Catharsis Sta f f Adviser
Section Editors
Camile Betances
Advisory Board
Editor-in-Chief: Madeline Cowen Literary Editor: Alexa Langen
Poetry Editor: Jordys Herrera Drama Editor: Carlos Roa Fiction Editor: Chavelin Gonzalez Nonfiction Editor: Nicole Castro
Staff Writers
Ismael Santos Jonathan Leal Adrian Fernandez Alina Reyes Cristina Gonzalez Camile Velahos Caitlyn Burkes Yubisan Ventura Shannon Watson Louis Hernandez Christy Scorpo
Catharsis is the official publication of: Coral Gables Senior High 450 Bird Rd., Coral Gables FL 33146 Phone (305) 443-4871 E-Mail cbetances@dadeschools.net Online http://cghscreativewriting.wordpress.com Opinions expressed in the writing appearing in the magazine do not necessarily reflect the viewpoints or official polices of the school.
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Note from the Editor Catharsis. Whisper it, roll it around in your mouth, stare at it until it no longer looks like a word. Then it becomes a brush stroke, a combination of art and language. It becomes the perfect name for a magazine devoted to artistic expression both visually and through writing. Catharsis. The process of releasing, and often cleansing, strong or repressed emotions. Gables needs a catharsis. Our students have been through a lot, but have been restricted in their ability to formally share their thoughts with others. We hope that the introduction of Catharsis, a brand-new, student-run literary magazine, will provide this release of emotion, release of expression, this chance to communicate. This is the first of Gables’s literary releases, the first of many to come. Poetry, drama, short story, and nonfiction all have a place in these pages, along with art and photography. The students whose work is featured here have dared to be the first, but represent only a portion of
all submissions received. Any piece you see in the magazine was selected based on creativity, eloquence, and ability to capture the feelings and creative ideas of Gables’s student population, be it about love, life, or chili cheese dogs. This is the first of Gables’s literary releases, and, as with any other ‘first,’ the process has been a journey. To all who submitted their work, thank you. If it is not in this edition, it may be in the next, but either way, you have helped to create history. A special thanks to all editors who took time out of their days to work on the magazine. You have proven to be amazing people full of ideas, invaluable to the magazine. And finally, a huge thanks to Ms. Betances—without you, none of this would have been possible, absolutely NONE of it.
Madeline Cowen Editor-in-Chief
Contest Winners Creative Communication Essay Contest • Alexa Langen • Yubi Ventura Creative Communication Poetry Contest • Caitlyn Burkes • Madeline Cowen • Adrian Fernandez • Chavelin Gonzalez • Jordys Herrera Scholastic Art and Writing Awards • Olga Castro- Gold Key • Sophia Aitken- Gold Key • Wesley George- Gold Key • Alexa Langen- Silver Key
Dade County Youth Fair Awards • Sophia Aitken- Judges’ Award • Olga Castro- Judges’ Award • Wesley George- Judges’ Award • Alexa Langen- First Place • Cristina Gonzalez- Second Place • Jonathan Leal- Second Place • Alina Reyes- Second Place • Carlos Roa- Second Place • Ismael Santos- Second Place • Christy Scorpo- Second Place • Yubisan Ventura- Second Place • Adrian Fernandez- Third Place • Louis Hernandez- Third Place • Shannon Watson- Fourth Place 3
In wooden frame, from an artist’s fingers, I see colorful flames burst into life. My wishful thinking to jump in lingers— The beauty! Imagination is rife. To live in you is my sweet dream’s desire; I wish reality painted so true.
Amanda Sampson
So powerful that it melts ice like fire; Through canvas, I constantly reach for you.
Canvas of Life Alice Shen
But you’re just a picture, I realize, Disappointing though it may feel and sound, Yet you will always be in my mind’s eyes As the nonexistent world that I found. And this I think of day in and day out, If I could, I’d live in you, without doubt.
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Aura Barahona
Excerpt from
The Shadow of DeatH
Alice Shen
It was a Victorian-style house, elaborate in its architecture, and she lived there alone, unless the servants counted as inhabitants. The house was considered large because it towered, glaring through darkly tinted Monticello windows. It seemed to rise out of the muddy ground, swallowing its surroundings with its stretching shadow and the huge, gaping double-door entrance. Yet the house was depressing as well as threatening, with the grey carved pillars holding up the multiple floors above, and the eroding corners chipped away more day by day. The garden sweeping around the quarters seemed to have its own life, almost whispering with the wind, as the dark purple flowers swayed, withering slowly. Though the sun was up that morning, it was partially hidden. A dense blanket of fog hung around the tower-like house, and both masked the light. She woke to the few drops of sunlight that pierced through the thick grey veil, invading her bedchamber, and she immediately noticed that the curtains were not closed. It took barely seconds for her to stand and draw the old moth-eaten velvet together; she shivered once the light was gone, and glistening drops of sweat stood out on her forehead. The mirrors in the room now darkened, and she stared at herself through the little light that somehow penetrated the velvet. Her skin was extremely pale, almost sickly, and her attire and living style contributed to that. She made sure her house was as faintly lighted as was humanly possible to live with, and demanded nothing but
the smallest votive candles. The servants had resorted to using dusty torches discovered in the cellar when she was not around. They constantly gathered to whisper about her strange behavior, such as only leaving the house at night, but they never failed to show respect for her otherwise. “Who has disturbed the curtains?” she demanded of the servants, once she had gone down the five flights of stairs to floor level. They were shocked to see her at that time of day, for her specific orders had been that they should clean and cook while she slept, which was when the sun was up. As for her question, the housemaids seemed sincerely surprised, saying, “None, ma’am, we wouldn’t dare.” The cook was mute, and merely shook her head, while the others were not to be found, for it was still early in the day. She stared at them suspiciously, but had nothing to accuse them of; she retired to her bedchamber on the highest level in the tower-like structure. That night, once she woke from sleep, she donned a coat and headed into London, for where her house stood was not considered part of the town. This nightly walk had no purpose, unless it was for pleasure, if she could feel that emotion. She was imagined to be an apathetic individual. Nobody actually knew her or where her money came from, but many assumed it was an inheritance from the miserly old woman who used to live in the house. She was also one who favored night behavior,
though this was unconfirmed, since most town inhabitants would be asleep at that time. It was impossible to find her during the day; the closest neighbors, who lived half a mile away, had tried several times to socialize, but left discouraged. The servants reported that she was unfit to receive guests. Besides all of this, nobody knew her name or where she came from. Then suddenly, after several years, she disappeared, and it was said that a younger woman moved in, with a resemblance to the older woman in physical appearance and lifestyle. No casket, corpse, or even gravestone of the old woman was found, and nobody had seen her leave the house. She walked the grey streets of London, passing under flickering street lamps. The gloomy clouds above threatened thunder, but only lingered heavily. Her swift feet made little noise against the cracking pavement as she went past darkened, sleeping houses. Between her footsteps, a growing noise came amidst her moving shadow. She looked back nervously; seeing nothing, she continued her journey home. The noise increased its volume, with terrifying echoes resonating in street alleys. She broke into a run. Her shadow followed her closely, constantly blending with other shades along the street. The tall house on the edge of the town, near the black forest, stood out like a beacon of hope in the dark. A door slammed, and the shadow disappeared into the edges of the house, while the sounds escaped into the sky. 5
Excerpt from
Open Casket
Carlos Roa
CLARA Wow… it’s a very… open casket. The body is very… nicely decorated. The dimensions of the… corpse are quite proportional. Good proportions. Yes. Indeed. MORTON Are you okay? CLARA [whispering] I’ve never been to a funeral before. MORTON Well, there’s a first time for everything. CLARA Morton, I want to leave. MORTON Don’t you think it’s rude to leave in the middle of someone’s funeral? CLARA I don’t care! I—I don’t like this! I don’t like being so close to… MORTON … A dead body? CLARA Oh God… [HELEN enters, wearing a colorful dress. She does not seem to notice the casket.]
been good. It’s really— CLARA [in panic] —Terrible. I don’t want to be here and I want get the hell away from this stinking, rotting maggotinfested carcass!
MORTON Clara, calm down. HELEN Oh Morton! Clara! He’s dead. He’s not going to It’s so good to see you! How turn into a zombie and attack have you two been? you. MORTON Hi Helen. We’ve CLARA How can you speak 6
so casually about it?! HELEN [confused] Who’s dead? MORTON [pointing to the casket] Do you not notice the dead body lying in that casket? Right there? In front of us? HELEN Oh… this is a funeral. MORTON Yeah. Hence the open casket with the dead body inside. Lisette Ortiz
[An open-casket funeral. CLARA and MORTON enter, arm-in-arm. CLARA seems very nervous. The casket is centerstage.]
[Pause. HELEN is slightly embarrassed.] HELEN I thought this was a wedding. So… um… that’s why I wore this… [Awkward pause. CLARA, staring at the body, suddenly screams.] CLARA He opened his eyes and blinked at me! MORTON [shaking her shoulders] He’s dead! He cannot move! He will not move! CLARA I’m going to the car. [CLARA heads towards the exit, but MORTON pulls her toward him.] MORTON You dragged me into this. You and I are go-
ing to see this to the end, god damn it! CLARA Morton, sweetie, I… I can’t! I can’t handle this! Please, I’ll wait in the car. MORTON You seemed so eager to go to Uncle Jerry’s funeral. At least, until you started hyperventilating an hour ago. CLARA I’m scared, Morton! MORTON Why? CLARA I… just am. MORTON Could you at least wait until Father Tipton delivers the eulogy? Then we can leave. Think you can hold out until then? CLARA I’ll… I’ll try. MORTON Good.
going to react when I die?! MORTON He’s my uncle. You’re my wife. There’s a difference.
[TIPTON points at the body and laughs at his own joke. Nobody joins in.]
TIPTON Anyway… who can say how loved this man was? Whether at home, or at the workplace, his presence filled the room. His friends were numerous and plentiful. MORTON Then why are we the only ones at his funeral? HELEN He still could’ve been TIPTON [ignoring him] Yes, murdered. How do you really it seemed as though he was know that he died of natural loved by all. I have found causes? a quote, which I think, is a MORTON What the hell is proper portrayal of his life. natural about getting impaled [clears throat, opens Bible] by a butter knife? “The Lord instructed one of HELEN That’s not the point. the group of prophets to say [Long pause. MORTON holds The point is, how do you to another man, “Strike me!” CLARA’s arm.] know that he really impaled But the man refused to strike himself? the prophet. Then the prophHELEN Did you know that MORTON His wife was there. et told him, “Because you we all have a one in twentyHELEN How do you know have not obeyed the voice of thousand chance of being she didn’t plant that knife the Lord, a lion will kill you murdered? there? as soon as you leave me. And MORTON Gee, you’re right, sure enough, when he had [MORTON and CLARA stare Agatha Christie. How foolish gone, a lion attacked and killed at HELEN.] of me to rule out the improb- him.” The Book of Kings able. 20:35. HELEN Uncle Jerry could’ve TIPTON Are we done here? been murdered. MORTON [surprised by his [Awkward pause.] MORTON [sarcastically] presence] Oh… I didn’t see Yes… that would make you. CLARA My, that was very… sense… if only that were the TIPTON No one ever does. TIPTON Appropriate? Yes. way he actually died. Can I start already? Yes it was. CLARA And how did he die? MORTON Yeah, sure. MORTON Well, we heard the MORTON [trying to rememeulogy. Let’s go. ber] He… was putting dishes [TIPTON stands in the center, HELEN But… wait! You guys into the dishwasher… and then putting away his flask.] should at least stay for the he slipped, fell… and impaled reception! himself on a butter knife. TIPTON We gather here CLARA Receptions are CLARA Oh, my God… I today to honor the memory for weddings, not funerals. would laugh if it weren’t so of Jerry Walsh. Beloved husToodles! tragic. band… MORTON I laughed when I [CLARA grabs MORTON’s first heard it. [Pause. TIPTON is at a loss for arm, but MORTON does not CLARA Morton! That’s terwords.] budge. TIPTON goes to the side rible! of the stage and sits down at a MORTON No, that’s comedy TIPTON …Snappy dresser. lawn chair, drinking from his gold! Am I right? flask.] CLARA Is this how you’re 7 [TIPTON enters, holding a Bible. He observes the ongoing conversation, eventually pulling out a liquor flask from a compartment inside his Bible, and taking a few sips from it.]
Speechless
Maya Sones Lisette Ortiz
Sometimes words mean Absolutely nothing. Sometimes you must use Your hands and eyes To tell your tale, To convey true meaning…
When all we have to do Is give each other furtive looks Or playful punches In the arm. When all we have to do Is mess up each other’s hair, Or breathe hot whispers into the other’s ear. When all you have to do Is take me by the hands, Wrap me up in your arms, As we sway in tune To our happy hearts. When all I have to do Is plant a kiss upon your lips And let it grow, To let you know That I love you. 8
LOVE POEM
My favorite time spent Is our silent time Together...
Alena Reyes
Some of our best moments Are when we’re lying down Next to each other, And you pull me close. Or when in my sleep I can feel your quiet kisses Raining on my cheek And your eyes tracing The angles of my face.
Love, does it exist?
everyday?
Is it real?
So, what color is love?
Is it all in my head?
Is love red, all passionate?
Is it all in my heart?
Or is love white, all pure and honest?
Maybe it’s found in me. Wait, only me?
Is all love the same?
No, others have felt it too,
Can it trap me in four white walls?
I’m sure of that.
Will I be able to escape love?
Is there more than love?
Can I hide from love?
What’s stronger than love?
Or will love find me?
Is love strong?
Does love hurt?
Well, of course it is;
How much does it hurt?
Love can’t be weak.
Will I need to go to the doctor?
Is there such thing as weak love?
Will I be okay after love leaves me?
Will love make me happy?
Can love leave me?
Or will it make me sad?
Will it come back?
What about angry, confused?
Or will a whole new love come?
Will love get boring?
How long does love last?
Will it bring excitement
Can it stay with me forever?
Coralie Louis
Who is the Real Enemy?
Hernando Martinez
Mother Earth has blessed humans with her great bounty. The tree bears us its fruit, and the fruit bears us food and Seeds. The wild offers us meat to sustain our active lifestyles. Yet humans abuse our earth, we pollute our water and air. We deforest the vast tropical rain forests to make more room. Humans were destined to be the rulers of this world, but at the Same time its executioners? We grow to no end and we feed to No end. The Earth will one day wither and die from this abuse. The Cause: The Cancerous Human Societies 9
A routine evening That turned unusual with a full bottle of booze. Hard liquor brings out secrets and The inner turmoil was let out. We cried, shocked. “We love her, we love her!” But there isn’t much we can do. Her father, her mother are the enemies, Not some school bully. The next morning she remembered nothing. We mumbled not a word of it, We stayed in silence. Yet we wept inside because Our Julie was suffering. We left her house changed. Our “issues,” Our “problems” Were of no significance, No, not to this. We left her house with a mission, With new perspective. We would save her, We would save our dear Julie. 10
Lisette Ortiz
Hopeful but H e l p l e s s
Sophia Aitken
Beautiful, blonde and bubbly. Who could’ve seen it? Her laugh natural as rain, Her smile honest as oath, Her eyes carefree as a fairy. Who knew her heart was throbbing? Dreadful, dark and dreary— How had I not known? Her hugs stiff, Her mind pensive, Her conversation meager. Why didn’t I see it? One night we were at her house,
Excerpt from
The Cold Terrifying Night
Shelly started getting even more worried and began to faintly call out, “Hello? …Is anyone there?” and listened carefully, only to hear the raindrops falling on the parked cars. Shelly started walking briskly and stayed away from the light of the streetlights, thinking that if anyone were following her, she could lose him. Shelly felt such fear that she nearly froze in place but the cold raindrops propelled her to keep going and to hurry home. She then repeated, “Hello? …Is there anyone out here?” and again got no answer except from the rain and leaves. What Shelly did not know was that she had missed the warning of a rabid creature attacking anyone that crossed its path, transforming them into rabid creatures just like itself. It had been reported that a scientist had been experimenting
with animals and chemicals when the animals all turned on him and attacked him. The animals all had such horrible diseases that they transformed the scientist, making him go rabid and start attacking people.
As she walked through the neighborhood, she crossed into a wooded area. She and her family lived a mile away from the closest house in the town. Since they were not wealthy and differed in their beliefs, they preferred to live on the outskirts of town, where they felt safer. The streetlights ended as soon as the woods began, and it quickly became darker until she could no longer see the lights. She had traveled through these same woods many times, but always during the day, and now that it was pitch-dark, Shelly kept stumbling. Since she was wet and the floor was slippery, soon Shelly was covered in dirt and leaves, and scrapes coated her legs. She heard faint footsteps behind her and became agitated, which compelled her to start running faster and faster. It was so dark that Shelly could not even see even a hand in front of her face. At that point she had definitely gotten off the path to her house and she was well aware of this, but she felt that she was safer and better off just running. She could soon hear faint screaming behind her, which just added to her confusion and fear. She stopped behind a tree and hoped that whoever was chasing her would keep
Sandra Aleman running so she could lose him. Her teeth were chattering and her hair was tangled with leaves and twigs. She tried her hardest to see any light, hoping she had somehow run in the direction of her house. As she concentrated on looking out in the distance past the trees, she saw what appeared to be a faint glimmer off in the far distance. Once the sound of footsteps was long gone, Shelly decided that it was safe to head in the direction of the light in the hope of finding help. She figured that if she stayed low to ground and controlled her agitated breathing she could safely escape danger. Shelly was so frightened that she started to whimper to herself as she crawled her way to the light. As she crawled, the light got brighter and brighter until she could make out the shape of a cottage which she somewhat recognized. She tried hard to think of who owned the cottage. It came to her that it was the home of an immigrant who had the reputation of being a maniac. She stopped and thought twice before continuing. She contemplated turning back and trying to figure out her way back into town and go back to her boyfriend’s house until morning, but then thought that it would take too long, and she was hungry and cold and getting sleepy.
Lynn Cubella
The leaves were crackling under Shelly’s feet as she was walking home in the middle of the night from her boyfriend’s house. It was an odd, bone-chillingly cold night, and a very light rain shower began to caress her skin. Her pale white skin was overcome with goose bumps— she wore only a light summer dress to cover her body. Dogs were barking nearby and the streetlights were flickering. The night was deathly quiet and it scared Shelly. She was terrified of the night. As she passed by the houses she could see neighbors peering out, hiding behind their curtains as if they were afraid to come outside.
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To
Hell Alice Shen
The dark with me in chains and locks does hold. My dying memories cannot destroy The greed, the power, and my fight for gold. My secret emotions with me do toy.
I cross the living line of fire to Hell. Though I have fear of my own wrath, My soul is empty, yet without a shell. As no more light can guide my falling path, I’m blind to good but my evil does breathe. As I manifest, cloak myself in night, Corruption, hate and ambition all seethe. But these high angels are deaf to my plight. Finally, though I have some regret, Nothing I do or say can pay my debt.
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Amanda Sampson
13
Excerpt from
Assassin, Werewolf? They’re coming! I thought as the Nerados were chasing me. For once, my telepathy was not on the fritz. Unfortunately, seeing as how the nearest Packet is fourteen miles away, I was not ecstatic about that particular encouragement. But I couldn’t get caught, because my (usually unnecessary) back-up was not likely to make it there in time. “What the hell are we supposed to do? We’re like thirteen miles away.” Commander Joe only confirmed my devastating failure. “Screw it, I don’t need back-up!” I hadn’t meant to send that last piece of information through the telepathy portal but once it’s out there, there’s nothing you can do to take it back. I, unfortunately, had to learn that the hard way. But I couldn’t think of that right now—no way will I risk sending that buried memory into the portal. “You know what, you cocky bastard, everybody in this—” Fortunately, I shut down the telepathy portal in time, not needing yet another reminder about how I’m going to get everybody killed today. Mostly because I know that they might be right.
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Lilibeth Ramos
Okay, so maybe sometimes I do think highly of myself. Wouldn’t you if you were a two-hundred-year-old immortal with the reputation of being the best assassin in the industry? Although, right at that moment, I didn’t find that fact very comforting because there were more Nerados than we had originally expected. And though the Commander’s trap hadn’t worked because of their numbers, my Plan B was not exactly set in place yet either. Just a couple more miles… Before I could go any farther, one of the Nerados broke away from the band and took a huge leap, managing to land his upper half on the lower half of my body. As we rolled intertwined on the ground, I reached for my switchblade, but was soon paralyzed by the Nerado’s fangs. I couldn’t move my forearm but knew that the dark-haired Nerado on top of me would soon be dead. My blood contained a chemical that does not soothe the Nerados’ interminable hunger. All of a sudden, I felt pain emanating from deep inside me, spreading throughout my entire torso—the source seemed to be my heart. What now? She knew she would catch me in a compromising position, entangled in a band of Nerados, and stopped time so we could talk.
Alexa Langen
I’m writing this from my other true identity, Because I lost myself writing between these entities, Just like in high school where some people choose to grow up And some think it’s cool to skip class and never show up. But I’m not writing to discuss absents and presents, Unless it has to do with the absence of my presence. The loud bell for third period rings—my twin gets out of his class. The former self within is stuck behind the new building’s glass,
Jung Kim
Shuffling through the strains of youths and growth and pains,
I d e n tI idteyn t i t y Georges Similien
Struggling past the freshmen as he views himself through panes, Trapped in the traffic leading to the hallways of delusion. In case I forgot to mention, my nickname’s confusion, So people tell me to stay away from identity— or else I just might think I’m Dwayne Wade, Usain Bolt, or Michael Phelps. But it doesn’t help—too late, I think I’m invincible—
Lisette Ortiz
No one can stop me, not even the damn principal. I’m going in like Drake and Weezy in a swimming pool. Ahhh, and there’s identity right there in front of the school… 15
Lisette Ortiz
Aura Barahona Ali Stack
Chris Cowen
Artwork
Lisette Ortiz
Madeline Cowen
The Door of Soldier 22 Once a boy, then a young man, he sits a soldier, six feet under. His coffin nailed by his brother soldiers, Soldiers in the land of sand or… (oil). Lying in a red-laced bed, a flag of stars and stripes wrapped around. Red for all the bloodshed and blood spilled in the shots he intentionally missed. He is dead now, his body in the ground, his soul in heaven. His legend hanging from a dog tag, tagged to his best friend, a dog by the name. At home, his room, chipped away the paint, scraped in an angry way. Painted an old stone gray every year, once his favorite color. His bed neatly made, sits clean with
a spot of wrinkled blanket at the end. A place where most sit to remember, to cry, to try to forget. Placing my innocent hand, waiting to be dirtied upon the door of his room, I stand angered. The door with dust from the ash of the sand and rock of the enemy land, The land of my mother’s home and a land of once-beautiful statures. Shot down in the sand and soil that lies on the face of this door, Millions have died by the hands, but not mine. The door once warm with life, now cold with death, a death of an unmerciful manner. The death of one soldier, a onceloving brother. I now sit with tears in my eyes, cheeks stained red, Tears red with blood. Blood shed in the air, the air of my homeland. The sour smell of the blood flows into the noses of my men, Smelling of wet rust and sour sand, sitting not on my hands. Once in this room we played, now I mourn and punch the walls. For once an angry boy, now a man,
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Alexa Langen
Stands alone. In a war he fights with a band of brother, Brothers of his land, Brothers of blood. Brothers he killed for his mother’s family, For he is killed, my mother cries, rivers and rivers of tears. Tears flowing hand in hand with the tears of many,
Anonymous
Washed away the dried blood that sticks to a floor of a plate of stones. Tears of many, for more blood is shed, then more tears are cried. My mom cries as she holds his tags, his identity in a war of many. Splattering the blood, smearing it up and down, down and up. I spill the blood like a disease, that a cure cannot be found, a cure for humanity. The cure sits in front of us in a box called “Love” for we can’t see the cure is “Peace.” “Why can’t we love,” I asked once before… The answer… “Man cannot love one any other, man is a beast of horrid power.” Only few have found this love. King, Milk, Teresa, Marley, all people who have found love in this world of hell. Love they shared for their people, race, sexually, or just to love. “One love” is what one needs. “Hope will never be silent.” He had “a dream… that one day.” “Be faithful in small things,” she once said. All people like you and me. They have found what people seek forever. Now I stand in an empty room, nothing moving, nothing more than a soulless chamber. I sit mad outside this door, At a world where death is too abundant, in all forms. Killing is too common. Death is an angry, sad angel, pissed at this human race. Look at what we have done to our mother. I’d be pissed too. Now a mother cries, for her last son marches with a band, To a war of pointless matter, and pure raging energy. Brainwashing to an exponential power, to kill and be killed. To slaughter the other kind, the true born enemy. I stand here, in front of me, his door… a dusty door.
N o t L o u d E n o u g h Julienn Somoano I’m not loud. What I am is Trembling like a leaf, Too slight to make a sound, And breathing heavily, Your head pressed Firmly to my chest—
Lisette Ortiz
And something is beating In there, you said, Nothing could be so still, And you’re right— Your head’s never left My chest— I’m not still, What I am is that same leaf Trembling in the same breeze That sends the sunlight dancing Into your curls. I’m not silent, I cannot conceive of this Something inside That is beating its way Out of me. Anyway, what I am Is a makeshift drum—
Natali Hernandez
Tick, Tock
And those never sound Any good.
Tick, tock. Time’s up. I can open my eyes Tears are filling up their cups They can taste their tired lies I can open my eyes I no longer have to wait Maybe it’s not too late They can taste their tired lies I can rid myself of the hate
I no longer have to wait Maybe it’s not too late If only for today I can rid myself of the hate I wish you would stay If only for today Tears are filling up their cups I wish you would stay Tick, tock. Time’s up. 19
haven’t done anything to you, so what’s your problem? ARTEMIS: Why does it concern you? ADIRA: Because I figured that if we’re gonna work together, the least we could is be friends. ARTEMIS: You want to be my friend? ADIRA: Of course I want to be your friend. Why else would I ask you so many questions? ARTEMIS: Because you were sent by an underground recon unit to gather intel on me. ADIRA: What? No! It’s because I
Alexa Langen
[It’s the end of school. Adira is walking the halls, hoping to bump into Artemis. Artemis enters undetected and sneaks up behind Adira. He grabs her and holds a marker to her neck.] ARTEMIS: Did anyone follow you? ADIRA: What a relief. I though someone was robbing me. Um, I don’t think anyone would follow me, well, except for that one time I had a stalker. ARTEMIS: Stalker? I’ve never heard of that clan. ADIRA: It’s not a clan, it’s a person. ARTEMIS: Oh, so it was an assassin. ADIRA: No. He was just a creepy guy who followed me everywhere. ARTEMIS: Did he ever attempt to assassinate you or take you hostage, or eliminate your family? ADIRA: No, he just followed me. Actually, I don’t know, he tried to commit suicide once because I wouldn’t date him. So technically, he did try to “assassinate” my conscious with guilt, I guess. I don’t know, why would you ask that? ARTEMIS: Don’t judge me, you don’t know my life! ADIRA: You’re very weird. Why do you act like everyone’s out to get you? ARTEMIS: Everyone is out to get me. You don’t know what lurks in the shadows. ADIRA: Aww. You’re afraid of the dark. ARTEMIS: I don’t fear the darkness, I am the darkness. ADIRA: Like Batman? I loved that movie. ARTEMIS: You incompetent girl. ADIRA: Hey! Why are you so mean? Seriously, I’m just trying to get to know you and you have 20 to go off and insult me. I
Freddy Valle
The Secret Life of the American Teenage Ninja Excerpt Excerpt from from
ARTEMIS: No. It’s something much bigger than that. It’s just that… I’m a… I’m— ADIRA: Are you gay? Because if you’re gay I’m totally fine with that. ARTEMIS: No! I’m not gay! Look, have you ever had a secret so huge, so… uh… so important that you couldn’t tell anyone, ever? ADIRA: Yeah, I guess. But I can’t imagine what could be so important. ARTEMIS: If I tell you, would you promise not to tell anyone? ADIRA: Yeah, I promise. ARTEMIS: I mean seriously, no one. ADIRA: Yeah, I’m serious. ARTEMIS: No, you don’t understand—you can’t tell a soul. I could get punished for telling
think you’re interesting. ARTEMIS: Interesting, huh? I… I’ve never had anyone say that to me. ADIRA: Maybe if you weren’t so distant and paranoid all the time, then maybe you would hear it more often. ARTEMIS: It’s not that I want to be distant, and it’s not like I don’t want friends, it’s just that…um… it’s just that… ADIRA: Is this a guy thing?
anyone. ADIRA: You’re starting to scare me. Is this a joke? ARTEMIS: No! Listen to me! I’m… I’m a— ADIRA: Just say it! What could possibly be so important? Are you a vampire, is that it? Or— [Artemis places his hand over Adira’s mouth, looks around and whispers] ARTEMIS: I’m a ninja.
The Couple on the Bench
Jung Kim
Alexa Langen
They sit together on that bench, Huddled close For warmth. Their fingers Entwine. Their whispers Are sweet. The words drop from his lips In her ear. I love you. They kiss. In that moment, Her heart is still, And all is as it should be. Except for the fact that She is hungry. Not for love. But for Something else. I want a chili cheese dog.
By Heaven or Hell we know not our fate. To question the gods, a futile mistake. Will our love be of an immortal state? To receive an answer, we shall forsake. At ease, with comfort, between us walks Time. Imposing on us a time-conscious mind. How long before lovers commit a crime? A crime so unkind for love to unbind? But in the hours of a thousand lives, The silent and passionate speech of our lives Has proven to be the one that survives, Survives the threat Doubt secretly implies. So long as you hold my hand safe in yours, A perpetual love will open its doors.
Unsealed Demise of Love Nicole Castro
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Excerpt from
The Adventures of Dickie the Duck and Chymdok the Demon Tree (The ‘Y’ is Carlos Roa, Christy Scorpo, Jonathan Leal, Ismael Santos Silent) There was once a duck. And a tree. Oh, wait. A demon tree. But we’re not talking about him right now. We’re talking about the duck. If you want to hear about the tree, be patient… We’ll get to him eventually. So anyway. The duck. Dickie was born in Central Park, but not the good part. He was born in the Southeast side. You know, that part of town. Er, park. He was the Old Lady Hustla. His job entailed hustling old ladies. Obviously. What, did you expect him to be a manager of Starbucks or something? He’s a freakin’ duck. Oh… uh… I’m sorry for lashing out at you like that. I’ve had a few too many. My nagging wife beat me today. I deserved it. I’m such a prick. I should off myself right now. But lemme finish this story first. Dickie the Duck was unpopular. He was not the socialite he wished himself to be. He was constantly abused by a mallard named Maxwell. Yeah, his name is Maxwell the Mallard. Alliteration is a common theme 22 throughout the
story. Anyways, Dickie the Duck had only two friends: his hand… and Florencia the Swan. Remember when I said that alliteration was a common theme? That’s sort of a lie. Sorry, I’m really drunk. But I digress. Dickie in was madly in love with Florencia. How can he not be? She’s a swan. Which means something in the animal kingdom.
wanted her beauty. So he did the second most logical thing to do, and skinned her, wearing her hide constantly as
fluorescent lightbulb, dimmed the lights a bit, put on “Dancing Queen” by ABBA, and started doing that Buffalo Bill
though it were last year’s Versace. No one seemed to notice she was even gone. That is, until the next paragraph.
dance from Silence of the Lambs. That part scared the bajeezus out of me. In walked Maxwell, who had decided to pay him a visit after the rigorous task of being a douche bag, to tell him that he’s ugly and
But Florencia only saw Dickie as a friend. Like, a gay friend. You know, like the kind girls like to carry around with them? My wife has a few of those. God, I can’t stand them. But enough about that. Enough side-tracking. I’m tellin’ this story for real, y’all. No joke! Although Dickie was in love with Florencia, she never quite noticed him, because she thought he was hideously ugly, and also gay. She was kind of friends with him for charity. One day, he decided to confess his feelings for Florencia. She did not take it well, at all. So he did the logical thing to do—he killed her. Yup, rejection leads to murder. He wanted her love as much as he
One day, Dickie was just wearing Florencia. He had screwed in a pink
nobody loves him. So Dickie did the third most logical thing to do, and skinned him alive also. He didn’t wear his skin, though…that would be weird. Dickie realized what he had done. He realized that he had to get the hell out of there. Like when my wife caught
me in bed with that dead hooker. Anyway, he exiled himself. He no longer resided by the lake, but instead lived in the Strawberry Fields (ew, I know, right?) next to a gigantic tree. And thus begins the story the tree. Yeah, you forgot about him, didn’t you? Well, guess who’s back?
Chymdok, yes, his name is Chymdok. He’s a demon tree—what else would you expect his name to be? Sorry I snapped at you again. I didn’t mean it, I swear. I’m not on my medication right now, but I might as well take it since I just remembered. Okay, four liters of morphine, done! That’s like two big soda bottles, you know? Like the ones they sell at Publix. I mean, I would never shop at Sedanos! Or Winn Dixie! Blegh! I just hate the smell, and the people, well, I just hate everyone. I especially hate my bitch wife who burnt a cigarette into my forehead the other day. She’s just… so mean. Anyway, before I start crying again, back to the
demon tree. Chymdok is just a twenty-something-yearol’ hustla’ livin’ in Long Beach spending his days spittin’ game at the fine lookin’ razberri bushes in da hood. Just kidding, see how your unreliable narrator loves to joke with the peon reader? So Chymdok was born out of the unholy excrement of Pazuzu, the Mesopotamian god of wind. That really has nothing to do with trees, unless of course you consider that wind carries seeds, and his wind carried those seeds when you think about it. Haha, I just made a fart joke. I’m so clever. Appreciate me! HA, HA, HA, HA, HA, HA!
For more than twelve years, Kids have to suffer. For more than twelve years, They work tirelessly. For more than twelve years, They study for a brighter future.
Ismael Santos
Ali Stack
TWELVE YEARS
For more than twelve years, They try to get a better “education”— That education being one meaning nothing. An empty, hollow education for empty, Hollow people. Sounds just. 23
Excerpt from
The Neighbor’s Threshold of Hell I was 23 and married to one of the most wonderful, giving men a woman can find. He showered me with gifts daily, including the true love of my life, Andrew, my son. As much as I loved this man, I was not ready to be a married woman and could not see myself spending the rest of my life with him. I was a psychologist who put her career first in line and was not about to let a relationship take control of her life. So, I honestly did the worst thing a woman could ever do: I took my kid and ran. I went to my mother’s house where I settled down for a couple of weeks until I could find a place where Andrew and I would spend our lives.
Kelly Sotolongo
price. Before the words “I accept” finished leaving my mouth, the keys were in my hand and the contract was left on the front porch for me to sign. All I could remember thinking of at this time was, Boy, am I going to have to work on this house. Little did I know, there was a lot more to it. I grabbed Andrew by the hand and walked into somewhat of a modern house. It had two bathrooms, each painted bright red, and two bedrooms that could have easily been picked out of a storybook. It truly was the ideal house. Sure, it needed some handyman work, but with a couple of weeks of hard labor, this house could be a success, and most importantly the perfect place to escape from the family lifestyle I had left behind. It was the first night in the new house and I could not have been any more excited to get started on the interior design. I was lying in bed, pondering the thought of a new staircase, when my son came running frantically into my room crying his tiny eyes out. “There’s a man in my room! There’s something in there!” he shouted as I sprang up and dove fiercely over the threshold of his room, where I easily spotted absolutely nothing.
Jose Leon However, due to the quick getaway, I really did not have much money to be able to have options of where I could live. So of course, I chose the first advertisement I came across. I dialed the number on the ad and a husky voice was heard on the other line. It was deep and unclear, but he told me to meet him at the house to negotiate a price. The following day I drove over to the house and the man was waiting for me outside of the house. Without a proper greeting, he rapidly asked me how much I was willing to pay for this house in total. Puddles of sweat were gathered at his feet, and his voice began to crack and become squeaky. Before mentioning a price, I asked for a tour of the house, but he immediately denied my request and insisted on staying outside and negotiating a 24
back to sleep.
“There’s nothing here, sweetheart,” I assured him as I went
As I cooked breakfast the next morning, Andrew walked into the kitchen, dragging his eyeballs across the floor. “You didn’t sleep well last night, Andrew?” I asked. “Oh, but I did, Mom. I spent the entire night talking to my friend Justin James. I want to be just like him.” As confused as I was, I could not have been happier knowing that Andrew was becoming one with this house and slowly adapting to his new space.
A Minute o f Failure
Tarilyn Taylor
A minute of failure is a minute of humiliation. A minute of experience, A minute of realization. But with that minute you can turn it into A lifetime of success, A lifetime of happiness, A lifetime of freedom.
Life Cindy Castro
Life is the thing with tears Hope is the thing with feathers Time is the thing with the hands Depression is the thing with the calories Persistence is the thing crumbled up on the floor Love is the thing with the pedestals Anxiety is the thing with the wings Death is the thing with the red Curiosity is the thing that keeps us wide awake, When all else is deep in slumber. Lisette Ortiz
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I don’t know where you exist. Who knows if it’s who I like? All I can say right now is this, My heart’s been torn a billion times. That’s why you lie In God’s agenda as part of my life, To be the medicine of all disease, The inspiration of my hopes and dreams. I wish at this instant I could find you, But I don’t know what God’s going to do. He might reveal you sooner than I expect. Despite the odds, I know that you exist. I wish I knew your name. I’d be looking for you in this world, Any websites ever made, Because God told me you’re that girl. Under some cold and terrible mist, I know that my dream girl exists. If I knew it would be easier for both of us, Why must you simply be anonymous?
That’s why you lie In God’s agenda as the love of my life. Soon you’ll be the shoulder I use to lean on, All of my covers when I weep. I pray for the moment that I find you, But no one knows what God will do. My heart is falling, my heart is wrecked, But I know for sure what to expect. I wrote this for that wonderful special girl. God has her somewhere in this world. My beautiful, wonderful, anonymous, I wrote this song for the both of us. Your life is probably like mine. Bricks and boulders have crossed our roads, But do not worry, love of mine, No one will take the love we’ll show.
David Perlmutter
One day we’ll create a powerful bond. Your life is probably right now like mine, But do not worry, my gorgeous love,
Just wait for that day when our souls unite. I don’t know where you exist. I don’t even know of your inner beauty. I don’t know how longer I can persist. When will you become a part of me? I want to know my partner already. My life is totally messed up— If you’re hearing this I hope you’re ready. This song was written for the both of us.
I wrote this for you, my pretty girl. I know you’re somewhere in the world, My beautiful and wonderful anonymous, Please remain sturdy for the both of us. Please stay strong, my beautiful anonymous. God will bring happiness to both of us.
Anonymous 26
Jordys Herrera
Steel Strings and Singing Things Natali Hernandez
Lovely steel strings, callusing my fingers As I pluck them like petals from a rose. Vibration of your gentle voice lingers, Your notes (like perfect models) strike a pose! Rushing rivers of sound, flooding my ears, Drown out all thoughts about this mortal world. Magical melodies push away fears, Allowing me to relax and unfurl. Lyrical land of enchantment, take me! Your musical notes give me wings to fly. Sing to me songs of joy and ecstasy, Send me someplace where I’ll stop asking why. I’ll play you as long as you want me to, Lisette Ortiz
Lovely guitar, this sonnet is for you.
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The Way I’ve Sophia Aitken Seen It My aunt Ana Cristina is beautiful and smart. She’s athletic and determined, a loving mother who cares for her children. She’s also a paraplegic. Eight years ago she got into a horrible car accident that has left her in a wheelchair for the rest of her life. Her entire face and attitude changed after that. Seriousness has left its mark on her forehead, and anger has changed her beliefs. She managed to give birth to twins four years ago, and they are beautiful, so loving and delightful to have around. Their warmth encompasses the whole family, and their names, Miranda and Julieta, are always accompanied with a cute story or a funny quote. Both have very different personalities but are best friends. Julieta protects Miranda and is always showing how much she loves her sister. Miranda, the quieter one, accepts it all with a grin and shares her endless supply of toys with her. Their older brother and sister, Nataniel and Nadia, crave their hugs and kisses. The relationship between the four is precious, but due to my aunt’s accident, she has had a harder time building that relationship. The twins do love her unconditionally and all, but it seems that they have a better relationship with the empleadas, the housekeepers who also double as babysitters. These empleadas are at the house six days a week for about seven hours a day and are the ones 29 spending the most time with the two. The
Ever since Miranda was a newborn and was diagnosed with a breathing condition, Adela was the one up in the middle of the night to wake her and remind her to breathe. Teo is the one there to feed and discipline them. Their mother is there to hold them and share a few precious moments with them, but once they start to cry, she hands them back to Adela. What will eventually happen once these two grow up is what happens to every upper-class paceño—they outgrow their empleadas and treat them as housemaids, forgetting that they were once raised by these women.
Elizabeth Gonzalez, artistic interpretation of photo by National Geographic
Excerpt from
twins cry when pulled away from Adela’s or Teo’s arms because they have been raised by these women.
“Adela! Why isn’t my bed made?” or, “Adela! Where is my food?” or, “Teo! Why don’t we have bread?” All are common phrases often heard and variations of them make up the majority of the conversations between Nadia and the empleadas. Sometimes, when she is feeling friendly, she will ask Teo what she’s doing after work. “Dancing,” she replies happily. “Oh, Teo. How much fun. Meet some men!” Nadia says sincerely, encouraging her.
Inside I smile because I see that connection they have for a few seconds and I remember my empleada, Lourdes. The second I enter the kitchen upon arriving in the city, I always call out her name because I want to hug her and express my happiness of seeing her. Returning the favor, she makes me my favorite dish, sopita verde, or spinach soup. This is how I want to treat her for the rest of my life, because she isn’t just a maid to me; she’s a woman who brought me up in the summers I spent in this country and who helped me mature by teaching me small, everyday lessons she learned as a child.
O
de to the
I’ll bow to you, my empress moon, Whose pale complexion reflected on the lagoon Enlightens cryptic paths of melancholic souls, Whose afflicted minds, deep in thought, with faith you bestow. O my dear empress moon! Keeper of those who left Earth in a time so inopportune, Medium through which their distant whispers arose, From hearing them once more, shall you oppose? Celestial sphere in the sky, Messenger from the living to the dead, who sigh, And pity us for pitying them, For to this life we are condemned. O my dear empress moon! How grateful I was to have you there so soon, How helpful you were when I needed comfort to be imposed, While my heart secretly ached to feel his warmth around me enclose. O my dear empress moon! When I longed to see him in one penetrating stare, I found comfort in knowing that somewhere We both we under the same moon. Yes, without a doubt I will— I’ll bow down to you, my empress moon.
M
oon
Nicole Castro
Lisette Ortiz
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E I G H T D AY S
CHARACTERS:
30
JOSE - An adolescent with misunderstanding parents AMELIE - A college student who was a witness of the earthquake LOURDES - A young nurse who immediately went to help DREA - A reporter for a college newspaper
Alexa Langen
Marc Briz
JOSE:
DAY ONE.
DREA: Mom? JOSE: Mama! AMELIE: Mama! LOURDES: Dad? JOSE: Is anyone there? DREA: It’s dark. AMELIE: I can’t see. LOURDES: I can’t move. DREA: Mom! AMELIE: It hurts. DREA: Mom! JOSE: I’m alive. AMELIE: You don’t want to know. It was shattering. Clouds of grey and a torrent of screams. I don’t want to remember. JOSE: How can you not care? There’s thousands of people without food or water, without knowing where their mothers or their children are; whether they’re alive or dead. Dad, they’re people. Why would the color of their skin matter?
AMELIE:
DAY TWO.
LOURDES: We went immediately. AMELIE: I was home the next day. LOURDES: It was unbelievable how many children lost their homes. They were all over the streets. AMELIE: I resumed my studies, saw all my girlfriends, it was… LOURDES: Horrible. I couldn’t believe… I was treating at least four kids at a time. God knows how many in a day. And this was only the pediatrics wing. I wasn’t treating the parents. AMELIE: Seeing my parents in the airport—that was the best moment. Oh, they were so scared those first few hours. And then the smiles. LOURDES: And now what? I clean a cut, I stitch a wound, but are they gonna be fed? Are they gonna be taken care of? Are their parents really in the other wing?
AMELIE:
DAY THREE.
DREA: I knew Haiti wasn’t a nation that was… stable. I knew there was a
lot of poverty. And that was before the earthquake. My first news assignment was a human-interest story of a person involved in the incident. Anyone, they said. Anyone? Three million people were affected. 50,000 people died. That’s 50,000 families. That’s a lot of stories. AMELIE: Lucia doesn’t answer my calls. I’ve called her home. I’ve left messages at the school. She was the schoolgirl I tutored. If something happened…
DREA:
DAY FOUR.
JOSE: I gave up on my dad. Some people don’t get it. But my friends, my classmates? I wonder if the gauze pads we collected at school would’ve spilled out of the cardboard box if there wasn’t any extra-credit. And when Haiti runs out of gauze pads? Is there gonna be another extra A? LOURDES: What the hell is going on? I’m a student nurse and this morning, an eight-year-old kid with an elbow sticking out is handed to me— bone, bare bone. How do I deal with this? How did this kid deal with this?
JOSE:
DAY FIVE.
DREA: The med students from the university are going to help out. Guess who’s going to Haiti, too? AMELIE: I left. I left without checking. Lucia, my student, my eight-yearold girl. DREA: I’ve spoken to a few rescue workers and it’s not going to be an easy sight. AMELIE: It’s too easy for someone to look at the news reports. DREA: I don’t know exactly what I’m gonna write about. AMELIE: I don’t know when I’ll stop looking for her face amid the crowds and bodies on the screen.
DAY SIX.
LOURDES: JOSE: There was one video a college reporter posted.
DREA: My first day there we stayed with a pediatric team. LOURDES: A woman yelled. DREA: I took out my video camera. JOSE: She was crying really bad, going really crazy. LOURDES: She had thrown a tray with some equipment on the floor. DREA: A couple of men told her to stop and tried to calm her down. LOURDES: Non! Mon fils! Mon fils! JOSE: A nurse walks up and tells the men to stop. DREA: Leave her alone. Her son just died. LOURDES: Onze morts. Onze. DREA: Now, eleven dead. JOSE:
DAY SEVEN.
[Cue music. No dialogue.]
DAY EIGHT.
ALL: DREA: With the team we left to a collapsed home. LOURDES: It was discovered that there was someone alive under the rubble. JOSE & AMELIE: There was a video. AMELIE: Morning news. LOURDES: A hand peeked out of the ravaged concrete. DREA: They lifted rock, they dug, they shoveled. JOSE: Smoke. DREA: A little girl. JOSE: Eight days. AMELIE: Lucia. LOURDES: For eight days that girl survived. DREA: Mom? JOSE: Mama! LOURDES: Dad? AMELIE: Maman? JOSE: It’s dark. DREA: It hurts. AMELIE: I can’t sleep. LOURDES: Water? JOSE: Bed? ALL: Mom? JOSE: I’m alive.
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Index
Aitken, Sophia Hopeful but Helpless The Way I’ve Seen It Aleman, Sandra The Cold Terrifying Night Anonymous The Door of Soldier 22 Barahona, Aura Photograph Briz, Marc Eight Days Castro, Cindy Life Castro, Nicole Ode to the Moon Unsealed Demise of Love Cowen, Chris Photograph Cowen, Madeline Photograph Cubella, Lynn Photograph Gonzalez, Elizabeth Painting Hernandez, Natali Steel Strings and Singing Things Tick, Tock Herrera, Jordys Anonymous Kim, Jung Photograph Langen, Alexa The Couple on the Bench Photograph
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10 29 11 18 5, 16-17 31 25 28 21 16-17 16-17 11 29 27 19 26 15, 21 21 14, 18, 20, 30
Leal, Jonathan The Adventures of Dickie the Duck… Leon, Jose Photograph Louis, Coralie Photograph Martinez, Hernando Who is the Real Enemy? Ortiz, Lisette Photograph Perlmutter, David Photograph Ramos, Lilibeth Assassin, Werewolf? Reyes, Alina Love Poem Roa, Carlos The Adventures of Dickie the Duck… Open Casket Sampson, Amanda Photograph Santos, Ismael The Adventures of Dickie the Duck… Twelve Years Scorpo, Christy The Adventures of Dickie the Duck… Shen, Alice Canvas of Life The Shadow of Death To Hell Similien, Georges Identity Somoano, Julienn Not Loud Enough Sones, Maya Speechless Sotolongo, Kelly The Neighbor’s Threshold of Hell Stack, Ali Photograph Taylor, Tarilyn A Minute of Failure Valle, Freddy The Secret Life of the American Teenage Ninja
22-23 24 9 9 6, 8, 10, 15, 16, 17, 19, 25, 27, 28
26 14 8 22-23 6-7 4, 13 22-23 23 22-23 4 5 12 15 19 8 24 16, 22-23 25 20
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