteen he died I was glad he was alive to share it
My dad started to cry
He was placed in his wooden bed He was smoking in his den
When it made its way back again
My grandfather was a true Irish man CANCER
He always lent a hand
He had no fears We rushed him to the hospital I knew he
Didn’t show his tears was going to win
He enjoyed drinking beer I knew what we were going to do when he
got out I had I stuck in my head
He was married for 50 years But then the phone rang, I picked it up and
They call that the golden year it was my dad
Through ups and downs He said ìyou grandfather has lost the battle,
Smile and frowns you grandfather is deadî
Even through tears
They made it 50 years After that I ran
Ended up in a shed
But then he was diagnosed with cancer So I left him with one more gift
That gave us all a fright A place to rest his head
He battled it for days and nights, nights and
days I wanted to see him, one more time, we
But he was the winner of the fight would share one last feast
But I knew that was impossible because he
He lived to see tomorrow was resting in peace
We lost all our sorrow
He went back to his house looked brand
new like a gift
Then he kissed his wife, the one he was go-
ing to spend the rest of his life with
Mike’s poem “Prejudice” appears on page 18
Seven Days of Revolution
As that saxophone plays I’ll tell you
Little bits of broken life What it is I see
Scattered everywhere I go What it is I know
And in everything I see I can Cause these seven days of walking
See life and its glow Still haven’t showed me where I’m going to go

Seven days of walking They showed something though


Where do I find myself? Something I didn’t expect to see
Where will I go They showed me where I came from
Who will I meet And who I’ll always be
Who will I find
Who will I know These seven days of revolution
All up inside my mind
A little adventure so I can Is still running forever with
See what it is I’ve been missing A never ending bind
From this life of mine
So I can stretch the boundaries of The revolution will never stop
My thoughts and balance the And I’ll live and love it till I die
Equilibrium of my mind And I’ll see to it that it’s still
Alive when I say good-bye
Now tell me as the saxophone plays
What it that my life says to you I pass this revolution onto you
And I’ll tell you what I can do Cause that’s what I have to do
Cause I can go places you’ve never seen To make sure that saxophone
I’ve met people that you never knew Still plays in the hands of you

I heard that you can lose your money You can keep the revolution
You can lose your gold And it’s inane insane song
But you can’t lose your heart Cause people in this world are crazy
And they can’t take your soul And you better hold on

Maybe that’s right That song, that melody will


Maybe that’s the rule Eventually be gone from the night
But what rule is there Cause this revolution in your hands
To not follow like a fool Is the only thing in this world that’s right

And a fool I am to see you So good night, good-bye I’ll


In the way that no one else does See you in the morning with
But maybe that makes me unique What’s in your mind
Like I always will be And then tell about your
Like I always was Miraculous find

A revolution in your mind These seven of walking with the


Can free your soul to places you’ve Broken bits of life has shown me
Never believed to be alive What a revolution really can do
And in these places I hope Cause beautiful people in this world
You find what you’re searching for Just need inspiration to see a revolution
For what it is that you strive In gorgeous beautiful you
My name is Cliff Cawthon and That Ragged Table
I attend Amherst Central High School, I love my old chemistry reference table
I am seventeen years old and I’m going It has two loose sheets and it has been
to be senior this upcoming school year, through rain and wind
which I must say will be an interesting The footnotes are blurred
year. I have no real hobbies to speak Hell I cant even read half of the text any-
more!
of, but I am a huge sci-fi fan. My fa-
But I love my old reference table
vorite sci-fi programs are Stargate sg1, I love my old things.
Stargate Atlantis, Battlestar Galac- If I wanted to I could get a new one in a
tica (modern version), Star Trek (most snap.
specifically Enterprise) and of course Never
you have to love Star Wars, especially NEVER!!!!!
Do you think I would throw something away
episode 3 and 6 (return of the Jedi).
because it’s old?
One of the aspects of my life Man, are you stoned?
that I am particularly proud of is my Flying with the birds in the open blue skies!
Activist life; I am a peace activist and It would be irrational and ridiculous to get a
I am also interested in government re- new reference table
form but, I think that we must believe My reference table is always there for me.
Those new packets rip too easily
in concepts of justice, liberty, equality
The ink blots and runs when touched by a
and fairness and that we should apply single hydrogen dioxide molecule
them to our government and if we can, I don’t have time for these little kids
our lives. In regard to my travel history I can’t throw away my reference table-
I have mostly vacationed in the states Because it has more experience than all
but I have been to Canada many times those young reference tables combined
I have used that packet all the time
in fact because of our location I have
Through every test and all my rhymes
been to Canada about over 12 times. And above all, the number one motive for
When I write, I’m expressing my my bond with my ragged table is.......
feelings at the moment and things in I have to take a test in five minutes.
my life and in my world inspire me; for
example, when I write a poem about - Cliff Cawthon
icicles I write down my observations
and them I dig a bit deeper in what
the icicle is and what it means to me.
I’m generally a poet but im willing to
write short stories and article but for
the record I do my best work in the
realm of poetry. I have many thoughts
about life but in regards to my new
experiences in this writing project I
will say, “turn me on to anything.”
24
Matt Schillinger is a sophomore at Amherst High School.

had the honor of keeping the lone letters as


their title. Presently, in the year 2141, the only
insurgents left were the remnants of a group
called Hamass, loosely organized in the Golan
The Flames Heights, Northwest of a city called Tiberias.

L amed considered his hand; com-


posed of tiny motors and circuits orchestrated
This area was dangerously close to the bor-
ders of hostile nation of Syria. To the South,
fighting had quelled nearly to the point of non-
in such a manner as to mimic his human pre- existence due largely to the help of the IPFU.
decessors. It was a relatively calm night in the Israel’s borders now stretched into Egypt, as
mountains of the Golan Heights, Lamed and far as Cairo, which gave the Israeli economy
Detachment 458 knew their mission: prevent the boost it needed to put IPFU production
a man named Abdul Habass from rallying a re- into full swing. All around its borders, Israeli
sistance in the North, even if it meant killing a IPFU platoons patrolled, and deep within
few more faceless insurrectionists. His metal- neighboring countries. Their sheer numbers
lic skin was designed to be virtually undetect- alone literally diffuses the would-be nucle-
able; it had to be constantly kept at 34 degrees ar war once threatening Zion’s existence.
Celsius, the outside air temperature, to avoid Each IPFU was exactly like the other, each
detection from an enemy soldier’s thermal vi- one caste from a perfect mold. If God created
sion equipment. Lamed was accompanied by man in His image, and man created machine
three others: Samech, Fey, and Ayin. They in his image, the cycle continued. Every one
were about 200 meters below their target of them stands exactly 195 centimeters (6.5
and would have to ascent the steep slopes feet) tall, and has a frame composed of Tita-
to reach their goal. Lamed signaled that it nium to ensure maximum durability in com-
was time to move on and, just then, four bat, weighing in at a modest 568 kilograms.
dark figures disappeared up the mountains. Unlike their human counterparts, they com-
Lamed and his platoon were the per- pletely lack the need for rest or nourishment.
fect soldiers: obedient, strategic, powerful, As such, IFPU’s are powered by a tiny mass
completely manufacturable, and most cru- of Plutonium 239 located in the chest cav-
cially, they could think. They never got hun- ity. As the Plutonium decays, the radioactive
gry, and they never needed to sleep. Ever energy is harnessed and used to operate the
since the Israeli Department of Defense made mechanical soldier. Since as long as the Pluto-
the decision to push out any and all opposing nium supply was sufficient, the IFPU’s would
military forces in 2136, it has deployed IPFU, still be able to function, in theory, an individual
or Independent Positronic Fighting Units to unit could operate for as long as 24,000 years.
accomplish this task. Although used primar- Each “soldier” was armed with a Bar-
ily as infantry, divisions in the navy and air etta M-5290 assault rifle that fired depleted
force were deployed as well. Whether to Uranium shells for maximum effect, but could
deny them an identity or for lack of creativ- also use any other ammunition for any rifle in
ity, each IPFU was designated a letter of its class. This weapon was just as important
the Hebrew alphabet. However, as there as the mechanical soldiers themselves, both in
were only 26 letters in the alphabet, each practice and as a psychological weapon. The
robot was also assigned a number, but since rifle was known in some enemy circles to cut
Lamed and his company were the elite, they a man in half at close range and, coupled with
the destructive nature of the robots, put a big others sat at a table, in what appeared to be a
dent in the actual frequency of rebellious activi- kitchen, and reached for their weapons. They
ties. The long range attachment was could be barely had enough time to stand up before they
used for quiet assassination objectives and was were both torn asunder by the M-5290. Mak-
accurate from up to 6 kilometers. In addition to ing his way into the foyer, Lamed met up with
the M-5290, each unit carried a pistol that fired Samech who promptly made an entrance with
similar rounds, and a dozen grenades designed his sound cannon at the rear, knocking out four
to incinerate by means of a highly explosive gas insurrectionists with the sheer concussion of the
contained within. As a means of communication, blast. Samech was ordered upstairs to help Ayin
each mech could broadcast a broken signal on while Lamed made his way into the basement.
an undetectable frequency to avoid interception Upon reaching the basement floor, it was seized,
by the enemy rebels. In addition to radio signals, from behind by a rather large Arab man. Lamed
each IPFU was linked every other member of quickly negotiated his release by channeling about
the company via digital visual and audio trans- 45,000 volts through its metallic skin and into the
mitions. They all shared. Finally, the IPFU were assailant. Though the ordeal only lasted three sec-
best suited for urban warfare because of the onds, it would prove to be fatal for the mutineer.
KM-2 Sound Cannon. This was primarily used It was there, fallen to his knees before the
for breaching the walls of structures that contain triumphant Lamed, the notorious Abdul Habass.
potentially dangerous targets. The only thing a “You monsters will never stop us all,” the man
given IPFU had to do was calculate the building’s growled in broken Hebrew. Lamed seized the
Structural Resonance Frequency, and a few sec- man, closing one hand around his face and lifting
onds later, it’s company would have an entrance. him off the ground, feet dangling. It brought Ha-
At about 600 meters above sea level, they bass face to face with it and, very softly, “Only a
arrived at the point of interest. The structure in monster can destroy a monster.” With that, Ha-
question was a two-story, dilapidated residential bass’ face was crushed by a grip that could have
home. To avoid detection, each arrived on the bent railroad tracks and was thrown to the ground.
scene via separate routes, quickly, silently. There Lamed then signaled to the rest that the
were three doors: one in front to the south, one deed had been done and they rendezvoused out-
on the western side, and another in back. Lamed side. Apparently, on its way upstairs, Samech
took the side, Samech the rear, and Fey was left had to clear away some mercenaries with an in-
to the front. Ayin made a jump whose trajecto- cineration grenade and by now the house was
ry landed him squarely on the roof, he planned ablaze. Crowding around their fallen comrade,
to enter through the second floor window Fey, they realized that their ally was no more.
and meet the other three on the ground floor. It was the closest that any of them could ever
Lamed then transmitted a message through all come to dying. Lamed then ordered the group
members of the platoon that boomed through the to evacuate the area via the separate routes they
mountains in perfect Arabic. “You are all prisoners had used to arrive. Before departing, Lamed
of war under the Israeli government. Submit and looked back at the house and, in the flames;
you shall be treated humanely!” Just as Lamed sig- it saw the beginning of something glorious.
naled to commence the operation by broadcasting
on a frequency undetectable to anyone but them- - Matt Schillinger
selves, a sudden explosion and flash of red light
ripped through the night. Fey lay in the threshold
of the house, crippled and broken. Habass knew
what was coming. A quake was suddenly sent
through Detachment 458. They were all togeth-
er in this, not just as a team but as one mind, as
a singularity. It was like having a limb amputated.
Lamed kicked in the door, which slammed into
an unlucky militant, like being hit by a truck. Two
26
Violet Peña will be a junior at Amherst Central High School this fall.
She enjoys reading, writing, and observing and creating art. She also
enjoys listening to music and playing it on her violin. Her favorite mu-
sic includes works by Beck, Gorillaz, The Clash, The Flaming Lips,
The Verve, The Pillows, Bach, Vivaldi, and Nadja Salerno-Sonnen-
burg’s original works. Her favorite graphic artists are Remedio Varas,
Nanamirio, Shunpei, and Hikaru Nakano. She believes that “High
School Musical” is a bane to humanity and should be illegalized.

Untitled (Vertigo)-Part One would be a chain of this. He would just pause


He was standing on the sidewalk, for a moment, unable to say anything, because
watching the traffic pass. Standing very still he didn’t trust himself to. If he did speak, he
on the side of main street during dusk was not knew that he would start shouting at the bas-
a generally accepted behavior, though, and tards around him, how low they were, he was
he was starting to attract strange stares from done with this, wasn’t there more to life, the
people. He wasn’t a hitchhiker. He wasn’t even universe, anything and everything?
really looking for a ride. He was waiting for He had realized that there wasn’t.
someone. Someone who he had never met, There simply wasn’t. Poverty, abuse, war:
and never heard of him. But someone would permanent parts of the world. Never to be
stop eventually, and he hoped that he would eliminated, not in this Age or the next. Wars
get the right person the first time. He knew fought over religion, land, money: three arti-
that someone would. It wasn’t a question of ficial things. Ownership of the land, anyway.
whether or not a car would be stopped, it was Maybe at first it had come in handy, but, as
a question of when. The car wouldn’t stop it- with all good things in the world, it had been
self; fate would stop the car. He hadn’t believed taken to extremes by both well-meaning and
in fate until afternoon, when he stopped as he villainous people. Not that there were real
was walking down the street, and realized that villains in the world. No Batman and Robin,
so much was moving around him with abso- either. No heroes. Altruism was as fake as
lutely no purpose. This city was crazed, the modesty, only real when the person was young
whole place going through a midlife crisis. Hell, or stupid enough not to know better. No black
the whole country. World. The world was on and white, but that was a given. There weren’t
crack. Bright, bleeding colors blurring quickly even shades of grey anymore. No, there was
past and through everyone, with no ultimate the whole f-cking spectrum out there by now.
purpose. Everything was futile, but damn could That wasn’t going to change, either.
futility be fun when you made a point of not If life had some purpose, he had yet
dwelling on it. Oh, sure, he had had his share to find it. Save the earth so other people can
of that life. He had loved it, but during every screw her? Learn about the universe and space
party, every lay, he would snap out of the mood so we know just how alone we are when the
he was in and into one of utter alienation. Look world dies? How we might be the only sen-
around at all the movement and wonder why tient planet in the universe at this moment in
the hell he was there. This would come on time? Learn about the fabric of spacetime, of
almost without warning; he would suddenly fall subatomic particles, so we know what we’re
into melancholy, and he would be able to force made out of: the same things as supernovae
himself out of it in a and stones, porcelain and peaches? Make the
world beautiful so others can be happy, prob-
matter of seconds. Shame that he was act- ably leading to the happy ones reproducing
ing like such a primate and enjoying it mind- more, thereby bringing up the total number of
lessly, guilt that he wasn’t doing anything really humans and therefore the number of unhappy,
worth remembering, fear that his whole life malcontent, and stupid ones up as well. No,
there was nothing worth fighting for anymore, She had been driving for an hour or so
not even one’s survival. It took no work now, in complete silence on a westbound route. The
and everyone was happy. The unhappy ones sky was beginning to cloud over, and it was
vented this unhappiness on others, determined going to rain. The wind that blew through the
to spread misery and get money for it. Ah, the open window was heavy with moisture, but
modern music industry. Ah, modern America. after such a long time in the city, he was enjoy-
Gotta love it. ing it.
An old Honda stopped, and a girl got “So,” The girl asked, jerking him out of
out. Late teens, early twenties. Very pale skin his trance, “You got a name?”
and black hair cut in a bob that somehow man- “Not really. I’m called Dane.”
aged not to look completely absurd; quite tall. She nodded. “I’m Amelia. Amelia Day.”
An urban vampire. She wore a black raincoat “Want me to call you something else?”
even though it was a clear day and a purple sa- “Naaah...” She said, shaking her head
rai with silvery birds on it. She approached him slightly. Not pissed off at all, even though he
slowly but confidently. Raised her head to look had just not-so-subtley hinted that she had a
directly in his eyes when she was six inches cumbersome name. “If I wanted to change my
away. name, I could have a long time ago. I’m Ame-
“How long you been standing here for?” lia Day until universe’s end, and I really don’t
She asked in an offhand way that was very mind.”
peculiar considering her approach to a complete “I somehow doubt you’ll be around that
stranger. long.”
“Since four,” he responded without “You’d be surprised.”
missing a beat. “Maybe I would.”
“Wanna ride?” “Or maybe, by the time the universe’s
“Not really.” end got here, you wouldn’t be.”
“Where you wanna go?” “Okay, I know I won’t be around then.”
“Nowhere.” “You could be...” She said slowly.
“Liar.” “Want eternal life?”
A pause, like in a fencing match. Wait- A pause.
ing for the round of blows to begin. He was “You’re mad,” he said, sinking deeper
a bit put-off by how certain she had seemed in his seat and turning his head to look out the
when she had called him a liar. She wasn’t open window. I’m leaving at the first city we come
for discussion or dissent. It wasn’t debatable: to.”
he just was, and he knew it. Not a trace of “I don’t think there are any cities on the
doubt in her voice. Just the conviction that she plane I’m trying to get to.”
completely understood him. And even though “Um...what?”
in anyone else it would have just pissed him off, “I said, I’m trying to get to a certain
for some reason, he trusted her. plane, and I don’t think it has any cities. I’ve
“Okay, fine.” He said at last. “How’s never seen one there, anyway.”
your car for getting into other universes?” “Where?”
She turned away, looking over the grey “Where I’m trying to go. Plane...” She
Honda for a minute. “She’s pretty good,” The thought for a moment. “Plane 0000834055,
girl said. “Anyplace in particular?” sub-plane 34.”
“Anywhere but here.”
“That makes two of us. Ride?” She
asked, jerking her head slightly in the Honda’s
direction.
“Sure.” They got in the Honda and the
girl started to drive down main street, towards
the junction with the highways. (continued on page 29)
manipulated to Transcend. Understand?”
Untitled (Vertigo) Part One (cont.) “To a point.”
“Well, you don’t need to. All that was
“Plane?” Dane, although not overly part of a required course I had to take to be
enthusiastic about it, had taken a basic physics able to Transcend. That’s when I had to memo-
course. He had heard of planes. “Levels outside rize my native plane and sub-plane, in case I
the universe? Outside of the local spacetime?” got lost or something, and got separated from
He was joking, but Amelia didn’t respond to Vertigo.”
the sarcasm. “ ‘Required course’? Who’s in charge of
She smiled. “Exactly! And the plane I this?”
want to get to doesn’t really have cities.” “Well, I’ve never really met him. He’s
“And the planes are numbered?” from a different plane, a hard one to get to. We
“Yeah. There was a system assigned... have a rough equivalent for it in some religions
oh, say three millennia ago, give or take a here. Heaven. Although Nirvana is in some
couple centuries.” ways closer to the reality.”
“In one thousand B.C., people had “So this guy is God? What does that
found planes and numbered them?” make you, Saint Amelia?”
“If you want to think of it that way, “One, he’s not God. Just a Godlike...
yes. Obviously, the system didn’t originate on figure. There is a difference. And I’m no saint.
Earth—part of plane 0001547210, but we ad- Actually, some saints could manage a sort of
opted it easily enough.” quasi-Transcending. Jesus Christ was pretty
“How do you memorize these plane good at it, for someone with almost no training
numbers?” in this area. A natural. But that’s not the point.
“Same way you memorize locker com- I’m more like what you, if you were Christian,
binations or addresses. These plane and sub- would call an angel.” She paused to let this sink
plane numbers are addresses. Just for bigger in. “You already know, though, that I’m not a
places. And for ones that I don’t remember, I stereotype. I don’t have a lyre and wings—al-
can retrieve the number through a multiverse- though I do have a robe from last Halloween. I
wide database-type thing. Just sample the local drive a car, have to pay for food and clothes and
spacetime, stick it in the analyzer, and violà, it gas, and I enjoy getting laid. Religion plays no
tells you the location.” part in this. This plays a part in religion.”
“Um. Is this part of a computer?” “You are mad.”
“Naah...part of Vertigo.” “Sorry.”
“Vertigo?” - Violet Pena
“My car,” Amelia said, patting the steer-
ing wheel fondly. “Her name is Vertigo. When
we try to Transcend quickly, you’ll know why.”
Dane didn’t trust himself to speak. Fi-
nally, he managed to.
“If we’re trying to get to another plane,
how will driving westward help us?”
“Vertigo works better near freshwater.
There’s a lake around here. A few exits from
now.”
“Why?”
“Why does Vertigo work better? Water
can bend the local spacetime in some pretty
cool ways. Fresh water. Too much salt screws
it up. Has to do with the way the elements
are bonded. Sodium upsets the bonds that are
Cemetery Symphony
Movement II
(A Morbid comedy )

Beneath the earth it makes its Marks


His coffin lying cold and dark.
Heaven smiles upon this mound
the mason Bury underground.
The pig turned Butcher’s blade around
that’s why she is underground.
The fallen never rise again
to leave the Fell and shadowed den.
Derek Schultz, a junior at
Clarence High School, is a None like to wait for sleep and stone
fencer, sculptor, cellist and yet he will Wait with worms and loam.
writer. But let’s get to the Something in his life went wrong
cool stuff. He enjoys blast- and so he had to say “so Long.”
ing the ever loving heck out I hope she’s having quite a Ball
of his guitar, getting himself hanging out in heaven’s hall.
hopelessly lost on the open The Brewer tried his homemade beer
road, reciting whole Monty and that is why he’s buried here.
Python sketches and wan-
dering through tough terrain The Greek the Roman gods of old
in forests and quarries. The the Betz are cast in vaults not gold.
essentials of life according The family traveled to distant shores
to him are AC/DC, Monty the ones who lingered live no More.
Python, German food and A Lotta Beebe’s pierced her head
insanity. Even better, he I think it’s obvious why she’s dead.
owns a top hat. Enough said. The fine young gentleman buried here
sipped his fancy sherry.
Alas, when he was fencing
he forgot to Perry.

Death was price for men he’d rob


in court he should have shut his Gobb.
Half in light, half in dark
unlucky Fisher hooked a shark.
My heart goes out to her or him
who met a fate that turned out Grimm.
The Reading stones are in two rows
I’m writing as they decompose.

The two of them are Dunn with life


Derek’s other six feet under husband and wife.
The second time I quake in fear
piece, an excerpt for mocking our departed dear.
from a Clarence trav-
elouge, appears on
page 32
Good riddance.
30
Ellen Weisenburger is going to be a sophomore at
Maryvale High School.

Should I die for my country?


Sounds like a good cause
but the leader is not so good

Not a Hero And I’m crying and I’m losing


And I’m flying and I’m losing
Stormy skies mornings fly by
I am not a hero
It’s spread its wings now it’s my turn
That’s just not who I am
I am not a zero
I choose to die for what I believe in
I’ve got my own plans
If I get sick I’ll fight on ‘till I lose it
Hey don’t expect me to be the perfect one
Others tell me there are things worth dying for
Hey just respect me because I am human
Not choosing which ones I ask myself
Is that the way I’m supposed to die?
And I’m crying and I’m losing
And I’m flying and I’m losing
Should I die not saying something deep?
Stormy skies mornings fly by
Knights died for honor and glory
It’s spread its wings now it’s my turn
Reveling in chivalry
Waiting for the prize on the table
I see you fall I see you cry
Waiting for the eyes of his lord
I see you bawl under black skies
I help you out also others
And I’m crying and I’m losing
I help out sisters and brothers
And I’m flying and I’m losing
Stormy skies mornings fly by
And I’m crying and I’m losing
It’s spread its wings now it’s my turn
And I’m flying and I’m losing
Stormy skies mornings fly by
Should I die for you just because you want me to?
It’s spread its wings now it’s my turn

My life doesn’t consist of self-less


feeling all the time
I’m going to live my century
going to save in my own time
I know that you think that I’m the future
Don’t rush me I will become the future
I’m not a hero
I’m not a zero
From here I go
On To die

The leader in the house of white


One liar with a load of might
Wants me to go and join the fight
I his war on another land
It’s like I’m lying to my friends
I’m lying to myself that I’m for everything he says
If I fight and die with that lie
Poet Celia White shares her poetry.
People won’t believe the truth
Kassie Maser is going into 9th grade at
Kenmore West High School. She likes Ameri-
can Idol, swimming, and changing the TV vol-
ume when it is on a prime number. She is plan-
ning to be a criminal defense lawyer, or a fashion
designer, but will probably be on American Idol
first.

Falling Up Precipitation as a Self-Portrait


Standing here next to you, I am the rain.
I feel something happening. I am the steady rhythm on the ground that
Something that’s completely out of our con- never seems to end.
trol, I am the gloomy grey cover that masks the
Almost like falling. sky and hides the sun.
I am the clean smell of the air, the dirt washed
But we aren’t falling down. away.
This thing going on between us, I am the drops that pour over your fingers.
It feels like we’re falling up. I am the taste of water on your tongue, mild,
but still there.
I am the rain.
The rain is me.

Excerpt from “The Wanderer’s Guide to Clarence”


(Please read with an upper class British accent.)

It is a well known fact among the small children of Clarence Center that a goblin
lives in the woods of Ransom Creek. This green and scaly apparition seems extraor-
dinarily bad-tempered and violent in nature. According to the little people, this goblin
is responsible for the disappearance of younger siblings and for the recent destruction
of some build sites near the creek. This so called “goblin” is said to be seen at the very
late hours of the night ripping out nails and beams from these build sites, causing beams
to fall and crush innocent redneck construction workers. Curiously, the lush forest
seems to be creeping steadily outward over these destroyed sites. Small fuzzy crea-
tures have begun to make their homes in the new forest. This superstition has been
regarded by the old people of the neighborhood as complete rubbish because, accord-
ing to them, “These kids have seen nothing but a woodchuck.”

- Derek Schultz
Dan Kukura is heading off to Alfred State College next year.
This is Dan’s third consecutive year at this writing camp, and,
unless he returns in some administrative capacity, will be sorely
missed. Good luck Dan. Ahh....the memories. Good luck
Dan!

“Okay I’m sure whatever was out there is


gone now. So let’s go to my car so I can call for
CHAPTER II (segment:past) some more of my people and I’ll have you home
“Knock, knock... Guess” soon, okay? How does that sound?” He smiled
Excerpt from “At Gunpoint with a Demon” comfortingly.
“Thanks, but I’d like to have my mom come get
“Listen son, what’s your name?” me,” The policeman pulled out his cell phone
“Henkel.” and handed it to him.
“Henkel, I can see that you are on edge right “Call your mom, while I get some more of
now, and I would like to know...” he hesitated, my friends over here, okay? I’ll be right back.”
“There are some weird things I just saw out- He turned to leave, “I’m assuming you wont
side and I would like to know what exactly runaway, but don’t runaway if I’m wrong about
happened here... an attack of some kind I’m that.” He walked out of the door and bounced
guessing? -I’m not asking you to taddle tale, with each step he took out the door to his car.
but I would like to know who did it.” Henkel looked down at the cell phone in his
Henkel opened his mouth but no words left his hands, his thumb shaking over the buttons.
lips. He finally managed to pull himself together to
“Look can I call your parents or something? punch in his home phone number. “Mom,” he
Give me your phone number, let’s go to my car began.
outside and -” “Yes? Henkel, honey, how are you? Are you
“NO!” Henkel protested strongly, staring out having fun with your father and Uncle Leon”?
the door. He gripped the edge of the table so She stopped, “Henkel, what’s wrong? What’s
tightly his knuckles turned white. the matter? Do you want me to come and
“Why not now? Did a person do it, are they bring you home? -put your father on hon.”
still around,” the officer rested his palm on the “H-h-he can’t.”
grip of his gun. “Oh-my-god,” she stopped for a moment, “Is
“That monster,” he stopped. Leon there”? She asked desperately.
“I see... was it a bear? A group of wolves?” the “He,” Henkel paused, “he can’t either.”
officer looked sideways at him questioningly, The policeman turned from his car and headed
however trying not to make the boy feel as if he back to the cabin.
was being interrogated. “Who’s there with you?” she asked trying not
“Neither... I-it, it took both of em. Me, my to cry.
uncle and my dad were out hunting for three “A police officer,” he gulped.
days , and well... we couldn’t find anything so “Put him on hon.”
we headed back today –no, yesterday and were Henkel handed the phone to the policeman.
going to leave but my dad disappeared and “Ma’am, this is Officer Michael Palco of the
then this morning my uncle opened the door to NJPD, I think it would be best if you head
scare away some raccoons a-a-and... I saw him down here and pick up our son,” he looked at
pulled around the side of the cabin so I closed Henkel then turned to face outside the door.
the door and... I hid myself, and got my grand- “Yes, when you- yes, when you get here I will
pa’s gun...” his words began to pick up speed as try and explain everything as best I can. No
the police officer held up his hand to say that Ma’am, I wont let him out of my sight.”
was enough for now.
“Henkel Grade, I believe my son James knows “No he’s doing pretty well. But, not entirely
you from school. You two get along?” asked adjusted to the situation quite yet.” Michael
Officer Palco. replied stepping out.
“Yea, we’re pretty good friends, I mostly “Officer Palco,” another policeman
know him from the cub scouts, we were work- called to him.
ing on a group project together,” Henkel was “Yes sir,” Michael approached them
starting to feel better. around the body.
“Well that’s neat, keeping your marks “What happened here as far as you
up in school?” he asked. know? That boy the only witness?” asked Of-
“Yes sir,” replied Henkel. ficer Jenkins.
“That’s good,” Michael couldn’t think of “He’s our only witness, and he told me
anything to say, he’d dealt with these situations that he was walking back to the cabin from
before but not with kids. down that trail to the left. On their way back
“How long till my mom gets here?” his father disappeared and later that nigh his
“I say about any time now. Henkel, I’m uncle, apparently this poor guy, opened the
not sure if you’re feeling up to it, but I need to door to frighten away what he thought was
know some things. Can you tell me anymore raccoons. –Now the door was pretty beat
about what happened here last night?” He up when I got here but there were a load of
took a fallen chair and stood it upright then sat scratch marks at the base, and I’d safely gamble
down. that they were fresh from last night. I asked
Henkel stared at the wall, then made him if he saw who did it, and he says it wasn’t a
a quick glance at the window over the kitchen man. I asked him if it was a pack of wolves or
sink and shuddered, “It was a monster, Uncle a bear, but he said it wasn’t any of those. But
Leon, my dad and me all came back to the whatever it was it scared the crap out of the
cabin. Well my dad didn’t come back. Uncle kid.”
Leon opened the door to scare away some Officer Range crouched down next to
raccoons, then.” Henkel closed his eyes and the body and looked it over carefully. “Those
curled up against the wall trying to shake the are defiantly bite marks. They aren’t numer-
fear away, instead it grew. “He went outside ous enough to be from a group of wolves, but
and didn’t come back, and then it was on the a bear doesn’t just leave its prey out like this.
outside of the window,” Henkel hid his face and I’d like to say a man did this because a predator
pointed to the end of the cabin. “And then it doesn’t just leave its victims like this, but I can’t
started banging on the door.” find anything to actually indicate a man. There
“When did you first notice something are some organs missing.”
was wrong?” “So it’s not a bear or wolf, but a man is
“My dad went missing, we were on the in question. A Cannibalistic maniac persay?”
trail.” inquired Jenkins.
The Officer looked out the door. “The “It was an animal of some kind, not a
one to the left?” man in my opinion,” stated Palco.
“Yes sir.” “Well we still got no evidence of any-
A truck pulled up followed by an am- thing. You take Range and check down that
bulance. Two police officers stepped out of path to find the other body. Is the boy’s mother
the truck they walked towards Henkel and the here?”
officer. “Alright now I’m going to leave you “Not yet, she said she was going to
with a paramedic and he’ll keep you company come down as quickly as possible, I don’t know
until your mom comes. I gotta work with these how far they live from here. Her name is Mrs.
other guys for now. You’ll be okay.” A Para- Grade.”
medic came through the door,
“Hello officer, does he appear to be injured?”
he asked looking Henkel over.
34
Anna Guzda is a sophmore at Amherst High School. Anna first started
writing when she and her cousin composed a family news letter to in-
form herAunt in Virginia about family events. She enjoys softball, tennis
and horseback riding. Her inspirations for writing come from her grand-
parents Mildred and Siegurd Waldheim and her Aunt Sue (a.k.a. Tanta)
who first informed her of this writing camp. Also her brother John and
mom and dad are very supportive, and her cousin Kate who she started
the family news with.

A Life Without Love ion pokes his head through the door. She yells
at him to go away, and like an obedient dog he
An old lady with wrinkles and gray hair obeys, but not before he gets a good look at
walks the streets at night who has a myste- the bloody cloth wrapped around the dagger
rious secret that only her companion, and first. He slowly backs away from his girlfriends
only living friend know about. This secret she bedroom door and debates with himself if he
hopes never gets out, or her dreams of leaving should call the police. Not tonight, he said to
the city and having a family will only remain himself as he falls asleep on the couch. Mean-
dreams and never become reality. Is being a while in Ms. Jones’ master bathroom, she
mean and tough old lady just to cover up what wipes the thick red blood off of the minature
she longs for? To be loved, and innocent? This sword as she thinks to herself once again, Why
ladies life is just like the soap operas that she am I doing this? When did it all go wrong? She
loves to watch, but the one who passes her on thought of happier and more innocent times
the street would never suspect that this short when she was a little girl. She was a lonely
woman with big black boots, a fur coat, an old girl who was deprived of the love her mother
hat with a feather and a huge purse would lead and father couldn’t give to her, or each other.
a life lead by lies and the pursuit of blood. Is Was it her state of loneliness and emotionless
there more to Ms. Jones that meets the eye? childhood that made her crave destruction?
Is there more then the old muscles replaced Or was it the fact that she could never show
with portly skin? Her big dark eyes act as a love to anyone or anything that made her
window into her deep dark soul, a soul that crazy? She tucked the dagger underneath her
contains a past full of lies, deception and mur- bed then made her way out to the living room.
der. Murder so grusome, not even a life time Her companion was slumbering on the
of church going could redeem. Never the less, tattered couch. Poor man, he deserves better,
she silently humms the hymns sung in church she whispered to herself. She stuffed another
as she walks down the dark cobble street to cookie into her mouth and went to bed, where
the front door of her five story walk up in the she dreamed of herself walking down the isle
city. There her male companion waits for her at her wedding. The man was not revealed to
with golden brown cookies filled with mouth her, but he became clearer as she approached
watering chocolate morsels. She takes a cook- him. Closer and closer she came to him, but her
ie and gazes into his eyes as he askes how her dream turned into a nightmare of sorrow and
day was. She simply answers “Fine”, trying death. She realized that she was awake, and
so hard not to reveal the horrific day she had. not dreaming of remorse. She fell back to sleep
She walks into her room and empties never to awaken again. Her grim secrets would
her large carpet bag purse out onto her bed. A never be told, and her crimes would go unpun-
dagger wrapped in a blood saturated cloth falls ished. But to her, she was punished enough. A
out, followed by a bag of money and priceless life with out love was a life not worth living.
gems and jewels. She throws the valuables into
her dresser drawer as her suspicious compan-
No More Time Wasted Friends Forever
I’m tired of myself just going with the flow, Our blissful memories over come me
Always agreeing and always saying no. and make me forget you are far away.
Judging others and them judging me, Knowing our friendship won’t halt or faulter
Is not the way I want to be. gets me through the longest of days.
I’ll put up a fight and yell and cry, Always remember our bond is deathless,
Before I let my life pass by. it shall never come to an end.
I don’t want to make excuses and live a lie, For all those times my life was filled with glum,
That would make me want to curl up and die. you always helped my heart re-mend.
For fifteen years I’ve been on this earth, Don’t ever forget me, but if you do,
Am I living up to all its worth? think of me as the breeze that spans your
Shooting for a birdie instead of a par cheek.
Is what I’m doing to make me go far. Think of me as the clash of thunder
No more time wasted on drying my tears, and the suns rays passing you by the creek.
No more time wasted avoiding my fears. You are the nicest guy a friend could have,
Go ahead and say what you want, your right there when I get into a fight.
At least you give the time to tease and taunt. And now its my turn to be there for you
But I won’t waste my time caring about what during your days and through your darkest
you say, nights.
After all, tomorrow is another day. Friends forever is what we said,
I will keep that promise even after I’m dead.

more poems by Anna Guzda

Frank Flis reads while Dan and Cliff listen intently (somewhat). 36
I am a philosopher, Despair
a writer, a poet, a
rider, an actor, a It’s coming again
Crawling up my body
musician, a run-
Creeping over me
ner...I can do this Like a dark shadow
all day. I guess I Damn the evil spirit
should be more Which consumes and sucks
specific of who I am so let me start All my hopes and dreams
over. My name is Lydia Seidler and It’s coming
my writing consists of me writing one Soon there will be
word down and then I write a mil- Nothing left of me
lion more words down that have sud- Only a dark form
denly popped into my head. A brief Staring out the window
Quietly being consumed
biography is extremely difficult for By a shadow that
me to write down (I am long winded Grows inside
when it comes to writing); instead I
will tell of my journey here. I will be a It’s coming
My mood falls gloomy
sophomore at Williamsville South High
Eyes become vacant
school in the fall; however, that was Looking and watching
not always known to me. I was born in Contented faces pass
Pittsburgh and then my parents moved Never knowing or
us to Philadelphia due to my father’s Seeing
The sorrowful shape
return to school. Next we moved to That huddles alone
Vermont where I struggled to find the
real me and to get used to the fact that It’s coming
people will always watch me because Thoughts turning to death and sadness
The evil spirit has
my father is a rabbi and I am a depress-
Begun to
ing writer. I began to bury myself in Take over
books and music, I even picked up the I don’t know
trumpet to help get out my feelings. If I can recover this time
Now that I am here in Buffalo I have Maybe the darkness
Will finally
found that writing has helped keep me Consume all that’s left
sane and to explain how I feel about Of the figure that was once
life. I think it’s not who I am that is Me
important, but how I got here (even
though my explanation doesn’t even
hit all the important things like how I
used to despise writing and breaking
my arm by carrying my trumpet...that
would take for ever and this is after all
a brief biography).
Ritual Escape
The day is beautiful Running running
A crowed gathers Heart beating faster
Walking across a small happy creek Deep breath in the chest
Each person carrying mixed emotions Push harder
Don’t let the pain take over
A crowed gathers
Full of foreboding laughter Keep going
Each person carrying mixed emotions Finish the journey
As they walk along Don’t allow the legs to slowdown

Full of foreboding laughter Where am I going?


Hangs the heavy mist I’m not sure
As they walk along I’m running
Battling thick air near the stake Feeling the wind in my hair
And the cement at my feet
Hangs the heavy mist Faces and homes pass by
As gloom steps forward Waving or watching as I go
Battling thick air near the stake
Come the superstitious ones Why am I running?
I can’t answer for sure
As gloom steps forward Feeling silence and solitude
Surrounding the stake Going somewhere far away
Come the superstitious ones Pushing through the pain
With reverence for the place Until I collapse

Surrounding the stake Running through life


People stand and wait Running from pain
With reverence for the place Running from people
An innocent body is bound and held fast
Running running
People stand and wait Heart beating faster
The girl struggles Deep breath in the chest
An innocent body is bound and held fast Push harder
Her anguished scream rings out Don’t let the pain take over

The girl struggles - Lydia Seidler


Watched in horror by a woman
Her anguished scream rings out
Engulfed in convulsive sobs

Watched in horror by a woman


Walking across a small happy creek
Engulfed in convulsive sobs
The day is beautiful

- Lydia Seidler
38
Marwa Eltagouri is a freshman at Grand Island High School. She
enjoys art, making fun of cheesy soap operas and drama films, play-
ing soccer, Nickelback, writing, arguing, hanging out with friends,
and trying to perfect the art of comedy. She would like to learn how
to speak Italian, play the Persian guitar, learn to surf, and somehow
manage to scrape up the position of U.S Supreme Court Justice. She
despises earth science, strawberries, John Steinbeck’s works, road
trips across the country and fish fry. This pessimist plans to live past
the age of thirty and cannot write poetry to save her life.

Brazil believe we may own well over a hundred


Brazilian flags, three 17 ft. banners, and a zillion
T he annoying buzz of my cheap and
very obnoxious alarm clock went off at pre-
posters of Brazilian soccer players. Come to
think of it, our furniture consists of mostly light
shades of mint green and naplels yellow, as well
cisely 6:03 am on a warm day in late June, and
as our walls. We own two life-size cardboard
I had no idea why.
figures of Ronaldihno and Ronaldo, who hap-
I screamed. I always scream when my
pen to be Brazilian soccer players.
alarm clock goes off, and yet again I have no
If it isn’t Brazil that my family loves, it
idea why. It just, sort of, well, is very sudden
would be soccer itself. We own about twelve
and abrupt.
soccer nets, and maybe fifty soccer balls, of
I could not fall back asleep, so I grudg-
which 70% of them are dead. We have a heap
ingly got up and made my bed. I opened my
of different sized shin guards, a bookshelf of
bedroom door, making my way to the bath-
playbooks and players’ biographies, and a closet
room, but just as I opened the door I was
full of cleats. I was born knowing what a mid-
blinded by a swarm of bright, blinding shades of
fielder was and was sung soccer chants to bed
yellow, blue, and green. These alarming colors
instead of lullabies as a child. I can tell you the
had taken over the entire upstairs, yet they had
life story of most soccer players, from their first
not passed the safe boundaries of my room. At
word to their seasonal record twelve years ago.
that moment I remembered that a terrible and
Frankly, I wouldn’t be surprised if my parents
wretched event was taking place today-- The
have already arranged my marriage to some
World Cup Quarter-Finals.
crazy celebrity soccer player’s son.
France vs. Brazil.
After I got dressed, I went downstairs
I groaned.
and was not surprised to see Brazilian flags
If you haven’t figured it out yet, my
everywhere. Ignoring the decorations, I walked
family is literally obsessed with the Brazilian
straight up to my mother, who happened to be
Soccer Team.
making pancakes over the griddle.
Why?
“Hey, mom?” I questioned as I stuck
No idea.
my finger into the batter and licked it. My mom
I am not Brazilian, I have no relatives in
gave me her infamous “stop-what-you’re-do-
Brazil, and I’ve never been to Brazil.
ing-right-now-or-you’re-grounded” look, so
So why Brazil?
I went over to the sink and washed my fin-
I’m not sure, but it could be because
ger, and then continued. “Can I go to Sarah’s
they are soccer fanatics, and all international
house?”
soccer fans love Brazil, which is apparently a
Yet just as I finished asking her some-
rather talented team.
thing whizzed by my head and landed straight
Back to my family.
into the pancake batter. My mom and I looked
These soccer lunatics are insane. Par-
at each other, and then I went over to the bowl
don me, I meant “football” instead of soccer. I
and peered into it. I stuck my hand into the
bowl and pulled out a gross-looking toy figure “football”.) Again, I continued. “And you know
of Brazil’s captain, Cafu, who happened to be what? I HATE BRAZIL, TOO! As a matter
laced with an evenly spread coat of pancake of a fact, I HOPE THEY LOSE AGAINST
batter. FRANCE!”
“Ugggghhhhh,” I exclaimed, disgusted, As I concluded my speech, tension filled
holding the toy out for everyone to see. My the room. After what seemed like hours, my
brother Matt, who had been celebrating in mother quietly said, “You’re not going any-
honor of today’s match and was apparently the where, young lady.”
culprit, came over and laughed at the sight of “FINE!” I bellowed and stormed off. I
it. My mom gave him the look she had given me stomped up to my room, and slammed the door
earlier. shut., and if that wasn’t enough, I opened it
“Sorry?” my brother said with a hint back up and slammed it twice more. I collapsed
of questioning in his tone, as if he didn’t know onto my bed, feeling hot tears flow down my
what to say. He then grabbed the toy out of cheeks. I then cried myself to sleep.
my hand, and when my mother looked away, Two hours later I woke up, still filled
popped it into his mouth and ran off. My mom with fury. I got off my bed, and walked over
turned her attention back on me. to my closet. I immediately began to strip my
“Are you going to Sarah’s to watch the closet of anything that had to do with soccer.
game?” she asked. This took me twenty-three minutes -– no lie.
“Errrr.....” I stuttered, “not really, no.” When I finished, I scooped everything up and
“But honey, you’ll miss the game,” headed outside to throw it in the trash. As I
“So.............?” I asked, not seeing that made my way outside, however, I came upon
as a valid excuse not to send me. many long frowns, and eyes sparkling with
“So you’ll have to stay home,” my tears.
mother replied calmly. “What’s wrong?” I asked, astounded
“Mom!” I cried, making my mom jump, that my high-on-life family could be so miser-
nearly burning herself, “I ......I....Do I have to?” able.
I exhaled desperately. After a long moment of silence, my
“Well, honey, you really should be sup- brother Josh said somberly, “Brazil lost, and it’s
porting the team--” all because of you, you selfish little traitor,”
“Mom!” I interrupted angrily, exploding, I gasped, absolutely stunned. I watched as
“Just because you and Dad and Matt and Josh each of my brothers violently brushed their
and Dave are all obsessed with stupid Brazil shoulders against mine as they walked by. How
doesn’t mean I am too!” I stomped my foot could I be so conceited, so cruel? Sure, I never
furiously. “I’m sick of this insane, well, insanity! truly believed that France would defeat Brazil,
I have my own life, too! Face it, I hate soccer! for as far as I was concerned I knew for a fact
It might have been fun at one point of my life, that France didn’t have a chance. Yet could it
but know it’s just dreadful—because of you, be that because of those hateful words that
and you, and you!” I pointed at each member had escaped my mouth willingly without a
of my family, from my appalled mother to my trace of thought, that my beloved family, no
father and brothers, whom were true Brazil matter how crazy, were completely torn and
fans, dressed in team colors and face paint, shattered? I dropped everything I was carry-
waving flags, doing flips, and clucking like tur- ing and left it to lie on the floor, and shamefully
keys. Now, however, they briefly paused their made my way up to my room. As I sat on my
celebration, and turned their attention on me. bed, however, something florescent lying in my
Glad to have an audience, I continued. “Guess closet caught my eye. I went over to investi-
what? You’ll never believe this but your beloved gate, and realized that I had missed something
daughter dislikes soccer!” (My father winced, earlier. I pulled out a pair of shiny, bright yellow
not because of this last statement, but because
of the fact that I had said soccer instead of (continued on page 41)
(Brazil cont.) whizzing into the net.
“Goal!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!”
cleats with cobalt and emerald stripes along I heard someone shout behind me. I turned
the sides, accented with soft, smooth cobalt around.
laces. My mind flashed back to when I had It was my brother Josh. He was smil-
received them, not more than a year ago. My ing.
grandmother was visiting from England, and “Glad to have you back, sis,” he said.
being a soccer addict herself, she had gotten us With that, he lunged toward me, trying to steal
all soccer-related gifts, such as jerseys, posters, the ball. I laughed, for I hadn’t remembered
etc. However, when she approached me, she ever having so much fun playing soccer. One by
handed me an azure, shimmery, box with the one the other members of my family came out,
Nike label on it. and we were all diving this way and that, strug-
“For you,” she said softly, her eyes shin- gling to keep the ball. About an hour and a half
ing with love. I opened the box, and pulled out later, we all collapsed, laughing as we caught
those shiny, yellow cleats. our breaths. My mother came over and hugged
“Oh, grandma,” I exclaimed, “they’re me.
beautiful.” “I’m proud of you, dear,” she said, a
“They sure are, aren’t they?” she an- tear running down her face.
swered, “I paid seventy pounds for them.” “I am too, mom,” I answered.
“What! Oh, grandma, I.....that’s so At that moment, I didn’t feel a single
much money! You really shouldn’t have.” spurge of embarrassment of my family’s “pas-
“No, no dear, you’re much too young to sion”, as I was taught to call it later. I was
be thinking about prices. Besides, you deserve happy to realize that soccer was not just some
them.” crazy obsession of my family, but simply a way
“No, grandma, I don’t. You see, I don’t to bring us closer together, no matter how
play soccer anymore. I quit a couple months intense it may get.
ago.”
“But why? You were so good, so tal- - Marwa Eltagouri
ented! Soccer could have given you so many
opportunities in life!”
“Yes, but you’ve always told me you
need two things two succeed in something: tal-
ent and integrity. Sure, I might have had talent,
but not the integrity.”
My grandmother looked at me for a long
time. I could tell she was disappointed, for I was
the first of her grandchildren to reject soccer.
“Well, keep the shoes,” she said after a while,
“They may come in handy.”
She was right. Almost a year later, I sat
their staring at them. Then I had this crazy urge
to try them on. So there I was, lacing the shoes
up, trying them on for the first time. They fit
perfectly. I decided to go outside. As I stepped
into the garage, I caught my eye on a soccer
ball. I grabbed it and headed outside, despite
the fact that it was raining. I started to dribble
the ball, feeling free as my feet played with it.
It had been so long since I had last touched it.
I went up to the goal and shot. The ball went
Victoria Licata is thirteen years old and an eighth grader at Heim
Middle School in Williamsville, NY. She enjoys fencing, swimming,
reading and writing books, hanging out with friends, jumping on
trampolines and watching movies. She gets her inspirations from
oceans, movies, other authors, and animals. She says, “If I could visit
one place in the world I’d go to Australia.”

the handle, it is icy cold , and has known


The Wall no human touch since it was built. He
hesitates, fishes the piece of parchment
At the edge of the city, there out of his pocket once again, and looks
at it, brows furrowed. He looks up at the
was a wall. It was old, so old that ivy
coated and recoated it until the original door and pulls out a silver glass key from a
gray stone was swallowed up in the sea chain around his neck. He takes a breath,
of green. No one, man, woman, or child, removes the chain, fits the key in the key-
had come near it in ten years. No one hole, turns it, and pushes. Haltingly, but
approached it because everyone was without creaking the door swings open,
afraid. Afraid of what? The wall? The and music seems to come from inside,
mortar chipped, the stones were cracked, so alien and yet so familiar. His face lights
worn down, and well in need of repair. up, he smiles, and he glances at the parch-
Then what? The ivy? It was not poison- ment in delight. He takes a step inside,
ous, it was not dangerous. Then what and the music seems to get slightly louder
was everyone so afraid of? The mythical and sweeter. In a flash of white light, he
gateway and the land beyond. Ancient is enveloped and disappears. The door
legends had rumored of a hidden door swings slowly shut, the music fades, and
in the wall, a portal of starlight into the the ivy falls back over the door in vines
Otherlands. No one dared find the door, and ringlets. All is silent, it is as if nothing
it was the Otherlands and the fear of the had taken place. But something has, the
unknown that kept everyone away. But little boy has vanished.
now a child is walking, his eyes scrutiniz-
ing every inch of the wall. He removes a
dirty scrap of parchment from the pocket
from his worn and patched blue trousers,
consults it, and flicks a piece of hair out of
his eyes. He takes a step towards the wall
and lifts his hand to push aside the teem-
ing masses of ivy; it takes a long time to
push it all aside. When he does, he finds a
golden door, elaborately wrought, with a
carving of a star, and unreadable runes in
sweeping patterns underneath. He traces
the runes lightly with a fingertip, looks
up at the star, then puts his hands against
42
Zoe Obstarczyk is a funny and outgoing 13 year old. She goes to Cheek-
towaga Central Middle School and will be entering the 8th grade. Zoe’s
hobbies include: playing on the computer; writing stories and songs,
reading, and watching TV shows like Big Brother. Her interests are:
dance, playing basketball, hanging out with friends, and having fun! She
professes to have enjoyed being a part of the WNY young writer’s proj-
ect and looks forward to coming back next year.

“If I didn’t have a pen on hand I would stop breathing and if I had no pa-
per my heart would stop beating.”

Pain is Something I Never Fear at Night Lost Love

P ain is something I go through a Separated, devastated


lot, like cars going through the tolls and Lost
paying a price for just going a long for a We loved each other no matter at what
ride. I feel as if this quote was made for Cost
me just like peanut butter is for jelly. I How long again until we meet
feel pain in different ways, but at night Again
I feel as if the darkness hides the pain
My husband and my dear old
from my eyes and heart. At night when
Friend
I dream, I almost totally forget where I I’m coming, soon, here I
am in life. And what pain I go through as Am
almost a routine. Once more we walk hand in
Hand
Born Again
We were lost and now we are
I see a dead, gray, gloomy, city. Found
And when the guitar starts the city Our love has no
crumbles and falls down to rubble. And Bounds
then the guitar takes it slow and then
speeds it up again. Right away when Sense Bravery
the speed picked up I saw a bright, new,
colorful city take its place. And people I see bravery as a rock of heroism.
formed too. All of the people come and I smell fear a mile away.
watch the band. Then the band disap- I hear the cries of pain as if a building ex-
ploded in my face.
pears and the people look for them. Then
I taste hatred as if it was always on my
the song is over.
tongue.
I am touched with anger until I am weak.
Nightmare And I am still searching for the rock that

Time ticking away. As I walk and will help me face it all.

search. Lonely, empty, blank. There’s


nothing worth finding. Hoping I can get
out. Maybe. Wait!. It’s just a dream.
Erica McCallie is a 13 year old who attends Saint Alouyious school.
She is in the 8th grade and loves school. Her favorite hobbies in and
out school are basketball, football, cheerlanding, volleyball and base-
ball. She is interested in becoming a doctor when she gets older
and would also like to see the world. She has visited Orlando, Utah,
Virginia Beach, Atlanta, Washington D.C., and Rochester.
She is very funny and outgoing, and is creative when she isalone.
She professes to have had a great time in the WNYWP camp.

Outside Family
Outside is something that we do. Family is everything I love.
When we’re gone we wonder who. My mom, dad, brother, sister.
Sit down on concrete and have a blast. They may do stupid things
While we see other people walking fast. but they are still loved.
We feel the air that blows the trees. They’re my family so they have to be loved.
When we sit the grass, yeah that’s me. It’s not about the money or how they act.
Bugs fly, bees get chased It’s about the love they give back.
Barbeque grills smell so great.
Flowers look so beautiful
Now its time to end with an outside card.

Lindsay Warnes is senior at Hamburg High School who hopes to


become either an Art teacher or an Art therapist. During her free time
she enjoys taking walks, drinking coffee, playing dress up, listening to
music, drawing and writing. She also likes to be around her family, of
five brothers and one sister, along with 6 nephews and a nice. Her
favorite holiday is Halloween and, even though she admits the season is
crazy, really likes the lights on the houses around Christmas.

Hearts made out of plastic Of the temple revealing And watching the clear liquid
Snap and break so easily The garbage that truly it is Form in your eyes after
I’d take the gun from your Stumbling out of the torn and You hear the Heart- wrench-
Most cherished spot to point Worthless bag. ing news;
It at the one you love the The red pieces that fall Would still equal
most. From the most sacred Happiness
To make the crimson Treasure will represent In your blood pumping muscle.
Stain my white, do you Your life in the biggest
Realize just how holy that is? Form.
When the silver hits the floor 4th of July explosions bare
Only to make a sound of No Comparison
Silence and Shock, To witnessing the
The look on your face will tell Blood splatter the wall.
it all. Even Pollack’s greatest
When anatomy pours out Pieces fall short of meaning.
44
Grace Emily Kreher is a thirteen year old student at Clarence Middle School.
She enjoys writing, reading, dancing, playing field hockey, and hanging out
with her friends. She plays the flute in her school band, and takes eight dance
classes a week during the school year. Her favorite time of year is summer
because she loathes being forced to learn math, read annoying books that she
hates, and wasting time in music class. Also, during the summer, her favorite
T.V. show, Big Brother, is on. This summer she wants Kaysar to win. Her
favorite book is The Truth About Forever by Sarah Dessen and her favorite
movie is Indiana Jones and the Temple of Doom. She lives with her mom,
dad, older brother Aaron, younger brother Nathan, her adorable dog Maggie, and her malicious cat
Arthur. She is thrilled to be a part of the Western New York Writing Project.

Sky Flower in the Wind Fighters

I see blue friendship dances The people who will


blue it breathes and sways fight
blue in the breeze that is life and fight
blue its roots need to be and fight
blue strong until their end
blue its stem needs to be hardy, don’t realize
sky yet it needs to be that they have forgot-
clear blue flexible ten
perfect blue to live,
blue that goes on sometimes the breeze turns
and on to wind for fighting
blindingly bright and the stem of friendship is not living,
blue is tested it is simply existing
impossibly dark but then the wind settles and they will be re-
blue down membered
blue and the sun comes as ones who fought,
blue out
blue and the beautiful petals and not as ones who
blue of friendship did any good
sky open
never- ending blue
blue that won’t stop friendship is a flower
the sky Hope

is perfect I live
through the idea that
maybe
if I hang on
hard enough
I’ll get somewhere
good
45
Lauren
Carlson
goes Untitled
to City
Honors
School A nondescript man walks along an old dirt
and will road, carrying an old black umbrella and wear-
be entering eighth grade in ing a brown bowler hat that has certainly seen
the fall. She loves snow- better days. He walks slowly, as though he has
boarding, dancing, play- nowhere to go but is walking to get somewhere.
ing the piano and violin, He enters a town and stands under the glowing
and playing tennis. This letters that read “Wallgreens.”
is her second summer at He lights a cigarette, inhales deeply and con-
the young writer’s work- tinues to walk. The only sign of life in this little
shop. She says that she town is the occasional light in the closely packed
had a great time and thinks apartments and small homes. The man checks
her writing has definitely his old leather banded watch and reads 2:30 am.
improved. She has an ap- As he walks past an alley he sees a fight, and
preciation for the following probably a robbery taking place in the shadows,
quote from Woody Allen; he hurries past. As he reaches a street he turns
“My education was dismal. left, a light mist begins to fall but he does not put
I went to a series of schools up the umbrella. After another left he finds him-
for mentally disturbed self standing at the bottom step of an apartment
teachers.” building that is very dilapidated and seems as if
to be sagging or crying, it is as though the entire
building is grieving.
As he enters the apartment building and pushes the little arrow point-
ing up by the elevator, the concierge murmurs something about a gloomy night
and the man just gives a half nod in reply. The creaky elevator comes with a
dusty BING and the doors slowly part. As the man pushes the #6 button for
floor six he sighs. BING goes the elevator and the man walks down a hall that
has a horrible paint job and a carpet that reaks. He opens the creaky door of
apartment 6C and hangs the bowler hat that has seen better days and the black
umbrella on a rusty hook by the door.
As he walks through the room he notices the pipes on the ceiling and the
stain on the carpet. He sits in a ripped, overstuffed armchair with his head in
his hands and cries. Little does anyone know, this forty-six year old man has
just lost his job as a delivery boy, lost his wife and his young daughter. Along
with all of this he has lost his reason to live.

46
Jason Silverstein will be a sophomore at Williamsville North. He is
writer for the Next section of the Buffalo News and appears in it al-
most weekly. He is a music geek, citing his favorite bands as Nine Inch
Nails, Mushroomhead, The Strokes, Radiohead, Foo Fighters, People
In Planes, and many, many more. He is also a movie geek; his favorite
movies are Magnolia, Fight Club, Punch Drunk Love, Pulp Fiction,
and Eyes Wide Shut. Some of his other hobbies include tennis, fic-
tion writing, and playing guitar. His favorite writer at the time is Bret
Easton Ellis, who he credits as influencing his writing style greatly.

Paranoid Pat mine is going to be the death of me, he thought

The phone rang for the first time that to himself.


“What the hell do you want!” he yelled
day, snapping Paranoid Pat out of his state of into the phone. People five blocks away prob-
spacing out. Immediately, he panicked. His ably heard him.
mind raced with thoughts of who it could pos- “Paranoid Pat?” said the voice. It was
sibly be on the other line. What if it’s someone Fred, a good friend of Paranoid Pat.
out to get me? he wondered. I know who it is. “Fred?” said Paranoid Pat.
It’s the Illuminati! They know that I know too “Yes-um.” He answered.
much. They’re calling...they’re calling to get “Is this actually Fred, or is this a double?
me! I figured them out and they need to wipe A double, isn’t it?”
me out before I can say anything! “Oh, Paranoid Pat. You’re so paranoid.”
No, what if it’s a sniper? And this is a He chuckled to himself.
kind of Phone Booth thing? I saw that movie, I “Ok...assuming you actually are who
know what’ll happen! I pick it up and from then you claim to be...why are you bothering me
on any sudden movement I make could get my today?”
head blasted right off my shoulders! “Paranoid Pat...well, frankly, I’m
What if it’s the terrorist? Oh god, it’s corcerned with you. I know you’re cautious and
the terrorist, I know it! There’s bomb in the everything, but you haven’t been out of your
phone! They put a goddamn bomb in my god- house in months. It’s time you get out there
damn phone! Reluctantly, he snatched the and take advantage of the world around you!
phone, and the instant the phone was off the It’s a beautiful place out here!” Fred made a
receiver he started running for the kitchen to loud inhaling noise, as if he was deeply breath-
grab his gun in case he needed to defend him- ing in the nice, clean, fresh air of the outside
self. world.
“Hello?!” he screamed into the phone. “No, never again.” answered Paranoid
“Hello. This is Sam calling from Mas- Pat. “There’s too many people out there that
tercard. Did you know that Mastercard now are out to get me and too much other shit to
offers-” worry about, too.”
“Damn!” Paranoid Pat screamed, “Oh, come on, Paranoid Pat. Don’t be
throwing the phone back on the receiver, still like that that. It’s a beautiful day today! I mean,
tightly grasping the knife. Sam from Master- just look out your window.”
card...right. Like I’m going to believe that, he “I can’t.” answered Paranoid Pat. “I
thought to himself. Then, before he even had had a thick sheet of titanium placed over all
a chance to go on to anything else, the phone the windows. Windows are the next place an
rang again, causing him to repeat his process intruder is going to try after the door, which is
of insane thoughts as to who could be on the also safely secured.”
other line. Again, though, curiosity got the bet- “Oh, come on Paranoid Pat. Just once.
ter of him and he picked up. This curiosity of Listen, we can go out for lunch, go to a base-
ball game...whatever you want! I’ll be there loudly greeted with hellos! and mugs being
in just a few minutes to pick you up.” Before raised in the air. Fellow regulars, Paranoid Pat
Paranoid Pat could protest, Fred hung up. assumed. Paranoid Pat and Fred took a seat
After a few minutes, Fred arrived at the at the bar and were almost instantly given a
house and rang the doorbell. Paranoid Pat con- nice, cold glass of beer. Paranoid Pat smelled it
sulted one of the many video cameras he had first to make sure there was nothing added to
set up to make sure that it was in fact Fred. For the beer, nothing....”suspicious”...in it. Once
the first time in month, he set foot out of the he was sure it was ok, he took a small sip. He
house. He was obviously very reluctant to do glanced up at the TV above the bar, turned
so and his mind instantly filled with worries, but to the news, and it was all the same old stuff:
he figured it could do him some good. After all, Murder, rapes, threats of terrorism, kidnap-
Fred was right: It was a beautiful day outside. pings, Big Foot sightings, etc. etc.
“It’s good to finally see you again.” said “Nice place, huh?” said Fred. Paranoid
Fred once they finally got settled into Fred’s Pat mindlessly nodded. “See, this place used to-
luxurious new car. “I almost forgot what you ”
looked like!” Fred opened up his glove compart- All of the sudden, a loud alarm went off.
ment and pulled out two gas masks. He put The lights in the bar went off and a red light on
one on himself and handed the other to Para- the wall started glowing. Everybody screamed
noid Pat. and ducked under tables. Paranoid Pat looked
“What’s this for?” Paranoid Pat asked, around in fear and confusion.
taking the mask with confusion. “What’s going on!” he screamed par-
“Jeez, didn’t you hear?” Fred said, tially to himself. No one answered, as no one
adjusting the strap on the back of his mask. probably heard over the screaming and yelling.
“There was some kind of hoopla at the nuclear “Just get down, get down!” Fred called out
power plant just outside of town and they’re from under a nearby table, yanking Paranoid
afraid that some kind of deadly gas may have Pat off his stool and below the table with him.
been released. So they’re telling everyone to “What is this?” Paranoid Pat said with
wear these for the time being, you know, just his head on the ground and his hands on the
to be safe.” Paranoid Pat took the mask and put back of his head, trembling.
it on. “Alright, we’re all set to go.” They set off. “Don’t worry, don’t worry.” Fred said
half calmly, half panicked. “If this is what I think
They eventually pulled up to Lou’s, a it is, don’t worry. But-” He cut himself off to
bar at which Fred was a regular. Paranoid Pat look behind him at the sound of a loud scream
slowly got out of the car and started walking from the woman behind him.
into the bar with Fred. Suddenly, Fred stopped. “Just stay calm, people, stay calm!”
“Did I lock the car?” he frantically somebody, Paranoid Pat couldn’t see who,
asked. called to the patrons. The lights were all still off
“What?” said Paranoid Pat. with the exception of the bright red light flash-
“Did I lock the car?!” Fred started run- ing on and off on the wall. The alarm was still
ning to his car while continuously pressing the going off at a deafening volume. Paranoid Pat
lock button on his key. After pressing it about couldn’t take the fear, felt like he was going to
twenty times, Fred finally calmed down with piss himself for the first time since fourth grade,
reassurance that the door was, in fact, locked. couldn’t breathe. Right when he felt like he was
“Sorry.” said Fred, catching his breath. “This is about scream or just black out from the terror,
a bad neighborhood, you know? Lots of car- continuously thinking to himself “I shouldn’t
jackings and robberies and all that noise. Can’t have done this, I shouldn’t have done this,”
be too safe in this neighborhood, man, can’t be possibly crying but not even focused enough to
too safe...” And with that, they entered the bar. know...the lights came back on, the

Once in the bar, both of them were (continued on page 49)


ing limber. Still scares the sh-t out everybody,
(Paranoid Pat cont.) though. But you know, it’s just a drill. Like the
fire drills we had back in school. Just to keep
alarm stopped, and the people stopped scream- us on our toes, ready for anything, you know?
ing. Slowly, everybody eventually got up from Better safe than in a nuclear holocaust.” He
under the tables they were hiding under and sipped his beer again.
went back to where they were. People wiped Paranoid Pat sort of relaxed back into
their tears, hugged the people they were with his chair, just barely any calmer, accepting the
whether or not they even knew them, but explanation even if not completely understand-
eventually just went back to their beer and ing it. He looked around again, hoping he’d
casual conversation. be sane by now, but no. Everybody in the bar
“Haha, man, get up!” Fred said, smiling still looked exactly like him, the same worried
widely, patting Paranoid Pat on the back, sitting face, the same body. It just wouldn’t go away.
on his barstool and patting the empty barstool Weird, he thought to himself. I haven’t done
next to him to encourage Paranoid Pat to take mushrooms in a while. But with his confusion,
his seat. Eventually, when his face was mostly he just leaned forward and took a big sip of his
dry and he regained feeling in his limbs, he care- beer.
fully got out from under the table sat down on “How’s the beer?” Fred asked him.
the stool with the gracefulness of a zombie. Paranoid Pat looked at him...it was as if he was
But Paranoid Pat noticed something looking right in a mirror.
weird once he was seated. Everybody in the “It’s....good.” Paranoid Pat said, gripping
bar, from Fred to the bartender to the old bat the cup tightly. “Real good, actually. Best I’ve
sitting alone in the corner, looked exactly like had in a while, I must say.”
him. They were him. He shook his head, closed “See?” said Fred, leaning back in his
his eyes, over and over, thinking that maybe it chair with a smug sense of accomplishment,
was just paranoid delusion. But no matter what “Aren’t you happy you got out today?
he did, everybody still looked exactly like him.
The same terrified expression. Everyone in the
bar was him. Fred just sat there, still smiling,
sipping his beer, as if nothing had just happened,
even though he was now a reflection of Para-
noid Pat.
“Ok, what the f-ck just happened?”
Paranoid Pat finally yelled once he realized
that Fred wasn’t going to offer any explana-
tion. Most people in the bar looked over at him
with mild interest in his outburst, but eventu-
ally they all turned back. Fred looked around to
make sure no one was paying attention.
“Keep your voice down, jeez.” he said,
putting his beer down. “Look, nothing major.
No cause for concern. This is a regular thing
everywhere, not just here. All restaurants, bars,
offices, even hospitals. Happens all the time,
and yet I can never get used to it.” He snapped
his fingers in mild disappointment. “Well, you
know, with the terrorism and all that jazz going
on, they just have these bomb drills on a regu-
lar basis. Here, they do it....oh, I’d say....once,
twice a week. Maybe three times if they’re feel-
Mike Holmes is going into his junior year at Williamsville
East.

Palm Trees and Power Lines. A Good Song.

If palm trees and power lines can cross with A good song can take
no connection A teenage mind further
Then why not our paths intertwine Than any drug could ever
To crease and crack Than any love could ever
Like dotted lines on paper Than any other could ever
To press nice and neatly
To tear only from the hands of god A good song will make
A teenage mind move
If cold tears can last the night And twist to make the fingers tap
Then why not you stay the night The head bob
To keep those tears in there place And foot stomp
Like rewinding the faucet The body move
To take away all the, miss-you’s The language shape
To lie in the hands of god The mood to something good
Something bad
Something great
Something gloomy
Something deeper.
Reality.
Real physical
Up, down
Side to side
Forward and backwards
Breath in breath out
Drip drop
Reality falls to me
One at a time
It washes the color out of jeans
And weighs hair down
Polishes the horse
Tap Tap Tap
As reality hits green
I cant find anything more real.

Drawing by Lindsay Warnes


Hello. My name is Kaitlyn McNamara, I am going to be a freshman at
Clarence High School. I have a rather large family, which consists of
two sisters and younger brother. I’m the typical teenage girl that loves
to do nothing but hang out with her friends and talk on the phone. I
absolutely adore shopping and love lip gloss and make up and all sorts
of girly stuff! I’m not really the sporty type but I do have some hob-
bies. Such as dance. I dance three to four times a week at David De
Marie Dance Studios in Clarence. This is going to be my first year in
high school and I can’t wait to see how different things are.

Our Beloved Fred Miller and son and daughter-in-laws surrounded


Born: 1930 Died: 2003 around him, my Aunt Chris said a very
moving prayer, in which he passed through.
Tall, white hair, warm heart, caring Unfortunately I was not present to hear the
soul, sense of humor, loving personality. A prayer and there was not much I could find
man with the biggest heart in the world, a out about it. Besides the fact that it was ex-
man who was always on-the-go, a man who tremely moving!
always put his family and friends first, a man He passed peacefully. But I am rather
who became a dad to my mother and her disappointed, no not only disappointed- frus-
siblings, a man who became a husband to my trated, irritated-but most of all I’m miserable.
grandma, a man who became a grandfather Papa Fred had been in the hospital for a good
to my cousins and I, a man who left before I week now, my mom would go everyday to
barely got to know him. visit him, and would stay for hours at a time!
I was eleven years old when Valen- Every morning I’d literally beg and plead for
tines Day of 2o03 came around. My grand- her to take me with her. She always re-
ma’s birthday is February 13th. Now my papa sponded with, “No, you’re too young, maybe
was a rather caring, warm-hearted man. next time, when you are older.” (sorry mom)
Papa Fred had a whole surprise party planned But that had be the dumbest excuse I’ve ever
for her. He reserved my Uncle’s clubhouse, heard! Ya know why, because there wasn’t a
ordered food and had the whole thing deco- next time!
rated! Mama Shelia had no idea! Papa Fred passed away at the age of
A few days prior to the party, Papa seventy-three, which is a shame! Yes he died
took Grandma out for a special dinner to cel- peacefully surrounded by his loved ones, but
ebrate both her birthday and Valentines Day. what about me? Did I not love him enough to
Now let me remind you that my grandpa see him before his life ended? Was I not wor-
was one of the healthiest people I knew, but thy enough? I was his granddaughter! My real
something changed that. During the night, grandpa had died before any of my siblings
papa started throwing up blood. Mama Shelia or I were born; my grandma had then gotten
immediately took him to the hospital. They remarried. So he was my grandpa! I would
did tests on him and discovered that he had a beg and beg my mom to allow me to go see
major blood clot in his intestine. The doctors him! Did she ever give in; take a wild guess,
then had to have almost three feet removed! of course not! Yes I was only eleven, but I
After the surgery, they thought he’d be okay. wasn’t an idiot! I still hold a grudge against
Everyone had faith in God and “knew” he’d my mom for not allowing me to go to the
make it. Well they were wrong, it turned out hospital to see him. That could have been my
with him getting so sick that he couldn’t fight chance! My chance to show him how much
it off any longer. With his wife, stepchildren he meant to me, my chance to show him
how much I love him, my chance to show my There’s a certain poem that reminds me
emotions! of Papa Fred and I’d like to share it with
To this day I have anxiety, for I never you.
really got close to Papa Fred. We were close,
in a grandpa and granddaughter way, but that My Pop
was about it. I wanted to be more of a friend
with papa rather than just his granddaugh- I remember him just like I saw him yesterday,
ter, but I never got that chance. Papa was Sitting on his bed with a rollie in his hand,
Looking out his window and watching the cars go by.
always making jokes, the big one between us He was my favorite Pop of all,
was my nickname, Jo-far-dutch. He would it was hard to say goodbye.
always call me that, in fact that’s all he would This man was taken away from me,
ever call me I’d be surprised if he even knew my very own Pop had died.
my real name. I have a few other memories,
He was a quiet timid man all of 71 years,
but that seems to be the one that sticks out Who had been through war and heartbreak
the most. I am in total shame, for I cannot and then to slowly die.
remember why he called me Jo-far-dutch, let He watched his son go through it too,
alone the story behind my nickname. Each it was very hard on his eyes.
and every time I think of my grandfather I put I wish you were here with me now
and your two great-gran kids too.
myself through depression, guilt, and sorrow. To have them sit on your knee and annoy you just like
He was my own grandpa, and I couldn’t even me.
remember the meanings of my memories,
how terrible is that?
They say, “Take every chance you get, I miss you very much Pop and your calm
and gentle ways,
and do with it well”. That was my chance. To kiss and hug you once again I know
That one chance is all I needed. I could have would be too much to say.
got everything I wanted in that one moment. I hope you are very happy now sitting
I could have got the back round of my nick- by your window high,
name, shown him my feelings! Looking down on all of us
and not asking questions why.
My grandma never got her surprise I will remember you always
party and I never got my connection. My one until it’s my turn to fly.
wish would have been to be granted that one
moment to devote my heart out to Papa. I
never got the chance. We didn’t know when -You’ll always be a part of me Papa Fred. I
Grandpa was going to leave us, and I never love you-
know when my grandma is either. The days
will fly by and we’ll never know when grand-
ma’s will end. So now’s my chance to get
close with her, be more than just her grand-
daughter, get my connection, my moment,
before its all too late.

I love you and miss you dearly Papa Fred.


Love always, Jo-far-dutch.

52
Lisa DiMatteo is a senior at Hamburg High School. She loves
to read and hang out with her friends. She plays the trumpet
and enjoys singing. Outside of school she participates in lots
of cool activites such as Hunger Action.

Lisa’s poem “The Beach” appears on the page 55.

determined not to let go of the tow rope as


Almost There they wiped out. The feeling of being hauled
Twenty minutes left on the eight- across the water at top speeds makes me
cringe. I can only think of being tied to the
hour, marathon road trip. As the van pulls off back of the family minivan and dragged along
the Indiana toll road, I feel the usual excite- the unforgiving pavement until the driver
ment and adrenaline course through me. takes mercy on me. That would definitely
This marks the true start of our annual Inde- prove to be an unforgettable experience.
pendence Day trip to the Stevenson Lakeside Five minutes remaining. Mom realizes
Resort. we’ve forgotten numerous items: beach tow-
Resort... I think the better phrase for els, sunscreen, and that Chiavetta’s barbeque
this would be a vacation spot for chaos and sauce we bring every year. Too bad it is a
fun. When most people go on a family vaca- little late in the trip to do much about that.
tion they envision that ritzy five-star hotel, We must be thankful it isn’t like the year one
with an equally ritzy price. That ritzy price, suitcase was left behind at our home. I still
often upwards of five-hundred dollars per hold the vivid memory of my parents faces as
night, is outrageous; you never know exactly they realize one son has no clothing for the
what you are getting. I, however, know ex- week. Lucky for him, among the masses of
actly what I am getting. I’m getting a good, people at the house, plenty of odd, I-will-not-
family-filled, guaranteed chaotic week at my be-seen-in-public outfits were quickly offered
Granddad’s simple home on Jimmerson Lake. to him. I distinctly remember feeling sorry
This is where fifty of my favorite relatives for him for about two minutes. After that I
pour in for their summer vacations. The idea could not contain my laughter.
of cramming all those bodies into a three- Thirty seconds. I can see our destina-
bedroom home may sound insane, but for us tion from here. I remember that we do not
it is simply part of the exciting annual adven- all fit into that house very well, so somehow
ture we embark on each summer. it always ends with the children being shipped
Ten minutes and counting. My broth- outside to sleep in tents. Lucky for our fam-
ers and I are counting the seconds until we ily the kids find no arguments with this idea.
can burst from the van, which is now so We are moments away from spending every
messy it could easily be mistaken for that day-lit second out on the water. Great sum-
pig-sty room of mine. The enticing ideas of mer days can not be spent in any better way.
water skiing, tubing, boating, and swimming We’ve already forgotten about the items left
have us pushing at our seat belts, as if our at home, all we truly need is our family to
will power can make Dad drive faster. Ski- have a great time. We pull in the driveway to
ing is the most anticipated, as it is a first time shouts of “the Buffalo crew is here!” We’re
experience for some, and a favorite hobby all happy to finally arrive here, the place
for others. We hold countless memories of which shelters us with love, our idea of fun...
cousin after cousin learning to ski. My per- the Stevenson Lakeside Resort.
sonnel favorite is when one unlucky soul was
Definition
As I sit here, attempting to try to define myself, to try to say
who and what I am
What I stand for and my beliefs,
It would be too bold of me to attempt this,
Is not my place, simply because I do not own myself
Perhaps this is what allows me to change, to shift at such a rate
That when I look in the mirror I cannot say that I recognize my-
self
At times I do not even know or remember what has occurred in
the past, my past
But this allows me to retain some functioning normalcy, some inkling of a reality that we

Knowledge
Trilogy of Thought
CH. 4
The girl came towards my bed, her eyes Part One: Pasts
slightly tinged with a milky red, glistening under My inability to accept the past and move on,
the harsh fluorescent lights. Inching closer My desire to never go back, as I continue to relive
to me, her joints seemed to crack with every the past
forced step, her jawbone convulsing. Sweat With each passing moment I can feel myself slip-
trickled down my temples. ping further and further, a distant thought Within
“My sister.” She growled. “You had me, their bustling lives
she was not yours to rightfully take! Give her Memories come, coaxing the thin streams of
back to me!” water from my willing soul, my eyes beginning to
“You want her back?” Veilleur roared. Burn, drowning me
Suddenly, my mouth swung open, hanging
there helplessly, growing wider and wider, sa- Part Two: Written World
liva oozing from under my tongue. I could feel Somehow, I had come to an understanding of
something begin to form in the pit of my stom- what had become of me
ach. Something long and soft began to squirm My entire life, being nothing more than a lost
up my throat. It was crawling, like five tiny fin- time, a memory land where only certain things
gers up into my mouth, pressing up against my Remained visible to me
throat. I couldn’t breath. Every muscle in my The beginning of a life I could not avoid, a reality
body violently twitching. I could feel my stom- that consumed my entire world
ach begin to thin with the sheer weight of the Years had slipped away like seconds leaving me to
gaze inside myself forever
thing, as though it would pop and spill onto the
And now I was lost, lost within the one place I
floor at any second. My body, my veins burned
could not bring myself to see
underneath my flesh. Suddenly, a white arm
protruded from my mouth, my body coughing
and sputtering for air. It’s fingers twisted, the
Part Three: Reality
Each day you look death in the face, as they pass
nails scratching my lower lip, drawing a warm
you, one on the right and one on the left
liquid from my gums, the blood coating the tiny
Most of them wouldn’t think twice
maggots festering within the oozing blackened They do it so easily, so impatiently
flakes of skin. A stringy head of hair slowly Death is simply not calculated into their busy
heaved it’s way from my cracking windpipe. work schedule
Gagging as my heart pounded within my chest, But let me live a little longer and fear death’s cold
it finally slid out, splattering onto the cold floor. grip lingering just outside the car door
The Beach

The fresh air swirls,


like the whirling waters of the ocean,
engulfing you as you walk.

The joyous laughter rings,


bubbling up like a soda machine,
echoing throughout the air.

The warm sand comforts,


like that favorite teddy bear,
as you sit and watch the waves.

The chaos of children,


like ants scurrying about,
splash within the water.

The salt-water taste, Above: Jordan poses for his bio shot. Below:
bitter like that of coffee, Jordan recording for theaudio anthology.
consumes you as you swim.

- Lisa DiMatteo

Ant Corpses

I would just sit and watch them


Scurrying around and around
Watching as they slowly deep-fried them-
selves within the harsh fluorescent Light
Their delicate, shiny black skin would shrivel
up as their thin legs became Crumpled, tens-
ing and convulsing into a tight little ball
What a ritual it was to witness this process
With each circle they completed around the
light bulb, they grew more Frantic, desperate
Afterwards, I would empty their scrawny
corpses onto the wooden floor of my Bed-
room
Each new addition to my collection,
Each new struggling body that had given in
to me, gave me strength to go on
Strength within the struggling

- Alex Bommer
Above: Anna, Lydia, Lindsay, and Lisa relaxing at Forest Lawn Cemetary.
Below: Joel anxiously awaits new audio anthology recording victims.

56
Susan Head will be attending Grand Island High School as freshman
this fall. She enjoys reading, writing, having fun with friends, and watch-
ing classic Audrey Hepburn movies in her spare time. She wishes that
she was born a hundred years earlier, but since time travels seems to
be impossible at the moment, she mostly writes stories that take place
during the Victorian and Edwardian eras. Being the romantic that she is,
she is mostly attracted to writing romance pieces. Do not mistake her
type of romantic writing for the cheap paperback romance novel kind.
She hopes to one day be a bestselling novelist in the area of non-smutty
romance and young adult fiction.

Love is Love for Evermore-Tennyson glided-towards the window. She drew back
- Susan J. Widley
the curtains to reveal an almost unearth-like
(Pseudonym)
vision of Lake Como. Blue, turquoise-blue,
The pain made her numb. The she thought, the same blue as his eyes. She
had not seen the lake before. She had re-
incident, the memory persisted to play over
mained in bed almost completely since she
and over again in her mind. She felt as if she
had checked into this villa. The villa that
were suffering from a headache at times-
had been reserved months ago for her hon-
rather than a heartache.She made no effort
eymoon. But now her weeding, her honey-
to get dressed that day. She had been wear-
moon, were all a distant dream.
ing that same nightshirt for days now. She
She sighed deeply as she began to
had only taken the time to pull her hair into a
recall his face. The face that she had so often
loose ponytail because her naturally curly hair
stared upon with girlhood infatuation. Ev-
bothered her too much when it was in her
ery crease, line, freckle, contour of his face
face. Her face, though, was pale and her eyes
appeared. She muttered a curse. It would be
red and swollen.
so much easier if she could forget him. If she
Her lip was bloody from biting it con-
could simply banish all thoughts of him from
stantly, even in her sleep. She lifted herself
her mind forever. But it would never be that
from the bed, the same bed that she should
simple for she had loved him; she really had,
have been sharing with him by now, and
and love does not just disappear like a rab-
forced her legs to stand without buckling.
bit in a magician’s hat. It lingers ever so long,
She raised the loose-fitted sleeve of the
even love that she be dead.
nightshirt to her nose and breathed in the
It would be so much easier if she had
deep scent of it. In actuality, the sleeve now
been thwarted in love. If she had discovered
only smelled of her sweat and had required
that he was carrying an affair with one of
a pungent odor within her week of wearing
hr dear friends behind her back. If only that
that shirt and only that shirt. But she was not
were the reason why she was not wed. But
really smelling the sleeve, rather reliving
no.The gunshot echoed throughout her ears.
a sweet memory that that(Italics) shirt, that
That bullet had been meant as a warning
sleeve, brought upon her. She was remem-
sign, not as a death bullet.
bering the times of her courtship with him
Pieces of the night flooded back into
when he had often worn this same shirt.
her memory. They had been out for a stroll
Back then, it smelled of him, of masculinity,
on the beaches of Maine, their real home.
with a touch of a man’s aftershave.
Only two days remained before the wedding
Now, dimly realizing that her legs did
and the young lovers’ anxieties all fell away
indeed support her thin frame, she walked-no
once they saw each other that evening. No
one else was on the beach; no one was there weak strain in his usual strong and vibrant
to spoil their realm of happiness. Thus, no voice.
one was there to help them in the approach- “I’ll go-I’ll go get help.” She had left
ing moments or to hear her screams. him there. Left him calling for her. She was
“Give me your purse, wallets, watch- getting help. She was doing the right thing, or
es. Everything of value.,” shouted a darkly- at least that is what she kept telling herself.
clothed villain who had been covering himself Then she was back in the present. She closed
in the dunes moments before. off her mind, her memory, if only for a few
“Where did you, I mean who are minutes.
you?” she had stuttered. Her once well-manicured hand half-
“No time for that. Now give me your rubbed half-played with the curtain. The
money.” chiffon felt material so smooth against her
“Never,” he had said, her loving, skin.
chivalrous, knight-like fiancé. The villain des- His life may be dead, but mine isn’t.
perate for the money, and he, her fiancé, so Oh I shouldn’t think like that. If my love is
young, with the idea of being able to save the dead, then I should be too.
damsel in distress fresh in his mind, refused But somehow after looking at the
to surrender his money. They were at a water below and the sun that she had not
standstill. Then just as the villain himself had seen in weeks, she ached, longed for more
appeared, a gun appeared in his hands. The than the four walls of the villa bedroom and
darkly-clothed man had only meant to fire the old shirt now saturated with her sweat.
a warning shot. He may have been a man Trusting her legs completely, she walked over
seeking money in desperate circumstances, a to the large full-length mirror and saw the girl
villain in her mind, but certainly no murderer. it reflected. She really was attractive. Even
But her love was so certain that the bullet with tangled hair, sullen eyes, and a bloody lip
was meant to kiss her, so bent on saving her she continued to retain at least a semblance
life that he interceded the bullet and as a of her beauty.
result the bullet hit him no other spot but his I have been here for nearly three
heart. months and have seen nothing but the un-
Without a moment to let the thought changed sheets of the bed. I am in one of the
of her beloved being struck with possible most beautiful places in the world and here I
death to sink in, she flung herself on the vil- am sulking over something I cannot change. I
lain. She pounded his chest. Screamed. But it need to at least sightsee a little.
did no good. The villain was at last able to She walked towards the bathroom to
pull her clenched fists away from him and ran take a long needed shower and prepare to for
away without a single cent. He had come to the first time experience life.
take money and valuables, but failed, and in
their place he had taken an innocent life.
She collapsed the instant the man had
released her hands. Her legs, her whole body
was weak. With every ounce of strength she
had left she attempted to get up and go to his
side. But she couldn’t. She couldn’t bring
herself to go to him. She could not face such
pain, such suffering.
“Liza, my dear, my kitten.”
She still could not bring herself to look
at him. He was dying. She could tell by the
58
Students were each Pain is something that You first expected
asked to bring three Overcomes our mind Small helpless fish
but it is a positive learning Or extremely misunderstood
words to the afternoon experience. You first expected people
meeting on day two. heart on paper. A wave Remaining deprived forever
The following five to six of darkness really paid Of His astounding brilliance
line poems were con- off. Paying a price to overcome
- Amanda Feldman their minds
structed using words
Of the biblical evils.
from this pool of words. A violent mood, - Anonymous
And paying a price
My mark of shame “Arcana”
“Paying a Price” Will remain deprived forever one thousand miles:
Pain is something A wave of darkness, deprived forever,
Overcoming our mind Will overcome our minds jammed and twisted,
you first expected - Zoe Obstarczyk misunderstood and hungry.
a wave of darkness My mark of shame,
A violent mood Extremely misunderstood Your heart on paper.
like a small helpless fish people - Violet Pena
until you remain deprived Remain deprived forever
forever Small helpless fish “Puberty”
- Lindsay Warnes paying a price The small, helpless fish
really paid off Were extremely misunder-
You first expected and my brain hurts. stood
The biblical evils or - Anonymous In a wave of darkness
Foxtrotting ballroom ghouls Foxtrotting ballroom ghouls
Paying a price and Extremely misunderstood Got hungry.
A violent mood people The small, helpless fish
Remains deprived forever They got hungry Are probably dinner, too.
- Dan Kukura For small helpless fish - Kelsey Rice
Fingers jammed and twisted
Here’s three words Probably dinner too I don’t know of a violent
Pain is something I don’t know Mood, then peace not war.
It can overcome our mind - Anonymous The biblical evils or (?) wave
These biblical evils of Darkness. A small helpless
We’re paying a price The biblical evils fished Person with Fingers
We’ll remain deprived forever Small helpless Fish Jammed and twisted.
- Susan Head Foxtrotting ballroom ghouls Here’s three words,
Overcome my mind I don’t know.
One thousand miles of helpless My brain hurts - Amanda Maxey
fish, Waves of darkness from - Blake Holmes
biblical evils, pain is something
Fingers jammed and twisted in One thousand miles,
pale pink hoodies, and A violent mood Really paid off.
Foxtrotting bathroom ghouls My brain hurts pain is something,
with dirty cat smells, Fingers jammed and twisted heart on paper
Overcome my mind. Pain is something overcome our mind.
- Amelia Colón And a mark of shame pain is something,
- Lydia Seidler a positive learning experience.
- Alex Bommer
Pain is something Dirty cats smell and probably Paying the price
Our minds don’t overcome. their dinner too. It is plastic Really paid off
As Waves of darkness perfect solid small helpless fish. Small helpless fish
mark our shame. They got hungry and will re- Overcame our mind
We pay the price main deprived forever The Biblical Evil
forever. Their violent mood is a mark of Is Peace Not War
- Lisa DiMatteo shame Did paying their price When you First expected
really pay off? A positive Learning Experience
Here’s three words Their fingers jammed and - Matt Schillinger
That remain deprived forever twisted Extremely misunder-
And overcome our minds stood cats. A Mark of shame
That really paid off - Anonymous Breathes and sways
extremely misunderstood Peace not War
people Ghouls But I don’t know
- Mike Holmes You first expected ghouls re- If his astounding brilliance
mained biblical evils. Really paid off
He breathes and sways Ghouls are extremely misun- - G.A. Fontanez
among his fellow foxtrotting derstood people,
ballroom ghouls Shrieking three words, You first expected heart on
Their fingers jammed and Creativity, Liberté, Fraternité. paper,
twisted Peace with ghouls remains one extremely misunderstood
Into a mark of shame thousand miles off. people remain deprived forever,
They remain deprived forever In our minds ghouls remain wave of darkness and positive
Of something like deprived forever. learning experience,
a violent mood - Monica Disare Here’s three words that over-
- Ellen Weisenburger come our mind that I
“Pain” don’t know, foxtrotting ball-
I didn’t know Pain is something that I never room ghouls.
That paying the price fear. - Patricia Burdukov
Is remaining deprived forever Pain is just like a bottle of beer.
The mark of shame, If you fear pain don’t be shy My mind hurts if it’s deprived
of Biblical evils, Because one day your pain will of creativity A perfect solid
Overcomes our minds. fly extremely brilliant wave.
- Kassie Maser So that’s the end. Our hearts hurt if it’s deprived
- Erica McCallie of fraternité Our biblical peace.
My foxtrotting ballroom ghouls Our people hurt if deprived of
Expected me dinner too My heart on paper Liberté.
a swaying cat is something astounding A mark of shame for finger
Delicious (?) that! and brilliant Why I want to know
Paid off their hungry moods but not perfect, In one thousand miles
- Jordan Baker as you first expected I don’t know.
- Grace Kreher - Anonymous

60
Print Anthology Shy
Students who, because of unforeseen circumstances
such as email problems, natural disasters, or hungry dogs, do
not have anything appearing in the print anthology, but were
indeed active and valuable members of our writing camp.

Alex Holt - Attends Williamsville East Jordan Baker - Attends St. Mary’s and
and is our resident music critic and historian writes high fantasy.

Not Pictured

Deanna Arthur is going to be a fresh-


Amanda Maxey - Attends Starpoint Mid- men at Nichols. She did not attend
dle and enjoys playing Nintendo Gamboy. week two of the camp.
Clockwise: Mike working on a poem; Jason reciting
his story at open mic, Patricia sharing a poem

62
(from left)Mike, Dan, Cliff, Alex, Violet, Der-
ek, and Blake hanging at the student center

63
Audio Anthology Track Listing
1. Alex Bommer - Ant Corpses
2. Alex Holt - Trying to Get Over
3. Clifford Cawthorn - Revolution
4. Dan Kukura - Phrase One
5. Derek Schultz - Excerpt from “The Wanderer’s
Guide...”
6. Erica McCallie - Outside
7. Frank Flis Group Joke
8. Gabriel Fontanez - Who Am I
9. Dan Kukura - Phrase Two
10. Grace Kreher - Sky
11. Jason Silverstein - Six
12. Jordan Baker - The Sheep of Death
13. Kassie Maser - Precipitation as a Self Portrait
14. Kelsey Rice - A Curious Incident Involving a
Marshmallow
15. Meredith - I Escape You
16. Mike Burke - A Tribute to Music
17. Monica Disare - Sunsets & Flower
18. Violet - Untitled (Vertigo)
19. Zoe Obstarczyk - Pain is Something I Never
Fear at Night

Drawing by Lindsay Warnes