“An Opera House of Mirrors” by Timo Simonin ’22

My eyes are heavy and strained like Atlas trying desperately to hold the weight of the world, but I persevere. The distant howling of wolves stirs me from my daze and sends a shiver from the nape of my neck down through my entire body. The sound-dampening snow slightly muffles their war cries, and their howls faintly echo through the trees. The tall pine trees stand tall as solemn sentinels, simply observing my torment. Clutching tight on my knife, I can feel the life draining from my body as frostbite sets in. I raise my eyes in front of me, and there is a light in the distance. Through the tall bodies of the pines, I can see it; the warm, welcoming light beckons me forward. Gazing forward in almost a trance, my legs give out, tired from walking miles through the deep snow. Lying on the soft snow, I long to sleep. The snow no longer feels cold; it soothes me to sleep like a warm blanket welcoming me after a long day. As I lose consciousness, the mirage of the light fades, and I am once again alone in the dark.

Time Flies

by Jack Winnay Why Do I Have to Leave Oak Hill? Why do I have to go to private school? What schools should I tour? What’s Belmont Hill? Where is it? That’s a dumb question. Is it all boys? Do you think I’ll like an all boys school? When do I find out if I got in? If I get in, do I have to go? When’s the first day of school? Why do I start school way before my friends? Why do I have to wake up so early? Why are my teachers giving so much homework? Why are my grades so bad? “Jack, why are your grades so bad?” Will I ever like it here? When does baseball season start? How did 7th grade go by so fast? Who are all these new kids? How am I already a freshman? Do my grades this year go on my college resume? What colleges will I apply to? Do I even need to think about college yet? “Jack, you don’t need to think about college right now.” Thank God. When are varsity baseball tryouts? Do you think I’ll make the team? Do you think my back is O.K? “Ya, it’s probably fine.” What does the MRI say? How long will it take to recover? Will I miss the whole summer season? I wonder if coach hates me? How different is sophomore year from freshman year? Should I take any AP’s? No more study halls? When do we eat lunch? What time do sports start? Should I go back to football this year? What about basketball, should I play basketball this year? Why does advanced woodworking have to be over? I wonder if Mom will like the table I made her? When does baseball start? Will I play this year? Will I be able to stay healthy? When’s our first game? What’s COVID? How long do we not have school for? What’s Zoom? Are we going back? Nope! What are the rules going to be this year? Do I have to wear a mask all day? Do we actually have to stay 6 feet apart? How long is this going to last? Do you have to play hockey games with a mask? How is it already winter? I wonder what all these new electives are going to be like? I wonder how Creative Writing is going to be? How is it already spring? Is baseball season going to be normal? How is there only 7 games left this year? How is there only 3 weeks left in junior year? How have these 5 years gone by so fast? Is senior year going to go by as fast as these past years? How much am I going to miss Belmont Hill when I’m gone?

An Opera House of Mirrors

by Timo Simonin The first time I heard world-class, emotion-filled Italian opera, I was sitting amid a crowd of 2,000 in a tailored, midnight-blue designer suit that had stains from the slightly salty water that rolled out of my eyeballs, down my cheek, and onto my chest. I shouldn’t have been crying because it is regarded as unprofessional, but I was. My blurry vision made me lose track of Maxime. I wiped my eyes, and he was across the hall, still in his private box. Why would he leave? Surely everyone else was as captivated by the performance as much as I was. The range of the lead male was sensational; his lows sounded like someone was playing the double bass and his highs were indistinguishable from a woman’s. The vibrato in his voice sounded fuller than any pop singer’s and could express either pain or joy upon command. I must admit, the plot was more interesting than I thought it would be. A knight, Francesco, was forced to duel in an arena and fight for his dignity knowing all too well that the love of his life, Rosa, was forever banned from seeing him. Something all too familiar. But I couldn’t let myself become distracted by the show. I double-checked my suit pocket to make sure that it was still there, and it was. The pistol with a suppressor on the tip assigned to me by a stranger. I suppose that it wasn’t a complete stranger if he was also paying me half a million, but I still didn’t know his name. Two weeks ago, I had arrived in Austria by train and traveled to a run-down hangar to meet with my boss, who wore a mask and spoke through a voice deepener. He provided me with the customary assortment of guns and gadgets to choose from as we discussed the details. “You’ll be fine with your regular kit?” he inquired. “Yeah, it’ll do. Hasn’t failed me in a decade.” “Talking about regular, I need you to assure me that your work will be up to your normal standard,” he continued, “You can’t let anyone or anything change you. You’ve been a professional for quite a while now, and I assume that you can separate your personal life from your job.” I had not thought of her since I had left my house. “Thanks for the concern, but I can complete the task.” “Good. I shouldn’t need to remind you why there was an opening for this job in the first place, then. I’ll see you once you’re done.” Back in the opera house, the first intermission arrived, and much of the crowd left their seats to stretch, as did I. I looked over towards Maxime, and he stayed seated in the company of his wife and two bodyguards. He sat attempting to seem stoic, but this was merely a facade. He constantly looked over his shoulder as if to ask one bodyguard if everything was still okay, and checked his phone a few times too many. “Well, not right now then,” I thought to myself. I could take a few minutes off to relax. Maxime certainly wasn’t going anywhere, as his wife was mesmerized by the opera. You could tell that taking her to see the show was some sort of present; while she had her eyes fastened on the stage, he had his eyes fastened to her, watching her smile. I stepped onto the balcony and felt the soothing breeze that could wrap its arms around you and hug you on the warm summer night in Vienna. It brought me a sense of safety. I felt my suit pocket buzz and reached for my phone. I read “unknown number” on the screen, but there was only one person it could be. I answered the phone and simultaneously realized that when I did so, a small piece of paper had fallen onto the ground. “Henry?” demanded the deep, distorted voice on the other side. “Yes,” I replied while bending down to pick up the note I did not remember putting in my suit, “What is it?” Immediately after the words left my mouth, I looked at the paper. It was in fact not a note, but a polaroid photo. In that moment, the peripheral, buildings and people, weather, city, and mission all started fading and I focused solely