Open Here
SPRING 2016
epic
“Art is not what you see, but what you make others see” -Edgar Degas
epic spring 2016 / 1
TABLE OF CONTENTS Jenna Scarpantonio/Messages Luke Gioffre/Passion
Manisha Satheesh/ The High Road
5
Janvi Sikand/Real Actual Transcript Straight From the Archives of General Planet Live Podcasts, Copyright 2016
17 Gioffre/Regal 18
Luke Julia Goldsmith/Sibling Love
6
Isabel Kaufman/ up hi(king)gh
Maitland Bailey/ Allium
7
Julia Goldsmith/Smile Taline Norsigian/Golden Skies
Sasha Bash/
8
Chloe Ezzo/ A Farewell to Purell
9
Maitland Bailey/ Loading Zone
10
Bobby McCabe/The Wolf Will Appleton/Worn
Sasha Bash/Sweet and Salty
11
26
13
Olivia Rossi/Amsterdam(n) Ali Meizels/Frosted
27
Jon Fu/Flags Ryan Clifford/My Journey Jenna Scarpantonio/Rhythm Julia Goldsmith/Bo Kaap Colors
Tour Eiffel
15
Chloe Ezzo/
16
The Tenth Prayer*
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25
Chiara Rego/Turtlenecks Dakota McMahon/Me,Myself,and I
12
Ryan Clifford/
20
Savage State of Mind
21
Maeve McDonald/ The Weeknd
19
14
28
Sasha Bash/Bliss Hannah Bash/Touch of Turquoise Amy Mistri/A Rose
Ananya Alleyne/
29
30
Timid but Confident
I
se
TABLE OF CONTENTS Jenna Scarpantonio/ Observations
31
Angie DeLucia/Bullet Mackenzie Goldschlager/
Chiara Rego/I’m On My Way Ryan Clifford/Antelope Canyon
32
44
33 34
Ali Meizels/Petal Path Manisha Satheesh/Banff National Park, Canada
43
Mark Sheehan/With His Long Tail Hanging Down
Nique Cousins/Honey Bee* Tally Holcombe/Converse
David Marottolo/Associations*
Wading Through Color
35
Melani Norsigian/
46
Impressions of Flowers
Jason Meizels/A Painting of Lemons on Blue Cloth
David Marottolo/Sunday Jane Shafer/Nuuk
47
Melani Norsigian/ Views from Heublein Tower
36
Taline Norsigian/ Moments to Capture
Benjamin Coady/
Abby Eberle/Tears
37
Ali Meizels/Pretty in Pink Jane Shafer/Tessa Gray
A Farewell to Storks
Lyndsey McNeill/Doc Marten Angie DeLucia/Flash
38
39 40
Taline Norsigian/Roar Carolyn McCusker/Revolution Humza Rashid/ The Deadly Abyss
41
42 Breaking Boundaries
48 49
Adam Kim/Doors
50
Sam DiBacco/A New Sun-Set(ting) Phoebe Taylor/Medicine
52
53
Olivia Rossi/ Safely on the Shore
Ellie Kraus/On Graduating
Matt Rossi/
54
*Denotes Gwendolyn Brooks Poetry Prize Winner
Illustrations and doodles by Bobby McCabe
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Letter from the Editor Hello Reader,
As you can see, this is a unique issue of Epic because so many of you contributed to it! Whether it be leaving your mark on a sticky-note, submitting or even just picking up this book, you are adding to something very special, something that wouldn’t exist without you. The idea of this issue is this: individually we all create amazing things, but together we create something bigger than ourselves. Each page in this book showcases the amazing work of one or two people, but the book itself is one big collection of the work of KO students. Together, we are all EPIC! The quote from Edgar Degas you see on the first page speaks true: “Art is not what you see, but what you make others see;” meaning, what you see is important but how others perceive your work is equally as important to showcasing your work. Each and every submission tells a story and the reader gets to explore those stories while flfl ffllipping through this book. I hope you enjoy this Issue of epic and the creativity that overflows from its pages. Sincerely, Lauren
A Special Thanks To::
Mr. Scranton—For taking and editing our cover picture and staff page picture.
Bobby McCabe——for drawing all the beautiful and artistic doodles seen on the pages of this book.
Joe Waggoner, our publisher——for answering our endless phone calls about bitmaps, photoshop and everything in between and for helping us create this awesome issue! And like always, thanks to everyone who submitted!
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THE HIGH ROAD Manisha Satheesh ‘17
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REAL ACTUAL TRANSCRIPT STRAIGHT FROM THE ARCHIVES OF GENERAL PLANET LIVE PODCASTS, COPYRIGHT 2016 Janvi Sikand ‘19
Hello, and welcome back to The General Planet Live Podcast.
We are continuing our feature presentation today: Springwatching. Earlier today, we paid a visit to our local expert on the matter, Punxsutawney Phil, Seer of Seers, Sage of Sages, Prognosticator of Prognosticators, and Weather Prophet Extraordinary. He concurred with other pros in the field that spring should be coming early this year. How early? We’ll see. Join us as we continue to track the legendary North Eastern Spring. Watch the beast, settled on its haunches. It waits patiently as its predecessor takes its course in full; though sometimes we’ll see that Spring will inch forward and interfere with Winter. What does this mean for us? Most common people—maybe even you—thinks it bodes snow days in April, frustrating weather and badly-planned trips to the family home up in Maine. YOU, though, dear listener, now know better: the habits of spring, while unpredictable, are nothing short of miraculous, yes? You better believe it. Many wise men have grappled with the question: What even is Spring? The creature has been described as coming “in like a lion and out like a lamb,” according to some of the foremost authorities on it. Who exactly said that? Not sure. Spring is definitely a being surrounded by mystery. Some would even argue Spring doesn’t even exist, we simply skip from Winter to Summer and—get this: Spring is a marketing campaign created by “society.” You heard it here first, folks, General Planet Live bringing to light the rumors on the true nature of the North Eastern Spring. Well, we’re Springwatching live right now, and trust us, Spring is no myth. Possibly a better way to describe Spring is by how it behaves. Spring makes some lofty promises, we’ve seen; and it doesn’t keep all of them. First is that “April showers will bring May flowers.” Now, to go into detail about why this is absolute malarkey— Hey! Look there—Spring’s doing a thing! Watch as it rises to its feet and prepares to strike. See how it sets its gaze on its victims: People with allergies, and people that hate the impending flower crowns that inevitably come with Spring. Wait... wait for it... WOULD YOU LOOK AT THAT, FOLKS! RIGHT HERE ON THE GENERAL PLANET LIVE PODCAST! SPRING, IT SEEMS, HAS SPRUNG!
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ALLIUM
Maitland Bailey ‘18
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GOLDEN SKIES
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Taline Norsigian ‘19
SMILE Julia Gol;dsmith ‘17
THE WEEKND
Maeve McDonald ‘19
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LOADING ZONE Maitland Bailey ‘18
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THE WOLF
Bobby McCabe ‘16
There was a sound. It was both familiar and alien to him,
but he couldn’t identify what it was either. He found it gentle and soothing. It reminded him of how his mother hummed him to sleep all those years ago. His curiosity was peaked, but as he attempted to look around he was struck by how weak he felt. He began to comprehend why he couldn’t identify the source of the sound; his eyes were too weak to open. As he laid quietly in his self-inflicted darkness, his mind began to open up and become clear in a way that it hadn’t in a very a long time. His other senses began to awaken as he realized he was warm. It wasn’t the overheated, dirty warmth he was used to. This was natural, and light. He could tell that the sun was out, as he could see the sunlight dance as it tried to break through his closed eyelids. He felt the sunlight provided him an energy unknown to him. As he bathed in the gentle light, his strength was renewed. He slowly opened his eyes, gradually adjusting to the light. He stood, but it was shaky. He had not used his legs in a long time. The reason why was unknown to him, but he did know there was a reason. As he reflected back on his past, he saw nothing but condensed fog shroud his memories, but instead of being alarmed by his newfound amnesia he was overwhelmed with a sense of peace, as if the past was irrelevant. As he pondered briefly, he realized he didn’t even care for his identity. All that mattered was here and now, and as this realization came to mind, he looked to his surroundings in awe. He was in a forest of another sort. Trees extended beyond the sky. Autumn sunlight kissed the forest foliage as it passed between the leaves. The air was warm and alive to such an extent that the mere habit of breathing became a rejuvenating experience all its own. The only sounds emitting from the forest were the songbirds that escaped his view, singing to their new resident. There was a sound. It was the same as before, although it wasn’t clear to him if it had stopped or whether he just didn’t notice it during his awakening. When he did pay attention to it, the sound seemed consistent. He realized that it was coming from overhead, beyond a slight bend in the landscape. With the source within reach and his curiosity renewed, he began to progress towards the sound. As he went over the hill, he once again was awestruck. Before him was a stream that extended over a cliff to form a small waterfall, and then continuing its course as a babbling brook.
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WORN
Will Appleton ‘18
It was not beautiful. It was quite ordinary in fact. However, the sight of clear water was more precious than anything he had encountered before. He ran. Through whatever otherworldly power he was able to summon the strength needed to run, he ran. As he reached the riverbank, he brought his head down to take a drink. He drank and drank until his thirst was quenched forever. After being satisfied, he lay down again against the bank and cried. They were very passionate tears, but they were ones of joy instead of sorrow. He did not think he would ever know of a happiness more enriched than what encompassed his heart right now. He did not remember how he came to this Garden of Eden, but as previously established, it did not matter. He is happy. He is alive. He is free.
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FLAGS
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Jon Fu ‘19
MY JOURNEY Ryan Clifford ‘17
BO _KAAP COLORS
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Julia Goldsmith ‘17
RHYTHM Jenna Scarpantonio ‘16
TOUR EIFFEL
Ryan Clifford ‘17
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THE TENTH PRAYER Chloe Ezzo ‘17
*2016 Gwendolyn Brooks Poetry Prize Winner
Before morning on the tips of twisted tangents
the uncommon hour where dewed ferns hum from below trees, silhouettes of branches dark against a pale paper sky pensive wrens listen to the riddles tucked between the black birches though I no longer notice where they lie in the thickets, underneath sunken mist so permanent, it coalesced in the slopes and ridges longing stretched by the early chill that almost bridges the other side recalling the distance that had once made us close in this place of entropy reversed where the wind blows my earthly salt, and the fading promises that linger still running along the ground that we had consecrated with our steps
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PASSION
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Luke Gioffre ‘17
MESSAGES Jenna Scarpantonio ‘16
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SIBLING LOVE
Julia Goldsmith ‘17
REGAL Luke Gioffre ‘17
UP HI(KING)GH
Isabel Kaufman ‘17
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SAVAGE STATE OF MIND Sasha Bash ‘17
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A FAREWE:LL TO PURELL
I
Chloe Ezzo ‘17
t was nine o’clock. Nine o’clock meant that I was there washing in and washing out. You could not use soap and water. Soap and water was wrong but I did not know the reasons why and there were not always reasons for everything. I pumped the dispenser on the wall and rubbed my hands together. I had washed in. “Can I get you anything?” “Yes.” “What?” “A cup of ice and I’m running out of water.” “We are all running out of water and you are not allowed to drink water. The nurse said that it is against your diet.” “Is there anything that is not against my diet?” “No, everything is against your diet.” “I have not eaten in three days.” I refilled the linen closet. The sheets were clean and crisp. The room was sanitary and white. I washed out. I washed in. This room was also sanitary and white. All of the rooms were sanitary and white. The NBC was on. The Matt Lauer glared at me mockingly and snickered at me. He commented on a picture of a radish with a face on it and on a piece of toast with a face on it and on a pickle with a face on it. They were all grand. And then he began to tell a story about several people who were killed in a church shooting. I started to refill the linen closet. “Can I get you anything?” “Coffee, maybe” “Coffee is against your diet.” I did not feel like getting him any coffee. “No it is not. The board says that it is not.” “We are out of coffee.” “No we are not. The person across the hall just got a cup of coffee.” “Ok.” I washed out. My sneakers squeaked down the linoleum hall. I punched in the code for the supply closet and got out a styrofoam cup and peeled open a package of artificial cream and threw the package in the trash. It would end up in a landfill somewhere and so would the cup. That is what would become of the package and the cup. I poured the coffee and walked back down the hall and washed in.
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“Here is your coffee.” “Is there any sugar in it?” “No.” “I take my coffee with sugar.” “Is that so?” “Yes.” I washed out. I punched in the code and removed a package of Splenda from the drawer. Splenda was known to cause cancer. There was no sugar. There would never be any sugar but it did not matter as no amount of sugar would make any difference in that coffee. I washed in and handed him the coffee. He requested deodorant and I washed out and washed in and he requested orange Jell-O and I washed out and went to the supply closet and punched in the code and removed some from the refrigerator and washed in and he requested more towels and I washed out and washed in and he had finished his breakfast so I cleared the tray of cold half-eaten mashed potatoes and cold scrambled eggs mixed with ketchup and brown banana and I could not clear it all at once so I washed out and cleared the first half and threw the plastic utensils in the trash and someday they would end up in a landfill and washed in and washed out and cleared the second half and washed into another room. My hands were dried and cracked and bleeding in the places where they were cracked. I could feel the malignant bacteria multiplying on them. I refilled the linen closet. The patient in this room was old and sick as were all the others. She was hooked up to an IV and held pads of gauze in place on her belly. The gauze was caked with dried blood and yellow with fluid that had hardened. I emptied her trash bag. “Do you like ice in your water?” “Yes, but not too much.” I washed out and went to the supply closet and punched in and refilled the plastic pitcher. We were running out of water but there was plenty of ice and it was not good but cold and true and always in cubes. I washed in. “Are you Polacka?” She spoke with a thick accent. She was old and Puerto Rican. “No, I am not a Polack. I am an American.” “Are you sure?” “Not always, but I am an American.” “How much do they pay you?” “I do not get paid. I am a patient aide.” “What is that?”
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“A volunteer. They do not trust us unless there is work to be done because unlike an orderly or a nurse this position only required eight hours of training.” I washed out and washed in many times more and lost count and made the morning rounds and when I was done I sat behind the desk and flipped through the binders of patients’ charts and made sure that there was a sticker with their name on it on each page. I would have watched my shadow walk across the desk but the electric light was harsh and constant and I lost track of time. The nurse told me that it was time to discharge a patient. I put on the rubber gloves and wiped down the wheelchair with the purple wipes which were bactericidal, virucidal, and tuberculocidal. The wheelchair was sterile. The wipes were made with 55% alcohol, so they would be good to fortify my orange juice with. I put some in my pocket for later. He was a portly fellow and had a mess of hair and a baseball cap. “I’m crazy, you know. My wife divorced me because of my mental illness. I love women. They’re fine. You don’t have to worry about me because I am a teddy bear, but I love women and I think they’re just fine. You’re a fine girl. I smoked for many years. It kept me healthy but the doctors made me stop. They always made you stop. I used to like to drink but my wife put arsenic in my gin and tonic one night and so now I do not drink and because of that I spent several years in an insane asylum. My mother was very busy when I was a kid and my father got in a car accident and was in a coma and my brothers and I played basketball and I broke a few toes but I never saw anyone about them because she did not believe in it or in them and I also have bunions.” There were many hallways in the hospital. Beyond the N2 unit was the outpatient unit that circled around to become the birthing center and farther east was the unit for cardiology patients and around the corner was a ridge that was protected by a white plastic banister that overlooked the mess hall where the nurses and doctors ate and opened into a department that specialized in MRIs and above were panels of lights embedded in the ceiling and farther below was the emergency room and the place where they took you if they thought you were too rowdy and the halls smelled of the Luria broth that they were mixing up in the labs below the basement but I did not know that then and I got lost in the hallways and took many wrong turns and somehow came to the entrance of the hospital. It was sunny waiting outside on the sidewalk, but I would have never known. And it was hot too and soon we were both sweating and he told me that he was hot and that he wanted his socks off.
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“My feet are beastly and some people can clip their toenails with those dainty pairs of clippers, but me, I need a veritable pair of plyers because the nails are so hard and thick.” I took off his socks and his hairy feet were gnarly and mangled and the heels were covered in plantar warts and I was rather impressed. “You are a fine girl, really.” We waited until his nephew came, and I helped him out of the wheelchair but he tripped on the curb and they sent him back into the hospital. It did not matter anyway because he would have tripped and fallen at some point, as we all do and have been sent back to the hospital. When I went back up my shift was over and I left the sterile hospital. I marched down the street back to the house. I washed my hands and took off my uniform. I had been wearing the ugly blue polo with the laminated name tag firmly attached. They got the letters right but they were in the wrong order. I felt like a masquerader in civilian clothes. I vowed never to return to the Hospital of Central Connecticut. I threw some newspaper and kindling in a trash can with my uniform and struck a match, but the red tip decapitated upon impact with the side of the box and I hadn’t any other matches. Somehow I found myself back at nine o’clock.
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SWEET AND SALTY
Sasha Bash ‘17
**made entirely out of chocolate
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ME, MYSELF, AND I Dakota McMahon ‘18
TURTLENECKS
Chiara Rego ‘18
I celebrate myself mostly in my head to being a humble human being instead. For the person that I have grown up to be, and for all of the amenities. For the moments I cherish with family and the overwhelming abundancies. To praise and be thankful for the life that has been given to me. I am special and know it in my heart, but when it comes to being a braggart, I keep it, in part. These moments that have come to me, the moments of serenity, has given me the chance to light a special lamp that only I am visible to see. And for this reason, a celebration of me is kept in my head.
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FROSTED
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Ali Meizels ‘19
AMSTERDAM(N) Olivia Rossi ‘18
TOUCH OF TURQUOISE
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Hannah Bash ‘18
BLISS Sasha Bash ‘17
A ROSE
Amy Mistri ‘19
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TIMID BUT CONFIDENT Ananya Alleyne ‘19
A confident woman enjoys Life without worries Light and free Tries new things And does not stop Running to the finish line But a timid woman carries A heavy load Like an over-stuffed grocery bag Worries and stress Fill her brain Fear her closest friend Always accompanies her As she stumbles Across the finish line The confident woman Discovers new doorways Presents herself to the world Nothing is impossible To her everything has hope And her ride through life With the windows open Is smooth and scenic While the timid woman, trapped in a dark forest Is always on the watch Never sure of the outcome Taking the safest way out The confident woman Flies through the air Soaring on the wind Enjoying the breeze Nothing brings her down
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A new opportunity She never stops Trying Living life like a musical A sold out show The timid woman never Glides through the air For every mile of her life A six-foot wall blocks her way Unsure how to get around Until someone lends her a hand Always searching for Someone to pick up Her confidence And help her fly
OBSERVATIONS
Jenna Scarpantonio ‘16
But we are neither Confident Nor timid We are both One morning you fly But the next you hide Confidence and diffidence Are two sides of the same face
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ANTELOPE CANYON
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Ryan Clifford ‘17
I’M ON MY WAY Chiara Rego ‘18
**2016 Gwendolyn Brooks Poetry Prize Winner
HONEY BEE
Nique Cousins ‘17
It was an unforgiving heat lapping at our legs like a sick dog and
CONVERSE
Tally Holcombe ‘19
the gravel of the driveway burned our toes. The sun grew so heavy it burst, melted down the skies and pooled at the horizon. When we sat on the whitewashed porch, it welcomed us with a creaking that dogged heat lapped at our chests and licked at our sunburned faces and bug bites. The birds were quiet and the grass stood still and the cicadas cried and our indolence was sinful. When the moon poured blue into the sagging sky we carried each other inside past the heavy screen door and the dusty draped piano and into the yellow kitchen. This was the kitchen where the faucet incessantly dripped and the tiles were lit up by the moon and the mosquitoes were buzzing and so were we and you laughed and laughed until you gasped at the humid night air. When I turned on the lights you saw an open jar of honey on the countertop and a guilty dead sticky bee and we understood.
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ASSOCIATIONS
David Marottolo ‘18
**2016 Gwendolyn Brooks Poetry Prize Winner
They sit me down on a couch.
Sofa. Divan. The doctor, wearing a coat that can only be described as blanched quivering white holds up a set of cards; Each one displays a different blot splot splatter of ink. “What do you see?” they ask. They don’t understand when I say I see nothing (Zilch, Zip, Zero) but assorted stains of monochromatic randomness. What they’re testing for pictorially I see verbally. Words are connected, a highway crossing from Line to Line to Line and back again. A black-and-white pattern of my own design. Schematic. Plan. Association.
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BANFF NATIONAL PARK, CANADA
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Manisha Satheesh ‘17
PETAL PATH Ali Meizels ‘19
MOMENTS TO CAPTURE Taline Norsigian ‘19
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VIEWS FROM HEUBLEIN TOWER Melani Norsigian ‘16
A FAREWELL TO STORKS *2016 Hemingway Parody Winner
Benjamin Coady ‘17
T
he living room was green. The space between the door and back wall was far and the beer bottles blocked her path. A train could be heard in the distance. The woman looked towards the dark corner and in the corner sat the man in his chair. It was a good chair. The bullfight was on the television. On the walls were framed pictures of the old country. They had been in this country for five years, six if they counted the year in the South, which was hot and dry, which the man enjoyed. He did not raise his head to look at her. The woman was cold because the heat was not on in the apartment and the windows were open. The Spaniard pushed her away when she tried to sit next to him. The woman took the beer out of his hand, which angered him, and she prepared herself. “I’m hungry.” The woman relaxed: “So am I.” “What would you like?” “Bull or fish.” The man burst into laughter and his laughter chilled the woman even more. “I am joking, I want eggs or veal.” “What about beef or chicken.” The man glared at the woman. “ You mock me. We have talked about this before. I want one and you can’t give me one.” “We can get one, Rachael told us we can get one.” “I want my own, if we get one it won’t be like us, it will be one of them. What does Rachael know. She is a kike.” The man stood up and stretched and made his way into the kitchen.He opened up the refrigerator and the woman frowned. “Let’s stop talking about the meal and talk about the bills.” “ This isn’t the old country anymore. Life is expensive here. Does that satisfy you?” The woman stared at the floor, the man continued. “I also like mutton, fawns, caviar.” “Guillermo, please stop talking. We can try one more time.” “What will it do? We try and we try and we try. Nothing happens. I am a man of action. It’s your fault.”
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DOC MARTEN
Lyndsey McNeill ‘17
“Maybe it’s yours.” “The doctor is an idiot, he knows nothing.” Once again the woman prepared herself. The man grunted and walked over to the dark closet and took out the gun he got from the war. He examined it closely. “My battalion’s task was to take the fort. The ground was soggy from the rain, which impeded our progress when marching. There were many Nationalists in the fort. The plan was to storm the fort and fight with courage and grace under the pressure. I fought next to Montoya who could not fight well because he had been shot in the arm, but he was young and brave, and fought until they reloaded.” “Oh darling, I am so miserable here. I want to go back, maybe they will let us return.” “In the meantime, figure out how to get the veal or eggs. I am not going back without veal or eggs.” “I will figure it out. We are okay.” “Wouldn’t it be great if you could.” The neighbors didn’t hear the thud, and the departing train masked the noise.
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FLASH
Angie DeLucia ‘18
epic spring 2016 / 39
REVOLUTION
40 / epic spring 2016
Carolyn McCusker ‘17
ROAR Taline Norsigian ‘19
THE DEADLY ABYSS - An excerpt Humza Rashid ‘18
Nemo and I vowed to stay loyal to Nazi Germany and the
Schutzstaffel. Both of us loved the German people and intend to fight until our last breaths. We were determined to conquer the Allies and destroy them for all the damage they had caused in Weltkrieg. Both Nemo and I were partners in arms and fought all over Europe. Our military campaigns started in Luxemburg and the German armies destroyed the ignorant fools immediately. Due to the bravery and courage we displayed in the battlefield, we quickly raised rank. God gave us the power to succeed and there was no army in the world that could bring us down. At the time, we had an honorable SS-Obersturmbannführer named Noah Geiss, who led us against the French. Geiss was a strict, but respected commander. His ferocity led us through the war; we may have been only Sturmbannführer, but we were willing to complete the tasks given to us. I still recall the ferocity in Nemo’s eyes and his passion to control his own army of soldiers. He was willing to do anything to command his own troops. As we marched into France, SS-Obersturmbannführer Geiss led the way. The Frenchmen were nothing compared to our efficient and well-organized armies. Their counterattacks were useless! It resulted with thousands of dead Frenchmen. However, I felt pain for the Frenchmen. No matter what they sent at us, they couldn’t defeat us. Nemo, on the other hand, resented the French people. He was so devoted to the Schutzstaffel that he was willing to kill anyone, if ordered so. No one was as devoted as he. By early June, we were in the outskirts of Paris fighting against heavy resistance. The German army was at a deadlock with the French, and Geiss planned to continue the assault. Marching through the outskirts of the city, we were surrounded by colored buildings. “BANG”, the French Resistance began gunning down our comrades. We were unprotected and were fighting in the middle of the streets. Soldiers panicked and there was a massive wave of hysteria. Everyone was trying to escape! However, Geiss refused to move his ground and began to fire. Nemo and I stayed with him, aiding him with supporting fire. Our help was useless; the French snipers were hidden in the buildings and impossible to pinpoint. I looked back at Nemo for a plan of action, but he was motionless.
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BREAKING BOUNDARIES
Matt Rossi ‘17
He was blankly staring at a corpse on the ground. It was Noah. There were three bullets lodged in his chest, including one in his leg. I was in utter shock. Somehow, I felt an surge of power and took control of the men, commanding the remaining number of soldiers into the vacant buildings to take cover. There were only a few of us left. However, our fleeing comrades had returned with help. We outnumbered the Frenchmen. It was a victory for the German people. A week after Noah’s death, I still felt sorrow. Nemo said he didn’t deserve to die and we both agreed on that he had died for a righteous cause. Higher-ranking officers had taken notice of the incident and thought that the bravery I displayed was phenomenal. They promoted me to Geiss’s position. I now had power over my own separate army of soldiers. It felt amazing, yet very odd. I disliked having command over Nemo, and I didn’t want him to think that he was inferior to me. Nemo told me he was happy for me, but he didn’t show it. He never made eye contact with me and never seemed pleased. He no longer smiled and wasn’t as enthusiastic as before. I guessed he was also eager for the position, but at the time I never thought it through. Fortunately, Paris was under the Fuhrer’s control and we celebrated. However, that was only short-lived.
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WADING THROUGH COLORS Mackenzie Goldschlager ‘18
epic spring 2016 / 43
BULLET Angie DeLucia ‘18
WITH HIS LONG TAIL HANGING DOWN Mark Sheehan ‘16
T
he hooting of an owl woke me. Worry quickly overtook my grogginess and disorientation. How late was it? Had I overslept again? I popped my head out of my front door. It was dusk outside, probably around 8:00, but what was the day? My neighbor Mary scurried by and I called out to her, “Hey, Mary, what’s the date?” “March 23.” March 23. March 23! Bloody hell, spring started three days ago and I completely overslept. Hunger gripped me, and I popped back into my nest. My pantry contained a shocking surprise and not much else. I realized with a sickening feeling and a rumbling in my stomach that I had eaten the last of my winter store of nuts at my last awakening about a week ago. I’d have to get more but it was late and predators would be out. Deciding I’d just stay in, I curled up and tried to sleep but after about five minutes, as my stomach grew louder and louder, I realized there was nothing to be done. Nuts were needed, and they were needed now. The easiest way would be to go to Whole Nuts. Searching for food on my own was too time consuming and dangerous. For the second time that night, I poked my head out of my nest. A quick look around revealed no obvious signs of danger, so I scurried down the trunk of my block in the Pine Heights Condominiums and struck out in a westerly direction, or at least I hope I did. Hibernation had left me a bit disoriented. I darted across the fields quickly but paused upon reaching It. That was the only word we had for the strange band. It was made of a bizarre black substance, smooth and cool and hard that ran straight through the woods as long as any of the American Red Squirrels in these parts had ever gone, marked by strange yellow stripes down the middle. I always felt a bit nervous here. Ma had told me that It was a dangerous place. Apparently, my older brother Reginald had been playing here with a few friends when some sort of a monster attacked and left him flattened on the side of the road. Then again, Ma, God bless her soul, always had been a bit nutty—and not in the good way. By the time Old Man Wellington the raccoon went mad and tore her apart, he was only marginally more rabid than she was when she got on one of her rants about the government taking her acorns from her cold dead paws or something. So, my point is, who knows what really happened to Reginald? I’m sure It was safe. The sound of an owl hooting clearly reminded me that this
44 / epic spring 2016
**
was no time for a squirrel to be out and about. I had to move quickly. The night was quiet and dark as I put one paw and then another on it, feeling the strange sensation of the smooth surface so unlike the damp soft grass. I began to dart across quickly and had just passed the yellow marks when I realized I had forgotten my wallet. I spun around and started heading back to get it and had just put a paw on the grass when I remembered that Martha, the owner of Whole Nuts was an old friend. She’d understand and I could pay her later. I heard a faint rumbling in the distance as I began scampering back across It. Then I was hit by the horrible recollection that a stoat got Martha last summer and that ass Nigel would demand payment on the spot. Once again, I spun around and set out for my condo but as I was about to clamber back onto the field, I decided it would just make more sense to gather some nuts for myself. I set out for my favorite place to find acorns, a copse of oak trees near Whole Nuts. The rumbling was definitely louder. And then I realized that it was spring and there wouldn’t be any acorns on the ground. Idiot. The noise was getting louder. Maybe I had buried something somewhere? I stopped to try to figure out what to do. It was so loud I couldn’t hear myself think. Where was all that noise coming from? Suddenly It was bathed in a strange unnatural light. I turned to discover the source: A monster. I sprang into motion and tried to get out of the beast’s way. I just barely avoided its terrifying rolling legs as the monster barreled past. Ma had been right. There’s nothing like a near death experience to kill an appetite and it was clearly time to go home–this was no time for a squirrel to be out and about. I had just set out for my safe comfortable nest when the owl swooped down.
**Illustration and Story Consultation by Bobby McCabe
epic spring 2016 / 45
A PAINTING OF LEMONS ON BLUE CLOTH
46 / epic spring 2016
Jason Meizels ‘19
IMPRESSIONS OF FLOWERS Melani Norsigian ‘16
SUNDAY
What color is a Sunday?
David Marottolo ‘18
What motley gathering of tints and textures, shades and hues Can fill out the empty space of a day? Can it fit on a canvas, Stretched over a wooden shell that reverberates Like a taut drum With the faded remnants of previous attempts? Can it be Photographed? Portrayed with a Pencil? or perhaps It just sits like a blot of ink on an empty page In a worn-out typewriter.
NUUK
Jane Shafer ‘17
Sometimes a Sunday is not so different from a Saturday. Sometimes there is an entire world between them– It depends on which artist you ask.
epic spring 2016 / 47
TEARS
Abby Eberle ’18
Day in and day out a ray of sunshine lives in my house.
She is confident, she is smart, she is loving, she is beautiful, To me she is truly very special. The sun rose on a misty morning, trying to shine through the clouds. Just down the hall—only a few steps away—there are sniffles and gulps. Tell me, what could this be? There she stood in the bathroom with a swollen face. Standing on her tiptoes, holding the sink tight, her face shining in the bright, bright light. My hair—it doesn’t grow, it sticks out My teeth—they’re crooked no doubt My dark circles and spots—is this why I’m shut out? I can barely see. A sudden wave of tears hits me Her tears and anger weren’t brought about for attention or for sympathy, to my sister, she was alone and inferior With only her reflection in the mirror.
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TESSA GRAY
epic spring 2016 / 49
Jane Shafer ‘17
PRETTY IN {PINK Ali Meizels ’19
Forced into the blinding light Enter with a cry Surrounded by warm faces Onwards to your first thousand paces 5. The outdoors and endless space Curious trials Stumble, scrape, falter, trip, fall You will try to stand up from it all You are summoned by a call 10. Fear shivers across Glass veins of guilt inside you Admit, permit, accept what is due (Line 14) Cower, sour, escape from the hour (Line 19) Strikes sting sides wishing you flew 15. Lessons are well learned Your mind struggles with turmoil Either you will sit, simmer, and boil (Line 19) Or learn, leap, lead onto the sunlight (Line 24) You run out without valor 20. Exit with a cry Surrounded by harsh faces Repeat, redo, repent lost vases (Line 9) Or fight, fester; fervor grows with dusk (Line 29) Your soul grows with greater might 25. Warmth envelops you Kindred hearts lighten with song Enjoy, embrace, exert harmony (Line 34) Or wilt, withdraw, weather storms yourself (39) Body hollows; empty husk 30. World bends to a cage Spark turns to violent flame Suppress, subdue, silence this dead aim (Line 39) Or burn, berserk, ‘bandon the lit path (Line 44) They become your melody 35. Heart beckons to them They know nothing of your need Confess, confide, compel them to heed (Line 48) Or hide, hinder, hes’tate to speak out (Line 53) Dreams linger on mental shelf 40. Strive to turn them live New dream walks with perfect stride Pursue, protect, perform loving deed (Line 48) Or shrink, shiver, stray from their spotlight (Line 58)
50 / epic spring 2016
DOORS
Adam Kim ’17
None escape from such wild wrath 45. Your image flickers Upon glass blown from hellfire Your soul sinks deep into the mire Two souls linked with holy creed Keep perfect tempo 50. But perfect is a veil for hell Continue, commit, cons’crate those bells (Line 68) Or flee, forget, feel unnat’ral musk (Line 29) Your veins fill with crippling doubt Stars fade in the heart 55. You wonder what two could be Lament, linger, leaking; so empty (Line 63) Or rise, return, re’magine you world (Line 58) You depend only on your might It carried you here 60. Though time’s grip tightens on you Rage against those whose time is not due (Line 77) Or go, gentle, into sacred sleep (Line 81) A void once filled with am’ty Now beats with dead drums 65. Crippled, you hobble with no light Skin fetters; to breathe is to suffer (Line 63) Or strive, struggle, seek an end to this (Line 63) From love springs eternal wells Life comes anew here 70. A seed to become new hope Protected, praised, pruned to perfection (Line 73) Or stolen, soil’d, sapped of its sunshine (Line 77) Bright flowers bloom from the heart 75. A garden in fact All that is left is to rest Now to leave this world, to end this blight (Line 82) Lost chances is what you pine Greed kills the saplings 80. With fire as friend, you descend Ever onward to the blinding light Stride into the calming light Exit with a smile With familiar faces 85. Onwards to your last thousand paces
epic spring 2016 / 51
MEDICINE
Phoebe Taylor ’18
A NEW (SUN-SET((TING)
Sam DiBacco ’17
The only therapy I need is this pen And this paper. When something tears my soul to pieces, These words are there to put me back together. When my wounds start to bleed, I paint these pages with the blood of my pencil I Shape unbearable pain into something a bit more palatable, Because tears are not attractive Because I’ve always been told that crying is weakness So instead I let teardrops make metaphors, Draw myself some small stitches I write my pain away. Let it seep from my skin. And suddenly a poem A collection of words Is enough to put me back together again.
52 / epic spring 2016
SAFELY ON SHORE
Olivia Rossi ’18
epic spring 2016 / 53
ON GRADUATING Ellie Kraus ‘16
I
t’s both impossible And effortless. You can’t define how you feel about it, But you can’t not talk about it. It feels like a trap door: You’re going to fall no matter what. And you won’t really have to do any work– You just walk across that stage. You can resist and hold on to the sides, Or you can be at peace And take it as it comes. My life is just beginning. But so much of it is ending, dying here, Where I grew up. Where myself started, where my identity is– And I’m supposed to just leave? Be kicked out? How dare You throw me down that trap. This is who I am and where I came from– Are you really making me say goodbye In the time it takes to get a diploma and A handshake? “This is life,” they say. “It’s part of the process.” But what if I don’t want this part? I know it’s coming. And I know I’ll be okay. I just don’t think I’ll ever be ready.
54 / epic spring 2016
Color Me!
epic spring 2016 / 55
Color Me!
56 / epic spring 2016