Vintage

M a g a z i n e
2014/44th Edition

-The Wheatley School Literary Magazine-

2014
Vintage
A Literary/Art Magazine
The 44 Edition

The Wheatley School

11 Bacon Road
Old Westbury, New York 11568
Phone: 516-333-7789
Fax: 516-333-7458
www.ewsdonline.org

Editors Note

For 44 years, Vintage, The Wheatley Schools literary

magazine, has given students a safe environment to explore the
arts. I believe the arts encourage the development of higher
order thinking skills, benefitting all aspects of an education. As
a result, Vintage champions and collects a variety of original
submissions from a myriad of students ranging grades 8-12.
Although several themes persist throughout the magazine, each
piece is decorated with its own unique, observant, and artistic
outlook.
The Vintage staff embodies Wheatleys core principles and
strives to re-create them in printed form. Each member of the
Vintage team serves a pivotal role in the success of the
publication. Being that the magazine is created with computer
software, Vintage staff are responsible for doing much of their
work independently. The staff designs the layout of the
magazine and conduct all of the behind-the-scenes business. I
am particularly impressed with the dedication and camaraderie
among the 44th edition staff.
Like art, Vintage reflects the times. Throughout the years,
Vintage publications have been decorated with graphics of
grapevines. While these graphics are tradition, the increasing
popularity of graphic art has inspired Vintage staff to design a
new graphic system. These additions to the magazine
demonstrate our publications willingness to share all forms of
student art.
Keep an open eye for unusual and captivating short stories,
fascinating prose poetry, and thought-provoking art. The
magazine boasts an original play, multi-medium artwork, and
even a poem dedicated to van Gogh. I hopes you enjoy
experiencing Vintage as much as I do.
- Michael Lituchy

Su r v ival
One pink polka dotted backpack, three protein bars, the 4th
Harry Potter book
(yes, its my favorite),
one berry blast juice box, and a floral patterned umbrella.
In other words, what survival means to an eight year old. I was
a very little girl on a very important mission,
filled with enough M&Ms and defiance to make up for the gaping
holes in my
thought process
As a right of passage, I decided to do what everyone stuck in
between
childhood and the mysterious kingdom of teenagerdom does,
and with illusions of grandeur, I was out of the house
before my mother could protest. I was
running away from home.
Long story short, I lasted around three hours.
In that time, I depleted 75% of my food supply and
basically ended up wandering aimlessly around my neighborhood,
the ill advised Harry Potter book becoming heavier
with every step. The culmination of my adventure came when
a deluge of biblical proportions rained down upon
the sun-dried streets of East Williston,
and, of course, my gorgeous floral umbrella was
broken.

Reminiscing about those times, it almost seems as though it

happened half a lifetime ago
Oh, wait. It did.
But now, survival means a little more than a
few protein bars and a dream.
These days we dream of hemming ourselves.
With confidence as fragile as a house of cards, we try
squeezing ourselves into the narrow constraints of beauty
that have been constructed for us to emulate,
the essence of ourselves lost in the process.
Is there a trigonometric ratio for perfection?
(If so, please contact me because that would be the only useful
thing Ill ever get out of that class.)
Did you know, a life sized Barbie constructed to scale would be
seven foot two and forced to walk on all fours, subservient and
obedient, because otherwise her ankles would snap like toothpicks?
The circumference of her waist would
equal that of her head because,
if youre tiny over there, then its okay to be tiny up here
right?
Barbie would have a neck twice as long
and six inches thinner than the average woman, and
her miniature waist would only allow room for half a liver and
a few inches of intestine.
What is this monstrous creation we epitomize as the ideal of
beauty?
When I take a step back and think of
2

all the women in my life: my mom,

my neighbors, my friends, my grandma,
my aunts, my cousins, I realize that
all of them are exquisitely beautiful,
and not a single one resembles a Barbie doll.
This is what helped me realize
that when unrealistic and impossible expectations are set for me,
I dont have to bend over backwards
trying to reach them.
Im surviving just fine on my own.
- Sienna Brancato

Self-Portrait/Samantha Siegler
3

Survived
As you walk through a graveyard of dead dreams
Reading the unwritten stones of your future
You see him standing in the dark
Waiting for you to join him
Holding your heart in his hand
You slip into the slithery wind
Letting the memories seep out
Wanting him to see your victory
The nave child you once were
Stands by your sacrificed memories
Waving goodbye to what you've become
The dark cries out a song
Sung by past souls starting a beginning
Wishing you a strong journey
He's still standing in the dark
Illuminating it with a smile
Offering your innocence back to you
You tell him to hold onto it
Walking away as he frowns
Finally escaping the man named Childhood
- Chintan Datt
4

Cara Mattioli
A Haiku
The sun, moon, and stars
Are nothing but specks of dust
Compared to your eyes.
(m.g.e.)

A S i s t e r W i t h i n a C o a ch
I was in seventh grade when I first started playing Varsity Field Hockey. I
loved the sport! Before playing field hockey, I played ice and roller hockey,
so this sport came naturally to me. Since I began playing, Ive won Allstar
Athlete and All Conference awards twice. Since I was so young when I
began, I developed a special relationship with my coaches. Both coaches,
Adamski and DePalma, play a big role in my life. DePalma and I have a
special bond, and she is my role model. She helps me with my skills on the
field and in life. When she tells me to do something, I dont always want to
listen, but I know its best for me. DePalma gives me tough love by pushing
me to do my best and always looking out for me. On October 16, 2013, I
was involved in a horrible accident, and I wouldnt have wanted anyone else
but DePalma to calm me down. Without her on the field with me the day
of the accident, I would have been even more of a mess. Since DePalma
knows me so well, she knew the right things to say and do in order to calm
me down. My trust in her was a huge factor in calming me down. This is
one memory I will never forget; it is now carved into my brain.
The day the accident happened, we, The Wheatley School, were playing
Locust Valley. Locust Valley is a very tough and aggressive team. A lot of
teams seem to pick on me, since Im one of the better players on the team.
To other teams, Im like the green Skittle that no one likes.
Before the game even started, I knew that it was going to be a violent
one. Last year when we played Locust Valley, a hard drive came up and hit
one of our players in the nose. A drive is somewhat like a golf drive, but
you are not allowed to raise the stick higher than your waist. She ended up
shattering her nose, and there was blood everywhere.
This year, when we were warming up, players seemed to remember this
accident, and soon they became very scared. As captain of the team, I
knew I needed to show my teammates that I wasnt afraid. I told everyone,
That was last year, and it was a freak accident. You need to forget about
that and go into this game with confidence, and play hard. I felt like I
helped lift my teammates spirits, and we were now ready for game time.
The game began, and it was already going badly. Both our players and
our coaches were getting mad because there were many high sticks from
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the other team that werent getting called. I knew I had to take a stand. I
politely went up to one of the officials and said, Could you please watch
the high sticks on the other team? Its getting to the point where it is very
dangerous, and someone is going to seriously get hurt. She just shook me
off and blew the whistle to resume playing. She didnt even say a word back
to me, which I thought was very rude. A player on our team, Perri, was
upset about that. She exclaimed, Sami, yell at them! Youre the captain.
Tell them! Its getting ridiculous. She started to freak out. She came right
up in my face and was screaming at me.
Then I said to her, Perri, dont worry about it. When someone gets hit
in the face, it will be the officials problem because they dont seem like
they want to call anything today.
After I made that comment, I continued playing the game. Locust Valley
had a free hit. A free hit is when a foul occurs on a player, and the opposite
team usually takes a shot from the spot on the field where the penalty took
place. The player on Locust Valley wound up like she was Tiger Woods
driving a golf ball. I knew this wasnt going to end well, but I had no time
to react. The ball came flying at me, and it hit me square in the mouth.
Everyone heard it; it sounded like the crack of a bat making contact with a
ball. The force of the ball was so strong that my mouthpiece went flying
out of my mouth like a torpedo. I remember seeing a river of blood
coming out of my mouth, and I fell straight to the ground. You could hear
the sound of my screams from the soccer field. I closed my eyes and
started praying that I was alive and that my teeth were still in. The next
thing I knew I saw my coaches, the athletic trainer and director, and my
mom running over to me. I could tell everyone was in a panic and scared
by the amount of blood that was on my face and on the ground. They all
tried to play it cool, but I knew what was going on. It was bad. I started
screaming at the girl, Im going to kill you!
The athletic director told me, Sami, you need to stop telling the girl
you are going to kill her and worry about yourself.
I was so mad. After they stuffed my mouth with gauze, I was brought
over to the utility car. My parents and the trainer were talking about what
they were going to do next. It was just DePalma and me sitting in the car. I
7

looked her straight in the eye and said, Tell me the truth. Are my teeth still
in? Are they still perfect? Is it that bad?
DePalma then said, Sam, I need you to stop crying, take a deep breath,
and trust me. Your teeth are still in. You will be fine. I promise they will be
fine, and you need to trust me. She put her arm around me, and I knew at
that very moment I needed to trust her.
As this was going on, my parents and the trainer decided that we should
call the ambulance because it was an injury to the head, and my lip was
swelling up out to the moon. Blood was still pouring out of my mouth. I
asked DePalma if she wouldnt mind coming in the ambulance with me.
Both my mom and I were in no condition to be riding alone, since my
mom was still in shock. Of course she said yes, without a doubt she would
come. Having her and my mom in the ambulance gave me a feeling of
comfort. The EMT was trying to make me feel better on the car ride, but
he was just awkward and made things worse. He asked me, Is your lip
swollen, or is that its natural size?
I just got hit in the mouth with a field hockey ball. Yes, it is swollen, I
said. Meanwhile my lip was bigger than ever.
He then said Oh, I thought your lip was actually that size, you know?
Since this is the East Williston District, with Botox and everything.
We all were in shock after we heard this. We all were thinking the same
thing, Just get us to the hospital! We finally arrived at the hospital. The
driver apparently decided to take the scenic route, so it took a lot longer
than it should have. I was taken off the stretcher and brought to a hospital
bed. Hospitals give me an uneasy feeling, though one would think Id be
used to them due to all my sports-related injuries. But I had my parents and
DePalma to calm me down once again. Shortly before I had my CAT scan
taken, my dad took DePalma back to Wheatley. I told her a million times
that I greatly appreciated her coming with me. The nurse then took me to
get my CAT scan done. I thought it was going to hurt, but it was done in
seconds. My parents and I had to wait patiently for the results. The results
took forever because the ER doctor was trying to call other doctors for a
second opinion, but no one was answering. A few hours later, we finally
received the results. I had broken my nasal spine. I was so upset when I
8

heard the news. The doctor told us that we would have to visit an oral
surgeon due to my teeth looking like a jigsaw puzzle.
When I was sent home from the hospital later that night, I went straight
to bed hoping that I would wake up to find that this had all be a bad
dream. I was wrong; it was now my reality. I needed to face the facts. When
I woke up, we went straight to the orthodontist to see what he thought of
my teeth. He was very upset to see my perfect teeth looking not-so-perfect
anymore. My orthodontist, Dr. Lucarelli, told me that by the end of the
process, he was sure that he could get my teeth back looking good as new.
Dr. Lucarelli then sent us to an oral surgeon. Going to the oral surgeon
scared me because I was afraid to see what he was going to say. He told my
parents and me that he would need to rearrange my mouth by pulling my
two front teeth forward and up. This plan would require surgery and me
being drugged. It was a lot for my family and me to take in all at once, but
we knew it had to be done. To make sure that everything this oral surgeon
was doing was right, we headed back to my orthodontist to consult with
him. Dr. Lucarelli then sent us to another oral surgeon for a second
opinion. This oral surgeon, Dr. Keene, said the exact same thing as the first
surgeon. The only difference was Dr. Keene gave me a feeling of comfort;
I was no longer scared.
I still was a little nervous about getting surgery done, but I thought of a
time when I was nervous and DePalma helped to calm me down. Let me
set the scene for you. It was just like any other game, me sprinting up and
down the field while the rest of the team was walking and being lazy. The
score was only 1-0, so we actually had a chance of winning. On one of my
breakaways, I took a shot, and the goalie sat on the ball. When the ball is
covered by the goalie, a penalty occurs, resulting in a penalty stroke. It was
now just the goalie and me, one-on-one. I was so nervous. DePalma pulled
me aside right before it was time to take my penalty shot. She said, Listen
Sam, I know youre nervous, and you have every right to be. You have been
working your butt off this whole game, and I know you dont want to ruin
it now. But just think about all the other challenging things that you have
done; hitting home-runs over the fence, being on many varsity teams at a
young age, and much more. You did all these things with no problem, so
there is not a doubt in my mind that you will be able to smash that ball past
9

the goalie. I need you to believe in yourself. After DePalma said this, I
hugged her and ran right onto the field. I said a quick prayer and then took
my shot. Those quick seconds between me hitting the ball and the ball
reaching the goal seemed like forever. GOAL! Everyone started cheering,
and I jumped up and down. I gave DePalma a smile, so she knew I was
thanking her. She gave me a smile back. Thinking about this amazing
moment when I overcame my fear then made me realize that I can do
anything. No matter how nervous I am, I will always be stronger than my
fears. Now, it was showtime. I was ready for surgery, and I wasnt nervous...
Not one single bit.
Within a half an hour, I was all drugged up and out cold. I didnt feel a
thing. Dr. Keene did an amazing job, and there is no other doctor that I
wouldve preferred to operate on me. When I woke up, I was still drugged,
and I was a little out of it. I couldnt feel my mouth and only tasted blood,
yum! It wasnt until later that I realized I had train tracks on my teeth. I
thought I was done with braces in the seventh grade, but I guess they were
back on. That night was a long night of throwing up due to the drugs, but
the next day I began feeling better.
I am now on my way to recovery, going to different doctors every week.
It is not easy having all this stuff done to me, but somehow I still manage
to continue to smile. The liquid diet and the medication arent easy to deal
with, but I make sure I continue with it so that I can get better. This
accident made me realize that every moment I am with DePalma, whether
its her yelling at me or helping me out, she is always teaching me life
lessons. I learned a lot from this horrible experience, but one thing I will
always remember is that you need to believe in those you trust. Without
DePalma there with me that day, I dont know what I would have done. She
continued to check in on me all the time to make sure I was doing ok.
There was not a second that I did not believe in what she said. Not only
did DePalma act like a coach that day, she acted like my sister, too. She will
always hold a special place in my heart
- Samantha Palazzolo

10

Independence, A Self-Portrait/Heather Chau

11

Frame
A carcass of the past,
cosmic within,
fails to show its pith.
Its lacquered cage shines,
transparent barrier glistenstrivial.
Nomadic in nature,
memories grace the domes
in its locus, but
are only able to leave
ephemeral marks.
Rooted to the surface,
it teemed with life
but harbored by isolation.
Time was lost,
recall suffered.
Incomplete in presence,
joint when mended.
It occupies its shell,
no longer forgotten,
supported by its cage.
Joseph Jacob

12

V i o l et Bl a ckwo o d - E p i ta p h
I was closest to my mother:
Physically.
We did housework side by side, in our house, not a home.
I was closest to my father:
Emotionally.
He held me tight, one of his strongest handshakes.
But, my father was away most of the time,
And my distant mother was distant from my heart.
And the little warmth I could feel during the day came from the
reading of
great English poets and composers.
Their sonnets and songs.
Their metres and syllables.
Thomas Wyatt, Nicholas Grimald, Thomas Nashe,
Robert Southwell, Thomas Campion, Richard Tottel,
William Byrd, William Shakespeare, Walter Raleigh.
How like a winter hath my absence been
From thee, the pleasure of the fleeting year!
- William Shakespeare
When my father was at work, those men replaced him,
But they could not replace him permanently. He would always be
my father, eternally.
One morning, though, when I awoke, my father was gone.
13

Like the dew.

Like the darkness.
Gone.
How could he leave me?
He knows I loved him.
I know I loved him.
He left me with nothing but a snowman.
Was that sculpture a farewell, a goodbye?
Whatever it was meant to be, I hugged it for hours; I wouldnt let
go.
I absorbed the care. I absorbed the cold.
I contracted pneumonia, which finished me cold.
- Andrew Zuckerman
V i o let Bla ck w o o d - Ba ck st o r y
My name was Violet Blackwood, the young daughter of William and
Constance Blackwood. My life was severed too quickly. Id say I had a pretty
generic childhood, filled with the usual petty problems. My father was never
around, and my mother was always distant and awkward. Our house never
felt like a home; there was too much silence. I attempted to fill the frequent
pauses with poetry and literature. Quotes from famous authors substituted
parental advice. My only source of warmth was provided by fleeting visits from
my father. I used this sacred time to confide in him and share new discoveries.
He always listened attentively, something that could never be said for my
mother, who always seemed as though she was off visiting distant universes
14

that only existed in the complex realm of her mind. My father taught me to
read by quoting Shakespeare, and from there on out, I taught myself.
Anything to pass the time. I became enchanted with the complexity and beauty
of the English language. I suspect my mother was beautiful once, but her eyes
contained too much emptiness. There was life in my fathers eyes. It burned out
swiftly and premature as though snuffed.

I was looking forward immensely to my fathers upcoming time off

from work, since it held the promise of Shakespeare and companionship.
When he finally did come home, I found the harried expression that marred
his features odd and disconcerting; something was wrong. I had never seen my
father anxious before. I decided to ignore it as though it was imagined and
attempted to enjoy my time with him in spite of it. However, the issue became
difficult to ignore. Hed drop out of a conversation at a completely random
place and then act confused, as if he didnt even realize how hed gotten to be
sitting next to me. That night, as I drifted off to sleep, I felt an ominous chill
to the air, almost frosty. I woke with a start, the sound of a door closing fresh
in my mind. After peeking into my parents bedroom, I noticed that my father
had disappeared. I decided to go out and look for him. Met with a ferocious
winter chill the moment I ventured outside, I found it difficult to persevere. My
love for my father coupled with my desperation seemed to battle the cold. I felt
an unexplainable pull towards the town square. When I arrived there, all I
found was a stoic frozen statue in the middle of the street. Something clicked in
my mind. I would never see my father again. Overcome with grief, I flung my
skinny arms with surprising strength around the neck of the statuesque
sculpture I suddenly viewed as a work of art. I stood there for heaven knows
how long. The sun began to peek over the horizon, and I vaguely sensed a
crowd gathering behind me, craning to get a looka circus spectacle was all I
became. Tears clouded my vision, but I heard my mothers call, surprisingly
loud and distinct. I finally released him, a melted mess. As I spun around, I
15

was hit with a wave of fatigue and dizziness. I felt very weak. I half-dragged
myself back to our home and stumbled into bed immediately. I lay there,
unmoving, for almost three days. In that time, my mother underwent a grueling
trial for both the murder of my father and the sin of witchcraft. My mother, a
murderer? That was the one thing I was certain she was incapable of. There
was no way that a frail, meek woman like her would have the strength
required to do something that unthinkable. I was sure shed be acquitted.
When she wasnt, I felt a sinking sense of dread. She would surely be put to
death! I ignored the pounding in my head and raced from the confines of my
bedroom to the lake. I knew theyd take her there. Struggling to catch my
breath, a horrible coughing fit overtook me. Through watering eyes, I glimpsed
my mother being dropped like an anchor, as though her life had no more
meaning than an inanimate piece of stone. There was no struggle. Unlike my
mother, I fought my demise with all the strength I possessed. Four days later, I
died of pneumonia.
- Sienna Brancato

16

Neon Face/Priya Prasad

17

Self-Portrait/Emily Giunta

18

Dream House
The sweet smelling, welcoming flowers,
As if theyre on a canvas, with varieties of watercolors,
they all lean on my house.
My red brick, cement house.
The trees with their branches,
dance.
And their leaves show, like stipples of emerald green paint.
My beloved natural skyscrapers of Earth.
With might,
I close my hand around the golden handle.
And I push open
my brown, wooden door.
And then, I can see,
the little, cheerful, chocolate colored eyed
hair combed to the side,
treasured children.
I release the pressure,
of my black, heavyweight bag.
And
My shoulders exhale.
As the sun falls asleep,
a scene of hot colors appear,
with a mixture of chalk and oil pastels, all gallantly brushed
together with a cotton swab.
19

My wife, silky, straight, smooth haired stands beside me.

- Adeel Anwar

The Traveler/Zach Wolff

20

Vincent
And sometimes there is relief,
sometimes there is new inner energy,
and one stands up after it;
till at last, someday, one perhaps doesn't stand up any more
Vincent van Gogh.
I would go to bed each night empty.
I would close my eyes,
fatigued from the constant rush,
from a swollen day of work.
But it was only so briefly
before the colors would start again,
crashing and then receding.
Always
filling up my mind.
Even in the darkness I could see them
swimming, ceaselessly.
In the morning I awake turgid
And I had no choice but to paint,
Or I would burst open.
The only escape was through my undulating brush
The colors cascaded out of me,
Muted blues cool like ice water
Shining yellows warm like tea,
splashing frantically onto canvas,
I would paint until the color drained
21

from my face, from my mind

and was absorbed to form sunflowers and night skies.
Until I was tapped dry,
And I would collapse into bed, empty.
I would close my eyes
So exhausted I felt I would never stand again.
Then did relief come.
Oh, but only so briefly
Before they started again.
During the night, the colors would replenish
And, by morning, I'd be brimming and saturated.
Always.
Threatening to drown me.
Maybe one day I will let them.
- Nicole Cutinella

22

Jumping across the floodplain, a red lechwe can escape nearly anything.
- David Rosenzweig

The Movement of Nature/David Rosenzweig

23

Still Life/Natalie Tabib

24

The Price of a Dream

She stares at the mindless, unimportant document resting
on her desk within her three-walled cubicle. The words start to
blend together, and her focus on the matter at hand begins to fade.
As she sits there trying to pull herself together before she leaves
for the end of the seemingly endless workday, her mind begins to
drift. She begins to recall the memory of an event that occurred
long ago yet seems so familiar.
As the flashback evolves in her mind, she watches her teenage
self on the cusp of her future. At eighteen, the beautiful and
brilliant girl was at a crossroads, forced to choose which path to
take to begin the rest of her life. Her two college acceptance letters
laid in front of her, one pushing her to become a teacher and one
trying to convince her to go to law school. All her life, she had
dreamed of becoming a teacher. If she had the opportunity to
help kids every day fulfill their greatest potentials and see their
faces light up when they understand a new topic, she would be
happy. But the daunting pile of bills forming on the corner of her
kitchen table made her choose another path, one that would make
her more money than she could have ever made being a teacher.
As she listed the pros and cons of each career over the final
months of her senior year of high school, the sulky look she saw
too often on her mother's face when she couldn't pay the bills at
the end of the month made the young girl choose the undesirable
path in order to avoid the same fate. So, as she went on to law
school to pursue a career as a lawyer, she wondered often what her
life would have been like, who she would have been, and what her
future would have held if she had chosen the other path.

25

As the flashback came to an end, she couldn't help but

wonder what her life had come to. How did she get here? How did
her life become so full of what-ifs? She tried to shake off this
feeling the way she had done a thousand times over the years.
However, this time, she couldn't seem to get rid of it, the feeling
that she was destined for so much more than sitting at this
claustrophobic cubicle for ten hours a day.
Five years later, we see a whole new woman. A woman who
walks around with a smile every day. Every time she walks into her
second-grade class and is greeted with the smiles of twenty-two
shining children, she realizes all over again that she has found her
purpose in life. She no longer spends her nights dreading work in
the morning, rather she faces each day with excitement and
passion. She finally feels that her life is meaningful, and no dollar
amount could have ever made her feel this way. In terms of her
life, being a lawyer was expensive, and following her dream was
priceless.
- Madison D'Ambrosio

26

Gender Roles, Social Nor m

Halloween, twenty-thirteen,
Children leaping around
The leaf-littered sidewalk
Hyped up on sugar and adrenaline
Superman waddles to my door
Alongside Princess Jasmine;
This has been the days routine,
Giving out candy, handing out compliments.
One child caught my eye,
Equipped in a shimmering,
Pink dress, he must have
Been around six years old.
His blue eyes glimmered
With pride, reflecting off
The silver chain slung
Around his neck.
Its astounding to see
This boy, so brave,
Dressed like a princess
When the world is shouting,
27

Youre a boy! Be a ninja!

A prince! Youre not a princess!
Hes so little, a tiny
Skeleton rests beneath
His costumeunaware of
Gender roles, or the
Social Norm.
- Shannon Murphy

28

Brandon Rothstein

29

Big Ben/Zach Wolff

30

Paths
To start down a path with utter confidence
that you won't falter or trip or stumble
is foolish, impractical, naive.
Admirable.
I am sick with the affliction of Orpheus,
a curse of determination, regret,
and looking back.
To begin a journey on uncharted waters
Burning maps and dismantling compasses before hauling off
Lost at sea with no life raft and no one to blame but yourself.
I'm afraid.
Not of being lost at sea,
but of stranding myself.
Turning down a dead-end, one-way street
No U-turns allowed
No change of heart, no take-backs.
I'm afraid.
That my only choice will be to walk the plank
And hope I've learned to swim with my hands tied behind
my back
And weights bound to my ankles
By the time I hit the water.
- Erin OKelly

31

I am
When will my reflection show,
Who--- am I?
It is not who I see in my 9 by 5 pixelated mirror,
Or how others view me through the dimly lit halls.
Inside past the veins and arteries,
Who I am:
A soul with no meaning?
NO! A life worth living!
Green, Yellow, Blue, and Red,
and sometimes a carefully mixed pigment of
The indecisive, fair-weather palette
of a confused painter.
Oh full soul,
Who am I?
A unique and altered image
Spied from one side the same yet inside very variable
Is it the trademark brown hair?
Or the omnipresent smile,
With deep dimples and size-13 suede shoes,
Towering over the unsuspecting?
Or the petulant creator,
Who trashes every iteration,
With the recurring frown,
32

And some days doesn't feel so tall after all?

Who am I?
I am ME.
And ME is not a mirror's screen.
I am the covered truth.
I am.
A passion for the peculiar,
I am an altered view of the world,
I am of everything that isn't quite something.
I am the internal truth within external lies.
I am:
A- aspiration
N- nonsense
D- direction
R- radiance
E- essence and
W- wonder
- Andrew Schloss

33

Flute Player/Andrew Zuckerman

34

T he Canyon Stor y
Often I am reminded of these hills. I remember growing
here as a child. I would roam these vast hills day and night. I
remember meeting its inhabitants. I learned to run from the fox, to
swim from the fish, to climb from the raccoon, and I learned to
fight from the Bear. I remember my entire childhood. I remember
when the great sickness came, and when most of our people were
dying, I stood firm. I remember when I came of age at the most
important ritual in our society, if only it had lived for you to see it.
There was feasting, dancing, and singing as we were sent off on
our own into the woods. It was then, with nothing but a knife with
my name engraved upon it, that we were sent into the woods. We
were told that we had to support ourselves until the Maker came to
us. It was said that he would provide us with a vision where he
would reveal to us what our purpose was. With this knowledge, I
set out into the forest in order to find my purpose. I wandered
many days and many nights. I used the skills I had learned to my
advantage to gain the upper hand in feeding myself while I waited
for the Maker to come to me. It went on for a long time. I could

35

feel myself slipping away, giving in to despairing thoughts that the

Maker was not real, that he would never come, that I would be
forced to wander this forest until the end of my days. It was only
then that he came, like a breath of fresh air to starved lungs; he
came carrying me to salvation. He showed me a mountain. But this
was no ordinary mountain, dear child, this was The Lonely
Mountain. Called this because of its vast height, it dwarfed
everything around it.
The Maker told me that I was to climb the Mountain, and that
my purpose would be revealed to me only when I reached the top.
And now that I knew the Maker had not abandoned me, that I was
still worthy to bathe in his great light. I felt a sensation of extreme
relief as if I had been unknowingly carrying around an object of
great weight. A weight that, once released, disappeared from this
world to be replaced with strength, the strength to find my way
and achieve the goals that the Maker had set for me. And so I set
forth, journeying day and night until I reached the Lonely
Mountain. It took a long time, and there were many hardships. The
animals that surrounded the area were incredibly violent. Unlike at
camp, where we were the natural predators, here we were the prey.

36

I could only sleep for a few hours at best. And I was forced to
conceal myself so no animals could find me. It was a journey that
you should most definitely never attempt, my dear. Because if it
were not for the most incredible of miracles and a very large
amount of luck, I would have died on that mountain. Now while
the Mountain was most definitely home to dangerous beasts, much
to my surprise, there was also civilization there.
They were an incredible people, and I wish I had spent more
time among them. You see, on this mountain, after going up about
halfway, there was snow everywhere. I have difficulty finding
reason for this as the mountain is surrounded by warm forest and
desert on its sides. The reason I feel the need to tell you this is
because of the people I met that lived inside this frozen wasteland.
They lived in buildings made out of carved ice. It is a sight that is
truly incredible to behold. I saw the workers carrying the blocks
they used to build the houses. They showed me a frozen waterfall.
There were long blocks of Ice that formed spikes. This went down
the side of the cliff, which, much like the rest of the mountain, is
covered in snow and ice. I met with the leader of the locals. He
was a small man, a thinker, not a warrior like our people were. I

37

explained to him my goal to journey to the top of the mountain

and find out my purpose from The Maker. It was then that
something most unexpected happened. The man laughed. He
laughed, and laughed, and kept on laughing. I could feel my anger
rising, an urge to silence this man who had insulted me so. A man
who thought that my quest to find my purpose from The Maker,
the creator of all who had shaped the world in all its glory, was
funny. I then had a realization, a realization that this man who had
just laughed at the Maker and spit in the face of our culture, this
man was also the man who had healed my broken body, saved me
from the danger of starvation, and kept me alive even when he
had no reason to do so.
What was wrong with me that I was willing and wanting to kill
someone who had saved my life? I left the village without another
word. I returned my sights to the top of the mountain. I had
recovered from my time spent at the village. With renewed
strength, I resumed my ascent of the mountain. It was by far the
most dangerous part of my journey. The top of the mountain was
covered in wolves. Not wolves like the ones that we live near.
These wolves were snow white and masters at blending in with

38

their surroundings. This made the wolves the most dangerous

animals on the mountain. My ability to traverse land went through
a drastic decrease. I was forced to examine every aspect of my
surroundings in order to prevent an ambush. And even then, I was
taken by surprise more than once.
The last time was when something significant happened. The
attacks were vicious, and my strength had long since been lost due
to blood loss and sleep deprivation. This was when I met her. She
was a warrior unlike any other. I was lying down in the snow,
bleeding everywhere, and waiting for the wolves to finish me off.
She fought with the speed of the wind, attacking one wolf with a
spear. Quickly removing the blade and plunging it into another
wolf, she fought with skill that the mightiest of warriors could only
hope to match. My vision was going, and I could barely remain
conscious. The last thing I remembered before passing out was her
face. Her face was covered in the blood of wolves. I remember she
told me to relax and that she would keep me safe until I recovered.
When I woke up, I was no longer bleeding. My wound had been
bandaged and treated. My clothes had been changed as well.
Before, I was wearing my warrior skins from our tribe, but now I

39

was wearing the clothes of the Ice People. I was lying in some sort
of makeshift shelter. I could feel a fire burning before I saw it. The
walls looked like a cave, and I could smell rotting carcasses. It was
clear to me that my savior from earlier must have brought me here.
And judging by the smell, she had probably killed the original
occupants as well. It was then, as I was thinking of her, that the
woman who had saved me returned to tent. She was carrying her
spear, which had been freshly cleaned and was reflecting light off
the snow. She noticed my return to consciousness and told me to
relax. She told me that my wounds were more severe than I had
originally realized, and I was at risk of tearing them if I pushed
myself too hard. When I asked her who she was, she laughed. I
knew she was from the village of the Ice People based on the
bright blue and white clothing she wore. But I didnt know why she
was here. The people at the village told me that they did not
venture this far up the mountain, as it was foolhardy and suicidal if
not done with a large enough group. I wished I had listened when
they told me. She laughed again. She had the most amazing laugh.
Her laugh managed to feel slightly condescending while still not
overly aggressive. She told me that she followed me up the

40

mountain. She claimed to find me curious, and she told me that

there had not been a visitor to the Lonely Mountain for
generations. I was unique, and she wanted to study me. I told her
that I needed to make it to the top of the mountain. She laughed
at me again. She quickly responded by telling me that no one had
ever been to the top of the mountain. I told her of The Maker and
how he had sent me there in order to find my purpose. This
caught her attention. Apparently there were old superstitions of a
God who lived at the top of the mountain. She also told me that it
was time to leave. When I questioned her, I was given a bemused
answer. Her exact words were, and I quote, We dont want to keep
your Maker waiting then, do we?
I smiled. It was something I hadnt done in a long time. The rest of
the journey was easier. Now that the wolves were no longer after
me and I had another hand to help carry all the supplies, I was able
to reach the peak of the mountain. When I got there, I sat. I didnt
see any Gods, but what I did see was something far more
impressive. I saw the Ice People. From the top of the mountain,
you had a clear view of their entire civilization, from where they
fished to where they ate, and then I realized my purpose. I was to
41

stay with the Ice People, and I was to show them the gift of The
Maker. And so that is what we did, and that is why we are here
now. Looking over this cliff and staring at our civilization.
- Michael Kokotos

42

Day of the Dead Skull/Kurtis Bassmann

43

Capricious Cranium/Heather Chau

44

Hallucination
The brain drained, I staggered on the streets hollow-eyed at
midnight wondering where to go. No angels. My brilliant eyes
destroyed, the light now lonely.
- Shani Hogan

Jenn Dioguardi

45

1.
spilled ink on the page
tearing holes in the rigid paper as you try to erase
looking at the next blank spot
hoping not to make the same mistakes
the past is forever etched into it
probing will only cause further damage
2.
taking a deep breath in
oxygen filling my lungs
taking a leap of faith
hope filling my soul
first step forward
darkness blinding me
falling
falling
falling
reaching the unwelcoming ground
only to brush off the dust
taking a deep breath in
3.
spine frowning
arms slouched by your sides
smile plastered on
hesitantly stepping forward into the world
hidden beneath skin that isn't yours
heart beating furiously
trying to escape from the chains
46

and be free
4.
eyes burning
heart racing
muscles tensing
soul failing
hope fading
waiting patiently
faith trembling
knees stumbling
this
is
it
- Hebah Hassan

47

A Fi en d i sh Pl a n
Rosabell knew her hostess, Lady Thompson, was trying to
ameliorate her son and her courtship, but had recently discovered
that he dissembled himself just to get her money, not for her wit
and beauty as he had originally said. This made her want to throw
propriety out the window and seek revenge. Maybe she would
make a deal with one of the hidden alley fiends. Shed have them
use their fetish for evil spells to curse Henrik Thompson so that he
could never have an heir or heiress. Sitting in the Thompsons
parlor drinking tea, Rosabells mind was quickly formulating a
scheme that would allow her to meet with a fiend. First, her best
friend, Natasha Maxwell, would come secretly to her house and
switch school dresses with her. This would fool her math and
history teachers who were both half blind and deaf. Pretending to
be Natasha, she would walk through the smoky shadows that
smelled almost as though they were made of gloom, pain, and
misery incarnated. Arriving at the slimy, brick side streets of the
slums, Rosabell would channel her hidden, vindictive thoughts and
ask the fiend instead for information that she could use as a
calumny to ruin Henrik. This, Rosabell thought, was a fool-proof
plan.
Two Days Later

48

Rosabell stood facing the corner of her suite, trying to

make herself look like she was in penitence. Lady Wilkson, her
mother, was ranting on about how wrong it was that she had tried
to use guile and create a paradox by switching places with Natasha.
Rosabell counted in her head to sixty. Then, she tried to propitiate
her mother and get a slight reprieve, just enough for her mother to
forgive her, by saying, I am sorry Mother. Let me purge myself of
my sins at church this afternoon. Let me go to church as soon as
the carriage is ready, so I can immerse myself in theology. I will
never make another grievance such as this! Lady Wilkson stopped
her rapid pacing and gave an almost imperceptible hug to let
Rosabell know that this was a good plan. Lady Wilkson knew in
her innermost mind that her inculcating had not gotten through to
her youngest daughter. She knew that, one day, Rosabells feelings
of abomination toward people who had supposedly wronged her
would get her into trouble, but there was little she could do. She
would keep trying to explain to Rosabell that it is an iniquity for
people to wrong her.
For that is all she could do, in the end, short of locking her
away in a tower.
- Emma Belson

49

Wires/Uzayr Arif

50

The Little Things/Chloe Tso

51

Chapter 1
A loud beeping noise came from the hallway outside Kristen
Marcades room, startling her awake. Her eyes went wide when she
saw the flames that devoured her light green curtains, walls, and
wooden furniture, lighting up the room in the middle of the night.
Kristen flung herself out of her bed, which was about to catch
fire. The bookshelves that lined two of the four walls were slowly
crumbling to ashes. All her books, memories, and the pictures that
she won awards for were no more. Everything, gone.
Glass shards broke away from the window, falling by Kristens feet.
When she tried to scream, smoke filled her lungs and prevented
any noise from coming out. She knew there was something she
had to do, that there was a safe way to get out of the burning
house but failed to think of it. In a state of panic, she ran out of
her room, gripping the hot doorknob and searing the skin of her
palm. On her way out, she grabbed the camera that rested on her
nightstand. Kristen knew that she wouldn't have all her old
memories, but she could make new ones.
When the door opened, Kristen was blasted with even more heat
and saw that the hallway was engulfed in flames. Her mothers
room was just a few steps away, but the fire did not allow her to
52

get there. Intimidating flames claimed the walls, dancing up the

sides, giving Kristen the feeling of being mocked. If the flames
had voices, she knew theyd be laughing at her, hounding her with
the question of why she wasnt turning around to run out of the
house.
The only thing on Kristens mind besides getting out was getting to
her mom. Her dad was never really in the picture, and she barely
remembered anything about him. Although everyone who knew
him claims that that's where Kristen got her hazel eyes from, her
brown hair was from her mother. All Kristen knew was that after
Peter turned two years old, when Kristen was five, their father left
them for good. Since they lost Peter three years prior to cancer, it
had been just Kristen and her mom. They were all the other had
left, and she was not going to let her mother go. Just the weekend
before, they had finished visiting schools for Kristen to attend for
her Masters degree. And, after a long discussion, they finally
decided that Kristen would stay back for a few years, earn some
money from her photos, and then go back to grad school. It wasnt
the right time for either of them.
So Kristen fought against her lungs and her common sense and
ran through the flames to her mother's room. The tips of the
flames tried to grab onto her clothes but were, luckily, just out of

53

reach. The door to her mothers room was open, and Kristen
could see even more red-hot light coming from inside.
"Mom!" she shouted, getting more smoke in her lungs. The entire
room was in flames, mirroring Kristens. Even her mother's queensized bed was ablaze. There was a different smell than the fire in
the rest of the house, something distinct. It was too late to save
her mother, if she was still inside. Maybe, Kristen thought, maybe she
got out and didnt have time to get me. Maybe she's waiting outside for me.
Although part of her doubted it, she hoped that her mom was able
to get out.
The ceiling in the hallway collapsed in on itself, blocking the
doorway, leaving the window as Kristens only escape route. It
started to become harder to breathe, and her vision blurred. Only
now had she begun to feel her skin burning, the pain too intense
to keep her moving. Everything slowed down, and Kristen fell to
the floor, surrounded by flames. She was struggling to keep her
eyes open and her mind going, but she fought as hard as she could.
It was easier to breathe once Kristen was on the floor. In attempt
to crawl to the window, she began thinking about jumping. The
room was on the second floor of the house, so it wouldve been a
fifteen foot fall. So, I could either die in the house, she thought, or outside
on the lawn.

54

There were sirens coming from outside. They slowly became

louder and louder, ringing inside the walls of Kristens skull.
People were coming, someone could save her. Kristen tried
shouting for help, but her throat burned whenever she tried to
breathe. Flames kept coming closer to her body. Why would I want to
survive when Id be on my own? Thoughts flew through Kristens mind.
The fire was inches from her skin; she could hear the sizzle as it
climbed up her hair. There was no way, Kristen thought, that
someone would get to her before the flames claimed her
completely. Her last thought before she fell unconscious was, this is
it. I'm dying.
The fluorescent lights inside the ambulance hurt Kristens eyes
when she woke up. Her head was throbbing, her skin was stinging,
and her mouth was dry. A groan rose from Kristens throat; her
entire being ached, and she just wanted to numb her pain away.
The smell of burnt hair filled her nose, and she wondered if she
had any hair left on her head. Im alive? Who saved me? Did they save
Mom? ...Im alive.
Two people were on both sides of Kristen trying to keep her alive.
She scanned their faces, and her mother was not one of them.
Kristen tried to speak, but her words got caught in her throat. She
managed to choke out, Mom?
55

Oh good, youre up, the younger of the two men said. He wore a
black zip-up sweatshirt and matching black pants. Dad, shes up,
what do we do now? Underneath the hood, the mans face was
tan and glowed against his hazel eyes.
Kristen was confused. That guy just called the other man his
father. Was it a normal thing for families to work on the same
ambulances? And why wasnt the younger man wearing a medical
uniform? Kristen wanted to know how she was still alive.
Check her vitals again, make sure shes stable, the man in a lab
coat and rectangular glasses said. And when youre done, make
sure she falls asleep again.
Dr. Valo, a voice from the front of the ambulance said, Were
almost there.
A needle sank into Kristens arm, pinching a little, and her vision
blurred again. It was too difficult to try and focus on her
surroundings, so she shut her eyes and tried to listen.
Dr. Ellison will want to check this one out, like she does every
patient, but youll have to do the cleaning up, Xavier, Dr. Valo
said.
Like I do with every patient, I know. How many more patients
does Ellison need for this?
56

Its Dr. Ellison. There was a period of silence before Dr. Valo
spoke again. Kristen could feel the tension fill the air, Xavier
mustve said something wrong. I dont know, son. His voice was
sharp enough to cut diamond. We have to do what she says.
Unless you want to end up like--
No, I dont. But do you really think this is... right?
This is not a conversation we can have right now. Not in front of
a patient. After that, more silence filled the air. The only noise
was the thud of the ambulance going over potholes. The bumps
and holes that were scattered along the road caused Kristens head
to bounce on the hard stretcher she was on. After a while, the
liquid they had put in her arm caused her to fade back into the
unconscious state she was in before. Thank God, because the pain
was becoming unbearable.
Whered you get this one, Eric? a womans voice sounded from
Kristens left.
A house fire. Her mother died, leaving just her and no other
family, Dr. Valos voice was muffled, and there was a crackling
sound underneath it.
Suddenly, Kristen felt pressure on her eyelid as it was pulled open.
A bright light flashed over her pupil and made its way over to the
57

other, burning that one as well. Did you leave one of the extra
bodies?
Yes, one that was unidentifiable. Even dental records wont help
with that one. The coroner made his statement an hour ago.
Manner of death was accidental; the cause, suffocation.
Good, the woman took a long pause to examine the rest of
Kristen, who was now awake but trying her best not to react.
Kristen realized that this must have been the doctor mentioned
before in the ambulance, Dr. Ellison. When Dr. Ellison finished,
she turned to Xavier, You know what to do, right?
Do the same to her like every other patient.
Correct, good boy. Now get to it.
Dr. Ellison took Dr. Valo out of the door to the left of the cold
slab Kristen rested on. Once they were out of sight, Kristen heard
Xavier mumbling to himself. Good boy? What am I five years
old? He flipped a few switches on a board behind a reflective
glass window, probably meant for people on the other side to see
in while the person inside could not see out. However, while the
light was on in the room behind the window, Kristen could see
everything Xavier was doing.
Upon his return to the room, Xavier lowered a machine around
58

Kristens head. It reminded Kristen of the x-ray machine at the

dentist, only it wrapped completely around her skull. Once it was
completely lowered, a light humming noise filled her ears. A feeling
of panic claimed her whole body, causing Kristen to have a
difficult time breathing when she finally realized this was more
serious than originally thought. This was not a hospital; it was a
dark room with a metal slab on which she laid. Xavier was not a
doctor but rather a technician, and who knows if the other
doctors were actually doctors? And finally, what the hell was this
thing that trapped Kristen in place? Why did these people need her
and only her? What about her mother? They said she was dead, but
how do they know?
There was a sudden pain in Kristens arm, a stinging sensation that
began to slowly numb her body. Xavier injected a strong drug into
her arm, but it didnt knock her out. All Kristen could see was
darkness from the machine, and all she could hear was that
humming sound.
And... go, Xavier said, muffled. A button was pressed on the
switchboard, causing the machine to start circling her head. A
strange feeling washed over Kristens brain. The tingling, numbing
feeling that comes before Novocain wears off crept its way up
from her spine to her frontal lobe. Memories slowly started

59

slipping away from her brain. It started with the memories from
her childhood; she could no longer remember who came to her
fifth birthday party, nor could she remember the name of her pet
guinea pig from sixth grade. The haunting image of the terrible
haircut her mother made Kristen get in sixth grade vanished from
her memory, right after the crush she had on Billy Turner that
lasted for five years faded away.
Before the machine got to Kristens memory of the eighth grade
dance, there was a loud boom that sounded from the opposite side
of the room, followed by silence and complete darkness. Of
course, Kristen only saw darkness the entire time, but this darkness
was different than the one just in the machine. She could feel
everything stand still around her.
The machine was lifted away from Kristens head, and she could
finally take a deep breath. The room around her was completely
dark, preventing her from seeing if anyone else was still in the
room with her. Kristen thought about getting up and running, but
whatever was injected into her arm did not allow it. Her mind was
racing while her body was forced to sit still.
When the lights finally came back on, Kristens eyes stung. Xavier
had his back facing her and was focused on mixing something. She
could hear the slush of some sort of liquid being poured back and
60

forth. The noise stopped, and Xavier turned around and brought a
cup to Kristens mouth. Im sorry, he whispered quietly. Kristen
wasnt sure if he knew that she had been awake for this whole
process, but she could tell he felt guilty. What was he setting her up
for? Who is Dr. Ellison, and what was she doing to Kristen?
Xavier opened Kristens mouth and slowly poured the liquid down
her throat. She felt the cold liquid rush over her tongue, following
the route to the rest of her body. It was tasteless, but the texture
was distinct. It felt like crushed ice cubes mixed with something
else, thicker than water but thinner than a milkshake.
Kristens body went completely limp, almost dead-like, and her
brain began slowing down, relaxing her. For a few minutes, she felt
completely relaxed and blissful. It was the first time in months
since she had that feeling. It only lasted for a moment before
Kristen went unconscious one last time.
To be continued...

- Shannon Murphy

61

Medusa By Starlight Galaxy / Sufia Ainechi

62

A Haiku Dedicated to Romeo and Juliet

(Romeos Perspective)
Luminous jewel,
Too bright for my eyes to bear.
Tis reality?
O, gleaming angel,
I beseech of thou to speak
Thy voice of music.
Henceforth, Juliet,
Thou art min eternity
Min love awakens.
Nay, a Capulet!
Wherefore art thou, Juliet?
O, a bitter name!
Nay, tis no matter!
Min love for thee shades that name
Brawling love of hate!
O, what happens here?
I cannot live without thee!
Heres to my angel!
- Jessie Cao

63

Emily Giunta

64

Samantha Siegler

65

Ignominy
The trees bowed
Upon the cumbersome mass
Of words once
Thrown out the window and
Seized by branches
That dove athwart
A blue velvet vista.
The winds breath had
Sucked a vague truth away
Into the void
Of emptiness
In a tainted damper.
The soul of a man
Dwells in an alternate land
As a knocking ricochets
Amidst the woodland overgrowth.
In the dimly lit metallic jungles,
Dusted memories lay
In stains of peeling wallpaper
While floorboards bellow
An ill-fated drone
With a musty scented
Reincarnation.
Vaulting to the window,
66

(A painful cavity that leads to

A gruesome reality),
To divorce the humble drapes
And sanction a piercing sunlight
Into the darkness,
Which hampers
Seducing shadows.
- Alex Boubour

67

Samantha Siegler

68

Torso/Kurtis Bassmann

69

A S l ave s B e s t Fr i e n d
It was strange how it all began. Long before the war, I was just an
innocent boy that didnt know where his fate lay. The time that
Gabe and I spent together was thrilling and enjoyable. The color
of his skin didnt matter to me, and we became inseparable. We
had been through so much together, and when I abandoned our
friendship, he still saved me from my demons. I hadnt noticed the
man whom I had become. It seemed as if I were wearing a mask;
the mask of my father, the man I never wanted to become....
Simon, Im going to find you, and then I will eat you Gabe
used to say in a loud, mocking tone. I loved playing hide-and-seek.
Personally, I loved being the hider because it was stimulating trying
to run from your opponent before he killed you. However, Gabe
was fast, and I mean really fast. Once he saw me, I was a dead
man. Eventually, Gabe would find me, and I would go inside to
sneak a glass of milk and cookies for us. I didnt understand at the
time why mom and dad werent in favor of Gabe coming into our
home, but I didnt think much of it. I would laugh at his funny
jokes; oblivious to what he had been doing earlier in the day.
When I was ten years old, I discovered the truth about Gabes
daily life. I decided to follow him one morning onto the
plantation, and that was when I first saw the cruelty that existed in
the world. Gabe had been whipped by a man, and then had
returned to his farming like nothing had happened. Immediately, I
ran to my father and told him what I saw. Except I didnt see
surprise in his eyes, instead I saw conflict. He had been debating
whether or not he should tell the truth. He did.

70

I was appalled and suddenly became overwhelmed by guilt.

How had I not known? I thought to myself. I didnt want to own my
best friend in the future, nor did I want to harm him in any way.
Ironically, I mirrored my fathers previous reaction and became
conflicted as well. Sadly, I didnt have a choice in the matter and
our friendship came to a close the day he became my slave. I
began to sell and buy slaves like I was exchanging a broken toy for
a new one; if I wasnt impressed, I bought another one. I stood
idly by as my old friend was whipped daily, and I eventually
became immune to the pain of seeing him hurt.
After a couple of years of owning the plantation, I had made
some unwise decisions. I had joined a pro-slavery union, but once
I became aware of the extent of harm they were willing to do, I
immediately withdrew myself. Consequently, some men came after
me one night, but Gabe had rescued me before they could do any
fatal damage to my body. I was thankful for my old friend, and
that was when everything hit me. Gabe had been faithful and
kind, and I had given him no remorse. As an act of gratitude, I
freed him and the rest of my slaves. He had fought in the Civil
War and I became an anti-slavery advocate. When The Union had
won the war, Gabe came back to thank me for his freedom. I
began to cry, feeling foolish for treating my best friend as a piece
of property. However, some friendships are so strong that it is
impossible for them to ever be truly broken.
- Jillian Baker

71

Becoming Me
I was not selfish
I was not disobedient
You made me this way.
I was not ungrateful
I was not indolent
You turned me into this.
I was not a liar
I was not a loner
You did this to me.
I was not unfeeling
I was not stuck
You changed me.
I was different
I was better
You broke me.
- Talia Rosen

72

Snowflake/Andrew Zuckerman

73

Flowers/Lauren Miceli

74

Firsts
The steps loom in front of me, their enormity paralyzing me. This
is it. These steps lead to something new. Something stressful.
Something exciting. High School. How did I get to this moment?
It seems like yesterday that I was learning how to multiply. I think
back to moments in my life. Learning my first big word, getting my
first report card, losing my first tooth, having my first visit from
the tooth fairy... This, the first step, taunts me. One foot, then the
other. Deep breaths.
Freshmen orientation in the auditorium, a voice calls from up
the steps.
Breathe, I tell myself. I squeeze my eyes closed and walk up the
steps. I almost trip on the last one, so I am forced to look up. This
is it, the door to the next four years of my life. Oh, the possibilities
of what may lie ahead. Am I going to be the popular kid or the
wallflower? Am I going to be a jock or a nerd? Before I can think
about this, I first have to go through the door in front of me. It
looks so dark inside, but when I open the door, my eyes find the
light.
- Hannah Mittman

75

Monster
How much could
someone like me
know about life?
I am young.
I am bright.
I am innocent, you say.
I havent been hit
by the real world yet, you say.
I dont understand, you say.
But the scars on my wrist
say otherwise.
They say the real world
has done more than hit me.
It has beaten me,
bruised me,
cut me.
They say my innocence
has been broken,
my future has been
compromised,
my childhood is over.
They say How could
someone like you
think you could succeed
in life?
But now, as my scars fade,
I know it was not the world that
hit me,
76

beat me,
bruised me,
cut me,
robbed me of
my innocence,
my peace of mind,
my childhood.
No, sir, it was not the world.
It was you.
(m.g.e.)

Cat/Andrew Zuckerman

King of the Jungle/David Rosenzweig

77

Kelsey Beresheim

78

Hope
A little boy sits on a rock.
He waits for someone to come.
All the other boys stand and mock.
He stays in the cold, numb.
He has doubts that anyone will show,
But he makes sure not to mope.
He stays and waits through the snow
Because he has that unbreakable hope.
- Neil Shahdadpuri

79

Fencer/Zach Wolff

80

Imper fections
Every month, Isabellas subscription to the most popular
magazines would come in the mail. Cover after cover, Isabella saw
flawless models and celebrities. She couldnt help but admire these
individuals. They had it all: beauty, courage, and self-respect.
Isabella had none of these qualities. Well, at least that is what she
thought.
!

When Isabella looked in the mirror, she became blinded by

what she believed to be her ugliness. She saw her pale, dull skin.
Looking at her ears, she compared them to an elephants. Isabella
glared at her nose, which she thought looked like it went on for
miles. The slim stomachs Isabella saw on the covers of all the
magazines made her dissatisfied, since hers didnt look exactly like
that. She was looking at all of this with her droopy eyes that could
not possibly see the beauty she possessed.
Day after day, Isabella would stand in front of her mirror and
pick out all the minuscule flaws she could find. The amount of
flaws Isabella found grew and grew. She had brainwashed herself
into believing she was ugly. Aside from her believing that, Isabella
had no courage and most definitely had no self-respect. Every
morning before school, Isabella would put on tons of makeup to
disguise herself. She didnt want others to look at her. It was as if
Isabella thought she was doing everyone a favor, but in reality, she
wasnt. Isabella was a beautiful girl who was hiding herself.
Everybody else knew that she was beautiful, and it was a shame
81

she couldnt see it.

It was a Saturday morning, and Isabella was heading to the
dermatologist. After weeks of complaining about a few breakouts,
Isabellas mom agreed to take her to the doctor. The two walked
into the office, checked in, and waited. There was only one other
person in the waiting room. Her name was Julia. She had gorgeous
brown hair and was in perfect physical condition. It was not until
Isabella saw her face that she realized why Julia was at the
dermatologist. Half of Julias face was burnt. Isabellas mom broke
the silence and asked what happened.
Julia sighed, I was a victim of the Boston Marathon
bombing.
Oh, my gosh! So, what has the recovery process been like?
asked Isabellas mother
Well, I was lucky. I only got burned on my face. There are
plenty of others that have it much worse. So, right when the
bombing happened, I was rushed to the hospital. There were so
many people there, and in comparison, my case wasnt horrible.
The doctor just cleaned it, put a bandage on it, and allowed me to
rest. After a few days, I came here so that they could treat it. Ever
since, they have been trying to treat the skin I have, but I am here
today to see how the healing process is coming along and learn if I
need a skin graft, Julia responded.
Isabella was in shock. Here she was crying over a few
blemishes while the girl sitting next to here was thankful that she
82

only had half of her face burned. Isabella had spent all of her time
obsessing over her looks, and she finally realized that everyone has
their imperfections. Isabella finally got that feeling of happiness,
the same feeling youd get after watching forty-four sunsets.

- Farrah Siegler

Powder/Emily Guinta
83

SCENE ONE- THE MEETING

EXT-NICK SITTING ON A SMALL CHAIR. HE IS IN AN

ORANGE JUMPSUIT WITH HANDCUFFS ON HIS HANDS.
RYAN, THE PRISON PHYCOLOGIST, IS HAVING A
SESSION WITH NICK.
RYAN
Now Nick, what
happened that night?
They sit there in silence. Nick is staring into
space.
RYAN
Nick?
NICK
It was a crisp Friday morning in April.

INT- GOES INTO A FLASHBACK. YOU SEE NICK SITTING

IN A CAR AT A GAS STATION. HE IS LISTENING TO
THE RADIO. THE SONG "NEW YORK STATE OF MIND" IS
ON THE RADIO.
RADIO
We interrupt with
this breaking news
flash. We have an
amber alert for 9
year old Brent
Merryham. He was last
seen Thursday at
84

around 9 PM in his
room. An eyewitness
said she saw him
enter a silver Toyota
with a man in his
late 40s. That is
all that is known so
far.
Nick turns off the radio and starts the car.
BRENT
Where are we going?
Nick turns around and looks at Brent.
NICK
Well, we are about 15
minutes away from my
beach house on Long
Island. We are going
to eat, and then we
are going to see if
we need to go back on
the road.
Nick starts driving.
BRENT
I want to go home!
Nick stops the car abruptly. He pulls a gun out
of the glove department.
NICK
Shut
word
will
your

up! One more

and this gun
go right against
head.

The flashback ends.

85

THE SHOT IS NOW BACK INTO THE OFFICE.

RYAN
Is that gun licensed
to you?
NICK
Im right in the
middle of a story.
RYAN
Keep going.
INT-GOES BACK TO THE FLASHBACK. NICK TURNS BACK
ON THE RADIO. THE SONG "I'M A BELIEVER" IS ON.
NICK
Oh, I love this song.
(singing)
"Then I saw her face,
now I'm a believer.
Not a trace of doubt
left in my mind."
Sing along kid!
There are a few moments of silence.
NICK
You can talk now, I
wont kill you.
BRENT
Im sorry.
NICK
For what?

86

BRENT
For whatever I did.
NICK
Yeah, okay, shut up.
Back to the song.
(singing)
BOTH
"Then I saw her
face"EXT- THE CAR PULLS INTO A DRIVEWAY ON LONG
ISLAND
NICK
Get out of the car.
BRENT
Where are we going?
NICK
Can you not see that
we are at the house?
BRENT
Okay.
INT-GET OUT OF THE CAR AND WALK INSIDE THE
HOUSE. THE HOUSE IS DARK WITH BOXES EVERYWHERE.
THEY WALK INTO THE KITCHEN.
NICK
What do you want to
eat?
BRENT

87

I get a choice?
NICK
You don't get a
choice when youre
home?

BRENT
Daddy has the chef
make dinner every
night, even if I
dont like it. I eat
it, or I go to bed
hungry.
NICK
How does pasta sound?
BRENT
Okay.
Nick walks over and starts to cook and the phone
rings.
BRENT
Phone!
NICK
Its probably some
tax collector...dont
answer.
BRENT
Daddy said that
people who dont pay
their taxes are bad.

88

NICK
Dont listen to him.
Brent looks over and sees a fish tank. He runs
towards it!

BRENT
Fishy!
NICK
Yeah, you can go
look.
BRENT
Daddy doesnt allow
us to get any pets.
NICK
Your pasta is done,
come over here.
Nick puts the pasta in a bowl and gives it to
Brent.
NICK
Do you want anything
on it?
BRENT
What do you mean?
NICK
Butter? Cheese?
Tomato sauce?

89

BRENT
You can put stuff on
pasta?
NICK
Uhh, yeah.
Nicks cellphone rings.

NICK
I have to take this.
Sit tight and eat
your pasta.
INT- WALKS OVER INTO THE LAUNDRY ROOM OFF THE
KITCHEN
NICK
Yeah, I have the kid,
but I didnt, you
know, think this out
fully...what do I do
now with him?...
Yeah, I will talk to
you later.
INT-WALKS BACK TO THE ROOM AND SITS ACROSS FROM
BRENT AT THE TABLE.
NICK
So...how about dem
Yankees?
There is a pounding knock on the door.
COP
Nick Breeze! Police.
Open up the door!

90

(whisper)
NICK
Crap! The cops. Okay,
go to the back room,
and when I open up
the door, go into the
backyard, and hide in
the car. I will be
there in two minutes.
Brent does what he is told.
INT- NICK ANSWERS THE DOOR IN THE ENTRY WAY.
NICK
Hello, officers. Is
everything alright?
The cops walk in and start searching the house.
COP
We got a tip that
Brent Merryham is in
this house.
NICK
Well, I can assure
youNick punches the cops and goes to the car.
INT- RUNS INTO THE OTHER ROOM GETS BRENT AND
RUNS TO THE CAR.
EXT- GETS IN CAR AND SPEEDS AWAY.
NICK
You all good?
Nick looks back.

91

BRENT
I'm scared.
NICK
Dont be. You'll be
just fine.
You hear a loud horn, and then the screen goes
black.
INT- BACK TO THE OFFICE.
RYAN
What happened after
that?
NICK
Brent died later that
night in the
hospital.
Ryan sees that Nick is upset. He grabs a tissue
box and gives it to Nick.
RYAN
Do you miss Brent?
NICK
I hardly know him,
how can I miss him?
RYAN
You are clearly
upset, there must be
something that caused
this.
NICK

92

I just hate seeing

Laurie upset.
RYAN
Who is Laurie?
NICK
My ex-wife.
RYAN
Oh. Well, is there a
reason why she is
upset?
NICK
Brent was...her
child.
RYAN
So he is also your
child.
There is a moment of silence.
NICK
No.
RYAN
Oh.
NICK
When I worked at the
construction site of
the World Trade
Center, she worked at
our Towns Hall. The
mayor and her were
always close, but I

93

never thought
anything of it.
RYAN
Did they have an
affair?
NICK
Can we move on?
RYAN
Actually our time is
up. Its 3 o'clock.
Will I be seeing you
on Sunday?
NICK
I might have to
cancel. I might go to
church.
RYAN
That'll be fine. Have
a great weekend Nick.
NICK
Im in prison. How
can it be great?
Nick walks out and into his prison cell.

- Josh Dinetz

94

Smog/Kurtis Bassmann

95

Samantha Palazzolo

96

Turn Away/Priya Prasad

97

Cloe Southard

98

My Murder
I was placed in a basket yesterday
It was a peaceful place when there I stayed
I was in with the cozy blankets warm
The old, the torn, the nice old blankets worn
I was picked up, disturbed from my cocoon
And found myself in little Sydneys room
Fourteen years old, so young and full of life
Laughter and joy and happiness, no strife
But little Sydney looks quite sad today
As if inside her head a demon stays
She walks around just pacing here and there
And Im completely helpless in this chair
I look up at her and shes crying now
The voices in her head are way too loud
At least thats what it seems like, when she picks the pillows up
Screams into them loud, and throws them down rough
She picks me up and ties me in a knot
The tight knots hurt, and I wish she would not
She stands up on her desk made out of wood
She says a prayer then says, I knew I would
And now Sydney puts me around her neck
I think were driving straight into a wreck

99

She ties the other half of me up high

She whispers through her tears a last goodbye
She jumps and I feel the bones as they break
And then my whole body begins to shake
- Jaclyn Mellone

100

William Blackwood Epitaph

Passerby, as your gaze lingers upon my headstone,
learn to spend your days cautiously,
But live as if there will be no tomorrow.
My wife, Constance Blackwood, once said,
God gave us this gift of life to spread his morals, so pay
attention.
I loved my wife very dearly,
But I made a tragic mistake.
I spent my life as a leader,
An adventurer.
However, I took it too far.
Errors are made,
Do not fear them,
But learn,
And prevent them from reoccurring.
Heed my advice,
And that of others,
For they will they show you the way to a steady, successful life.
Something I could not achieve
Because of my tragic mistake.
My shortcoming not only affected me,
But everyone else around me.
It was as if I threw a pebble into a pond,
101

And observed the ripples,

The effect it left behind.
However, to what extent can we forgive?
The heavenly father forgives us for our sins.
I wonder if Constance ever forgave me.
For she lived by Gods words,
And forever remains faithful to him.

For now, I lie here

Because of my tragic mistake.

Backstory:Throughout the course of my life, I tried to create a prosperous

future for my family and myself, something I believed wed strive to achieve as
the days gradually progressed. I go by the name William Blackwood. My wife
is Constance Blackwood, and I have a young daughter named Violet.
Constance was such a delight in life, even her name rolls effortlessly off your
tongue. Unfortunately, I took my beautiful wife for granted. She had noticed
that there was something wrong with my character, and I acted as if there was
this elephant in the room. Constance knew that I was not the William
Blackwood she had married. Every night, I would place my ring on top of her
Bible, a pairing that had brought us together. Constance began acting distant
and closing herself off. Desperate for a human connection, I sought comfort
with a woman named Audrey Bruja. However, she was not Constance. Her
name did not roll off my tongue whenever I called her, and she did not give me
that subtle smirk whenever I joked around. Audrey had created a wedge in my
idealistic views of my familys future. You may never know who someone truly
is at first glance because his or her true colors lie beneath. For Audrey, she was
cold hearted and selfish. It was a cold Wednesday night, the snow fell from the
sky peacefully, and if you listened carefully you could hear all the children
scrambling to their windows to watch. I had left a note on my desk to tell
102

Constance I was attending a late night meeting due to my role as a leader in

our community. I had done this many times, but for some reason, this time, I
felt the need to step back, to follow the footprints Id left behind. It was as if
God was telling me that this would not end well. However, I continued to
stagger through the snow, and I eventually reached the town square. Something
inside me felt felonious, and just at that moment a cold breeze hit the back of
my neck. My whole body shook, and something inside of me told me to turn
around and walk back home to my beloved Constance.
I scanned my surroundings one last time, took a deep breath, and stood
back. As I turned around, a flat, croaky voice asked where I was going. It was
Audrey. I told her that I needed to go home to take care of my wife. I had to
call our arrangement off. I could no longer stand the crushing guilt. Audrey
then told me that if I took one more step, shed be forced to do something to
make me regret my decision. Adventurous as I am, I took that fateful step,
and in an instant my whole body was frozen. A cold shock erupted through my
nerves; I could not mutter a word. I could not hear or see Audrey in front of
me. All I felt was a pressing weight all over my body. A few minutes later, it
felt like I was constrained in a very tight space. My body was frozen still, and
it was impossible to break free from this odd, restricted feeling. Something was
covering me, and it became difficult to breathe. I took my last deep breath and
fell asleep mumbling Constances name once more. I began to cry because I had
come to the conclusion that I would never see my family again. I fought my
death till the last second.
- Rebecca Besada

103

Zach Wolff

104

Forest/Lauren Miceli

105

Because of my Color
You think you can hate me
Because of my color.
You think you can walk all over me,
And I wont do anything about it
Because of my color.
You think that since Im a minority here,
That I stand alone
Because of my color.
You think that Im a wimp with no backbone
Because of my color.
You think that referring to me by my color
Will affect me.
You think I wont notice the hate
Against my color.
You think you can laugh at me
Because of my color.
106

You think my color

Separates me from being a human being
And that youre a winner in this fight.
But I am who I am
And I choose not to act like you
Because of my color.
Is the color of my skin a border
From making me any different that you?
Or is it just that you think Im less than you
Because of my color?
Do you think that my color
Defines who I am?
Because if you think that,
Then this goes beyond color.

- Lauren Bennis

107

The Kraken/Uzayr Arif

108

An Aesthetic Melody for Phil/ Isabella DIorio

109

Dear Diary,
Oh, what a beautiful day it was! The sun shone brightly and
the songs of the birds were carried by the breeze. It was a scene
fresh out of a Disney movie, everyone frolicking around in their
merriment, singing with the birds under clear skies without a care
in the world. It was unusually warm for a September morning, the
perfect weather for the park. That was my plan for the evening, to
go to the park with a group of friends from work. We had a day of
mini golf and picnics ahead of us, a day of merriment which could
not be taken from us. But first, we had to get to work. I quickly left
my home, excited for the evening that was to come.
Upon arrival at work, I dropped my keys in the grass next
to my parking space. That was when I noticed that my shoes were
mismatched. But a pair of shoes was not enough to destroy my
perfect day. I picked up my keys and sauntered on towards the
office building. As I entered the office, I smiled at the clerk, who
always smiled back. She kept a box of donuts at her desk for
anyone who had missed his or her breakfast. I took one and
thanked her, and she wished me a great day. I made my way to the
80th floor, saying hello to all my colleagues along the way. Some of
my best friends since kindergarten worked with me in that
building, so work was never a time of day I dreaded.
Several hours later, it was time for my break. I typically stay
in the office for lunch, but I was in desperate need of a matching
pair of shoes -- after 44 comments, I had no desire to continue my
day in mismatched shoes. I took the elevator down and called a cab
to take me to the closest shoe store. I quickly chose the most
comfortable looking pair, and then proceeded to the next store
down, which happened to be a deli. As I sat in the small, cozy
110

sandwich shop, waiting for my food to be made, I watched the TV

above the counter. Basketball never fascinated me, but I watched it
anyway. As the man behind the counter passed me my sandwich, I
took one last glance at the TV, and I froze. I dropped the sandwich
and sprinted towards the office. My legs couldnt seem to catch up
with my heart, and I cursed them for failing me. The phone lines
were down, and I cursed them, too. I cursed the birds for singing. I
cursed the sun for shining. I cursed every person in the street
along with the firetrucks and buses. Every memory I ever had was
in that building: Carina, who hasnt left my side since kindergarten,
worked on the 81st floor; John, my high school love, worked on
the 90th; even the old stain on the coffee table held memories. In
an instant everything I ever cared about was gone. I refused to
believe it. I had to see it with my eyes. But as smoke filled the
streets around me and people screamed to run the other way, the
crushing truth became impossible to avoid. I couldnt help but
curse myself for not being there, for not going down with the ship.
There may be pain in death, but nothing compares to this. And
who am I, to have survived while their skin burned off their bones
into ash? I collapsed on the floor of the city and watched as the
sky disappeared to nothing.
They say time can heal, but if you ask me, some ruptures
are just beyond repair.

- Joy Bestourous

111

Danielle Wasserman

112

In the morning sunrise, lechwe provide a great subject against the

morning fog. -David Rosenzweig

Sunrise/David Rosenzweig

113

The Gift
I stare at the words, just lifeless jumbles of lines, dashes, and
curves. They are so two dimensional, colored in only black and
white, yet they bring an infinite number of shades and colors to
our everyday life. Once written, they are eternal. Their potency is
unwavering, and extends well past the life of who spawned them. I
envy, not those who wield the steel plated tanks, but those who
wield the gift of silver tongue. What tank can rally an entire
country to take action? What gun can inspire people for
generations to come? And such is the power of words. Words are
ultimately lifeless, when segregated from humanity, but when
human ears hear the thundering of words, they start to shape us,
make us, and break us. Words can ignite or exhaust; they can trickle
like a stream or erupt like a dam; words can build the grandest
bridges known to man, or can create the most impenetrable walls.
That's why an author must take care in using them. Words are the
same wounds that divide us, but they can also heal our deepest
injuries. All they need is a user with a voice that knows which tones
are right, a brain that knows the proper times to introduce such
powerful words, and, most importantly, a heart that knows which
path is pure; the gift of a silver tongue is something that should
not be undermined.
- Chintan Datt

114

Another Me/Keziah Chung

115

Samantha Siegler

116

Prepared for Me

I need someone prepared for me.

For uncontrollable laughter,
Because of the stupidest things.
Millions of questions,
That will lead to the deepest of talks.
Musical outbursts,
Followed by tears
Of sadness
Or happiness.
My annoying friends
And unstable family.
From walks in the rain
To the most useless of arguments.
117

But most of all

Acceptance
Of the real
Me.
- Rachel McPhilliamy

Danielle Wasserman
118

Jordan Shaked

119

I Noticed Her
I noticed her.
She didnt think I did, but how could you not? Her huge smile and
passionate eyes drew my attention from the second I stepped into
the room, but I wasnt about to let her know that. She wore the
number one, thats all I knew about her. Not her name or her age,
just her number. As I watched the class follow my lead, I knew she
wasnt the best dancer, but there was just something about her. She
had an energy that I wanted to grasp and bring with me
everywhere I went. She had the drive that all dancers should have,
and most of all, she worked hard. I would shout out compliments
to the other girls, but never to number one. Why? I couldnt tell
you, but for some reason, I wanted this to be a surprise. She
followed my every move and was attentive throughout the class.
This is the kind of girl we want at our dance school. As the lines
switched numerous times, I kept my eye on her throughout the
class. When it was her turn to perform the routine with the other
girls, I pretended to be uninterested, even though she couldnt have
performed it better. I couldnt tell you why. After the audition, she
said thank you very politely and did a little curtsy. In her mind, she
didnt get in. In my mind, I couldnt wait to see her again over the
summer. I envisioned her going home extremely bummed,
thinking that the audition hadnt gone well and replaying in her
head over and over what she did wrong. However, she wouldnt be
able to find anything specific because she was exactly what we
wanted. I pictured her two weeks later when we emailed the
results, the flicker of hope in her eyes, thinking in the back of her
head that theres no way she actually got in. I envision her opening
the email and being shocked. She would automatically think that I
120

had made a mistake, asking herself questions like how is this

possible? He didnt even notice me.
But I did.
- Jordan Pollack

The Hidden Beauty/Sufia Ainechi

121

The Monarch
She whispers.
A story, a secret, youll never know.
All you see is a wave of sadness wash over the receiver.
Out of fear, out of pity, youll never know.
She is a cancer.
She infects the lives of the people around her.
For the better, for the worse, youll never know until it happens to
you.
She is a monarch butterfly propagating about.
Youll either stand back and look or come closer because
something intrigues you.
Is it the color? Is it the strangeness? Youll never know.
The only thing that is certain is that you will run away from her
eventually.
Is it because you lost interest or because the poison on her wings
was too much to bear?
Shell never know.
She will continue to fly and infect because that is the only way she
knows how to survive. She will grow and become more dangerous.
She will bring color to the darkness but destroy the sunlight. She
will continue to live the way that she does, with stories and secrets
to give away.

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Convinced that this is the only way to carry on, she will evolve.
Into something beautiful, into something ugly, youll never know
unless you see it.
Shell never know because it will feel the same.
- Shani Hogan

Radiance/Heather Chau

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Merhamet
The purple mountains posing against the pink sky, the pastel piece
smudged with white, the wistful aroma of honey and cream, and
the fields of sparkling, gold weeds are humble images of paradise.
I embraced the juxtaposed, gray mud tents impounding petrified
children and motionless, old men building their immunity to
hunger.
A stress was placed on Faiths brittle joints as the heat pressed
down her neck, dragging down every part of her body so the earth
could whisper for her to sleep. The dry pain that consumed her
trickled down her throat, into her stomach as she traveled up the
hill. The excruciating burn in her delicate legs mercifully
compensated for the soreness of her ribs.
She reached the top of the grassy hill. Reciting the nursery rhyme,
Jack and Jill went up the hill, she contemplated throwing herself
down the hill, sacrificing the pail of water.
Focusing in her clay room, her eyes made an emotional contact
with the page of her new book.
-G strength, merhamet compassion, saygi respect.
Purple, blue, indigo, grai..
-Gray
-Gray
Colors that ignited the sky bent flexibly against the solid, yellow
moon.
Mimicking the dry winds, the sand flowing into her lungs
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fabricated a soft, squeaky voice that penetrated my attention.

Her words after that will forever remain lost. Like a puppet, she let
those fragile joints give way. I fetched that pale of water that she
had not sacrificed.
What can I do in this plagued paradise?
Give the opportunity of breaking a golden crust and inhaling the
aromatic steam that rises as the white, creamy bubbles deflate. The
nostalgia that electrifies the body while in front of exotic waterfalls
mimics the sincerity of the tears that run down their faces echoing,
Tesekkr.(Thank you.)
Teach them how to submerse in the pleasures of holding a
colorful book and proclaiming the story of Fredrick, a field mouse
that collects sun rays, colors, and words to feed his fellow mices
souls during their darkest days.
The inevitability of human nature, the noble savage,
compassionate by nature, is overshadowed by greed. Like our
brothers in the animal kingdom, that abide by the concept
survival of the fittest, while one dominates, the other starves,
defined by our instinct for survival: help ourselves before we help
others.
Human nature is the longing for companionship and longing to
watch others succeed. Be responsible for the poor, especially the
children, protecting their vulnerabilities and needs for survival and
success in this little world in which children have their existence...
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nothing [is] so finely perceived and finely felt as injustice.1 Besides

food, besides clothes, the only way out of this imminent cycle
where children never outlive their parents legacy of poverty is
enlightenment,whereas the other so-called virtues of the soul
seem to be akin to bodily qualities, even when they are not
originally innate they can be implanted later by habit and exercise.
Wisdom more than anything else contains a divine element which
always remains.2
Mark your presence and continue to spread the gold and pink all
over the pastel painting until everyone can look up and bask in
enlightenment.
1 Charles Dickens Oliver Twist
2 Plato Allegory of the Cave
- Ana Ainechi

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Lost and Found

I am a cracked porcelain doll
I am beautiful
I am broken
I am a shattered window
I am free
I am dangerous
I am a wilting flower
I am colorful
I am tired
I am yes and no
I am big and small
I am strong and weak
I am oh so bittersweet
- Talia Rosen

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Colophon

Published annually, Vintage is a literary/art magazine produced within

the Wheatley School. Each edition is launched in the spring with a
Coffeehouse hosted by the editors. The event features student
performances of music, poetry, and song. Copies of the magazine sell for
$5. Portions of the proceeds are donated to a designated charity.
Beginning in September, all students are invited to attend our weekly
meetings on Monday, where submissions of poetry, prose, and artwork are
evaluated and edited under the supervision of Rick Leidenfrost-Wilson.
Submissions are accepted until the end of third quarter. The layout of the
magazine becomes the staff s focus during the second semester.
Editors reserve the right to correct grammatical and mechanical
errors in published materials, as well as the right to make any modifications
to the contrast and brightness of visual arts.
Prepared in Pages, artwork is photographed with a Nikon D3100 or
sent directly via email. Titles, art titles, author names, and body texts are set
in Garamond.

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