ART, PAINTINGS AND DRAWINGS by Camila Pazmiño, Sergio Espinosa and several more artists.
The American School of Quito DP Literary Magazine 2013
THE GREAT GATSBY review by Emilia González.
CARTOON ANALYSIS Analyzing a satirical cartoon.
PHOTOGRAPHY by: Isabela Mascaró, Rafaela de Guzmán, Valentina Delgado.
A COMIC SELECTION you will enjoy, including work by Daniel Camejo and Ana Guerrero.
Short Stories by: Sergio Espinosa, Martina López, Érik Dávila.
MACBETH Stars, hide your fires! First edition: 2013
Waking Life Scene Between
14 and 15
by Érik Dávila
Rationale: The script I wrote for the extra Waking Life scene is related to the language in cultural context unit of the course in the way that it explains how languages have evolved over time. In the form of a conversation, the evolution of languages from the creation of languages themselves to the formation of creoles is explained. This scene is intended to explore specific areas of language change such as formation of creoles, pidgins and the creation of languages themselves. I used certain techniques to maximize the focus on the topic that is being talked about. For example, when the man is explaining to the woman about language formation and evolution, he is almost the only one to speak. The woman just says a few words to focus all the attention on his explanation. The format of a scene script that I chose to write doesn’t only include what each person says; it also includes some context information and information about what is happening with that scene at a given moment. For this task, the audience should be the same audience for Waking Life; movie fans and psychological and language issues. The purpose is to explain how languages formed and evolved. The cultural context is a modern day American house with a couple. Work in next two pages.
A woman gets into her house where her husband is eating dinner. It is dusk outside but the weather is very nice and cozy. After a long day of work, both seem very tired and not really in the mood for conversation. Our main character floats away from the subway and lands in the roof of the house of the couple. Instead of getting down he listens to the conversation that is about to happen. A radio is turned on and calm music plays in the background. Woman: How is that spaghetti? Man: As good as always darling. Woman: Tomorrow I’ll try to do something special, maybe tuna. Man: That would be nice. Woman: I had the weirdest interview at work today. Man: Really, what happened? Woman: I had to interview this African American for a new accountant position down in marketing. Man: What, was he “special” or something? Woman: No, nothing like that. It was just his way of speaking. It was so difficult to understand him. Man: I know what you mean; the other day I was buying a donut in the gas station. The man who was the cashier was an African American and it was so hard to understand him. I asked him to repeat the amount of money like 3 times before I gave up and just gave him a ten dollar bill. Turns out it was two dollars thirty five. (smiles) Woman: Fortunately for you, your conversation wasn’t very long or very important. Try to hold a conversation about a possible job with someone you barely understand. Man: Yeah, that must have been very hard. Long Pause Woman: Why do you think it is that every person speaks slightly different from one another? Shouldn’t just everyone speak exactly the same? And by everyone I mean the whole world. Life would definitely be much easier, that’s for sure. Man: Theoretically life would be much easier but quite dull. Woman: I wonder, how is it that so many languages and dialects got created and developed? Man: Very long story. Woman: I’ve got time; we haven’t had a long talk for a while now. Man: Alright. When you think that there are about 5000 to 6000 languages being spoken today, you might think we are creating so many languages we can’t even count them all. The truth is that we actually are killing languages at amazing rates. Research has found that a language disappears every week. Woman: Wow that is unbelievable.
Man: Yeah, but how did it all start? Well, humans are not unique because we can communicate with one another; animals and plants do that also. What makes our communication unique is what we call “language”. Technically speaking, language is a symbolical system that is learned instead of biologically inherited. This is what makes it so unique. You know, languages started to be developed as soon as groups of people started gathering into groups and they became in need of a way to communicate. But you see, many groups started to gather close in various parts of the world at the same time which is why so many different languages happened at virtually the same time. Of course, it wasn’t really at the same time. For example Latin was one of the first ones to get fully developed as well as Chinese. That’s why they served as bases for other language to develop on top. Woman: That’s how it happened. Ok. But if you think about it, African Americans don’t speak a different language than us, however it is still very difficult to understand them. Man: Ah, yes. Well, you see, as time passed, groups of people evolved and became civilizations. Here is when it gets tricky. Because these civilizations were now growing, they came in touch with other civilizations to trade or for other reasons. During these relations with others, languages began to mix. With our example of the African Americans, what happened was that when slavery was happening, slaves were imported from Africa. They already had their own African language. Americans already had their own language as well. Since these languages were so different, mixtures began to occur in order to try to reach a common language. Woman: But I imagine they couldn’t. Man: Exactly, since Africans couldn’t speak perfect English, mixtures happened. The first stage of these mixtures is known as an intertwined language. You see this form of “mixture” happens when a language starts including certain words or expressions from other languages. In this case, African was starting to include certain English words but most of it was still English. As more English words were included in the African language, the intertwined language became a pidgin. Woman: A pigeon? Why? Because it flew between people? Man: No, hehe, a pidgin. A pidgin is a more complex language mixture that combines a lot of words from one language, a lot of words from another and a common structure. Normally they are used between people that need a common language for trading purposes and such. In this case it was developed for slave owners to have a somewhat decent communication with their slaves. Some even went farther than that and developed a Creole. A creole is a language mixture that only maintains the basic structure of the mother language and all the words and expressions are either mixtures or expressions from other languages. Woman: Ok, so what we hear today is a creole. Man: Actually it is very rare to find someone that actually speaks a complete creole. African Americans now speak English with their own special tone of voice. If it is very difficult to understand it, is probably a creole or pidgin. Woman: Very interesting. I think what this guy I told you about was speaking was either a creole or alien. I could barely understand one or two words that he said. Man: Haha, yeah, I hate when that happens. It is now quite late, dark and a bit cold. Our main character shivers a bit and floats away to the next scene.
—by Érik Dávila
flowers paintings + drawings + sketches
Reaching Life Viviana O単a
Combination of flowers Camila Pazmi単o
Secret Door
Sergio Espinosa
JoaquĂn Cornejo Elisa JarrĂn
Magnificent pain Mauricio Egred
by Emilia González “I hope she’ll be a fool—that’s the best thing a girl can be in this world, a beautiful little fool.” (21) Daisy Buchanan says this concerning her daughter; is it just a superficial view or is it really better for a girl to be a beautiful fool? How might the media and the time affect this view? This is the most memorable quote from the novel The Great Gatsby by F. Scott Fitzgerald because it summarizes the novel in simple almost innocent words. This novel is realistic fiction including some tragedy, romance and death, it is narrated in the 1920’s from perspective of the rich people. A young wealthy couple, Tom and Daisy Buchanan, on the outside look like a perfect family but happiness is easy to fake. One day, they cross paths with Nick Carraway, Daisy’s cousin and Tom’s college classmate. This encounter leads Daisy to the past, when her path meets once again with that of Jay Gatsby, a rich, mysterious man. Many questions surround him, many different theories, no one really knows who he is; the only thing Nick is certain about him is that he is hiding something and that Gatsby has a deep interest for Daisy. Despite all the mystery, secrets come to light; betrayal, love and death are put across their path. When you begin reading the novel you feel as if nothing is going on, it’s just the description of how wealthy people live. This part is kind of boring and you don’t get hooked up to the story. But don’t stop reading, because later on you will find all that boring description leads to a tangled story full of action where love, betrayal and money lead to death. The second half of the book is the most interesting one because it is when all the secrets start coming to the light and when the character’s true colors can be seen. When you begin reading you find yourself
hating certain characters like Tom Buchanan who’s lies, selfishness and arrogance make him unbearable, which doesn’t really change through the rest of the book. Unlike his husband, Daisy Buchanan at first seems sweet and the reader feels attracted to her for her innocence, but as the book moves on you find she is no better than her husband. Nick Carraway is the one narrating the story; the problem with him is that, because he doesn’t do much but observe, you can’t form a deep opinion on him; despite this, he doesn’t really appeal to the reader because he is hypocritical. Nick begins saying how he makes no judgments but throughout the book you see he does make them he just doesn’t admit to it and he wants to in a way feel better than the rest. At last, Jay Gatsby, the title makes him appear great but the book doesn’t really show that. He is only a fool who fell in love and left everything for that love of his, he left it all including himself. This character gives the reader pity; he is not memorable or great as the title says. As a whole this novel is not great. It is like a soap opera where love and tragedy are somehow exaggerated to lead to a dramatic turnout. It is a nice book to read if you are trying to distract your mind of things but if what you are looking for is a novel that will make you reflect on life, one that will keep you awake at night then this is really not the one for you. On the first half you will probably be bored by the details and lack of action, you will make judgments towards the characters, but nothing further. On the second half you will continue to make this judgments, the only difference is that you will see them more clearly, as hypocritical, selfish people who are trapped in their bubble and don’t realize what goes on around them.
Analysis
analysis of
Satirical Cartoon by camila borrero
What is the cartoon trying to communicate? This satirical cartoon portrays the issue of Catholic priests abusing children in a harsh way. Therefore, the cartoonist created this satirical representation in order to make people aware of the issue and all the dark aspects that surround it. In contrast to other satirical works, he does not use any kind of humor because he is trying to convey the importance and seriousness of the problem. Therefore, he uses satirical elements in order to communicate this harsh message that unfortunately is the reality. The cartoonist mostly emphasizes the fact that there were, and still are, many secrets
unrevealed about this issue because even though the Catholic Church knew about this issue for a long time, they preferred to keep it to themselves as they feared people would be disappointed. This secrecy is symbolized in the cartoon by the dialogue between both priests. I believe that this is the most realistic approach to the issue because the cartoonist is exposing the cruelty of the cardinals who supposedly are people in which Catholics can trust. Therefore, he uses satire as a rhetorical device in a very convincing way because with this cartoon he can move people since he is demonstrating the issue from the point of view of the innocent children who are the ones really affected.
Type of Satire: This cartoon is clearly Juvenalian because it does not illustrate any humorous aspect. Instead it uses the satire to portray the seriousness of the problem. Additionally, the dark colors used can be seen as symbols of all the secrecy that surround the issue. Also, the dark colors can represent nightmare that this traumatic experience will cause the children in the future. Cross: It symbolizes the burden that the children who have lived through this experience must face throughout their entire life. Most importantly, it represents an analogy with the death of Jesus Christ who was meant to bear the sins of all humanity in spite of his innocence. This is similar to the children who have to pay for the sins of depraved priests and their arrogance to keep the issue away from the public. Holy Bible: It is an ironical element of this satire because according to the bible the sins must be punished however in this case the Pope is forgiving the cardinal for abusing of the child. Additionally it serves to mock how the Catholic Church seems to rely on the Bible for everything as even in this horrendous seen the Pope is carrying it.
COM
ICS Ana MarĂa Guerrero 11-E
Oil and Toil Daniel Camejo 11-INT
Andrea Useche 11-INT
Nicolรกs Pico 11-INT
COMICS
Satire Elements in S “ moke” I drew this piece with the intention to mock the human tendency to smoke for pleasure. Picture a cigarette, nothing but nicotine wrapped in a paper stick. Chemicals for the human brain, the human lungs, the human inhalation. Funny thing is, it can be perceived as a lot more than just a substance, a physical effect on the human body, as much more than a simple nicotine twine. The propensity to adjust one thoughts, feelings, and behavior in ways that are in agreement with those of a particular individual or group, is called conformity. Sadly, this influential conduct can take long leaps in the actions of an individual. It is from conformity that social norms implicitly form. Human life is based on daily interactions with others of our kind. This is, in fact, the bases for society. So, do we conform only because of social norms and because we want to conform or is there a perceptive sensory change in the way that we are perceiving things?” Regardless what the answer to that question is, human emotion can also have enough power as to refuse the voluntary inducement of a prejudicing substance to our health. Natural instinct is to survive, so why risk our survival in exchange to “fit-in”? This is why satire pieces can be so effective to bring attention to society, because it helps bring the previous stated questions to mind. A satire piece is a crude mockery in which one sees the downsides of human tendency. When an individual is aware of this tendency, it is a lot easier to fight it. By utilizing attention grabbing images which leave the human brain impressed with a particular sense regarding some behavior, one is able to trigger emotion. Emotion is the most basic of human memory, and that is why satire is a key way to make people remember the downsides of human tendency. This satire focuses on fighting the human perception on cigarettes. What it does is to portray the a skeleton who is reading a magazine with a woman posing in the same manner in the cover of the piece. This indicates his sense of “belonging” when he smokes. However, the principal satirical element that mocks this human tendency is the skeleton. He enjoys smoking, but he is dead. He has no skin, no hair, no human body- no life. This life which is absent in his body may be seen as both a lack of emotional livelihood and as physical health deterioration. Furthermore, the message that reads on the top “Smoking to be young and beautiful is like shouting for the sake of silence” triggers another human emotion on the mind through a metaphor. The phrase accomplishes to express useless it is to smoke in order to be “young and beautiful”. The magazine in this piece is elemental because smoking to show one is up-to-the-minute is a notion
SMOKE
Marielle Miller 11-INT
supported by media targeted to teenagers and adults. I can think of numerous cases off the top of my head, I’ve seen it in movies, heard it in songs, and seen it in magazine covers. Magazines tend to put all the on-trend elements out there; especially those who dominate the fashion market such as Vogue and Elle Magazine. This is why the skeleton reads the magazine and mimics the cover girl’s pose and behaviorbecause media is a heavily influential element in the forming of stereotypes. I consider stereotypes are formed either by personal experience with individuals and groups or gatekeepers like media, parents, and teachers. There might be some truth to stereotypes and it is easy to generalize an experience with one in-group member to the entire group. However, just because one person that started to smoke was seen as “cool”, it is absurd that most humans begin to smoke to be perceived as part of a group and feel “cool”. From my personal perspective, I may confidently state that smoking is seen as a stylish manner to make a statement of belonging in any social encounter. In our teenage years we seek identity and belonging and if one pulls out a cigarette in a coffee break with a group of friends, in an acquaintance's dinner, or in a massive party, one is sure to begin socializing from that moment on. And, regardless of the consequent result of the smoking on behalf of that individual, they will still be able to feel included and fit-in, because everyone smokes. Smoking has become so common, that people my age do it with the simple excuse that their friends do it. There is no point in act, its only nothing but a trend. A trend, to me, is a conduct that has large moral support and mimicry from part of humans, so why follow an act so inhumane? Why support a trend that kills, a trend that has proved to be so health threatening, a trend that decays one’s well being?
COMICS
Second Thoughts by Sergio Espinosa 12-E
“What did you do?” What had he done? Had he done the right thing? Had he done what needed to be done? If so, how could he possibly determine whether it needed to be done? He’d been certain there was no other way around it before, but now questions had begun to arise in the back of his head; questions that were pressing against his brain, making his head hurt and making him feel his heart’s pulse in the back of his eyes. He had a pulse; did that mean he was human? Had his actions stolen away his humanity? It had happened so fast, and yet the consequences of that single moment now stretched past the boundaries of his future, forever staining him, branding him. He had killed someone. *** Cold wind embraced him as he sat on the sidewalk. He welcomed it as he welcomed the quiet and the dark of the night. He sat as far away from the lampposts as he could, enveloped in night’s obscure mantle. He was lost in time and lost in thought, though he quickly snapped out of it when he realized how distracted he had been. He couldn’t afford to be distracted; he had to be cold, calculating. He was nervous. Now that he thought of it, he’d always been kind of nervous. But this time it was a
different kind, the kind that makes you tremble and yet smile with eagerness because you know that whatever is going to happen will forever change your life for the better. He had encountered an obstacle in life, one that he hadn’t been able to overcome or anticipate. The solution was simple, in theory: eliminate the obstacle. It’s weird how most people would never have thought of that solution. His heart filled with pride as he recognized his own brilliance. He felt something wet splash on his hand and he looked down, then up. What he thought would be a clear night had now filled up with gray, heavy clouds that were threatening to fall over the city. He rubbed his now wet fingers together, thumb and index, imagining the liquid between them was warm, thick and red. He hummed with anticipation. Footsteps. They were getting closer. They were almost as loud as his heartbeat, but were nowhere near as fast. He saw the lonely outline of the walker drifting through the light of the lampposts, methodically making his way across the street. The walker went past him, wearing the incredibly bright –yellow colored raincoat he seemed so fond of. The rain had almost reached the height of its crescendo, now drowning every other noise and making it almost impossible to follow his movement. If he had only casually looked to his right, he would’ve noticed a
pair of eyes staring at him, the kind of stare that predators usually take on when they know they’ve found their dinner. Onto 12th Street, then right, right again, under the little bridge, and left after the brick wall. He knew the way to the walker’s house, just as he knew what he wore, where he worked, and the places he went to. He continued to follow his prey, trying hard to keep his distance as his anxiousness momentarily surpassed his desire to make this as clean as possible. He had thought about how he was going to do it. He had thought about every detail so much that, as he followed him to his house, he felt as if he was walking through some kind of deja-vu. The one thing that he had been adamant about from the beginning was using a knife for the decisive moment. He wanted it to be personal, he wanted to be able to feel the blade penetrating skin, the skin being resistant at first, but then giving away with a gushing sound and with blood rushing out immediately after finding a way out of its prison. One stab in the chest and one slit through his throat. He had wondered whether he might be able to do it slowly and relish the moment, but he knew it was better to do it quickly. The walker opened the door to his house and then went inside with the dripping wet raincoat. He then turned around and locked the door behind him. No matter; he had prepared for this. The neighborhood the walker lived in was in the ancient part of the city,
meaning it was full of places where the architecture did not work well together. This house was one of such cases. It was next to a house that started on a higher level, separated only by a chain fence that started on this higher level. The height of this chain fence surpassed that of the walker’s house, making it easy to get on the roof just by climbing the fence. As he started to climb the chain fence, he heard the walker talking inside - ordering pizza, as he did every other Wednesday and Saturday night. He’d then sit on his grimy couch and watch corny tv shows until 3 am, then go to sleep. He was now on the roof, hearing his soon-to-be-victim laughing inside. That laugh: it made him tense up inside, reminding him of his father; his filthy, ignorant, father. He had first noticed the laugh as he walked by, going to his apartment. The childhood memories he had tried so hard to escape had come rushing back, reminding him and filling him up with frenzy he couldn’t control. Since then, he had been obsessed with the walker, unable to think of anything except that laugh; he wanted to bury it as deep inside the dirt as he could. He hadn’t killed his father, though now he wished he had. In fact, he had never killed anyone. This would be his trial, his initiation. Lost in thought, he was sitting on his victim’s bed after having entered the house through the upstairs window when he heard the tv being turned off. The couch’s springs moaned, finally released from the
pressure they’d been withstanding. A soft step muffled by the carpet, a yawn, and then the walker started climbing the stairs up to his room. One, two. He quietly hid in the closet beside the room’s entrance. Three, four. He clutched at the knife inside his jacket, his knuckles threatening to burst out of the skin in his hands. Five. He was taking sharp intakes of breath, but as he tried to calm down, he found himself suffocating. Six, seven, eight. Only three more steps. He had stopped breathing. Nine. He slid the knife out of his belt. Ten. His eyes stared hungrily at the lit entrance. Eleven. A shadow glided over the light, drowning it. The walker entered the room. Another shadow materialized behind him, holding a knife above its head. The sound of breathing was now as clear and incisive as the knife that was being held inches away from the walker’s heart. The walker turned around, then felt his insides exploding. The killer had yelped with glee as he started swinging the knife; a yelp that slowly turned into a scream of horror. As his knife pierced the walker’s skin, the killer felt his own heart squirming, wailing. The last of his humanity was seeping away from him, just like the blood spurting out of the victim’s heart that unknowingly kept pumping it out of his body. His mind was reeling, and he was confused. He had pushed himself past the boundaries. What he had done reduced him to something infinitely worse than the worst thief, for what he had stolen was life. The killer felt the pressure inside him menacing to rip him apart, and released some of it by turning around and vomiting on the floor. His victim was beside him, swimming in his own blood. His victim. It had sounded better before, making him feel powerful. But now the only thing he felt was guilt swelling inside his throat, smothering him. He welcomed the smothering guilt. He wanted to die. But as time continued to go by, he realized it wouldn’t kill him. A cry of rage echoed through the dark neighborhood streets, and a figure was seen dashing through the light of the lampposts. The walker’s corpse peacefully rested on the floor, surrounded by blood, vomit, and the killer’s tears.
dimly lit room, he could see that the detective had never killed someone. He found it curious that the detective could not tell for sure that he was guilty. He felt as exposed as if there was a label above him that said “murderer.” He stared fixedly at the detective, wanting him to notice the guilt that seemed to be evaporating from every pore on his skin, pumped out of his body by his tired heart in a futile attempt to save him. He had thought about killing himself, but realized that was just as wrong as killing someone else. Who was he to decide who lived and who died? He wanted so badly to die, but then again, maybe he didn’t deserve to. His body had him glued to the real world. He didn’t belong here, not like him, the guy in front of him, with the innocent eyes and the hands of an honest, hardworking man. Could he do this? Could he allow one more man to become a murderer like himself? He had not killed himself because he thought it was the right thing to do, but now he realized he had condemned another man to become a murderer. He had known there was a death penalty for killing someone, but he hadn’t been thinking straight. One quick shot to the head: that is all it would’ve taken. He’d stopped himself, and now he realized he’d done the wrong thing again. How could it be that it was wrong to kill a man, but that is was only right he should kill himself? And yet he was tired. Tired of having to live with the guilt and knowing he could never be normal again. He would never be able to talk to someone else without thinking of how it would’ve felt to kill them. He could not befriend anyone else, for a killer cannot be trusted, and he couldn’t trust himself. He was now faithless and lonely, and so very, very tired. He gazed steadily at the detective. He could not handle this anymore. The man from the other side of the table seemed ready for any kind of answer. The intensity in the room grew, making it almost palpable as it started to weigh on both men’s shoulders. The killer opened his mouth, and croaked the last two words he knew he would ever say. “I’m sorry.”
*** “What did you do?” The detective’s eyes looked alive, he noticed. Even standing from the other side of the table in the
—Second Thoughts
Curaรงao by valentina delgado
Photography
the
Witch and the gre
by Martina López Thursday December 12, 3012: It’s been 21 days of non-stop staring at the wretched endless sand road that leads to somewhere that is nowhere. We have been told what is at the end of the road, a wall that separates us from a different kind of species. Also, they have told us what those species are, ogres. Described as bigger than us, meaner, stronger, and deeper voiced, and non-caring, we have been warned to not even lay a foot on that road. Anyone who even dares to try to get to the wall will be exiled to the scorching, lifeless desert. It is impossible to follow the road to the wall, but lately I have been able to see a way without getting caught, although I would need some tools, but I cannot trust anyone because their mind could be read and hypnotized by the Scarcols. The Scarcols are always bothering the people around, abusing their power with their heavily armed instruments. As the patrols of the city, they have special gear of high technology and can catch anyone going against the law very easily. They are the ones who guard the doors that lead into the city. Saturday December 15, 3012: I have been able to collect all the items and gear that could come in necessary for my escape, yes I have decided to discover what is on the end of the road and who those ogres really are, or if they even are living creatures. I have always had my suspicions about what is true and what is not, it
easy very easy to just say a lie. Curiosity overwhelmed me and I just cannot hold that feeling of thirst of all the knowledge and truth that awaits me at the end of that road. All I need to do now is organize how I am going to escape; I have only observed the openings and exact times when the security is not at its highest watch. Tuesday December 17, 3012: Finally everything is prepared I have all the materials I need and I am ready to escape this prison we have been born in and lived in for our whole lives. I do not know if ogres are really going to meet me at the end of that road. All I know is that I will have seen the truth with my own eyes and even though they will erase my memory at least I will try to discover the truth. My curiosity of knowing where I come from, where we all come from, has empowered me and persuaded me to go on this suicide mission. Everyone knows that girls get pregnant here but we do not how or why, they just tell us it's luck. Sometimes, when the babies are born, the babies are taken away from their mothers and given to other women like any piece of paper or worthless item. At other times those babies who they tell us that are different, are taken for sacrifice to the ogres since we supposedly have a pact with them. Those are a few of the things that provoke me to see the truth with my bare eyes. Tomorrow, early in the morning, I leave. If things do not go well then these will probably be
my last words. Truth comes at a high cost. Saturday December 21, 3012: I cannot believe everything! My eyes have been opened to the light of the truth, so many things that I have heard and I have been forcedly blinded by the overwhelming sensation. First of all, it took me three days on that frying road to finally reach a place, one nearly the same as ours but with some sort of different type of human. I was nearly dead because of starvation and dehydration. I had only taken some power bars, a few apples and several water bottles with me which disappeared as quickly as a ghost. At times I had to hide from Scarcol cars with high authorities which were passing on the road at all times. Luckily, I met this oddly similar creature who had been in search of the same thing, the truth. It had been out walking for only a day, so it had some more supplies and I was revived. Somehow, we both spoke the same language and had several similarities, especially physically. From where it comes, the Scarcols are named Slocracs which I have noticed is Scarcols written backwards. After almost a thousand explanations and stories which it told me, I finally understood everything. I understood what were the rutheless creatures called ogres. Also, I understood that we would be called the witches just like they were called the ogres. We both noticed that we were brainwashed to think that the creatures at the other side of the road were mythological monsters. The powered ones from its land have told its population practically the same thing our powered ones told us. They would tell the people that on the end of the road there are witches that are highly dangerous, therefore convincing the people to not escape and to live in fear of what is at the end of the road. I have comprehended that what they would call witches is really my population, and what we would call ogres is its population. Also, we both had come to comprehend that we were the male and female of the same species. The name of the human I met is Joshua. Sunday December 22, 3012: We are three days away from graceful day, a day where everyone has a calm day with no worries about the Scarcols and people give things to each other and the government rewards those who have done the least amount of crimes. Apparently, in Joshua's prison they celebrate that day as well.
I forgot to mention that we have decided to go back to Joshua's prison and sneak in since we were going to die out in that death lair and his prison was only a day away. We snuck in tremendously cautiously and went straight towards his home covering almost every inch of my body, which seems to have noticeably different features than Joshua's and the rest of the males. We have planned to stay there for some time until one day we figure out what to do. I am to stay inside the house at all times because if I get caught I would be instantly grabbed and taken off to the middle of the desert to be left for dead, that is what the worst consequences hold for us. Besides that, I have learned so much and noticed that their prison town is not very different from ours. I know now where those different babies have been taken; they have been taken over here where they grow to be like Joshua. I like Joshua very much he has been extremely nice and his presence is overwhelming, but I feel too overwhelmed and something that I have never felt, seen, or heard of. Wednesday December 25, 3012: Happy graceful day. Sacrcols from Joshua's town have seemed to notice something peculiar occurring with him, or at least where he lives, and they believe he must be up to something. Thankfully graceful day is finally here and all crimes and broken rules of the people are forgotten and forgiven. We do not expect anything to happen, but still we have be cautious or we will both face the consequences. I hope they do not notice me. Friday December 27, 3012: The patrols have suspected more, and Joshua and I believe that they are up to something and we must leave before they catch us. Tomorrow at sundown we will leave and see if maybe back in my town no one will notice anything. The best of luck. The morning of the day Joshua and the girl were supposed to leave, the girl was caught inside Joshua's home and she pleaded for mercy, but these creatures have no feelings and took her into the scorching desert to be left for dead. Meanwhile Joshua, who had been unaware of the series of events, was snatched and taken to have his memory erased. His crime apparently was not purposely done since the high estate officials understood he had no idea a women was living in his home. The truth comes at a high cost.
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Cotopaxi
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Photography
KIDNAPPED by
Mario Almeida Since I was little I’ve known that my father was a very important part of society’s government, and because of that some opportunities might be presented to me. But since every action has a reaction I now know understand why when I was a kid I was treated the way I was, and had all the security and personnel taking care of me. Two days ago, I was just a teen, dealing with my own problems, but now that I found out the truth I would never be the same. It all started when I was looking for my dad at his office he but he wasn’t there, and since he is the president of the Gov.-board he is always busy. I turned around and I found this wrinkled paper near the trash can and I picked it up, but when I was about to throw it away I noticed this one word that kindled my curiosity, “fixation”. I opened the paper and read that the people my father had given “fixation” in the previous letter were now eliminated. I walked outside the office and went directly to my house, as always, my bodyguards walked home with me and meanwhile in my mind I was only thinking about that letter. When I was at home, I came up with this brilliant idea in which I would find out about what is my father really doing. I was going to pretend to stay after school to complete some work that I was missing, and since there I don’t have bodyguards I would sneak out. After I snuck out of school, I was walking towards downtown and I saw a crowd of people shouting and screaming in a strike against the government. Suddenly the police came in their armored cars and without even a warning the opened fire to everyone in the strike. Then I realized why there were no rebellions against the government, because after that happened no one in those strikes was left alive. I was frozen, I couldn’t move and was standing right in the middle of the sidewalk and a man took me by the arm and pulled me into an alley, which conducted straightly towards the abandoned madhouse. I thought that the police would’ve caught us, but he knocked on the door and said a strange word and someone from the inside opened the door. As we entered I felt really weak and fainted. When I woke up three guys surrounded me, and they stopped talking as soon as I tried to stand up. The man that had brought me in gave me a glass of water to drink, sat next to me and told me to drink it completely. I noticed that on the wall behind those guys was some sort of spider web diagram of murders in the last couple of months. When I suddenly saw that some of the names written in that diagram matched the ones in the letter that my dad had throw to the trashcan. I saw all the arrows pointing to one name and I got scared, it was my father’s
name. They saw my frightened face, and turned their head and saw the web. They told me not to worry, that my father would not hurt me, (of course they didn’t know he was my father) and told me their story; they were planning to overthrow him. But they were waiting for the right opportunity and some of their fellow conspirators have been “fixed”. I felt that I should tell them the truth about myself, but I felt really insecure and afraid for my life. Something inside of me took control and with just one word they found out about me. I just whispered “my father” and all of a sudden all the eyes were staring at me. They all turned around and looked back at me; the guy that brought me in, grabbed me from my shirt and told me “Who is your father?” I was so afraid that I wasn’t able to give him an answer, so they all stood up and as they were on their way out one of the other guys told me “Kid, you’re screwed”. I was so scared that these guys might hurt me, or torture me to know who my father was, so I decided to cooperate, but it would be on my terms. I stood up, and told them that if they really wanted to know they needed to give me something in exchange. They all came and I told them that they needed to get me a hamburger and a soda for me to talk, when suddenly the guy that brought me in told me that what they would give me was to let me live. I was silent for a few minutes while they were staring at me and since that deal was pretty hard to reject I told them that I would talk. I spent the night in that madhouse; I wasn’t able to sleep for more than a couple hours, because being in that place made me very uncomfortable. The next morning they all started interrogating me, and I had to answer to everything they asked me. After they were finished they brought me a cheeseburger and water. I was glad, because I hadn’t eaten for a day now, but while I was eating they told me that I was the one that will make them overthrow my father. They brought some sort of camera devise that shot a purple light at me and suddenly I understood everything that they told me before and that I was necessary to overthrow him. We stayed the whole afternoon planning how to take him out and realized that the only way was to kill him, and I volunteered for this job (he wouldn’t expect his own son to kill him). The next morning, before I went to my house they gave my three things, a radio to keep them informed, a revolver with 6 bullets and a knife. When I got home, my father was really worried and when he saw me he came running to hug me. I was walking toward his office and after the hug, we stepped into his office and the locked the door. He turned around and I told myself that the moment I was waiting for was now, took out the knife and cut his throat open. When the blood started dripping from my hands onto the floor, I started realizing that since I was little I’ve known that my father was a very important part of society’s government, and because of that some opportunities might be presented to me. But since every action has a reaction I now know understand why when I was a kid I was treated the way I was and had all the security and personnel taking care of me.
Niagara
&MILAN by rafaela de guzman
Photography
Photography
Photography
Rafaela de Guzmรกn
Writing like
Martin Luther King by María Emilia Moyano
Speeches are a principal manner and tool of communicating ideas, emotions, convictions and opinions to others. Nevertheless, a speech can be guided into divergent paths; it might convince and be effective for an audience achieving its purpose, but also a hoard of words with no effect. Therefore, how can a writer transmit an earnest speech that achieves a purpose? There are multiple ways of constructing a speech, but lets get inspired with the guru of communication, Dr. Martin Luther King. This man, fought not only for his rights, but also for those of an entire community. He led a life changing movement, not by force, or money but with his touching words. How did he do it? That is the main question. By revising some of Dr. King’s major speeches, especially the famous: “I Have A Dream”; they are not only speeches or dialogues, but living monologues, that include personal emotions and feelings. During
his speeches, his words became alive. As a civil rights activist he knew that whatever affects one directly affects all indirectly. In order to achieve that living monologue a writer needs to follow some steps: In the first place, - Establish and direct the entire content into one purpose and objective. Centering in one areas like: politics, religion, motivations, innovations, businesses, memories, justice and more. - Speeches can be developed around anything, but that anything has to be specific. Like Martin Luther King, he was in search for freedom and justice. In second place: - The speaker, has to have a transparent idea of who is the audience and the context they are involved in. Once these two elements are on focus, the speech will be constructed over firm bases that will become strong and powerful.
In general, the context, audience and purpose are the key elements for an effective speech.
In writing and communication, the background of the situation or circumstance transforms everything. The emotions that evolve inside an environment create a determined situation. Depending on these factors, the author needs to base their texts. In the case of Martin Luther King, he was a civil rights activist, who longed for justice. His people, were in suffering and sadness, willing to act in order to change their position in society at the moment. Apart from Dr. King, the same ideas that he applied in his speeches were demonstrated in the words of presidents from the United States of America. The president Franklin D. Roosevelt gave a speech after the tragedy of Pearl Harbor in 1941. This event had just occurred, which was the difference with the speech of the former president Barack Obama given 50 years after the event. In President Roosevelt’s speech, he needed to make the families of the deceased feel better, and let them know that the nation is in grief in the same way they are. While in President Obama’s speech refers to this historical tragedy as a hurtful memory, addressing it to the people affected by it, as well as a reminder of the lives lost on that day, with words conveyed for the entire nation. In this instance, the event is the same, but the context changes, and in order to be respectful and successful in your communication, the manner of transmission is different. Furthermore, the context is not only helpful to situate the author in a specific circumstance, but it also helps the author analyze who their audience will be, how they will act and what are their positions towards the topic on that moment. In this sense, they have to be able to find the precise language in order to convince, interact and relate to these people. Demonstrating joy or sadness, benevolence or rightness, but in any case, above all, enthusiasm. People’s feelings and emotions differ; a speech has to be able
to evoke any feeling as intended to create a connection among the people. Which in the case of Dr. King, was to make them dream together as a community in a bright, hopeful future. As Dr. Martin Luther King, a well-known icon because of his affinity of speaking emotionally to others through his words, speakers need to follow the same parameters. What Dr. King did, is based himself in the context of the situation of African Americans, and refer to them personally in a peaceful way, where the feelings caused over his community were represented. Making them long for what he longed, feel as he felt, and think as he thought. These were what started an entire civil rights movement. Why? Because Dr. King knew how to emotionally reach people, by using the appropriate language in a situation. Which shows language is all. Communications are effective when transmitted correctly. The purpose and focus of a message depends on the language. It varies depending on the focus that is established. Even though it is the same language and words, the use of them are not equal. For instance, it is not the same writing a SMS text to a friend, or writing on a social network than writing a formal text paper like an essay or article. The words spoken need to go along with the feelings of your audience. But also, it should imply rhetorical devices that allow your audience to connect by: metaphors, repetition, parallelism imaginary, symbols, figurative figures and syllogism. These will provide identification. Writing and communication is an art, it has a method, principles and elements that are not as easy as some might believe. To create an effective text, that attracts attention, convinces and connects with people, requires abilities. And the hint is based in analyzing three essential elements: context, audience, and language. These will make a hoard of words come to sense.
The American School of Quito DP Literary Magazine 2013
Student works selection and edition: Camila López and Isabela Garay Layout design and magazine structure: Nicolás Vayas Tobar. Cover page illustration by Nicolás Vayas Tobar, based on a drawing by Martín Chávez. Art, paintings, drawings, comics and photography choice: Nicolás Vayas Tobar. Special thanks to the Literary Magazine Coordinator Jared Rock.