AZER BL
EMPATHY EDITION 2018
EDITORS FICTION
AVA MIERINS STEFANIE AGES
POETRY
LAVINIA RANGEL
NONFICTION
LAUREN MACDONALD CAROL RODRIGUEZ MATTHIAS MARK-GEORGE
CREATIVE CONTENT
HOPE RIKHTEGAR BRIANNA NASRALLAH
FRENCH
GRACE WATT OLIVIA RUSSO
LAYOUT AND DESIGN
EMILY SHINDER LAILA EL DANASOURY
STAFF ADVISORS
MS. LAROCK MS. O’BOYLE
CONTRIBUTORS
SARAH TAYLOR CHARA ELIZABETH HAIGANN LEANNE DANIEL MADI MOLLY ISABELA ROBIN SIRUI MITCHELL CLANNY REBECCA HANNAH IVANNA GIULIA HANA MICAELA OLIVIA SAM TYLER SASHA GEORGE
ABI-KHALED AGES ANTROBUS ARIHO FEVRIER-PRESIDENT GAUSSORGUES GINGA HARPER HARMON HERNANDEZ-OVIEDO KENNEDY LAI MARK-GEORGE MUGABE MUSCANT NOLL ALBA ORTEGA RHODES SAMAD TAING TAYLOR WIESENFELD WILSON WACHIRALAPPAITOON ZHAI
CONTENTS SHORT STORIES
POEMS
THROUGH MY EYES
6
THOUGHTS OF AN ORCHID
BURIED TREASURE
9
SKIN
11
8
UN LAC DE SOUVENIRS
16
JE ME SOUVIENS
12
DO YOU EVER FEEL REGRET?
28
THE TIP OF AN ICEBURG
15
SOLO ARROW
21
STEPS
24
EASIER TO IGNORE?
26
LE CHIEN ET LE CHATON
31
... AND THE BONDS WE BREAK
26
THE MARK YOU LEAVE
37
SHE WILL HAVE EVERYTHING
32
BUTTERFLY WINGS & BARRACADES
38
THE FEELINGS OF FEELINGS
34
MA TRISTESSE
41
ART
NON-FICTION LETTER FROM A FORMER EDITOR
MADI HARPER
5
7
LOOK AROUND
14
SURUI LAI
23
EMPATHY CAKE
33
GLORIA DENG
30
THE EMPATHY EFFECT
39
MOLLY HARMON
34
QUIZ
42
CLIMB INTO SOMEONE ELSE’S SKIN
43
4
LETTER FROM A FORMER EDITOR YAKIN EBSIM Class of ‘16
Empathy is broadly defined as the process by which someone acquires an understanding and awareness of the emotions and thoughts of others. It can reduce our stereotypical views of other beings, help us come to a better understanding of the world, and cultivate greater respect for others. Anthropology, sociology, and history directly examine human beings in the present and past, examine societal structures and customs to understand when, why, and how humans act in a certain way. Fiction and other forms of literature undertake this task as well, though through a more discrete method. They teach through example, symbols, imagery, and imagination. Empathy is encouraged not only through fiction’s engaging narratives, but also in the way works of fiction compel us to use our imagination to see the world through another individual’s point of view. Imagination opens us up to the impossible by allowing us to engage with new perspectives and experiences we have never, and might never, be directly acquainted with. Empathy is often cited as the great moral value of literature. Fiction may, and likely does, encourage empathy. However, even more so, fiction is able to go where other styles of media and art cannot due to its lack of a particular practical usefulness and its emphasis on imagination. Reading and writing do not just have the potential to stimulate social experience and transfer important moral lessons to real life, but it is, in and of itself, a social experience that engages the reader and writer with another world. It invokes within us a range of emotions and thoughts, often contradictory and inexplicable. Reading fiction is a messy process that directly engages us with the psychology of characters and their relationships more intimately. We live in a society where we know more about the lives of individuals living in different corners of the world and from different socio-economic statuses than ever before. However, the level of meaningful social interaction has been reduced to quick glances at videos, articles, and photos expressed in likes and views. While we cannot be certain how different individuals will respond to characters and their narratives, the use of imagination in fiction allows us to be acquainted with a wider variety of stories and to develop skills to better understand the complex nature of human emotion and thought. More importantly, fiction engages us more deeply and thoroughly which increases our chances of receptivity to the narratives of others. In an age of information overload, the power of narrative has been greatly underestimated at a time when we seem to need it most. 5
THROUGH MY EYES HANNAH NOLL
The truth is, I just can’t help myself. I stare. I study. I imagine. And sometimes, I just watch the people go by. See, right there is a skinny blonde boy with baggy overalls and a ripped shirt. Next to him is a tall brunette strutting around in expensive heels. I just can’t help but wonder: What is going on in their minds? Does that make me crazy? Ever since I was young, I’ve wondered what it would be like to walk in someone else’s shoes. To take on someone else’s personality. To be someone else, even just for a day. Maybe that’s why I act. To see the world through a different lens. I’m not sure, but what I do know, is that I want to listen, I want to look, I want to feel, I want to imagine. Could that help me understand? To understand what it’s like to be them? To be you? If you would only listen, You would hear their cries calling out. If you would only look, You would see their hands holding them up from the cliff. If you would only feel, You would know that their hearts are broken. If you would only imagine, You could walk the world through another’s shoes. Listening, looking, feeling, imagining. If you would only understand, You would see the world through my eyes.
6
7
THOUGHTS OF AN ORCHID ELIZABETH ARIHO
I’m a sight of brilliance; an acquired taste. Royalty connotes to the soft petals that entrance your gaze and the delicately reckless patterns that tattoo my body. Complexity is misconstrued to homely; unappetizing however, a knowledgeable eye crosses my path and I am appreciated. For only an exclusive beauty can be enjoyed in solitude by a quiet entity. So, I wait, patiently, for said entity. Unknowing of the life that awaits me. The rejection, isolation. I wait in the quiet for the ear that will hear the loud exclamation of Self
8
BURIED TREASURE ROBIN KENNEDY
There are girls in this world that dream. They are travellers, wanderers. These are the girls who jump on trampolines, Trying desperately to reach for the clouds forming the shapes above them. These are the girls who wait all summer for a storm Only for the chance to throw open their doors and run into the rain. These are the girls who lie in the pure white snow as it falls on their hair, Enjoying the silence that comes with it. These girls know how to laugh And they know how to cry. They know how to love From all the times they’ve been hurt Because these girls would rather save wolves Than run away. These girls are the sun. They brighten up your day, but no one is there to do the same for them. They are in the background, pushing everyone else along, Using up their energy for the sake of others To the point where they are forgotten. 9
If someone took just a second to look at these girls, They would realize how blindingly bright they truly are. These girls are the moon. They guide the lost through the dark, Spend hours brightening up the worst times of others, And regulate the tide of emotions around them. But, they are too busy taking care of others who don’t return the favour. And at times, they even eclipse themselves.
These girls are a view, one that so many miss out on. For them to be truly seen, they have to be understood. And if they can’t understand themselves, how can they expect others to? These girls are special, Like diamonds in the rough, Simply waiting for the world to seek them out and let them shine. Girls like this are constantly asking themselves one question. How am I supposed to love the parts of myself that no one else is clapping for?
10
SKIN MITCHELL
MARK-GEORGE Be in my skin Feel my emotions Breathe in my air See through my lens
Connect your thoughts to mine Think in symphony Listen to my surroundings, Solve my mysteries. Tap into my abilities Change the direction of others’ eyes Make them see me differently Make them see you differently. Modify your views Fix your flaws Change everything that made you you, And put a little bit of me in.
SEE ME JUST SEE ME.
11
JE ME SOUVIENS ISABELA HERNANDEZ-OVIEDO
Je me souviens de cette nuit d’hiver, progressant lentement dans la neige. Transi de froid, le ventre vide. « Sois sage » avais-je soufflé de l’autre côté du ver.
Tu me prends dans tes bras, me tenant fermement. « Ça va? Tu tiens le coup? » tu me dis. Je secoue la tête. J’ai mal partout. Tu me tiens dans tes bras et souris. « Ne t’en fais pas, je vais nous trouver quelque chose à boire. »
Elle me manquait. Elle me manquait beaucoup. Je sentais de la glace dans mes chaussures, mais une seule pensée était sûre. Je ne la reverrais pas. Ce fut comme un coup.
Tu reviens avec deux tisanes. « Tu peux marcher? » J’ai froid. Je ne peux pas parler. « Je m’appelle Anne. »
Mes mains étaient devenues de marbre. Mes pensées s’étaient gelées, leur essence ayant été absorbée par le froid frappant comme un sabre.
Tu dis Anne. Tu me soulèves. « Il fait froid. Il ne faut pas trainer. Je n’habite pas loin mais, il te faudra m’aider. » Je me lève.
Je m’écroulai. Je ne ressentais plus rien. Je sentis le contact froid de la neige touchant mes joues rouges tandis que je sombrais dans un sommeil sans fin.
Je ne peux pas tenir en équilibre. Je retombe. Tu ne te laisses pas abattre. Tu réessaies. Tu m’aides, me soutien. Tu essaies. Tu fais de ton mieux. Je tombe dans les pommes.
Avant que mes yeux se ferment, je t’ai vue. Tu cours, plus rapide que la foudre. C’est toi qui va tout résoudre.
12
Quand j’ouvre les yeux, je suis sec. Je suis au chaud. Tu m’as sauvé. « Merci » je dis « tu veux en parler? » Tu réponds. « J’ai perdu Tallec. » Je pleure. Personne ne peut m’arrêter. « Qui est-ce? » Me demandes-tu. « Ma chatte ». Je réponds une fois que je me sois tut. J’éclate en sanglots. Tu me consoles. Tu me regardes pleurer. « Je suis désolée. Que fessais-tu dehors? » « Je venais de l’enterrer. » Dès que je pense à elle, je me mets à pleurer de plus belle. Alors, Anne me dit : « Je viens de perdre mon chat aussi. » Elle me tient dans ses bras. Ensemble nous nous recueillons bercés par la douce musique du silence d’hiver.
13
LOOK AROUND CAROL RODRIGUEZ
The world we live in is a harsh place with an even harsher reality. We hear the effects of this every day: in the news, from friends, or we experience it ourselves. However, it is important to remember that there is still some good in the world, there’s still empathy, and it’s all around us even if you can’t see it. If only people took more time out of their busy schedules to put themselves in another person’s shoes, they’d realize. The girl with the bright smile went through the same painful heartbreak you did only a few weeks ago. The popular quarterback of the football team has felt as alone and helpless as you have. The teacher that you can’t stand has the same soft spot for puppies that you do. But people are too quick to judge. They detach themselves from these stories, thinking it doesn’t matter, it doesn’t make a difference. But what they believe is a lie. Despite what society thinks, people need other people. We can’t bear the weight of the world on our shoulders alone. We need somebody to relate to, we need to see ourselves and our stories reflected back at us, we need to know that empathy’s still present in the everyday world. So, look around, you might just be surprised by what you find. 14
MORE THAN JUST THE TIP OF THE ICEBERG OLIVIA TAYLOR If words could be felt and feelings could be spoken, And the way in which we feel could be written right here; If my mind could be seen like when played on a screen, And there was just a simple way to know what we hear. Would life be easier or all the more dull? Would it bring high value to the way we talk and how we act? Or would you lose your beauty that makes you, you, in fact? There is more To who we are Than us. So big and so bold. If we know that there is more to who we are, than what we see, and are told. 15
n’était pas sa tante.
Empathie : capacité de se mettre à la place d’autrui.
Baisemain et baiser sur la joue. Je lui ai donné un baisemain!
Imaginez un lac. Un lac de souvenir. Une immense étendue d’eau où vous pouvez vous baigner librement et voir les souvenirs des autres. Un lac où vous pouvez vous mettre à la place des autres. Un sanctuaire. L’endroit dans lequel vous apprendrez à être empathiques.
Béatrice rougit de plus-belle. La honte, la honte, la honte! Un réveil pas comme les autres
Silence. Silence.
TOC, TOC, TOC!
Suivez-moi dans le lac. Le lac des souvenirs.
Bernard ouvrit les yeux. Quelqu’un frappait. Qui? Il n’était pas chez lui. Il avait passé la nuit chez Sophie sa petite amie qui vivait dans un petit studio à Genève. Elle était partie travailler tôt ce matin. Il ne pouvait pas se permettre d’ouvrir la porte à des inconnus. Elle avait les clés. Ce n’était pas elle. Si s’était vraiment important, ils reviendraient plus tard. Puis, il n’avait pas envie de sortir du lit douillet dans lequel il était. Il grogna et se retourna. Il tenta de se rendormir.
Baisemain et baiser sur la joue Été 1 965, Béatrice Boulanger aidait ses parents à la caisse de boulangerie familiale. Béatrice était une petite fille de huit ans, yeux verts, cheveux écarlates. Un grand sourire aux lèvres elle servait les clients. Elle ne tenait pas en place. Sa tante arriverait ce jourlà. Ses parents ne lui avaient pas dit à quelle heure elle arriverait mais Béatrice était impatiente de la revoir. Soudain elle apparue. Grande, dodue, cheveux ébènes, yeux ciel. Cet air hautain et sûr. Habillée de mauve, son chapeau de paille de travers et son éternel parapluie coloré. C’était elle : Gisèle Grandfour. La sœur de sa mère. -Excusez-moi. Dit Béatrice au client qu’elle servait. Elle se leva d’un bond et alla saluer sa tante. Baisemain et baiser sur la joue. -Bonjour ma tante! -Bonjour_ mon enfant. Je… je prendrais une baguette intégrale et un pain au chocolat. -Euh… Béatrice rougit jusqu’aux oreilles. Ça vous fera 1 euro 50. -Merci. La dame quitta la boulangerie d’un pas rapide. Béatrice se réfugia derrière le comptoir. Ce
-DRING, DRING! Encore! On ne pouvait vraiment pas dormir tranquille ici! -DRING, DRING, DRING! DRIIIIING! La fleeeeeeemme! Pas-envie-de-sortir-du-lit. -DRIIIIIIIIIING! DRIIIIIIIIIING! DRIIIIIIIIIING! DRIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIING! Bon, y’en a marre! Bernard fixa le plafond. Il était bel
UN LAC DE SOUVENI 16
et bien éveillé. Impossible de se rendormir. Enfin les inconnus cessèrent de sonner. Bernard fixait le plafond. Ses paupières se refermèrent d’elles-mêmes.
bon cœur. Elles avaient sonné tellement longtemps qu’elles avaient cru l’appartement vide. Voilà. Sortez du lac. Voici des sentiments que tout le monde peut ressentir. Empathie : capacité de se mettre à la place d’autrui.
CLICK. ZICK. ZAP. CLICK. ZICK. ZAP. ZAP. CLICK. Bernard ouvrit un œil. Bon. Quoi maintenant. Il se mit debout à contrecœur. Le bruit semblait venir de la salle de bain. Il s’y rendit. Rien. CLICK. ZICK. ZAP. CLICK. ZICK. ZAP. ZAP. CLICK. Peut-être la cuisine. Rien. Pas le moindre objet capable de produire ce son. CLICK. ZICK. ZAP. CLICK. ZICK. ZAP. ZAP. CLICK. Bernard prit peur. Il se rendit vers la porte d’entrée. Il jeta un coup d’œil par l’ouverture. Il reconnut la silhouette de Sophie. Le cœur de Bernard s’emballa. Elle a surement oublié ses clés. Il ouvrit la porte d’un coup. Il ne trouva pas Sophie mais deux jeunes filles de son âge entrain de crocheter la serrure. Elles s’immobilisèrent. Il les regarda. Elles le regardèrent. Il les regarda. Elles le regardèrent. Il les regarda. Elles le regardèrent. Ça dura une éternité. Puis elles éclatèrent de rire et décampèrent. Bernard resta là, en pyjamas sur le palier de l’appartement. Il se grata la tête en riant de
IRSISABELA HERNANDEZ-OVIEDO 17
DO YOU EVER FEEL REGRET? CLANNY MUGABE
State your name, and your crime. He blinked, disoriented because of the bright light in his face and the disembodied voice around him. Nothing about the room, if it even was a room, was familiar to him. There were no windows, furniture, or even walls. “Am I dead?”
State your name and your crime. “Where am I?”
State your name and your crime. The disembodied voice spoke with no inflection, it had no accent or even a hint of emotion in its tone. He decided it was best to comply. He said his name, but he didn’t commit a crime. “Listen—voice…thing, I’ve literally never committed a crime, I even pay for music!”
State your crime.
18
“I didn’t do anything.” He could tell, from the silence, that the voice was judging him. So, you believe you are innocent? Finally the voice sounded human, its tone was almost mocking with a question. “Yes,” he hissed. Once again there was no response, and everything was silent. Then the whiplash hit, the white room flashed with a thousand colours, then flew by at the edge of his vision, a single black hole got wider and wider as it approached him. Then it stopped. He wasn’t standing or floating or falling he was just there, present but he couldn’t feel or hear his surroundings.All he could do was see. He was in class, his vision stretched out allowing him to see all the corners of the room at once. He sat in the back, laughing with his friends, whispering while the teacher spoke. It was exactly eight years ago; he was a stupid high school student who thought he ruled the world. He was going to ask; what does this have to do with anything? But his voice went silent. Instead he raised his hand and once the teacher called on him, he turned to his high school self and said: “Everything you just said was so offensive on so many levels—” It wasn’t his own voice, though it was vaguely familiar, and he could almost remember the person attached to it: an old classmate, an immigrant girl with an accent and weird hair. He answered back, but he couldn’t hear himself, his words were drowned out by thrumming in his—no her— ears, and a constant stream of thought: don’t cry, don’t yell, or it will only get worse. He could barely process his own words; they felt like daggers piercing his chest with every syllable. His memory of the moment was fuzzy but it left him with slight euphoria, he thought he won an argument; he thought she was silent because he was right, not because she was holding back tears. Now he could remember every word he said to her, and the laughs of his classmates. He thought it didn’t matter, it was only a few mean words and comments, nothing to cry about, and he was right. The only thing he could hear was this: “You don’t belong here.” She had turned away from him, and wiped tears away with balled fists.
Do you see your crime now? No he didn’t, he got one girl to cry, he was a little rude in high school, so what? He was better now!
No, you don’t understand. 19
The tunnel vision returned, except it flashed through scenes of the girls life, and each memory brought a different sort of pain; running away, and the way she couldn’t hear the crashing of the waves because her heart was going to leap out of her chest. His chest felt sore like his ribs were constantly being knocked on. The loneliness then made her cry at night and soak her pillow with tears, reminding her of the ocean and making her cry more. He felt cold, and everything beneath his skin was empty. The comments about her hair added a small needle to pinch his skin, her accent brought another needle, her eyes, her clothes, her language. The needles kept pricking until collectively they felt like a dagger burying itself into his back. The way she hated herself, then grew to love herself, and then hated herself again every time someone like him said anything to her, made his stomach churn. “I teased her one time!” he protested.
Oh, you think that’s all we’re punishing you for? More flashes, and more memories. Each about a different person, but undoubtedly his own memories. Fun jokes felt like a punch in the gut, every time he voted for the one who would protect his guns, he felt a slap in the face, every time he committed one small sin a thousand more needles would come. He gasped under the duress of all this pain. “What the heck?”
Your punishment is to feel the pain you brought on to others. “Do you do this to everyone?”
No. Have you ever felt bad? Apologised or even regretted any of those things you said and did? Have you ever thought about what the other person felt? At all? “What? No. It’s not a big deal.” If the voice had a body, he was sure it would have shrugged dismissively, its tone was suddenly casual.
I don’t know how to tell you that you should try caring about other people. Do you ever feel bad? His patience had worn thin, he had no idea what was going on or where he was, all he knew was that he had had enough. He didn’t need a lecture about his right to speak, he didn’t need a speech about ‘protecting someone’s feelings’ he was telling his truth. “No,” he spat.
You should.
20
SOLO ARROW MITCHELL MARK-GEORGE
The sea roared. The trees danced to the unpleasant song made by the wind. The elements were in disagreement. As I took a step on the fiery and sabulous surface, I could feel the hot sand engulf my feet. My eyes filled with heavy tears as I saw my friend sail away into the foggy distance. The Ocean in my eyes leaked down my downy cheeks. I saw him. He saw me. He waved. I turned. Right then and there, I could feel a sharp pain in my chest as a swift arrow of grief struck through me, driving through my sorrowful heart.
The pain from the arrow started to radiate like a bell. Every inch of my body was screaming in discomfort and agony. It felt like it was never going to end. Or was it? I hung my head from my neck in defeat. The sun was beginning to descend in the orange sky as the pitchblack shadows on the beach elongated. There I stood, looking at the Ocean in pain. In sorrow. In agony. In empathy. The vessel that carried his was nowhere to be seen. He was gone now and out of my reach. That was life. Someone once told me life was too short to focus on one thing, one aspect. I grinned to myself. He was going to a better place. I grabbed the arrow by the throat, yanked it out of my chest, and put the agonizing pain on silent. Life had to go on. Just as I departed the setting, all suddenly became calm.
As I departed from the furious environment, I heard a defining cry. It was soft and my ears picked it up immediately. Within the blink of an eye, I moved my body in the direction in which the cry originated from. Nothing. I let out a weighted sigh. The ship had gone deeper into the Ocean – farther away from me. 21
22
SURUI LAI
23
STEPS
HANNAH NOLL
It all started with a look. Nothing special, just a simple glance in her direction. It just so happened that she glanced in mine at the same moment. Our eyes met. A tear fell, and then I fell. I’m still not sure what happened in that moment, but when I opened my eyes again, I wasn’t looking at the tiny girl with nothing but bones underneath her skin, but I was instead looking at a tall, flame-haired, blueeyed girl sitting on a bench. The same bench that I had been on a moment ago. The same hair I had brushed this morning. The same girl I saw when I had looked in the mirror only an hour ago. I was looking at myself, or rather, the ‘self’ I just was. For just a few minutes, I was her. It was as simple, yet as extremely complicated, as that. I couldn’t tell you how or why this happened to me of all people, but all I know is that it did. Now who was I? How was this even possible? What will happen next? A million thoughts raced through my mind, but I couldn’t catch a single one. As I tried to stand up, I felt things that I had never felt before. The feelings were coursing all throughout my body, from the top of my head to the tips of my toes. I felt a throbbing, hollow pain in my stomach that deepened with every breath I took. I felt the aching of my bones that came from sleeping on the ground of a concrete forest. I felt the stares of the thousands of people that walked by, all of them too busy to stop. But most of all, I felt the cold. I wasn’t exactly sure where I felt it, or how I felt it, but it was there. Physically and mentally. And then, just like that, it was over. I was back to looking at the starving girl laying on the ground. For a moment, I wondered if I had imagined it, but I put that thought away. It didn’t matter if I had imagined it or not. I couldn’t just go on with my life as if it hadn’t happened. I knew too much to do so. I felt too much to do so. That cold, it still sat in me, and I wasn’t sure if it would ever fully go away. But one thing I knew for sure was that it wouldn’t go away for her, and all of the others just like her. I knew what I had to do. I took a breath, and took a step. 24
EASIER TO IGNORE? EASIER TO BEAR? TYLER WILSON
What if you could see? What if you could see through all the broken smiles and cracked façades? What if you could see through all the fake laughter, all the empty conversations? What would you see? Would you see people’s secrets, set out on display? What they go through at home, at school, on the weekends. What they’ve lost, who they fear, whatever they have to hide. Everything. Or perhaps you would see more. Perhaps you would instead see all of their thoughts. Would you see what poisons their mind in front of every mirror? Maybe you would see what tortures them at night, alone; maybe you’d even see who and why. What would you do? What if you instead didn’t know why, if instead you only saw the broken soul behind the false front? Would it make it easier? Easier to ignore, or easier to bear? Maybe it would. But no matter what you were to see, no matter how intimate or how horrible, you would never feel what they do. You would never feel the burning agony in an old memory, or the stabbing pain of a simple thought. Perhaps it’s better not to know, not to see. Maybe it’s better this way. Everyone has their demons, a burden they must bear; perhaps it is better we learn to bear ours alone. 25
... AND THE BONDS WEHANABREAK SAMAD
Silver and black flashed before two swords clanged against each other, locking in a deadly embrace. Once upon a time, forever ago, what seemed like lifetimes before, Arius would’ve been able to say with certainty his best friend would never, could never hurt him. Now... now he wasn’t sure. He had wanted to believe even abandoning his home and the bonds he had formed, wouldn’t change anything. That his friendship (comradery, us- against- everyone else) might’ve been different.
Arius’ chest heaved up and down heavily from exertion, idly he wondered whether Kie had been going easy on him because he didn’t seem to be out of breath. No flush, no gasping, no sheen of sweat visible on skin. Not even from this distance. A heavy weight was settled on his legs and arms pinning him in a restrained position. Arius attempted to lift himself, struggling against the human shackles around his wrists, before sagging back against the floor. He wriggled his wrists a bit to test for weakness- a foolish hope, just as usual there was none.
Black apathetic eyes stared back at him, a blank look that refused to acknowledge what they used to be. They seemed to be looking through him rather than at him.
Just once he’d like to win a spar. A quick shuffle of his feet, moved him out of the precarious situation- if he had stayed in that lock any longer he might have become a few pounds lighter.
The warrior sighed, shifting his head, gravel pressing against his cheek, sure to leave imprints, eyes stubbornly staring at a tree in the distance.
Kieran has always been the stronger one. 26
“I yield,” came the grudging mutter.
incredulously, “Are you jesting?”
He scowled at the smug smile he just knew was occupying his rivals stupid face.
He scowled back, “Shut up.” But not now.
“What was that? All this wind is making it hard to hear.”
Arm swings up in a sweeping motion- feint- and opposite a black blade flattens to take the blow- trapArius waits before his eyes flicker to the breach in Kieran’s defences and there -attack-.
Liar. Not even a blade of grass stirred. “I yield.”
A sword clatters on the stone.
“What?”
And for once it’s not his.
“I YIELD DAMMIT. Now. Get. Off.”
Kieran lazily glanced sideways, “I see you finally learned to disarm. . . it’s about time, what fool did you dupe into teaching someone like you.”
The weight was lifted and Arius pushed himself up, rubbing at his wrists where red rings were starting to form. His hazel eyes glared at the teen in front of him, who was looking back with a dark eyebrow raised, arms crossed and face just as bored as usual.
Fury burned through Arius’ veins at the barbed words and he strode forwards, tip of his sword dragging across the gray stone, scratching it and causing sparks to dance across it.
It annoyed him to no end. “You left.” “You got lucky that time. I want a rematch.” At that comment Kieran’s eyes lit up just barely in challenge, body seamlessly shifting to a ready position.
Left me, are the words he doesn’t say. Doesn’t need to say anymore.
Arius resisted the urge to roll his eyes,“Hold on, I didn’t finish, you loon. This time we spar on the grass.”
Kieran picks up his blade.
Kieran blinked and raised his other eyebrow
CLANG. The sound of metal hitting metal.
“You don’t get to say things like that to me anymore.”
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Dust was everywhere, blowing down the path, caking his skin, and apparently in his eyes because they stung, and Arius fought the urge to itch them.
He was alone again. Fingers tightened determinedly around his dented sword, hardened eyes fixated at the village before him.
“Are you really leaving?” His voice was tight. But this time would be the last. Dark eyes stared back impassively, “Yes.” Kieran’s fingers curled around the drawstrings of the coarse, undyed cloth bag resting on his shoulder.
Kieran’s breath came a little quicker as he anticipated the next strike, neatly moving out of the way, blow landing several inches away from him.
At that word, his heart sank and the reality of it all came crashing down. Arius was silent for a moment as his thoughts dragged him down.
He looked at the attacked spot, teeth flashing, before commenting, “Someone’s gotten sloppy while I’ve been away.”
Don’t leave me alone again….
Away.
….you’re all I have left.
His fist connects with cartilage.
“I have nothing left here for me.”
Crunch.
The air felt as if it had been punched from his gut, but he didn’t let it show. Just stood frozen as his best friend brushed past him, jostling his shoulder, and said a couple words to the guard standing at his post. Heard the wooden gates creak open, and feet smack the ground until it grew faint as a butterfly’s wing beat, turning around just in time to see his (friend? brother? family? Arius doesn’t know) disappear into the world without him. (Again.)
Kieran goes down, face still turned the other way, blood gushing from the cracks of his fingers. His eyes widened at the sword pointed at the vulnerable flesh of his neck and the cold fury of the wielder behind it. Arius breathed heavily and deeply, closing his eyes for a moment, clearing his mind (his conscious), before opening them once more, calmly and with clarity.
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“I’ve become a lot of things while you were away,” he replied simply, lowering his sword, sheathing it, muscles unclenching, slowly turning his back to the someone who meant something, some years ago.
But everything had changed on his part, and Arius continued walking without looking back, scoffing before speaking with a tone of finality, “And out of all people I loved you the most.”
The first step forwards was the hardest, the past bearing on his shoulders, threatening to make him buckle beneath its memories. Years of living in someone else’s shadow for so long had almost made him forget what it felt like to see the sun.
It was hard, but he did it. Started with one step. And then another and another and another and another. He felt the sun on his face and the dark lift- until Kieran’s voice, slightly distorted, called out from behind him, still in the shadows,“You know, out of all people I hate you the least.” Arius stopped but didn’t turn around. His lips curled around the ends and a light breath escaped because he understood, that in his weird roundabout way, Kie was saying that nothing had changed on his side after all those years- things could go back to the way they’d been. And wasn’t it funny that after all these years Kieran was the one calling after him?
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LE CHIEN ET LE CHATON LEANE GAUSSORGUES
Une bonne action envers les autres, reviendra vers celui qui le mérite. Un Chien assit sur le perron, vit la voiture de ses maîtres arriver. Comme chaque soir, il en est tout excité; sa queue en tous sens, il fait remuer. Mais que fut-il surpris, à la vue d’un Chaton, Confortablement positionné dans leurs bras. « Câliné comme un bébé, ce petit ingrat! Que fais-tu là ? Comment oses-tu? Ces gens-là sont à moi, tu ne les auras pas. Tu vas devoir partir, le comprends-tu? ». « Epargnez-moi, Monsieur Chien je n’ai que cinq mois » Pour cette nuit, le Chien décida de l’accepter. La nuit passée, le Chien fut réveillé par le Chaton tout essoufflé, qui réussit à force de simagrées à le convaincre de le suivre. Arrivé à la poubelle, le Chien tout surpris; découvrit un gros bel os à ronger. « Ce cadeau est pour vous remercier de votre hospitalité » Ce fut la fin de la querelle; et le début de cet amitié éternel. 31
SHE WILL HAVE EVERYTHING STEFANIE AGES She stood blank faced and cold. Her eyes wide open, she was scared. At first I saw a little girl, brought up on the wrong side of town with no hope for the future. I saw a girl who never knew if she would have a place to rest her head tomorrow. Our worlds are enormously different; her pain could never be replicated on another. She told me her story, filled with so much anger and emptiness. I saw it through her eyes. I saw the faintest image of her father. I heard yelling, I felt the tension. He shut the door, I knew it was the last time she would see him. He brought the whiskey bottles with him. The negative air seemed to slowly lift from the apartment while the smell of cigarettes, I knew, would never fade. Her mother developed a new sense of confidence. She was able to force a smile to cover up the tiredness and anguish that lay underneath. Her mother worked at the local diner until eleven most nights, bringing home new guys every day. I saw a Saturday night, the little girl was tired and hungry. Her mother told her to stay put as she left for the bar. Tears filled her eyes and she was so scared, like most nights. Loneliness was a feeling she had become so familiar with. I then saw a ten-year-old girl learning to live mostly on her own. Her mom had become focused on her new boyfriend. I saw her mom beside a middle aged man who at one time had future and money to live by, ever increasingly throwing it all away with each drug purchase. These were her role-models. At age twelve she knew she deserved better. Even if this is where God placed her, she knew she could find her own place. I saw a little girl leave her home for the streets. She was strong, she could manage. Not many months later the system found her. They claimed they had great hopes for her new future, as they hoped for all these kids. Confused and discouraged, I saw a little girl with the last glimmer of faith beaming in her eyes. I saw a forty-something year old woman who tried to care for her, though she could never understand this little girl. She could never understand what it was like to live her life. I saw a girl who never really knew how to express her inner emotions. She never felt she could trust anyone as she always closed herself off to the world. A cold Monday evening, I saw the woman approach the young girl, uttering five words that instantly changed the young girl’s life. I now saw this girl in front of me, full of strength. This little girl can have everything and she will have everything. She will work hard and have it all. She will have the life she deserves. I smiled and the gentlest glance formed on her face. She stepped in the doorway as I welcomed her to our home.
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EMPATHY CAKE GIULIA RHODES
Ingredients: 3 Ambition / eggs 1 1/2 cup Listening / smooth ricotta 1 1/2 cup Understanding A pinch of Curiosity / salt 2 1⁄2 tsp Compassion / baking powder 1⁄3 cup Imagination / sugar 1⁄4 cup Expressiveness / canola oil 1⁄4 cup Sensitivity / almond milk 1 cup Comfort / frozen raspberries 1⁄4 cup Creativity / lemon juice 3 tbsp Honesty / lemon zest Steps: 1. Preheat oven to 350 F. Line a 8” diameter cake pan with parchment paper and butter the pan. 2. In a large bowl add the flour, pinch of salt and baking powder. Whisk together to incorporate the baking powder. 3. In another bowl add eggs, sugar, ricotta, canola oil, lemon juice and lemon zest. Whisk until you get a smooth consistency. 4. Add the frozen raspberries to the flour bowl and coat in flour. (This will help stop the raspberries from bleeding into the batter). Leave about 8 raspberries to add on top of the batter before putting it into the oven. 5. Fold the wet ingredients into the flour alternating adding the almond milk and making sure not to over mix. Sprinkle a handful of raspberry on top of cake. 6. Bake for 50 mins or until the cake tester comes out clean. Remove from oven and let cool. Remove from pan and add to a cake stand or plate.
Ingredients: Lemon Curd (yields approximately 3/4 cup) 1 Ambitious / egg 4 tbsp Imagination/ sugar 3 tbsp Creativity / lemon juice 3 tbsp Honesty / lemon zest 1 tsp Sensitivity / unsalted butter Steps: 1. In a medium heatproof bowl place egg, sugar, lemon zest and juice. Whisk until combined. Place bowl over a pot of water. 2. Cook moderate heat for approximately 10 mins until the lemon curd thickens. Once thickens remove from heat and add the butter. Cool and spread on top of cake. 33
THE FEELINGS OF FEELINGS DANIEL GINGA
“I’m fine, I’m fine,” he insisted, as the shard of broken bone piercing his neck throbbed and pulsed in time with his increasingly irregular heartbeat.
the copious amounts of blood falling from his mouth. “I look away for 5 seconds and you’ve finished med school.” He clicked his tongue disapprovingly.
“I don’t think you’re fine,” said his concerned … friend.
Fry had known Marlo long enough that he shouldn’t have been surprised, but it still amazed him how he always always responded with some sly quip. Fry would always obsess over conversations they’d had,
“What are ya, a doctor?” Marlo sputtered out amidst 34
imagining witty responses and how cool he would’ve looked if he’d said them. “Damn it,” Fry thought. He’s frustratingly suave.
your every word.” And just like that every bone in Fry’s body cracked and collapsed as he became a puddle (of emotion (and physically too! (since he’d lost all his bones (like a jellyfish))).
“I mean, I took a first aid course once, so I think I’m more than qualified to fix your boo-boos.” “First aid? What are ya, a nerd? I’ll just walk it off,” he teased with a smile.
If Marlo had noticed Fry’s reaction he certainly wasn’t showing it. He himself felt his heart trying to claw its way out of his chest. He knew that some things were too powerful to say, like a school teacher that smoked during a field trip to the gasoline factory, the damage he could cause was frightening. In his head his thoughts ricocheted around like rubber bullets, growing more and more unwieldy. He’d thought of such a perfect thing to say. But he couldn’t. But it was so perfect. ‘If I looked into your eyes, I don’t think I could ever look away again’. God! That would be such a smooth thing to say. The thought tortured him.
“I don’t think you have legs. Just an observation, make of it what you will.” Marlo looked down, and did not, in fact, have legs. He looked back up with an expression somewhere between cocky and annoyed.
“Well can you blame me? How could anyone still have legs after listening to you read those awful poems. But somehow you’re always able to make that cheesy crap sound…sweet.” “Aw jeez, looks like you’re an egg,” said Fry, pointing to Marlo’s head. Fry had never been in a fight before, but now he thought he understood that so-called ‘punch-in“Are you having a stroke?” Marlo asked, utterly the-gut’ feeling he had read about. He bent over confused. and clutched his stomach, or so he attempted, as he realized the punch-in-the-gut feeling was But as if to answer his question, Marlo curiously surprisingly a symptom of having a hole punched felt his head where Fry had pointed and felt cracks through his gut. The hole was neat and clean and starting to form. Starting to spread. fairly gruesome and hardly severe enough to stop Fry from downplaying his reaction. “No… no..nononononono,” Marlo said with increasing panic. He clasped his hands against his “Well first of all, they’re sonnets; not poems,” he said head, trying… trying to do anything to keep his with a grin. “And I know how much you love hearing thoughts from erupting. “I have to get going,” he them; the way you always bury your face in your feebly attempted to disengage. sleeve or look at the floor whenever I read to you is especially convincing. Eye-contact is just clearly From his status as a puddle, Fry composed himself too baffling a concept,” he sarcastically remarked. enough to reach out and touch Marlo’s shoulder. Thank goodness he had gotten control before“It’s ok,” he looked in his eyes with a smile. “You can share anything with me, I don’t care.” His eyes “No, really… I love hearing you read; I hang on to suddenly opened “no wait that’s not what I meant! I 35
mean I do care! I care aboutwhatyouthinkIjust-” And Marlo laughed. And his thoughts erupted. Every one of them. Every last one that had been crammed and hidden and locked away. Every one that he ignored in hopes that they’d fade away and die. Thoughts big and small and young and old and funny and angry and sad and…loving… there were a lot of those. And Fry and Marlo were bathed in light and thoughts. They both thought:
And then an annoyingly long list of the things he liked about Fry… much too long to list here……… laugh, smile, dimples, freckles, hair, eyes, body, sense of humor, the way he always calls just to say hello, the way he always eats messily until he notices me staring and then tries to eat slowly, the way he’s always so excited when he sees a cute animal, the wayAnd the blinding light began to subside and Marlo was left empty. A good empty. And imagine his shock when after that nuclearsized blast of emotion Fry was left standing there. Not hurt. Not injured. Not panicked or frightened or nervous or anything. He was standing there with watery eyes, as healthy as ever.
That way that Fry plays with his hair, he’s always fussing over it but I don’t think it’s ever looked bad. Soft and auburn… Goddamn it why is he so funny. I’m never going to meet anybody who can make me laugh like he can.
And as a tear juuuuust managed to sneak down his cheek, Fry looked at him and said quietly and calmly and sincerely and with all the power and meaning its ever meant “I love you”. And they didn’t even feel a scratch. And maybe you can guess what happened next. They might’ve kiiiiissssed… but then again, I’m not
I wonder if he noticed my haircut… I got it done all wavy after remembering him talk about how he liked wavy hair… Should I ask him to be my partner for my project? Would that look too desperate? Am I being clingy?
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THE MARK YOU LEAVE BRIANNA NASRALLAH
Everytime I think about you What you’ve been through Blood rushes through my veins Burning my throat As it climbs to my head.
Or I don’t think I have Failing to realize that I have suffered with you Each piercing needle Every inch of hair lost Each restless night
It fills my body with grief As it flows through my lungs And cements itself there, preventing me from expanding them stopping me from breathing
The silence left when you opened your mouth But didn’t have the energy to utter the “I love you too” fighting to escape from your lips Left a scar on my heart
That breath remains trapped concealed under a brave face trying to escape through the form of a tear in efforts to take the guilt away with it
And the corrupt injustice I’ve come to realize is while you’ve gone in a better place Everyone who loved you is left forever with that incurable mark
The guilt that I have never experienced pain like you have: I have never suffered The way you did in your last moments
until you reunite
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BUTTERFLY WINGS AND BARRICADES MICAELA TAING
butterfly wings and barricades where some are trapped and some roam free look around at the mess we’ve made because all we ever think of is ‘me’ let us fit our feet into the shoes of those who tread water to breathe captured by a life they did not choose where they cannot cry but only seethe look out the window to that road map where dotted lines carry us through to broken dreams and bottle caps with shattered hearts split in two we walk in lines with our heads bent down ignoring the cries from the outside step down from this pedestal and rid that crown to be with them until tears are dried
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THE EMPATHY EFFECT REBECCA MUSCANT
Humans have done so much wrong in the world. We hear news of a country at war, a prejudiced law preventing someone from receiving their human rights, or a natural disaster that scientists are verifying to be the result of climate change. We go to school or work and ignore situations that, if we found ourselves in, we would be much more concerned. Take the homeless person you walked by on the street one day or the kid sitting alone at lunch you didn’t talk to for examples. Why do we do this? Is it our responsibility to help? Do we not care for our own kind? Must we? Kim Smiley pondered these same questions. She recognized her own privilege and that others did not necessarily have those same benefits. She tried to empathize with those less privileged than herself. On June 8, 2015, she launched a Facebook campaign she called “The Empathy Effect”, a campaign aimed at promoting empathy in everyday actions. Almost every day, for a year, she would post a true story and photograph of someone who had made a difference using empathy. The goal of this was to determine whether empathy was contagious. She sold pins and crowdfunded to raise $5000 to donate to Chai Lifeline Canada, in honour of one of the people she had showcased in her posts. He who was honoured, a man by the name of Matthew Morton, had unfortunately passed away of stage four brain cancer and the Chai Lifeline Canada works to provide aid to terminally ill patients. They honoured him and his family in their decision to donate to that particular charity.
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While The Empathy Effect was originally a 365 day campaign in 2015-2016, they continue to raise money for charity today. The Empathy Effect pins are still being sold, with a portion of the profits going to designated charities. Kim Smiley’s jewelry line, Sapphô, also employs people in developing countries who need a solid income, specifically women who wouldn’t otherwise be able to work. Kim Smiley is an amazing example of what we can do if we take the time to empathize with other people, especially those who would benefit from having someone in a position capable of helping them who is also considerate enough to act on it. We would do well to learn from her example. But empathy doesn’t need to be that drastic. We do it all of the time, the only thing we need to do is act. Talking to the aforementioned kid sitting alone at lunch because you understand what it feels like to be in that situation. Volunteering at a charity for something you or have had to deal with yourself. Empathy is always accessible to any one of us.
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MASARAH TRISTESSE ABI-KHALED Je me sens ignorée Je ne voie plus le monde tout colorée Il s’en fout de tout mes délires et désires Il me frappe, il me souhait le pire
Je me noie dans ma tristesse Je n’aie plus envie Lâche-moi, sort de ma tête ! Il m’étouffe, je me sens coincé, amorti
Je n’aie plus d’espoir C’est mains dans ma mémoire Il pleut à chaque jour Il joue avec mon humour
Je te connais plus, Oublié tout ce que j’ai su Je m’inquiète, le temps passe vite Nous nous sommes coincés J’exprime mes idées dans une façon écrite Tu m’es rendues un étranger
Perdue, je ne reviens pas Il est toujours après moi Je cours et cours, je ne peux plus arrêter J’ai trop peur de te voir La vie, je n’aie pas pus réussir Je regarde par la fenêtre envie de mourir Mais pas encore, je pense à ma mère Sans elle je n’aie pas pus faire
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When you have a secret do you..? A) Tell no one B) Tell one close friend C) Tell a few buddies D) Tell EVERYONE
HOW MUCH OF A SHARER ARE YOU? SAM WIESENFELD
When you have a secret do you..?
When you do well on a test do you…?
A) Tell no one
A) Keep that mark to yo’self
B) Tell one close friend
B) Tell your parents (they gots to know)
C) Tell a few buddies
C) Tell your close pals
D) Tell EVERYONE
D) Preach it to everyone
When you are upset with someone do
If you have a lot of emotions to let
you..?
out, do you…?
A) Give off zero emotions
A) Hold them in
B) Avoid the person
B) Write in a journal
C) Give them dirty looks
C) Write an poem
D) Call them out
D) Write/sing a song about it
If you got Mostly A’s, then you are NOT a sharer. You prefer to keep your thoughts to yourself and use your gut instincts in situations instead of help from others. You are extremely independent and march to your own beat! If you got Mostly B’s, then you are selective sharer. You still enjoy keeping secrets to yourself but tell the important people in your life the important stuff. You are extremely trustworthy and can hold a secret until the day you die! If you got Mostly C’s, then you are semi-sharer. You want people to know what’s going on in your life but do not want people getting into your business. You are trusting and rely on the help of you friends to make decisions in tough situations. People value your loyalty! If you got Mostly D’s, then you are a sharer. No thought in your pretty head goes unsaid and you speak the truth at ALL times; especially when it is needed. You are very well spoken and your friends rely on you for the truth and ‘cold hard facts’! 42
CLIMB INTO SOMEONE ELSE’S SKIN MATTHIAS MARK-GEORGE
Empathy (noun)- The ability to understand and share the feelings of another (Oxford English Living Dictionary)
his point of view, until you climb inside of his skin and walk around in it.” – To Kill a Mockingbird (1962)
Empathy is not simple. Not to understand, not to define, and most especially, not to show.
Climb into someone else’s skin and you may discover a whole new world. A world where we are all equal, loved, kind, and empathetic. Once you do, others will fall in line like dominoes. That’s the beauty of humanity. We follow what is ‘in’. Make empathy the new thing and maybe tomorrow, you could make the world a better place.
Often mixed up with sympathy or kindness, empathy is something of its own and needs to be shown in our daily life. Empathy involves putting yourself in the shoes of someone else and feeling what they feel. But how is this possible? How can I empathize with a mother weeping over her dead child, when I myself have not lost a child? I wish I could answer that question, but unfortunately, I can’t. You can’t be taught empathy because empathy comes from the heart. You may not have experienced that situation, but you can imagine the experience and empathize. Is that too hard? Sometimes. If you work to show empathy, you are working towards making the world a better place; you are making sure someone knows they are loved. “If you can learn a simple trick … you’ll get along a lot better with all kinds of folks. You never really understand a person until you consider things from 43
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